That time I found out everyone I trust is a liar.

I have more online friends than "real life" friends. This is just a fact. When Peter left for his mission I was added into the "missionary girlfriend" community. I made close friends with girls in similar situations with me, and now about 98% of the people I'm close to are fellow former MGs. They helped me through the last time Peter and I were apart, and then this summer they helped me through our second big separation.

One of those friends contacted me in late June with a plan. She asked me if I could take off four days in August for a girls trip with her and two of my other close friends. I was THRILLED. I immediately texted my husband to tell him this was happening. He responded, so kindly, with a "I don't think we can afford that."

I was furious, and openly so. I told him I had been alone all summer, and if my friends wanted to get together with me, then I should be able to go. Forget money, even if I have to eat nothing the entire trip, I was going. He begrudgingly agreed and the conversation was dropped.

As the trip got closer, I became more defiant about it. I was almost certain that these three friends had taken pity on my husband-less self and planned this trip to give me company. I wasn't going to skip it. I was telling everyone about it, I was texting the three girls coming on the trip planning exactly how many times we would be going to McDonalds, and I had finally done my laundry so that I could actually wear underwear again.

I was leaving for my trip on Sunday August 14th. That Saturday night I picked up my friend Alaire from the airport, and she had spent the night. We went to church together, but left before 3rd hour as she was feeling unwell. When I get to my apartment door anytime I have been gone, I open it before removing my shoes so that my sweet Baymax can come running through the door and I can see his precious face. On this day, I did just that, but was surprised when there was a delay in the puppy's arrival. I called out to him and he appeared, but running from the left, not from the right where the living room is. This worried me greatly. What had he done in the bedroom?

As I looked to my left to investigate, my husband appeared from the bedroom. My first emotion was shock and fear. Why was there a man in my apartment, and why was he walking towards me? Second, I felt confusion. HOW was Peter there? Was he going back to DC to finish his internship? Realistically, the confusion stayed with me for probably the next two hours, and it began with some serious questions.

"I'M LITERALLY LEAVING TOWN TODAY," I told him, "Katie is coming in 3 HOURS and we're leaving!!"

"No, you're not," Peter laughed.

"No, I really am," I said, pointing to my wall calendar which I live and die by.

P: "Well, you're going, but you're going with me."

M: "I'm not doing anything with them?"

P: "No. Well, maybe later. But not now."

M: "Do they know this??"

and the whole rotten story came out. I was never going on a girls trip, it was Peter all along. Apparently Katie was a cover story for an early returning Peter, and he had booked us 4 days of hotel and activity in Salt Lake City. The flight information I had for two weeks away was a lie, and everyone I regularly interact with knew about it. More than that, everyone I regularly interact with had funded it. Katie had formed an online group of generous MG angels (and Peter) and had raised some money for us to go have wild raucous sex a delayed anniversary celebration together.

After this plan had been revealed to me, I came to realise that everyone knew about the lie that was my life. They listened to my countdowns knowing that I was wrong, they planned a girls trip with me knowing we wouldn't be going. If it wasn't for such a sweet cause, I'm sure I'd be furious.

So there's the tale for any one still wondering.

I am only here out of guilt.

Aloha you majestical tyrants of the world.

I am writing this beautiful blog post in my new apartment in *drum roll* Provo Utah! *horn goes wah wah waaaaahhhhhhhh*.
After a fanciful adventure across the east coast, Peter and I have settled into our home for the next five years while I complete my PhD. in Marriage and Family Therapy and he does his masters in Public Administration. We're very excited.

It's obviously been a long time since I blogged which is due to a variety of things: discouragement that I'm a terrible blogger, sadness over leaving Hawaii, busyness in adventuring, and then guilt for not knowing how to summate my life into a readable post. So know this. I am here out of guilt. LOVE ME FOR IT.

Immediately after leaving Hawaii we headed over to Pennsylvania to reunite with the Gregory clan in all its entirety. Here's a fun fact about my life: I married into a family quite different from my own. Even though my father and father-in-law are incredibly similar to each other, and my two mothers seem like they could be distant cousins in many ways, the actual families function like two very distinct and unique cultures.

My family is a fan of things happening when they happen. Sure, we will have a brief concept of a meet up, but plans are rarely meticulously sculpted before they happen. You come here, and I'll meet you there, and life will go as it goes. This is the Meservy way. Not so the Gregorys.

Upon arrival to the reunion each family was presented with a swag bag containing chocolates, T-shirts, and a bound itinerary. As it turns out, I don't have a photograph of this itinerary, nor do I still have it, because blasphemy. Obviously. But, every day was planned out and organised in each page. Each of the 34 family members had a bio, shower schedules were outlined, daily menus planned, and activities had a timetable.

We interrupt your previously scheduled blog post for a poorly placed flashback. 

PAUSE FOR FLASHBACK 

In 2011 when Peter went home to Seattle to prepare for his mission, I Skyped with him daily. Through these daily chats, I met his little sister Shanna. After he left for Japan, Shanna and I kept in touch, and through a series of strange decisions, I was invited to come to Seattle for Thanksgiving with the family.
Upon hearing that I flew out to meet my husband's family alone while he was on his mission and before we were even engaged most people say "Why?" To them I answer, "because I was insane."

The entire trip I received many texts from my sister and friends asking if I had broken the toilet yet, seeing as that was my biggest fear about the entire trip. I believe they were mocking me with their checkups, but honestly, who can blame me for being terrified?! Wouldn't that just be the worst impression to ever leave with the family of the boy you're in love with? Prior to my trip I spent hours talking with my therapist about my genuine terror of clogging the Gregory family toilet. Such a thing would have been especially terrible had Peter and I ended up breaking up and not being friends post mission.

Gregory family member: "Hey, Peter. Do you remember that one girl who was so in love with you that she came out to see us while you were on your mission?"

Peter: "Oh yeah... I remember her. She was fun."

GFM: "Yeah, she was... fun. Although she broke the toilet."

Peter: "She what?"

