Matt & Jean's Big Caribbean Adventure: The Final Chapter

The next day we sailed for home. It was the last full day of the cruise. We slept in, then turned in an official report on our ring. The captain of housekeeping, or whatever he was, and his first mate came to do an official search of our cabin, and they didn't find it either. So they gave us the number to the corporate office in Miami, and if they don't locate the ring by the end of this week (I think), we can call their loss prevention office and request a damage reimbursement. So at least we won't have to replace the ring out of our own pocket.

With that unpleasant business out of the way, we set about enjoying our last cruise day to its fullest, which mainly involved sleeping, eating, laying about and reading--pretty much like in the beginning. We might have been a little more active were it not now apparent that I'd picked up some kind of bug, with symptoms fluctuating somewhere between severely cold-like and mildly flu-like. My best guess is that I got it from the community snorkel I used in Grand Cayman. I realized at the time that the entire concept of a snorkel that had been used by about a million tourists before me was disgusting, but once I got in the water with the stingrays I forgot all about niggly little things like "germs" and "hygiene" and only cared about shoving my face under water for a better look at the cool fishies. I'm still paying for it, though by now I am feeling mostly better. Good thing I got that hepatitis shot. So it was a lazy day of recuperation. We had dinner in the formal dining hall one last time, handed out tips and thank yous to the appropriate crewmembers (including our stateroom attendant, with assurances that there were no hard feelings over the ring), then packed our bags and went to bed.

Going Home

Getting off the ship and getting through customs the next morning turned out to be not at all the nightmare we were expecting--which, once we got done being glad it was so easy, became concerned that it was a little too easy. Good thing we weren't terrorists or drug smugglers. Maybe homeland security should stop hanging around airports robbing grandmothers of their perfume bottles and step things up a little at our nation's ports of call.

Anyway.

In hardly any time at all we were back in our car, heading North out of Galveston. That leg of the drive was pretty uneventful, pleasant except for the still feeling cruddy. I could barely keep my head up for more than 20 minutes at a time, so I slept through most of it, until we got to Dallas and I had to help Matt navigate his way to Irving to visit his friend. Unfortunately, he didn't call for detailed directions until we were aready past the exit we were told to take, and we were north of Plano before we figured out we had to turn around and go back. But eventually we found it, and I finally got to meet the guy whom I've heard so much about so often that I was starting to wonder if I should be jealous.

Said friend turned out to be extremely likable and hospitible, and invited us to crash in his spare room for the night. The next morning, we said our goodbyes, hit Jack In the Box for breakfast (we don't have those in OK), then a couple hours later we were back in our home state. We drove through Atoka, home of Boggy Creek and recent sightings of the Boggy Creek monster, aka Big Foot. Nope, we didn't see him. Or her, as the case may be.

Around lunch time we passed by a little town called Krebbs, famous locally for an Italian settlement in which practically everybody has a restaurant, including Pete's Place, where Choc Beer is made. Pete's Place, it turns out, doesn't serve lunch, so we hit up the nearby Isle of Capris instead for some spaghetti and raviolli. It was good. But, well, as Italian food goes, it was pretty Okie-fied. If you lived here you'd know exactly what that means. But it was the best Okie-talian I've had in a long time.

Before leaving town we checked out Lovera's Italian Grocery, which was also pretty Okie-fied. Imported Italian goods and delicious-smelling smoked meats aside, our attention was mostly on a black male kitten hanging around outside the store. We came thisclose to taking him home with us, despite knowing that Niblet and Sasha would never speak to us again if we brought another invader into their home; but when the shop lady told us that the little girl who lived next door had pretty much claimed him and was trying to convince her mother to keep him, we decided we didn't want to be the jerks who broke the kid's heart. So we pried ourselves away from the kitty and hit the road. A couple hours after that, we were home. A couple days after that, we were back at our jobs. Sigh.

All in all, I don't think I could have asked for a nicer honeymoon. Except for that whole thing with the ring. I'll keep y'all posted on that.

Matt & Jean's Big Caribbean Adventure, Part Three: Me-hee-co, Bay-bee!

By the next morning (I believe we're up to Friday now), Matt managed to convince himself that the teapot is not his grandmother the ring is not his marriage, and having to replace it won't be the end of the world. That settled, we got up, ate a huge breakfast, and went to see ...

Mexico

We didn't even make it off the pier at Cozumel before they loaded us onto a ferry to Playa Del Carmen. By now I was pretty used to the ship's movements, so I'd stopped taking my Bomine. And you know, a ferry speeding over (and getting bounced around by) giant waves at what must have been at least 60 mph is very different from a giant ship poking leisurely along at around 30 mph. I managed to hold onto my breakfast, but by the time we reached the mainland I was queasy and had a raging headache. So that was fun.

Once we got off that boat, we had to walk about 8 blocks with our group through Playa del Carmen to get to our waiting tour bus. It was a fairly pleasant walk--a little hot, a little muggy, but with plenty of sights and sounds to distract us from it. The only real irritation was all of the well-meaning bicycle-wheelchair drivers who kept trying to pick up Matt, until finally our tour guide came back to talk to him and make sure he could handle the walk before finally telling the wheelchair people to lay off.

I should point out that by this point we were both pretty sick and tired of people assuming what Matt was or was not capable of doing. He was still smarting from the rock wall refusal, and the day before as we were disembarking for Grand Cayman the same guy who wouldn't let him climb the wall also wouldn't let him take the stairs down to the tender boats and made us take the elevator with the elderly folks. Then that morning as we somehow slipped past that guy and took the stairs down anyway, another horrified crewmember practically shoved me out of the way to "help" Matt down the gangway and onto the pier. The pretty apparent fact that they were more concerned about their liability than his actual well-being was the most irritating thing about it. We managed to be more patient with those who were genuinely just trying to be helpful, but even so, by now it had gotten as tiresome as the million-and-one "Did you lose your leg in Iraq?" questions he'd been fielding all week.

At some point we noticed another amputee on the ship, walking on a prosthetic leg. I wonder if he got asked that question as much as Matt did. I also wonder if he was allowed to climb the rock wall.

But back to Mexico: as we walked along the brick-and-cobblestone streets of PdC, we saw many shops and things we wanted to check out when we got back from our tour. So imagine our dismay when we got on the bus and were told that we'd be taken straight back to the ferry and wouldn't have time to look around or shop until we got back to Cozumel. Grumble. But at least we got to see and stroll through a real Mexican city, which seemed a lot more gritty and real than the Americanized tourist-centered party town of Cozumel. Not that Playa Del Carmen is exactly a third world hovel, but it felt more like a city with a rich history than a Disney attraction.