GFM: "We never told you that? Oh yeah. She went to the bathroom and then didn't come out for like an hour. We heard screams and water splashing, and when she finally came out she just begged us to forgive her. The toilet was totally busted."

Peter: "Busted how? Like, broken? or clogged?"

GFM: "Yes. Any way that a toilet can potentially be broken. The poop was everywhere, and the seat was just destroyed. We essentially had to completely redo the upstairs bathroom all because your girlfriend has toilet issues."

Peter: "Wow. Dodged a bullet there."

MY LIFE WOULD HAVE BEEN OVER FOREVER!

Anyway, luckily I didn't poop the entire weekend (just kidding, I'm pretty sure I had normal bowel movements (I know you were concerned)) and people loved me, and Peter and I later got all murried and stuff, so really this family reunion was amateur hour compared to my 2011 introduction.

Therefore, my nerves regarding this family get together had less about breaking toilets and more about whether I would go mad after a week and a half of close family time with the in-laws. Turns out, I will not go mad, and the Gregorys are a good clan to be a part of. I spent most of my time snuggling cute niblings and observing the adults interact, much like an anthropologist except I wasn't being mauled for touching the cubs. Here are my top five lessons learned about the Gregory folks.

1. If Fiddler on the Roof is playing, you sing along. It doesn't matter what time it is.
The earliest rendition of the musical I experienced was at 6:30am on a Thursday. I have high hopes that I will never hear Matchmaker this early again for as long as I live.

2. Dog piles are a constant presence.
I really have never witnessed as many dog piles in my life. Quick way to end one, is for me to get involved, seeing as I was new enough for people to still be furtive around me. First rule of dog piles: You must be a seasoned Gregory in order to participate.

3. Gregory women cluck like roosters/hens when they laugh together.
I can't believe I never audio recorded this phenomenon. I have only my own attempts to replicate it.

4. When playing a game, if you're not willing to lose all your friends, you're not playing hard enough.
Competition runs hard in the family. Don't start what you're not willing to give everything to finish.

5. Everyone yells. A lot.
This is something I assume most large families can relate to. With eight Gregory siblings, seven Gregory spouses, and several litters of Gregory spawn, voices get loud and stay that way. You must be heard to be part of the herd.

I am grateful to have married in to such a wonderful and loving family. Many people complain about their in-laws, but I'm blessed to have it pretty fantastic.

Boo, you horcrux

I have another illness. It's one that is ruining my voice and making me very sleepy but restless. Sick voices are pretty amusing, though, and so today's blog post is a video one. MY VERY FIRST VLOG, kinda sorta. Anyway, enjoy. We discuss horcruxes.

One score and three years ago.

My very first class of university was Acting I. It was a Wednesday, and class was brief as the teacher only went over our syllabus before dismissing us. I sat on the front row and attempted, but failed, to engage a conversation with anyone nearby. Acting was an awesome class for a Freshman in desperate need for friends *cough* me *cough*. While I didn't hang out with anyone from the class, I still felt like I belonged when I was there.

One day we played a storytelling game. A person would volunteer to tell a story while the class sat in a circle on the stage. Each time a new character or setting appeared in the story, students had to rush in to the circle to try and fill the roles. One story began, "once there was a beautiful fairy princess." Six or so girls surged forward, but were all beat out by a beaming boy with a head full of curls, who skipped around the circle fluttering his arms emphatically. 

"Wow." I thought to myself, while laughing hysterically, "that is one incredibly secure kid." 

Of course, that kid was Peter. 

Peter sat on the other side of the theatre from me each class period, but from my vantage point he always looked like someone who I wished I could be friends with. While we had never spoken, I was pretty sure we would get along and I wanted desperately to break the ice. One day before class he walked past me wearing a shirt I recognized from The Big Bang Theory, but didn't know what it represented. "Perfect!" I thought to myself, developing a cunning ruse, "I can ask him what the symbol means and also bond with him over good TV *maniac laugh*" 

"Hey!" I said, catching his attention. "That's Sheldon Cooper's shirt from the Big Bang Theory, what does it stand for?" 

To my surprise, I was met with a distainful look from this perpetually grinning boy, "uhhhh," he said, every word dripping with dislike, "this is the Green Lantern." 

"Oh," was my subdued response, but before I could try anything else, he had continued on past me. 

Thus ended my attempts to engage with Peter Gregory. We would run into each other on campus or the beach, and even spent time together in groups. Somewhere along the way Peter decided that he was passionately and madly in love with me and I fell in love with him too, so it all worked out. 

Tomorrow it's that silly little boy's 23rd birthday, so here, for you, are 10 things I love about Peter. 

(In no particular order) 

1. Peter pretends he knows what I'm talking about even when he doesn't. 

I don't do this as much as I used to, but as a Freshman I loved picking pretend fights. Peter knew this, and he engaged me in them. I would squint a certain way, or push him, and he would turn back, arms open and yell "WHAT?!" Or "DONT EVEN BRING THAT UP RIGHT NOW," or some other variation. Other times we would pretend to be able to read each others minds, even when we didn't know what the other person was even slightly alluding to. It made me feel like part of an exclusive club, and I adore that Peter would do that for me. 

2. He sleeps like a dancer. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen a human do while unconcious. 

3. He is passionate. Did you know that Peter taught a Lego class when he was a teenager? He legitimately got paid to teach kids how to do his hobby. What the heck. 

4. He raps and beatboxes in both English and Japanese. He has also told me, and I quote, "you don't understand, when I was a teenager I was the epitome of gangsterdom." 

5. He is an excellent cook. Without him I would starve. Without him I do starve, actually... 

6. He serves me. A couple weeks ago I came home from work with an agonizing migraine. Peter put me to bed, and then got me ready all while I lay there. He brushed my hair, dressed me, washed my face, and brought me my tooth brush and a bowl to spit into. That isn't a surprising thing, though. Peter is always looking for a way to care for me, and for anyone who he loves. 

7. His eyelashes are incredibly long and dark. It's revolting. 

8. We are equally yoked in how clean/messy we are. This is actually super important. Watch out for this when you're dating. It will save your marriage. 

9. He always smells fantastic. 

10. When he was a teenager he made a suit out of duct tape. 

There are a billion and one reasons why I adore my Peter. I hope if you meet him, you love him too. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART! 

Azterece

 This past Sunday morning I woke with a throbbing headache. Recently I have been getting frequent chronic headaches, and my doctor took pity and prescribed me drugs, HOLLA. I popped my pills, and went back to sleep. I was awoken abruptly at 1pm by someone pounding at my door. I ignored them, but then was forced to put on clothes and answer when the phantom knocker wouldn't leave and continued to pound. I opened the door to find Azriel Stinson stood on my stoop. He greeted me with, "Peter is worried because you haven't answered his texts all day."  

I felt mildly insulted by how little faith Peter has in my ability to adult in his absence, as Azriel was the second person to admit Peter had tasked with making sure I was fed and watered while he was gone. I did feel a bit better when Azriel showed me his texts and the conversation went:

Peter: I haven't heard from Melly all day, do you know if she is okay? 

Azriel: Want me to go over and check on her?

Peter: Yes please. Text me after. 

Azriel, Peter and I have a complex relationship. Almost 5 years after initially meeting in 2010, our relationships with one another are still well established, making both Peter and Azriel the longest, closest friendships I have had since I was about 13. Peter and I jokingly refer to Azriel as our "Plutonic Life Partner," which he agrees to, so long as the "plutonic" describes the relationship, not him as a person, because, as he puts it, "I am VERY sexual, thank you very much."  

Peter and Azriel met and started hanging out at the beginning of fall semester 2010, while I didn't meet Azriel until winter. Although we all hung out as a group, we each developed relationships indepedent of one another, especially the semester after Peter left Hawaii to prepare for his mission, as I then spent most of my free time with Azriel. I cared very deeply for Azriel, and saw him as a big brother, while I found myself falling in love with Peter. 

One day during spring term 2011 I told Azriel that I thought I was falling in love with Peter. To my surprise, he looked stricken. 

"Uhm, we should talk about that," he told me, as we both had to get to class at that moment (great time to get into a serious talk about love, I know.) 

Later he met me at my hale looking very somber. We sat on the couches and Azriel took my hands in his gently. 

"Melly," he started, "Peter isn't interested in you. He flirts with everyone. Really. Don't let yourself be strung on by him. I promise that it isn't worth it. He dates a bunch of girls, and he doesn't realize that he's leading them on, but he is. You're not special to him. I really think you need to move on." 

This speech was completely unexpected to me. I KNEW full well that Peter was over flirtatious, it had been a topic of great confusion when we first started hanging out as I honestly never knew what his intentions were. However, that had been cleared up, hadn't it?? Peter pretty obviously liked me. He had told me so! That being said, when your crush's BEST FRIEND who is also one of your closest friend and who you trust pretty completely to look out for your best interests is telling you your crush doesn't like you, that's a pretty big red flag. What would Azriel have to gain by SUCKING OUT MY SOUL AND CRUSHING MY DREAMS forever? Surely he would have some deep insight through his bro-ness with Peter on whether or not I was being "hearted" or not. 

I thanked Azriel and left to go to the beach, calling Peter on the phone as I went. 

"Do you even like me??" I demanded when he answered. 

"Uh...Yes..?" Peter said, mildly flirtatiously, like he wasn't quite sure if this was a new game of ours or not. 

"Oh really?!" I continued, with the kind of palpable sass and anger that 19 year old girls have aptly perfected and wield daily, "because YOUR BEST FRIEND just told me you're leading me on." 

I continued to rant at him while he denied all accusations of guilt and tried to soothe me. 

"i don't know why he would say that!" He told me, "I really don't. I'll talk to him." 

"Uh huh, sure," I said, before hanging up. 

The rest of the day I got several texts from Peter assuring me of how much he cared for me, and later, I learned, Azriel received a very stern lecture over Skype. 

I like to think about this story as a great indicator of how stellar Azriel has been to both me and Peter. The three of us still hang out, even now that Peter and I are old and boring and married and stuff. Azriel was there for me when I went through the temple, and there with us when we were sealed a month later. I know that he is there for Peter when I am away, and he's my replacement husband when Peter is gone. It works out. If you don't have an Azriel, I recommend you invest in one, they're a good thing to have. 

He's all about that Bass

Sometimes we overlook aspects of people we love because we do not want to acknowledge they are real. Even when the facts are blaringly obvious, we refuse to recognize what is staring us straight in the face, because we would rather live in our blissful ignorance than admit what is true. 

Peter has always been different. With his long lashes and aggressively blue eyes, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows and ability to cut his own hair, he stands out from others in a mildly feminine way. He dances more than he walks. He hums show tunes and 90s pop, and regularly compliments others on their appearance. He loves suspenders and writes eloquent poetry and prose. I've known him for almost 5 years now, and I have found that it is time for me to embrace his true identity. To face what it is that drives Peter's passions. 

Peter loves boybands.

He loves boybands fiercely. I tried to ignore what was in front of me, but after almost a year of marriage, I cannot. He religiously updates his Spotify playlists to finetune his listening tastes, tastes that are centered on the talents of young boys (who are actually several years older than us), and their harmonizing, lyricism, and beatboxing (at times). While N'Sync is his cherished favourite, Peter has a diverse palate for all things 90s-00s boybands. In fact, he has a very real dream to form a Japanese singing boyband of five white men, himself included. While he sings and dance, I look on and know that even though I never dreamed of marrying a boyband member, touring Japan while young girls scream at my husband sounds only mildly terrifying. 

Since embracing my husband's true identity, my life has only become better. We are both able to rejoice in our respective loves: Peter in his songs, and me in watching him dance like a goon while he sings his songs. As for the initial shock, I know I am coming back from this. I may not be the same person I was, my view is expanded, my perspective more broadened, and I now know what is important, and what isn’t. I don’t want any boys to grow up feeling they must hide who they are, mask their identity, and live in denial. It is okay, no, it is great, to love boybands. It is wonderful to enjoy the talents of Lance Bass and Nick Carter dancing and creating magic with their respective posse. If you know someone who is hiding their passion as though ashamed, I hope you will be there for them. Support them in being who they are. 