So. We got on the bus, a big, cushy, air conditioned tour bus, were handed boxed "lunches" that consisted mainly of sweets and starches, and set out for the ancient Mayan city of Tulum. It was a pretty drive, and looked and felt a lot like driving through the southwestern US, except that all the signs were in Spanish. Actually, I suppose that's not much different from driving through the Southwest, either.

A pit stop at an overpriced gift shop, a Mayan collectibles sales pitch, and a history lecture later, we arrived at Tulum. Or rather, the tourist-town gift shop section of the parking lot outside Tulum. Getting to the actual ruins still involved a tram ride and a short hike. As we waited for the tram to get going, we watched a group of musicians in Mayan dress playing their instruments while perched at the top of a pole. This was not the first time that day that I wished I had taken my camera phone along.

Finally: Tulum. Oh, no, wait. We're just at the ticket counter. By now it had gotten pretty darn hot and humid, and we were in some kind of rain-forresty territory that actually looked exotic, and I was getting an inkling of how well I could handle ever being on Survivor, which is not very. But it's all okay because there were also iguanas. Wild iguanas. All over the place, just hanging out. Like squirrels. Awesome. We wanted to see if we could approach one to see how docile they were, but we were afraid they might be sacred or something, and it might be a major faux pas to pick one up, plus the whole risk of losing a finger if we messed with the wrong iguana. So we settled for taking pictures.

After another history lecture, our tour guide led us down a jungle path and up some stone steps, where the higher we got the cooler it got, then through a stone gate, and there it was: Tulum. For real this time. There was an ancient wall surrounding the ruins that kept us from seeing the shore, but you could hear the waves hitting the beach just beyond, and the breeze coming in from the sea was heaven. The ruins themselves were very pretty to behold, and we wanted to tear loose and look around, but alas, apparently we were in school, and our guide sat us under a big shade tree for yet another lengthy history lecture. It was fascinating, but despite the shade, with all of those bodies pressed together and cutting off the breeze, it was hot, and we weren't really getting to look at anything like we thought we had paid to get to do, so it didn't take us long to become bored and irritated. Finally, when other people started to break off from the group and wander on their own, we followed suit, and went to see what lay beyond the wall.

Oh my. I'd never seen such a pretty beach in all my days, with white, white sand and blue, blue water and the ancient city rising up from the cliffs behind. We wanted to make ourselves at home right there and never leave. Sadly, by this point we realized we only had about 45 minutes before we had to be back on the bus, so we only had time for a quick dip to cool off, each of us taking turns getting in the water while the other kept an eye on our stuff. Then it was back to the tram, the bus, Playa Del Carmen, the ferry, back to queasiness-with-headache.

Back to Cozumel, where we had to negotiate our way around a gaggle of frat boys holding an impromptu kegger right there in the street as we ran from shop to shop, snagging souvenirs and looking for someplace to eat in the hour we had before we had to be back on the ship. It didn't take us too long to conclude that we'd be hard pressed to find authentic Mexican cooking on that island, so we settled for an open-air Tex Mex café called Palmeras. The food was pretty darn good. Whether in spite of or because of it's Americanization is up for debate, but we made up for its lack of ethnic authenticity by drinking authentic Mexican beer. The waiter stopped short of openly laughing at me when I innocently asked for a Corona, and instead brought us a Dos Equis and a Sol. I am now a fan of Dos Equis with lime, and can see why it would make somebody sneer at the very idea of a Corona. It's like ordering a Bud when all they serve is Chimay. Or something. Matt has brought me very far in my beer education, but I'm still somewhat talking out of my hiney here. The point is: quality Mexican beer in an open-air Mexican café, in Mexico, surrounded by the sea, with your favorite person in the whole wide world at your side, is pretty damn satisfying. You should try it some time.

That night, back on the ship, we hit the gym (I think we did that often enough that we managed not to gain weight despite all the gluttony) and then called it a day. All in all, a pretty great day.

Next time: Back in the homeland, feeling less than secure.

cousinjean no more

Not that I've gone by that moniker for a whole year now, but now it doesn't even work as a play on my real name. As of today both the Social Security Administration and the DMV know me as Jean Bauhaus (that's bow, as in "take a ..." + house, if you were wondering). I don't think it gets any more official than that.

It's very weird, and still feels weird to say, let alone to write; but I never really loved my maiden name, so I have no qualms about changing it. I might still write under my maiden name, or using a hyphenation, assuming I ever get published, but by the time I get to that bridge I'll probably be so used to the new name that it won't even be a consideration. But then again, if I don't use my maiden name then how else is everyone I went to high school with supposed to know that that famous best-selling author is me? Insert winky smiley here.

Now all I have to do is change my name on every single account I have....

Matt & Jean's Big Caribbean Adventure, Part Two: The Islands

The first two full days of the cruise were spent out at sea, and were probably two of the most relaxing days of my whole life. There was a lot of eating, a lot of sleeping, a lot of lazing about and reading, a little swimming, and just the right amount of lovemaking. We also did some shopping, wherein we bought many varieties of duty-free rum. Why is the rum gone? Because it's all at our house now, that's why.

That first evening we skipped out on "prom night," deciding that since my party dresses were at home, the rental money for Matt's tux would be better spent elsewhere, and ended up going to bed early after stuffing ourselves in the cafeteria. The next day was more of the same, except that night we got dressed up to have our portrait taken and have dinner in the main dining room again, where we were joined not only by the other Tulsa couple but also by a pair of fellow honeymooners from Waco. Sweet kids. All in all, we were well-rested and pretty damn happy by the time we arrived in...