P.s. I'll send you a postcard when we're touring Asia. 

Our year in review

Here's the MeGregorvy's first ever Christmas card year update. Enjoy ;) 

January
Peter began his last calendar year of undergrad and received a promotion at work. I moved into a new apartment and began my new job at Bayada Habilitation, making sure I stood out to my employers by fainting on my first day and spending time in the ER (but still was always completely fine). Yay for low blood sugar!

February
Valentine's Day was full of bacon roses, giant balloons, snuggies, junk food, and Friends. In other words, Peter and I shared the perfect date.
February also brought with it an abundance of rainy Saturdays, challenging our creativity as a couple and introducing a plethora of rainy-day games. Peter danced with a pineapple on his head for my roommates. The things rain will make you do.

March
I went through the temple for the first time, something very sacred and reverent in our church, and made new covenants with the Lord. It was a difficult transition for me, but I felt very supported and loved by my friends and family.
Later in the month I discovered (and introduced everyone I knew to) the game 2048, which quickly led to a manic addiction. Peter lovingly supported me and didn't insist on an intervention. He is totes adorbs.

April
We got married!! On April 12th, the 3rd anniversary of our first kiss, Peter and I were sealed for time and all eternity in the Laie Hawaii temple. Our parents and my little-big sister were able to come celebrate with us.
We spent a wonderful week long honeymoon on the island of Kauai, and moved into our new apartment.
On the 24th Peter turned 22 and we sang Taylor Swift. Obviously. He received Lego sets from his parents and me, and built some amazing things. He has a gift for Lego creations. It's super neat.

May
At church, Peter was called to be a Sunday School teacher at church. His lessons were, and continue to be, energetic, spiritual, and always inclusive of at least one short joke.
I began a second job watching an adorable two year old named Nash. I also reentered the blogging sphere in the hopes to actualize one of my (very real but probably not at all realistic) dreams to be the author of a well read and loved blog.
We hosted our 1st annual (as a couple) Battle of Hogwarts party. We played Quidditch pong, made wands, and drank Butterbeer. The only setback was having close to no airflow in our tiny apartment, leading to some serious sweating on all of our behalves.

June
My brother and his family visited island to baptize our nephew Benny on Temple beach. We partied hard and hiked even harder, and it was wonderful to be with them again.
Peter reached his one year mark of being home from his mission in Japan and began his internship for a local politician as the assistant campaign manager. *Spoiler alert* the politician won his campaign cuz Peete's the bomb.
He also took the LSAT (and did awesome) which is a pretty massive thing.

July
Peter and I had our first political debate that did not include hurt feelings. We felt very proud of ourselves for becoming adults. Kind ones.
I knocked off an item on my bucket-list by starring in an infomercial! Our very own "House Spouse" included bad acting, a continuous voice over, and black and white editing, but unfortunately lacked giant red Xs and Muzak. Next time.

August
Peter was able to relieve some of his Japan withdrawals by finding us a Yaku Niku restaurant in Kaneohe. We have returned several times, and I have learned to surrender all of my ordering rights to Peter, seeing as what he orders is always the best at the table.

September
Peter officially entered into his last ever semester of his undergraduate career and we began our grad school applications, choosing Penn State, BYU, Seattle Pacific University (me), and Seattle University (Peter) to apply to.

October
Peter indulged my fantastic adoration for Halloween and October by watching Halloween movies with me all month. We endured our first weekend apart since his return in 2013 while he went to Seattle to be reunited with all of his siblings for his little sister Shanna's wedding. It was a wonderful occasion, but also a horribly difficult one for me to live through ;). Luckily, I had friends who texted me and hung out with me all weekend, so that I wouldn't have to be alone.
I took the GRE and did a lot better than I expected to.

November
For Thanksgiving I taught Peter how to make homemade pies, and Peter made a masterful spread for ourselves and Azriel, equating to about 5 pounds of food per person. The leftovers fed us far into December.
At church I was asked to join Peter as a teacher in Sunday School. We love being able to prepare lessons together and feel we are finding just one more way in which we are a superawesomeneat couple. No one is as cool or as humble as us.

December
Peter graduated Cum Lade with his bachelors of arts in Political Science. At the department graduation banquet, he was awarded with a Legal Studies certificate, BYU-Hawaii's first ever Emergency Management certificate, was one of the this years three distinguished graduates in Political Science, and was recognized as the department's distinguished graduate in Public Management. He is twenty times cooler than I ever was in school.
We moved into our new studio apartment, which is teeny tiny, but has its pluses. It's fun being someplace new.
Peter received his first acceptance to Law School at Seattle University with a $12,000 scholarship.

So, there you have it! Our entire year in one blogpost. Thank you for reading and showing us your love and support all year. We wish you a Melece Navidad, a Mele Kalikimaka, and a Melly Christmas! (Poor Peter doesn't have any festive nicknames.) I hope you have a wonderful holiday celebrated with those you love. 

How my anxiety found me a perfect husband

When I was a 4 year old, someone told me that you needed to get married to get into heaven. This did not sit well with me, even though I was still 14 years away from being a legal adult. I faced, what I think in retrospect, was my first large bout of anxiety. My therapist tells me that the basis of anxiety is fixating on something that is beyond what we need to currently be concerning ourselves with. The fact that 4 year old me spent hours crying about the prospect of marrying and being a mommy sounds like a textbook case for such a thing.

My mom would hold me as a cried and promise me that I didn't have to get married and I didn't have to be a mom. Instead, I could stay at home forever, and be her little girl.

This apprehension towards marriage is something that stuck with me my entire life. While others around me seemed eager to bind themselves to someone else for the rest of forever, I couldn't think of anything except how utterly terrible that would be.
This meant that when Peter came into my life and I started to love him, I felt incredibly repulsed by myself and the thoughts that I began to have that indicated that marriage could be anything besides a horrendous mess. I was certain that he would leave to go on a mission, and I would recover from my temporary insanity and move on with my life.

Unfortunately, I found this was a more difficult thing to happen than I expected. One night I called my mother distraught over my situation, hoping for some solace. I tried to express to her how badly I was transitioning to Peter being gone. Before I could get very far in my explaining, Mommifer asked excitedly,

"Oh, are you still in love with Peter??"
"What? No..." I said, before quickly bursting into hot and hysterical tears.
"Oh, Melece, I know you're so sad right now, but I could just turn cartwheels! I worried and worried that I would have to watch my youngest daughter live without love!"

And thus my mother became Peter's #1 wingman.

Even though I was coming to accept the fact that I loved Peter, I could never go for very long without thinking about all the terrible aspects of marriage. In fact I would only have small lapses of reason in which I thought marriage could be sufferable, these moments overrode by a massive fear and distaste by the institution.

Fears I had towards marriage:

1. I would get sick of my husband.

This was a serious fear founded in the reality of my past experiences. I had never had a close friend who I spent time with on a regular basis for much longer than a year span or so. There were several people in my life who had always been present in the background, and who I had known for many years, but any close knit relationships I had sought in the past, both romantic and otherwise, usually burned bright and passionately for a season and then ended in awkward avoidances and "we should definitely hang out"s, which as everyone knows is almost legally a phrase that translates to, "I recognize that we at one point knew each other, and I want to be polite, but I have no intentions of ever spending time alone with you ever." The polite response being "yes, we really should," which in itself means, "I am glad you also acknowledge that we will never interact by choice ever again."

2. My husband would get sick of me.

These two items seem simplistic and repetitive, but they fully encompass a world of marital problems. I saw spouses bringing lunches for each other at work, and in my head I thought, "UGH, it's like you're legally obligated to feed someone other than yourself!" a problem that fits nicely under list item #1. Other times I would consider, "men only want you for your body," which caters to the second category, under the assumption that I will someday grow wrinkled, lined, and flabby, preferably not by next week.

All the ugly things that I knew could come from close companionship alarmed me; I worried that when Peter came home we would quickly find that a love letter affair is much easier to uphold than a close up and personal one. Thus, we had a long engagement. In that time we fought some of our biggest fights, which led us both to realize that we can handle the biggest of the fights.

There is a phrase I once heard that warns "you need to love a person at their ugliest before you can truly love them at their most perfect." I knew I was ready to become a wife when marriage no longer seemed heinous. I found someone who was able to be my exception to my rules, not someone I was willing to bend my rules for.

Someday (probably next week) I'll write you a post telling stories exclusively about how my mother helped me realize that I could (and should) marry Peter. She had so many wise words to comfort me during that odd 2-3 year courtship/friendship, and she loved Peter deeply before they even met. She once told friends that she didn't worry about me marrying someone who was a stranger to her, because, "Peter makes Melece happy, so I know he is worth while."

Emojis, Peter, and me.

Today in church Peter started a conversation with me on my phone. Each new line represents us passing the phone.

Enjoy.

I was a normal child.

Marriage brings out a lot of secrets. You've bound your life to someone else's and, in spending so much time with this new human instalment, a lot of conversations happen.

If you're like me and you marry someone who you met as an adult, there is all of childhood and adolescence to discover and share. To me, this is a beneficial thing; although I share embarrassing facts of my past with him, Peter was never truly privy to personal crises I experienced as a youth.

For example, Peter did not witness the unfortunate year of my life which I spent as a Twihard (2007-2008, it was a dark time. I had just left my home town in England AND the Harry Potter series had ended. I think you can forgive me). Even though he now knows this terrible, dark secret, he can make fun of me based only on what I have told him, and thus what I myself am able to mock. I can confess that I printed off those really terrible Myspace style quotes all about Twilight, that I was involved in online groups where we tried to cast the Twilight movie (this was before such a thing existed), that I had not one, but two different Twilight hoodies that I wore regularly.

However,  if he was there witnessing it all, I don't know if our relationship would be able to exist.
Let's take a gander at the us in the parallel universe where Peter and I were friends as teens:

Peter: Heh heh heh heh. Remember when you used to compare everything in your life back to Twilight?

Melece: it was not that bad. I mean, yeah, I thought Edward was perfect, but-

P: I tried to ask you out, but you told me 'Real men SPARKLE,' and threw body glitter at me.

M:Yeah... that was... I thought I was funny. It was just a book.

P: No, I'm pretty sure you said that you would knew when you found "The One" when you woke up to find him standing watching you sleep.

M: I would never! I mean, well, maybe? I think I also experimented with hard drugs that year.

P: Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.

Thankfully, none of these things ever happened, and, thanks to extensive Facebook stalking on my part while Peter was in Japan, I know that he once harboured a crush on one of the Twilight characters, SO WE ALL HAVE FLAWS.

Still, thanks to my terrible habit of overindulging, Peter is often loaded with a plethora of blackmail worthy confessions from childhood.
One afternoon Peter was able to join me at my second job as a nanny to a 2 year old boy. The three of us were playing with Play-doh. As I loaded the classic Play-doh contraption where you push a lever and different shaped tubes of Doh comes out. This thing:

I think once you buy one jar of Play-doh, this materializes in one of your cupboards. 

The magical contraption loaded with fresh Doh, I pushed down on the handle and gleefully watched a star shaped strand emerge out of the bottom.

"You know," I tell Peter, "When I was little, I wished I had a giant version of the shape slide thing. You know this part?" I wave it at him, "That you put at the end." Peter looks at me inquisitively, but innocently, listening to my anecdote. I continue, "I wanted one I could attach to my bottom so that my poo would come out shaped." 

"What?" Peter chuckles almost breathlessly, like I have sat suddenly on his chest, "I don't- I, wow." He rubs both hands over his face.

"Oh," I say, now a little unsure of myself and this new confession which I had not thought would be two-handed-face-rubbing worthy, "Did you... not... ever want that?" 

"That is both the most amazing and disgusting thing I ever head in my life, Melly. I just, don't even know what emotion I should be feeling right now. Why did you want shaped poop?"   