Jamaica

Jamaica was... interesting. I'll go ahead and say that it's not the shiny happy irie jammin' paradise that it's cracked up to be. At least not in Ocho Rios. The friendliest individual we encountered there was a dolphin named Mitch, with whom we got to swim and have our picture taken as he gave us dolphin kisses. I kinda think he wanted to make out with Matt. But who doesn't? Anyway, it became pretty apparent pretty quickly that Jamaicans generally hate tourists. A lot of the people we encountered seemed to want to take our money, take advantage of us, and then have us bugger off. Not that we didn't meet our share of genuinely friendly and helpful locals, most of whom seemed to feel duty-bound to protect us from the first group. We learned the hard way that it's a bad idea to wander off the tourist-beaten path and go exploring on your own. Still, we had a good time, and I'd call getting to eat jerked chicken and drink Red Stripe beer in an open-air cafe one of the high points, despite getting harrassed the entire time by locals who either wanted us to buy their wares or get the hell off of their island. Another high point: Appleton's rum and Coke at John Crow's tavern. Low point: the walk from the shopping center through town to John Crow's, where we got ganged up on by "volunteer" would-be tour guides who took it upon themselves to follow us despite being asked not to, eaves-drop on our conversation to learn where we wanted to go and then insist on showing us the way despite being told we didn't want them to, and then demand money from us for their "trouble" once we got to our destination; and people asking to sell us mushrooms and cocaine. Like I said: interesting.

That night, back on the boat and totally exhausted, we stayed in, ordered room service, and recuperated from our day so that we'd be ready for...

Grand Cayman

Grand Cayman is beautiful. Seriously, it's everything you expect a Caribbean island to be. The people were friendly, the weather perfect, the scenery gorgeous. If not for the ginormous hurricane potential we would totally want to pack it all up and move there.

We got it backwards when we booked our excursions--we thought Jamaica would be the place we'd want to explore, so we went light on the tourist activities there. Everywhere else we packed as much into our schedules as we could. Not that we didn't love our helicopter ride over the island and around the reef (where we could see sharks. Hammerheads! For serious!), or snorkling with the sting rays (none of which stung us in the chest or anywhere else, but one of which suctioned itself to my knee hard enough to leave a hickey) and getting our picture taken giving them kisses (they're really big into making tourists smooch the marine animals down there), but we were pretty disappointed that by the time we got back there was no time left to explore the town or hit the beach before we had to be back on the ship. Still, it was a nice, long boat ride to and from the sandbar, and we got to swim in the Caribbean with sting rays. That's pretty damn cool. The sunburn I got was less cool, but worth it.

Not so worth it: losing Matt's wedding ring.

Yeah.

Before we left that morning he took it off and set it on a shelf next to the bed while he put on his sunscreen, and then he forgot to put it back on. Sure enough, when we got back that afternoon it was gone. We tore the room up searching for it, then our stateroom attendant came in and helped us look. He swore that he was the only one with access to our room, and we believe that he didn't steal it. He also swore that he was very careful when he cleaned and couldn't have thrown it away or vaccuumed it up by accident, but, y'know, stuff happens, and so he checked his trash and vaccuum bags anyway. Nada. We held off a couple of days before filing a report in the hopes that it would turn up. It never did.

So that night was tense and depressing, and definitely not a high point of the trip.

Next post: Mexico, Dallas, Big Foot and Okie-talian.

Matt & Jean's Big Caribbean Adventure, Part One: The Arrival

There was a girl who loved a boy. She married the boy. They went on a honeymoon cruise. Intimacy developed, experiences were had, lessons were learned, marine life was kissed. Imported beers were suddenly domestic and were imbibed in their homelands. Mojitos and mai tais were consumed. Water was clear and blue and beautiful. It was mostly awesome.

The Drive Down

We got off to a rocky start, both of us being cranky and sleep-deprived and slightly hung over from the party the night before, rushed and stressed because we ended up being too tired to pack after the party and had to throw it all together in the morning. But the weather was beautiful, traffic flowed smoothly, and as we got underway it began to sink in where we were going and why. Matt put in his driving tunes, took hold of my hand, and we mellowed out and enjoyed the drive.

About six hours later, on the other side of Dallas, we stopped for the night in a little town called Corsicana. This is where we discovered that we forgot our garment bag.

Yeah.

The party dresses and bathing suits I'd spent hours shopping for especially for the cruise, Matt's shirts that he didn't want to get wrinkled, all of my lingerie and underwear... all back in Oklahoma hanging on the back of the closet door. It was too late in the evening for my mom to overnight it to us.

In circumstances such as these, thank God for credit cards.

The next day, a complimentary breakfast and a sense of resignation that all we could do was shop boosted our spirits as we set out for Galveston. We started out a lot closer to that city than we'd originally thought, so we arrived with plenty of time to hit the stores before we had to check in at the pier. And here's something I never thought I'd say: Wal-Mart had a much, much cuter selection of clothes than Target. We hit the latter first, where Matt replaced all of his shirts and I managed to piece a couple of bathing suits together out of bottoms from the clearance rack and workout tops that gave me the coverage and support I needed. Then I lucked out at Wal-Mart and found a cute black wrap dress that could serve as a cocktail dress. Once I'd replaced all my underwear, we were off to the pier.

The Ship

We could see our ship, the Rhapsody of the Seas, as we approached our parking lot. It was big and shiny. From the parking lot they shuttled us and our luggage over to the pier, where we checked our bags, showed our passports, received our oh-so-important Sea Pass cards (these would serve as our tickets, our ID, and our on-board currency for the entire week), got our picture taken for security, got another one taken that they would try to sell to us later, and finally got herded onto the ship.

First things first: find our stateroom. That didn't take long, and as worn out as I already was, with a big, inviting bed and nothing to see outside our window but oil derricks and refineries, I plopped myself down for a rest. I didn't intend to nap, but let me tell you something about those beds. They're not really that comfortable, in and of themselves. The mattresses are thin and hard, and so are the pillows. But when you lie down you feel the vibration of the ship's engines, like a subtle Magic Fingers, no quarters required. And then there's the rocking, and once you lie down you just don't want to get up again. So when Matt insisted on going to explore the ship, I waved him off and told him I was just fine where I was, thanks, but to have fun. But then once the ship started pulling out of port, I felt bad for not sharing that moment with him, so I got up to go find him.

That's when I got a sense of how big the ship truly was. He'd only been gone for about fifteen minutes, but it only took me a few minutes more to figure out that finding him wouldn't be easy. Walking the lower deck, I saw dolphins at the front of the ship, racing along beside us. Neat. After my search turned up a duty-free mall, a Ben & Jerry's/Seattle's Best Coffee shop, a photography studio, a casino and two bars, I finally ran into a very excited Matt, who led me around to show me all of the things he'd discovered. Namely, the party deck, which held another bar, two swimming pools, a cafeteria, and a snack bar that constantly served up pizza, hamburgers and hot dogs. Then together we found yet another bar, a spa, a gym, and a rock wall that Matt wasn't allowed to even attempt to climb because of his leg. So we staked out a spot on the front deck to watch the Gulf go by and marvel at how much bluer the water had already become once we left the harbor. Then we found a spot to snuggle in one of the indoor bars and ordered up our first mojitos--we found we really like mojitos--and then we made our way to the formal dining room for dinner, where we were seated with another couple from Tulsa, which gave us plenty to talk about, and where the food just kept coming. Finally, worn out and stuffed, we made our way back to our stateroom and fell into bed, where we both got the best night's sleep that either of us had had in weeks.

Heaven.

Marriage Monster

So I'm, like, married and stuff.

"Um, yeah, Jean, we pretty much got that from all the wedding pictures and the endless squee," you might be muttering, but for me, this really only began to sink in yesterday.

Yesterday was our first real day of married life. Back from the honeymoon, no more plans or preparations, no distractions, the euphoria wearing off, just him, me and the pets and nothing to do but settle back into real life. Sure, we shared a roof for months before the wedding, but now, looking around at our stuff, realizing that it's really OUR stuff and not simply HIS stuff and MY stuff vying for space... knowing he's there and he's never going to leave unless I leave with him... negotiating our way around each other's moods, understanding that we'll have to do that for the rest of our lives and so we might as well get good at it... this is reality. We got through the wedding. We're past the honeymoon. Now we have a marriage to take care of.

The weight of it is suddenly palpable, where before it seemed light, unreal. It's almost like we've brought home this entity, this shared thing between us that we're both responsible for, that we have to nurture and nourish and handle with care. It's something that we love and want to care for, but know that neither of us really know how, and we can only learn by doing, and trying our best, and fear that if we don't each give it a hundred percent, if we mess it up, it will turn on us, become a monster of misery and failure. It's a scary thing.

But--and this is where I turn mushy and cliché--just when it starts to feel too heavy, too scary, when I start to wonder what the hell we've gotten ourselves into, he grabs my hand. Or he grins at me, this stupid, adorable, adoring grin. Or he pulls me close for a snuggle, or a snog, and he makes me laugh, and he makes me feel safe, and warm, and beautiful, and loved. That's when I know that we can do this. That it's totally worth it. That we both knew exactly what we were getting ourselves into, and that we're both as patient with each other as we are neurotic, and thank GOD that we each found someone who is capable of putting up with our crap. That I have a partner who cherishes me as much as I cherish him, even when we're both crabby and worn out and snippy and can't agree on anything.

"So this is what it is to be married." I thought this a lot yesterday. Sometimes it was with a sense of giddy wonder. Sometimes it was with a sense of unease. But at the end of the day, snuggled next to my husband in our bed, my body fitted against his just so, my head nesting perfectly in the dip where his shoulder ends and his chest begins... it was with utter contentment.

Until the cat started wailing to be let in. Continuously. All. Night. Long.

So much for contentment. So much for sleep. Stupid cat.

Eventually we got over our shared irritation and managed to find the humor in it. Then we came up with a strategy to shut her up long enough for us to doze for precious minutes at a time. This mainly involved taking turns getting up, opening the door and squirting her with water whenever she'd start up again. Team work. Go team us!

So this is what it is to be married. It's not so scary, really. This, we can do.

Good morning, Sunshine!

Aaaaand we're back!

Lookit the pretty, pretty sunrise that greeted me upon my return to work this morning:



Not quite as spectacular as a sunset over the Caribbean, but it'll do.

So we made it home safely, and good times were had. Right now I have tons and tons of work to do. We'll catch up later. Promise.

11 days of darkness (for the blog; 11 days of sunny bliss for me)

Last night I overcame my phone phobia long enough to have a lengthy and lovely conversation with the equally lovely (but not so much with the lengthy ;) Fenwic. Topics dished included my husband (I love saying that--my husband my husband my husband), imaginary boyfriends both former and present, her travels, various cons, and mucho television. I realized that without an LJ Flist telling me what to do anymore, I have no idea what's even on this fall, let alone what I should watch, but I also realized that I'm going to do good to keep up with the shows I'm already invested in anyway, so I probably don't need to add anything new to this year's lineup.

I also realized that I need to set the Tivo, because it's that time and I won't be home for the following premieres:

TAR10

Gray's Anatomy

Desperate Housewives

Gilmore Girls

Also, I missed (but Tivo'd) last night's Survivor premiere. Ditto the Rock Star: Supernova finale. And there is no way I'll be able to watch them before I leave, unless of course I make my reception guests sit down and watch them with me tonight, but I think they're more interested in seeing the wedding video, so. I'm going to need to schedule myself a week off after the honeymoon just so's I can catch up on all my telly-watching. But since that's probably not actually doable, I guess I'll just have to be behind for a while. Maybe during the holiday hiatus I'll get all caught up and then I can watch the second half of the season in real time. Here's hoping.

I guess this whole being at least a week behind on television thing is going to seriously hinder my TWoP habit, but that's okay, because my TWoP habit seriously hinders my writing, which I intend to get serious about once again upon my return. For rilly serious this time. I mean it. Shut up, I do! Starting as soon as I catch back up on my actual office work, my downtime will involve a lot less Google Readerin' and a whole lot more writin'. Yes.

But in the mean time I'm outie for a whole entire week of sun, surf, sand and smoochies.

Love to all. Behave yourselves while I'm gone, 'kay?

Sexy!

Two initial thoughts while viewing my wedding pictures: 1) I can't believe my sister let me go out there without tucking my back fat into the back of my dress first; and 2) I sure do have a handsome husband.

Pictures!

The photog's pics are up! I haven't even had time to look at them yet, so you're even seeing them before the bride. Go here. Password: Oklahoma

Enjoy!

Keep on keepin' on

Lunch hour errands: run notepad sheets to Kinko's for cutting and binding; get traveller's checks.

After work errands: pick up notepads from Kinko's; do last-minute pre-trip Wal-Mart shopping; get 5x10 print of picture (posted below) for guest book frame; pick up champagne for mimosa punch.

Lunchtime tomorrow: most likely hit Wal-Mart again for last-last-minute trip necessities that I'm certain to forget tonight.

And then, after work, it's home, change into my party dress, bask in the well-wishes at my reception Wedding Celebration, change again into something more comfy/practical, pack, and sleep. Then Saturday morning we're up and at 'em and off to Texas, where I believe the plan is to stop and spend the night in Dallas, before making the rest of the trek to Galveston on Sunday in plenty of time to catch our boat. After that it's a solid week of well-earned R&R in the Caribbean sunshine.