"It seemed a worthwhile investment to me." 

"Wow." 

For the rest of the time that we spent with the Doh, Peter would exclaim, "shaped poop!" to himself, as though he just had never heard of anything that revolutionary or strange in his whole life. 

I'm still waiting for his childhood revelation that will make me guffaw. Mostly, I'm just in awe of how cool he was. Did you know that my husband once made a suit, tie, and vest combo out of duct tape? I married so out of my childhood league it is inspiring. 

Two sides.

Everyone knows that saying "there are two sides to every story." At least, most everybody in the English speaking world does. In my life I have also found that some of the best stories come from knowing the two separate sides and view points of one same event. I always find myself asking Peter's perspective on important milestones of our relationship together. I love hearing the other side of our first meeting, our first (and last) kiss before his mission, our wedding day etc. I probably always will.

One of my favourite two-side stories happened in March of 2011 when we were inseparable best friends. It was the Saturday afternoon on a long weekend. We had attempted (and been kicked off of) Haiku stairs that Thursday night/Friday morning, had a large birthday gathering at Waimea beach for our friend Brian's birthday, attended Azriel's mission call opening, and essentially just been going and going for two days on very little sleep. We were sat in our spot in my Hale's lounge (if you ever needed to find either of us, that spot was essentially a given for our whereabouts) doing homework. Actually, Peter was doing homework, I had placed my laptop on the desk and leaned my head against the back of the couch where we sat, claiming to just be "resting my eyes," but really was hoping I could sleep fast and deep before we had dinner. As I drifted off, my mind was in the scrabble of last minute thought dumping that occurs as you doze, you know, the floating extras of thoughts that dance rapidly around your brain, none of them very long lasting, and all of them fast appearing. One of these thoughts was Peter's name, probably because he was who was next to me, and I was indubitably, although I would deny it, falling in love with him.
Just as his name appeared in the forefront of my memory, Peter spoke to me. "Yes, darling?" He said, (I should have known we would get married, what 19 year old "platonic" best friends of opposite genders casually refer to each other as darling as often as we did?)
Startled, I jerked awake. I told him, "nothing," and got back to work.

As we walked to the cafeteria about half an hour later, I asked Peter about what had happened on the couch. I swear I had not spoken aloud, but as soon as I had thought the name "Peter," he had answered me. How could such a thing happen? Had I called his name? Had I reached forward without realizing it? Was he secretly a mind reader and had made his first slip up at protecting his superpower??

"Your name floated to my mind, and a second later you answered me. Did I say something out loud??" I asked him.
"You thought my name?" He questioned back? "Really?"
"Yes! And you answered!"
"Huh, interesting" he told me.

As it turns out, Peter doesn't have psychic powers. He told me we were sitting on the couch, me turned facing him as I tried to nap mostly upright, and he was working on a paper. As I drifted off I was silent, until suddenly and forcefully I called out "mmrrreeeggghhhh."
Think the sound a duck makes, but deep in the nasal canal and mixed with the sound one makes as they strive desperately to open a jar, or push out a stubborn bowel movement. Possibly both at the same time.
Surprised by this sudden and unattractive outburst by his seemingly sleeping companion, Peter answered warily, "uhhhhh, yes? Darling...?" Trepidatiously testing to see if I had suddenly had an aneurism or was possibly about to soil the couch we shared. Surprised I had woken up, and continued with my homework.

Peter found it so funny to know my side of the story that he enjoyed replicating my outburst every few hours for the rest of the day, claiming that was now his name. I mean, sure, every guy wants to know that when a girl thinks of him as she falls asleep she nasally replicates some sort of ugly bird mating call. Right? Right. 

The Poverty Games

**If you are a poor newly wed in the need of entertainment, or an intense fan of Petrelly (Petrece?) and want to emulate our lives through imitation, then this blog post is a How-To just for you!**

As Peter and I live on a tight budget we don't have a lot of store bought games in our home. Nevertheless, we are super creative people who can't be kept down by the man, so we play the games we don't have anyway. YOLO! Here are some of our favourites that you can play with only two players; perfect for date nights or for people who only have one friend, just like us.

Mancala:
Mancala is an African game of stones. That's what the internet tells me, anyway. Here are an outlined set of rules also found on the internet for those who have never played:

• Mancala is played with seven pits per player.
• Your pits are the 6 small pits on your side of the board, and the larger Kalaha pit on the right hand side.
• Each player starts the game by placing 4 stones into each of their 6 small pits.
• A turn consists of taking all the stones from one of your pits, and then dropping a stone into each successive pit in a counter-clockwise fashion
• If the final stone is placed in your Kalaha, then you get another turn.
• If the final stone ends in one of your empty pits while stones sit in the pit opposite then all of those stones are placed into your Kalaha.
• The winner is the person with the most stones in his Kalaha
• The game ends when all of a player's pits are empty. At that point, the other player places the remaining
  stones in her Kalaha.

We don't have a Mancala board, or rather, we DIDN'T have a Mancala board until last week when I made one out of an old egg carton and a bunch of tiny Legos. SUPER SIMPLE. I don't even think you need more guidance than that... Here's what our board looks like just incase. 

Stunning, right? Our big pits of points were just the carpet to the right of our sides.  

Battleship: 

I'm assuming everyone knows how to play Battleship. If you don't know, rules are here. To play Battleship at home without a board all you need is to draw two 10x10 grids on your individual paper - X axis 1-10, Y axis A-J - which you cunningly hide from your opponent to make sure they're not a cheater cheater pants on eater. Pencil in where your ships are on one of the grids, and then continue play as usual. This was one of Peter's and my go-to games to play when we were long distance, seeing as the boards don't need to interact at all. SCORE. 

The Floor is Lava: 

Again, a game that I assume and hope all of you know very well. This filled many of our Friday and Saturday nights when we were engaged because we had no friends and usually we had my house to ourselves as my roommates DID have friends. To play, rearrange the furniture in your home, or just in your immediate playing area, to create new obstacles for each round. Once you have your arena prepared, you then take turns assigning your opponent to retrieve or place an item at a certain spot in the area. You CANNOT TOUCH THE FLOOR, because it is lava, as the game name indicates. Peter and I usually ruled that you could not use the same route twice in one game because we're hardcore and essentially olympians, but do what you prefer. 

Checkers: 

Masking tape and small tokens of a uniformed colour (Legos, Bananagram tiles, pieces of paper etc.) create the perfect Checkers board. The last time we played we just used the tiles of the kitchen floor as squares and Bananagram tiles as checkers, one of us letter side up the other letter side down. Pretty much the easiest board ever, albeit a large one. 

Peter beats me at every game we play. It's practically spousal abuse. ;)

The Rainy Day Game: 

This game became to be and named because it was created on a particularly rainy weekend. We used Rook cards which have four colours (yellow, black, red, and green) and assigned a category to each colour. Yellow was Physical Challenge, green: Disney Quotes, red: Harry Potter Trivia, and black: Truth. When we recreated this game the weekend before our wedding with my sister Sharah we switched it up, adding the categories "take an embarrassing picture" and "spot the real trivia fact." The categories can really be whatever the heck you want, and you can use face cards too. Whatever ensures your figurative ship won't sink (get it? Whatever floats your boat?! bahahahahahahaha I am so funny to me).
In order to play, once you have decided your categories, you simply put the deck face down and take turns drawing a card, then completing the challenge attached. 

It's a really simple game. I feel like it doesn't sound simple... but it is. Here is some photographic evidence of how fun it is. 

Here we see Sharah completing "Take an Embarrassing Picture." The picture being her about to receive an intense swirly.

Physical challenge: with a pineapple on his head, Peter must dance and lip-sync to Best Years of Our Lives for my roommates

Poker: 

Granted, with poker you still need a deck of face cards, but chips are something you can improvise with. We generally use Uno cards divided into different colours and distributed as chips. Green = $1, Yellow = $5 Blue = $10 Red = $20. 

As you can probably tell, I'm running out of fun games that we play, especially ones that would be interesting to you. We also enjoy marathoning shows on Netflix, ordering Pizza, making forts, saying we are going to make a fort but then giving up before we start and watching Netflix instead, naked wrestling, shadow puppets on the ceiling above our bed, twerk-offs, gossiping, talking in weird voices, naked hugging, watching fantastic movies that are categorically awful, and planning our future as Rich People (it's capitalised because it's important). 

Marriage is the greatest thing I have ever done in my life. 

The alcohol juice

Life as an impoverished newly wed couple is really fun. Granted, I've never been a wealthy newly wed, so maybe life would be just as fun if we were rolling in money as it is now. However it may be, Peter and I have exciting adventures together in this life of limitations.

One of the fun adventures we encounter on a monthly basis is a local food bank we visit to receive free food. Volunteers gather together behind the Kahuku hospital every 4th Monday of the month to hand out free food to people in the community. To partake, you need only to show up with an ID and some sort of carrier to cart your spoils home. This food bank has been such a bounteous blessing in our lives; each time we attend, we come home loaded with enough food to sustain us for at least the next couple of weeks, sometimes longer. The fun part is that this food is coming by donation and is distributed to you via a conveyer belt of volunteers as you walk along with your boxes. It actually kind of feels like you're trick-or-treating in one long unbroken stream of houses that are really close together. Because you are not selecting your food, there is never any telling what you will receive.

It is this element of mystery which has made our experience with the food bank so very fun. On one occasion we received a "Humanitarian Daily Ration (Menu #4)" tightly sealed in inch thick plastic and stamped with the American flag, claiming to contain "one day's complete food requirement for one person." Where else in the world would we find such a gem?! It's still sealed and sits atop our refrigerator, but one of these days we are going to open it! Maybe we'll make a fort in our living room, turn off all the lights and eat it, flash lights in hands, while watching a Zombie movie. Maybe we will take it with us to church one day and use it as our snack, or take it to work for lunch. Whatever we do, and whenever we do eat it, it is going to be super exciting, and we will feel like Astronauts.

This last trip to the food bank provided us with four quarts of 100% Grapefruit Juice. It was a pretty yellow colour, which is always exciting because yellow is the fairest of all the colours, but as any of you who have tried to drink 100% grapefruit juice will know, it's a pretty little drink that likes to punish you sorely for attempting to quench it.

Not ones to succumb to the will of a juice, much less one we received for free, Peter and I opened a bottle once we got home, and poured ourselves glasses. As we drank, I was forcibly reminded of my high school days spent at bars with my friends, watching them do shots of pure tequila or vodka. I could never quite understand where the pleasure was, as all of them needed quite a bit of time spent psyching up to their task, then afterwards would pull faces that looked like they had just been sucker punched whilst trying to take a particularly vile and potent form of liquid medicine. Years later here I sat with my husband, both of us egging each other on to prove our genders' potency by taking shots of this juice.

In an attempt to make the drinking easier, I suggested we go to Foodland to purchase four more quarts of another juice and then mix the cumulative eight quarts together to dilute (and thwart) the grapefruit's power. Peter hypothesised that apple would be too light of a juice to do anything, so we instead chose a mighty opponent in the form of Pomegranate Berry Acai, and Pomegranate Cranberry.

As it turns out, when you mix together four quarts of 100% Grapefruit Juice with four quarts of Pomegranate Berry Acai and Cranberry, what you get is eight quarts of really potent juice that tastes mildly like stomach acid, but somehow grows on you the more you take tumbler sized shots of it. We've taken to calling it "The Alcohol Juice," and are actually finishing it up faster than I expected. We play our card games, and make the loser drink a glass of it, although usually we're so tired from our rapid fire attempt to annihilate the other, that the winner drinks as well. I find that I enjoy the juice a lot, so long as I continue to gulp at it from the bottle or glass, as soon as I stop is when the bitterness takes a vindictive dump on my tongue and laughs in my face.

Well, let it be said: I will probably never be an alcoholic.

Next food bank adventure... working out what to do with the six pounds of dried cranberries we have inherited.