I keep reminding myself of that last bit whenever I'm tempted to whine that we're too busy. Sure, we're worn out and sleep-deprived now, but come Monday we'll have three days at sea to do nothing but sleep if that's what we feel like doing. Bliss.

We're not thinking too much beyond that. Getting back, and getting back to normal, will bring priority shifts, and whole new sets of problems and stuff to deal with. And blog about. But for right now that's all beyond the sea. No point in even trying to focus on it until we get there.

Presenting Mr. & Mrs. B.

No professional pics to share yet, but here's a snapshot taken by L'il Sis.

Postcards, anyone?

Yikes. I wrote yesterday's post while both in a hurry and operating on about 4 hours' sleep. I'd apologize for all the errors and run-on sentences, but all things considered, I'm just proud that it turned out as coherent as it did.

Anyway. If you want a postcard from the Caribbean next week, e-mail your address to jean jeanie AT g mail DOT com (remove spaces, substitute symbols... you know the drill by now).

"Got 'er Did"

So...

I'm married.

I have a wedding ring. And a husband. With whom I've actually (finally) had sex (multiple times. Mmmm. And also ow).

We share a bed. And a home. And a cell phone account. Joint bank accounts soon to follow.

Wow. It's all so... just, wow.

What I don't have yet are pictures. Scratch that--I do have pictures from my shiny new picture phone, but they're of the pre-wedding process, not the wedding itself. But when I get wedding pics I'll post 'em.

In the meantime, here's a recap.

Friday

Errands. Packing. Chaos. Stress. Started the day with a Pilates workout, during which the power went out, nixing my plans for a hot, well-balanced breakfast and putting my shower, and thus the rest of my day, on hold until it came back on. Finally, it did, and I showered, threw on some clothes and ran to Wal-Mart for last minute necessities like safety pins and acid-free pens for the "guestbook" frame matte. Then it was, respectively, to the DMV, the pharmacy, my auto insurance provider, the bank, and the county health department for a hepatitis A shot. That last stop was worthy of a post all its own, but I'll save it and move on. Then it was back home to pack. Or rather, it was home to do my damnedest to start packing while fending questions and suggestions and endless focus-killing noise from an entire houseful of people, all of whom were home that day, and trying to entertain a fiancé who wanted to squeeze in some quality time before he wouldn't be allowed to see me anymore, and trying, futilely, to get my mom's improved-but-still-problematic PC to burn all of my carefully selected MP3s to a wedding day mix CD for my groom. Alas, I couldn't make it happen.

This is my stress face:



Finally, L'il Sis arrived to whisk me away to Arkansas, and (two hours later) I finished packing, and we were on our way. But not before one last goodbye cuddle with my soon-to-be groom, who next I would see standing at the altar.



At long last, we hit the road. L'il Sis drove.



She said she knew a shorter way than the route Matt and I took to get our license. Yes. Well. The object lesson for the day was that "shorter" does not necessarily mean the same thing as "faster." Especially when you get confused and take wrong turns and end up on back roads driving through what looks eerily like Deliverance country. But eventually, we found our way out of Oklahoma and into Arkansas. Whoo!



A couple of hours later, we rolled into Eureka Springs. We came with a plan: find our motel, drink a celebratory toast, and commence getting a good night's sleep. But first, we had to pick up the champagne.



Now, I'm sure that ours is not the first plan that began to go awry with a stop at the liquor store. Once we found our motel, the Country Mountain Inn, checked in and unloaded our things, we realized we were hungry, and that champagne should not be consumed on empty stomaches. So, after learning that our options after 10PM were pretty limited, we called in a carry-out order to the nearest Pizza Hut, and went to pick it up. By this time it was already past our bedtimes, but that didn't keep us from deciding that, after we'd eaten and imbibed, it would be a really good idea to take advantage of the Inn's jacuzzi, which was open all night and which nobody else was using, and for wich we did NOT bring bathing suits, and so had to make do with our tank tops and underwear. After all of the stress of the day, it actually did turn out to be a pretty good idea, even though we ended up turning in about three hours later than planned.

But, you guys, it was so nice in that jacuzzi, with my sister and a glass of cheap wine and a big, bright full moon outlining the mountains all around us. Turned out to be just the break I needed, and not at all a bad way to spend my last night of singledom.

Saturday

We got up plenty early, rarin' to go despite the late night, fueled mainly by nervousness.



And then the beautification commenced. Shower, shave, tweeze, exfoliate, it puts the lotion on its skin, the whitener on its teeth, the zit cream on its face, then a quick complimentary continental breakfast later we're off to the salon to get Wedding Hair.

Here's an extremely unflattering picture of myself getting curled and poofed:



L'il Sis's only rule was that her hair couldn't look like mine:



Once the hair was done (you'll have to wait for the wedding photos to see the finished product), we set out to scope places to eat, wait for the family to arrive, and watch the parade. Yes, there was a parade. A vintage automobile parade, to be exact, which trapped us on the wrong end of town and severely limited our pre-wedding luncheon options. Finally, mom's van rolled up, a gaggle of relatives piled out like clowns to gawk at the old cars and stretch their legs before piling back in and heading back the other way to the closest restaurant, the Pine Hill Restaurant, to eat and wait out the parade. Despite the parade, we made pretty good time getting back to the motel, where everybody stuffed themselves into our little room for makeup and costume changes. Then before I knew it it was time for L'il Sis and I to meet Tess at the bed & breakfast for our mini-rehearsal with the wedding coordinator.

This is where things start to become a blur. The coordinator met us outside the B&B and immediately started running through all the details. Mostly all I did was nod and agree to whatever. Meanwhile, since we weren't given time to haul all of my stuff up to the room before getting started, L'il Sis and Tess and Nephew #2 (who had arrived earlier with Matt, who was currently being ushered into another room to finish changing so he wouldn't run the risk of seeing me before the ceremony) kept running back to the car to fetch everything we could think of that was vital, i.e. my dress and the flowers and all that falderal. And then we were being shown what order to walk in and where to stand and then LS had to hurry and go pick up the rest of the family while I was taken upstairs to change. This is where I realized that (a) I had forgotten entirely to pack the little wedding bells (for the guests to ring while we kissed at the end) and the wedding bubbles (for them to blow while we rode our carriage into the sunset), then got over that when (b) I realized that LS had taken off with both my digital camera AND the video camera, and (c) there was no time to fire up the portable steamer to de-wrinkle my dress. And as I stuffed myself into said dress I also forgot to put on any of the Very Special Perfume that I'd bought especially for the wedding. But as glitches go, these were all pretty minor, and then LS came back, and my mom came in, and the photographer, and there was posing, and pictures, and perfecting, and then they knocked on my door to tell me it was time.

That was about when the crying started. They were happy tears, mostly, but they were also mildly terrified tears, and I managed to keep them mostly in check until I got down to the back door that led out into the garden, and LS was holding my hand and reminding me to breathe, and I was blinking, and then the music started and everybody was walking, and then I reached the chapel and saw Matt standing there all gorgeous in his tux, and we made eye contact as he mouthed an appreciative "Wow!", and I managed to pull myself together and get married. I didn't flub my vows, Matt's vows got the tears flowing again, then we were exchanging rings and lighting the unity candle and then he was kissing me and a minister was pronouncing us husband and wife. And then the photographer began ushering us from one photo op to the next and we barely even had time to see who showed up for the wedding, let alone socialize with them, but everybody said it was beautiful and that we made them cry and I guess being social is what this Friday's wedding party is for. Inside, cut the cake, feed it to each other, freeze for pictures, back to the chapel for more pictures, to the garden for still more pictures, then we're being hurried to the carriage for goodbyes and yet even more pictures. And then it was just me and my shiny new husband and... pretty much the entire town of Eureka Springs, where every person we passed on the street waved and shouted congrats to us as we rode by. Our carriage driver was also very talkative the whole way. Oh, and the title of this post? Comes from the sign that hung on the back of our carriage. Charming, innit? I guess that's the sort of risk you take when you get married in the "Wedding Capital of the South."

Finally, we got back to the B&B, and up to our room, where they had cake and champagne waiting for us on the ledge of our own private jacuzzi tub, and we finally got to be alone together. And that's all you need to know about that.

Sunday & Monday

Sunday, after a lazy morning of breakfast in bed and enjoying each other's... *ahem* ...company, we went out to do the tourist thing. We went out to Turpentine Creek Big Cat Rescue and took the guided tour, then after lunch we went to see the Giant Jesus. Then it was back to TC in time to watch them feed the tigers, where a small (as tigers go) female named Syria who had practically been left crippled through inbreeding and had to be fed separately from the other cats because she was on a special diet broke my heart begging to be fed while the other cats around her happily chowed down on raw chicken. She didn't have to wait long till they brought out her food, but watching her drag herself over to the handlers to beg was one of the saddest things I've ever seen. Even so, it was all pretty neat. We got plenty of pictures of that, too, but mostly with the video camera, and we have to get a USB cable for it before we can share.

Watching the big cats eat made us hungry, strangely enough, so we went back to our room to freshen up before venturing downtown to take advantage of the "complimentary romantic dinner for two" that was included in our wedding package.

Let me pause here a moment to briefly explain Eureka Springs, for those who have never been there, which I'm guessing is most, if not all, of you. When you come into town and stick to the main drag, it's all very Southern, very Good Ol' Boy, very Arkansas, but in the good way, where it's all down home and small town and friendly and there's plenty of barbecue and meat & potatoes and Tex Mex to be had. But then you turn off the highway and go down into the historic downtown area, and suddenly it's like somebody picked up some hip, funky little urban burrough and dropped it on the side of a mountain in the middle of the Arkansas wilderness. It's... odd. But very cool. There are all kinds of people there, from bikers to yuppies to hippies to Bubbas, and they're all as friendly as can be. Really, it's quite awesome.

So we had dinner at DeVito's which, despite serving varieties of fish that aren't generally associated with Italian, was fabulous. I had the chicken bolognese, and then I had a food-gasm. The bites of his spinach/parmesan ravioli that Matt fed me were also preddy fan-damn-tastic.

Then it was back to the B&B for more private time, and sleep, and then Monday morning we woke up and lazed about in bed while reminiscing about what we were doing on 9/11 before getting dressed to go eat breakfast and settle our bill. After packing and loading up the car in time to check out, we headed back downtown to file our marriage license with city hall and check out some of the shops. Once we'd loaded up with souvenir wine (for me) and hot sauce (for Matt) and mailed ourselves a commemorative postcard, we headed out of town, stopping for lunch at a barbecue place on the highway that I keep wanting to call The Pig Pit, even though I'm pretty sure that wasn't it's actual name, before starting the drive back home. A few hours later we were reuniting with family and pets and then we headed upstairs to our part of the house, where he held hands as we stepped over the threshold together for the first time.

Getting married is exhausting. But being married is most excellent. I have to say, so far I'm in favor of it.

Nice day for a white wedding

The forecast for Eureka Springs on Saturday is partly cloudy with low humidity and highs in the mid-80s. Sounds like pretty good wedding day weather. There's a 20% chance of rain, but if it should rain, we'll just move the ceremony inside to the B&B's parlor, which is still lovely.

There's a greater chance of stormin' on Sunday, which might mean that we'll have to spend the day cooped up in our room instead of exploring the town as planned. Gee, whatever shall we do to pass the time if that happens?

I have about a million and one errands to run between tonight and tomorrow afternoon, including renewing my car tag, which I meant to do on my lunch hour today so I'd have one less thing to worry about tomorrow; but then I looked up and it was already lunchtime and I'd forgotten to look up the location of the nearest tag agency, so... tomorrow. At least my hometown tag agency should be less busy.

Also, I have to get a shot. I don't do well with needles, but I figure it can't be any worse than the pain in my mouth, and it certainly can't be worse than bring Hepatitis home with me from the Caribbean. I can't promise I won't cry, but I do promise to sit still for it, which, given all of the stories my mom can tell about her and the team of nurses necessary to dogpile on me and hold me down to give me shots when I was wee, I'd say I've grown in that area.

Then it'll be back home to pack and say goodbye to my sweetie, whom I'll next see standing at the altar, and head to ER with L'il Sis for, hopefully, a good night's sleep before getting up and starting the beauty preparations on Saturday. We've got a hair appointment that morning, then (also hopefully) we'll meet up with our mom and everybody riding down with her for brunch. Then we'll all hurry back to our motel to do our makeup and, hopefully once again, find a little time to chill out and have a beverage before heading over to the B&B for a quicky bridal party rehearsal. Meanwhile, the boys should already be at the B&B getting themselves all smashing and tux-ified. Finally, we'll kick them out of the suite so they can do their half of the rehearsal while I get into my dress and then, at eternity last, we'll get married.

So this is it, my last post as an unmarried woman before the blog goes dark for a few days. The next time y'all hear from me, I'll be somebody's wife.

How weird is that?

*twirl*

Sometimes, when I'm feeling extremely giddy, all filled with excitement and happy nervous energy and without an outlet for any of it, I'll find a private place where nobody's watching and perform incompetent ballet.

There's a whole recital going on in the ladies' room today. Come and watch. It should definitely be good for a chuckle or five.

My happiness is tempered by a couple of things. One is that one of my uncles on my dad's side passed away last night. He was the husband of the sister who was closest to my dad in age, and so probably younger than most of my dad's surviving siblings, but he's been going through a pretty steady and rapid decline for a while now. We actually got a phone call the other night (during my bachelorette party, of all times) letting us know that he'd just been given a prognosis of "hours." When he was still hanging in there the next day, we started making tentative plans to go see him, but they got kiboshed by our aunt, who said he wouldn't recognize us, and she really just wanted to be alone with him. Since then we've pretty much just been waiting for news of his passing.

Uncle Jerry was a very sweet man who I wish I'd gotten to know better. I'm sad to see him go, but considering how little of him was left, mentally, by the end, I'm mostly relieved for him, but very sad for my aunt. They lost both of their adult children about a decade ago--first their son in a car accident, and then a couple of years later their daughter just collapsed from heart failure--so, except for one grandson, Jerry was the last of her family. So... yeah. It's hard to imagine that kind of loss, and what she must be going through right now. If I do start to imagine it I start crying, which I'm sure is normal, but I'm also such a wound up ball of emotions this week that you wouldn't believe how easy it is to make me cry.

The other thing is the pain that's filling my mouth and also doing it's darnedest to drive me to tears. My mouth has been sore ever since I went to the dentist. My gums, mainly, but today one of my wisdom teeth hurts like a beeyatch. The dentist told me that all of my wisdom teeth are eventually either going to need to be filled or pulled, but he said they're not yet bad enough to need immediate attention. I know I'm pretty susceptible to the power of suggestion in these matters, but whether it's in my head or my tooth is actually rotting, either way it hurts. Of course, this could also have something to do with the fact that I keep catching myself grinding them. I'd check into getting a bit, but I figure that once the wedding stress is over with, the tooth grinding will be, too.

Maybe I just need some gum.

But on the bright and shallow side of things, my nails look fabulous. Last night was my first ever professional mani/pedi, and today all of my nails are sporting a classic French look, with little blue flowers gracing both my big toenails. Now here's me praying that I won't be called upon today to print any full-sized architectural drawings off of the giant hand-mauling printer. Anyway, the best thing about it all was the chair. Heavens to Betsy, why did nobody ever tell me about the chair? I love Matt and all, you guys, but I'm seriously considering leaving him to elope with the pedicure chair. I want to marry it and take it home with me where it can sooth my feet and massage my back for the rest of my days. Matt might need to work a promise of regular foot rubs into his vows if he wants to woo me back.

Of course, there is the fact that Matt's way hotter than the chair. Plus he cooks.

Hmmm. I guess I'll go through with the wedding after all.

Two days, people! Time to go perform incompetent Swan Lake.

We have wedding rings!

Matt just called to let me know that FedEx delivered our rings. I got all choked up and teary while he was describing them to me over the phone. *sniff* I'm such a total girl.

Sparkly!

I just got back from the dentist. My first dentist visit, I should confess, in my adult life. It was much more painless than I'd anticipated, and my teeth are sparkly-clean and stain-free.

I've been ordered to lay off the coffee (and tea, and dark colas) until after the wedding pictures are done with.

...

I really want some coffee right now.

Chicks & CHUDs: A Romance

Not that I would ever be happy to hear that Steve Irwin finally ran out of luck, but I gotta say, I’m especially not happy to hear how he died, what with my upcoming snorkeling-with-stingrays excursion.

At any rate, that seriously blows.

~~~

Saturday was date-a-licious. First, Matt took me to see The Descent, hoping that it was obscure enough that I hadn’t heard of it and knew nothing about it. So he was pretty disappointed when he ordered our tickets and I piped up with, “Oooh, cool! We’ve never been to a scary movie together before!”

Matt [crestfallen]: You mean you know about this movie?

Me [backpeddling]: Well, I mean, I’ve seen commercials for it. That’s all.

Matt: What do you know about it?

Me: Chicks and CHUDs in a cave?

Matt: Dammit.

Even so, it was a good movie. I’m always skeptical about any movie that calls itself the next Alien, but this was well done. It ratcheted up the tension at a perfect pace, didn’t reveal the monsters too soon, and it had a heroine who was believable and admirable without being overly heroic or turning into an action movie cliché. And it made me jump and scream enough times that by the end I was practically in Matt’s lap. And all of that without the lingering creep factor of being afraid that evil ghostly children will come out of my TV and get me. Good times all around.

After the movie we hit the Barnes & Noble where Matt first proposed to start saving up for a “riding lawnmower.” “I never did get you that lawnmower,” he lamented as he held the door open for me on the way in. “That’s okay,” I said. “Now you can start saving for one that’s not a euphemism, ‘cause we’ll need one in another year or so.”

After coffee we headed out into the store to shop for cruise reading. He got some Grisham. I temporarily lifted my self-imposed moratorium on buying new books long enough to get Pamie's first novel, the latest entry in Mary Janice Davidson's Undead and… series, and--now that it's finally out in paperback and down to a size and weight that's reasonable for toting around in a beach bag--Suzanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell.

Then it was to the Thai restaurant where we began our first non-chaperoned date, which was closed for the entire holiday weekend, the unromantic bastards, followed by driving around and trying to decide where the hell we were going to eat now, and finally settling on another Thai place we'd both been wanting to try for a while. The food was good enough to make up for our disappointment at missing out on the romantic significance. Mmm, Pad Thai. Seriously.

After dinner, and a side trip to the other Barnes & Noble, the one we went to more regularly when we were dating and spent many hours sitting in the café holding hands and making googly eyes at each other and having long conversations that made it clearer and clearer that we were perfect for each other, he took me to the most romantic place in the world: Denny's. Or rather, the parking lot at Denny's.

See, when we were first dating, and he wasn't yet ready to take me back to his apartment (partly because it was a mess and he was too embarrassed to let me see, but mostly because we were afraid our morals would slip if we were afforded too much privacy), we would meet at the Denny's parking lot, go do our date thing, and then he'd bring me back to Denny's and my car, where we would hang out in the back seat until we were ready to say goodnight, which usually meant hours of talking. And making out. Sometimes we never even made it out of the parking lot. This was where we had our first kiss, and where we both first said "I love you." And it's where he finally asked me to marry him.

"I've been meaning to do this for a long time now," he said, fishing for something in the back seat. "Here." He pulled out a rose and handed it to me. "Jeanie, I know this is kinda late, but will you marry me?"

"Yes. Duh." Smoochies followed. "How'sabout next Saturday at 4:00?"

"I think I can clear my schedule."

So I can no longer say that I never got a formal proposal. The long drive home passed with lots of hand holding and silly grins and "I love you" and "Squee! We're getting married next week!" and also some "Damn, that was some good Pad Thai." Once we got there and I put my rose in water, he presented me with a pair of wedding cake shaped sugar cookies, all decorated with icing, and we ate them together in celebration. They were yummy, and so is he.

Just four more days, you guys!

"Strawberry flavored... who in the what now?"

Okay, so I survived. I stayed up late, I drank just enough to stay happy, and L’il Sis kept a check on her vengeance. There were no embarrassing tee-shirts commanding me to do embarrassing things, the threatened bondage-wear failed to materialize and in its place was a lovely and tasteful chemise and matching kimono, and the only dildo in sight was a Mr. Dick Head, ala Mr. Potato Head, and it was awesome.

Much props are due Tess, who clearly put a lot of time and thought into planning the hootenanny. The decorations were fabulous; the food even more so. Everybody appeared to have a great time, and I got a lot of nice things, with enough naughty thrown in to keep things interesting for a while. Like, remember those candy necklaces we’d get when we were kids? With the Smarty-type candy beaded onto a little elastic string? They make g-string undies out of that stuff now. Rowr.

Phase 2 was also a lot of fun, but I did manage to learn one lesson, and that is this: sparkly tiaras and sashes proclaiming you to be “Miss Bachelorette” are really meant to be worn amidst a group of drunken women. Wear them while sitting alone, clutching a frozen margarita in one hand and spinning the slots with the other while alternately muttering at and cheering on the machine… well, you try it sometime, and just watch the looks you get from people.

Tess was my tour-guide at the casino, too, as I’d never been there before and was a gambling virgin. She, on the other hand, goes there fairly regularly with her work buddies. Two of whom just happened to be camped out on the penny slots by the entrance where we met up with Terrence.

“Tess!” they called when we walked in the door, which got a surprised look from Terrence.

“They know her? They actually call her name when she walks in? What, she comes here so often she’s Norm?”

“Terrence!” called Co-Worker of Tess, who turned out to be a former Co-Worker of Terrence.

“Oh. Hey,” said Terrence.

“Hee!” said I. “If she’s Norm, does that make you Cliff?”

“Shut up.”

Hee.

Anyway. We got drinks, and staked out some machines, and gambling commenced. I won $20! And then I lost it again. Stupid Star Wars slot machine, making old Obi-Wan defeat Darth Vader in the bonus Death Star duel, as if that ever happened. But as for money I actually walked into the casino with, not counting what I spent on drinks, I only lost a buck. Of course, all my big talk about wanting to play Black Jack and Hold ‘Em turned out to be just talk once I got there and got all intimidated by the crowds and the fast dealers and the pricey buy-ins; otherwise I’m sure I’d have been out a lot more.

After we were all tired of losing our money, we headed across the street to the Waffle House where we sobered up on eggs and waffles and coffee and the discovery that L’il Sis couldn’t find the credit card I loaned her to get gas on the way to the casino. “I love you, Sissy,” she kept saying as she dug frantically through her purse, and then through the van, and failing to turn up the card. “Find my card and we’ll talk,” I kept telling her. Finally, a beheading was averted when she called the gas station and confirmed that she’d left it on the counter after paying and they had it tucked safely in their register. “I love you, Sissy,” she said again at the station as I tucked the card into my wallet. “I love you too, you lucky twerp.”

It was the bestest bachelorette party I ever did have.

Barats & Bereta

How is it that I've never heard of these guys? Workplace warning: these videos might make you laugh out loud in your cubby.

Also, I found the Veronica Mars blooper reel. Joss is also pretty good for a chuckle.

When Dildos Attack

In my whole life, I’ve been to exactly one (1!) bachelorette party. It was one that I planned and hosted, for my then underaged (as far as drinking and getting into clubs goes) sister, at a time when I was both much more overweight and much more uptight about alcohol and much more squeamish about the very idea of my baby sister having The Sex than I am now.

This is how I remember it: there was bowling. At the bowling alley, because I was not then and shall never be above inflicting a little humiliation upon the siblings, I forced L’il Sis to wear a cheap veil and a very tame version of one of those bachelorette scavenger hunt to-do list t-shirts, the ones with the checklist of items like “Ask a guy at the bar to dance” or “get a guy with blue eyes to spank you and sign your shirt.” After bowling a few games and putting her through all of the various minor embarrassments listed on her shirt, it was time for Big Sis, S-I-L and anybody else there who was over 30 or had any sense to excuse themselves and abandon me with the not-quite-twenty-somethings for the slumber party portion of the festivities. The rest of us went back to L’il Sis’s abode where there was (illegal) drinking, a showering of lingerie, the watching of movies, and constant interruptions by L’il B-I-L to be and his “posse,” who kept leaving their bachelor party to come and stalk ours.

I remember doing tequila shots and drinking margaritas. I remember bits and pieces of Boogie Nights and getting irritated at all the interruptions, because silly me, I didn’t get the memo that movies weren’t for watching, they were just for background noise and for killing time between Attacks of the Boys. I remember that I saw Evil Dead 2 for the first time that night, and everybody actually settled down for it so that I could pay attention, and that it was a freaking revelation.

Mostly, I remember all the smoking. L’il Sis and all her friends smoked. I didn’t. I couldn’t really do anything about it, since it was her place, other than keep going outside for breathing breaks. I also recall discovering that 19 year olds have very different energy levels from 27 year olds, and that I did actually hope to get some slumber at some point that night. I remember being curled up for an hour in a recl