House Spouse

Today while Peter was at work he popped up on Facebook chat. Facebook chat is a wonderful thing, I feel like it increases our communication 70%.  

MELECE:

what do you want to do for date night?

PETER:

What if we made a short film?

okay!

You wanna write a script?

ahhh! that's so much responsibility!

we need to come up with a topic first

Carina says that it should be a romantic comedy where you fall in love with me before finding out that I'm a half robot. (you hate robots)

I feel like we need something simpler.

yup. needs to be easy
Or we could do a commercial?

infomercial!

INFORMERCIAL

INFOMERCIAL!!

Kay. What will we infomercial?!
we need a brand new product

Hmmmm

Or an ordinary object that we find multiple new/better uses for

this is difficult!

Yup

SO MUCH PRESSURE

Haha, kay, just some ideas then

Product name: The house spouse!

Love it.

Chat Conversation End

I present to you: Our Date Night. 

Thank you to our photographer Riley Jane for her filming assistance!  

5 things ruined by marriage

Recently I've been thinking about how my life has changed over the past three months. Overall, I feel that the transition into marriage from engaged life was one so simple that sometimes I wonder if we're doing it wrong; maybe marriage isn't supposed to be this fun or easy. However, there are a few things that I have begun to notice that simply weren't in existence when I was still checking that "single" box on government forms.

And so, in no particular order, here are 5 Things Ruined By Marriage:

1. The capability to enjoy sleeping in bed alone.

Since getting hitched, I haven't exactly made it a secret how much of a struggle learning to sleep in a marital bed has been for me, but recently what has emerged as a brand new problem is sleeping in that same bed when it is no longer marital. Peter has now adopted my technique of picking up and taking the couch when the bedroom is too hot to bear and you need a new sleep location. The struggle is, I now cannot sleep without him next to me, and so find myself grabbing my pillow and blanket and camping out on the floor by the couch, creepily manipulating Peter's arm away from his body so I can hold his hand. Essentially, I now have no way of winning when it comes to sleeping at night. I either watch Peter sleep in bed (which is fantastic because he does the funniest things when he's sleeping. I want to film him but it's too dark, and I don't know if I'm ready for that level of creepiness yet), or sleep on the floor of our living room because I missed him and need him near me. THE STRUGGLE IS REAL.

2. Peace of mind in knowing I'm not THAT messy.

When you're living in a home with four other women, the never-ending supply of loose hair and hair-balls everywhere in the apartment (and seriously, I mean everywhere) is easily accounted for. Obviously, you have contributed to the mess of strands, but most of it was put there by others. Same thing goes for general mess in the communal living area. You can continue living your life with the knowledge that you are an essentially clean person, not ruining the lives of others with your hair or crumbs. When you're married you have no such luxury. Any hair that I find stuck to the wall, strangling Peter's Legos, or clinging to the bottom of our feet once belonged to me, and I alone am polluting our home with these overly attached pieces of reject body matter. It's enough to make anyone completely reevaluate their belief in themselves as basically decent humans.

3. Frivolous moments of monetary splurging.

Granted, I have never been one to binge shop or spend. I've always been pretty aware of what I need to survive and that there are certain needs that must be given priority and attention. That being said, I could pretty easily justify spending spare money on fast food, movies, e-books, beauty supplies etc. with very little buyers guilt to haunt me as I try to sleep at night. This is suddenly not true when you're aware that you have more than just your mouth to feed and that any monetary spending that you do will have a direct impact not just on you, but on your spouse as well. Sure I could survive on an eternal diet of Spam, rice, and Ramen as well as just skipping eatings if I need to, but CAN PETER?! The guilt alone of knowing you may be hurting your spouse and their future with any thing you spend at any time causes you to sincerely reconsider your needs and wants. Which perfectly segues me into my next luxury DESTROYED by my marriage.

4. Being the most important person in your world.

I don't think I am incredibly self-centered... but really, I am. We all are. What do you hear over and over when considering a difficult relationship with someone else? "First, look out for yourself. Is this good for you? Are you happy?" These questions are completely genuine and worthwhile; it is so important to make sure that your basic needs are met and that you are not stepping into emotionally self- mutilating territory. Yet now I find my own needs taking a back burner to Peter's. I have never cared about anyone's access to happiness as much as I do now. I want to find ways to make him happy and find ways to treat him. Your capability for guilt-free selfishness is wholly compromised when you're married. I still do have the ability to be the most important person in my world, and sometimes I am, but it no longer makes me feel very good. Luckily for me, my husband seems to feel the same way. Sometimes I find myself wishing we would fight more and have Realization of Personal Selfishness-Sessions less, because it doesn't feel very good at all when you're seeing how upset your husband is that he hasn't been able to provide for you the way he thinks he should. We both get embarrassingly weepy and snotty while whimpering in our strange baby talk voices,

"but, but, I just want YOU to be happy!"
"I AM happy!!! I want YOoOoOoU to be haaAAaaapee-eee *hiccups*"
"I am soo happy!"
"I want to make you happier!!"
"I want to make you even MORE happier!"

I could go on... but you really don't want me to.

5. Enjoying free time as an independent adult.

Separation anxiety is something most children overcome by the time they reach 6 to 7 years of age. I'm still waiting to find out at what age in marriage newly weds overcome the same thing. Even though I functioned perfectly fine in the two years that Peter was serving his mission in Japan, I now have a difficult time being physically estranged from my husband for more than a couple hours. At the end of each day we embrace like over emotional teenagers who think they're in love after the first week of high school, and if I wasn't so happy to see Peter I'd be incredibly grossed out and embarrassed by my behaviour.

If these things (The capability to enjoy sleeping in bed alone, peace of mind that you're not hideously messy, frivolous money splurges, being the most important person, and enjoying free time as an independent adult) matter to you a lot, ENJOY WHILE YOU CAN, BECAUSE THE MARRIAGE MONSTER IS COMING FOR THEIR SOULS. If not, then I guess you'll be fine, because beyond this, married life is pretty much the most fantastic thing since white bread.

It's you and me, Peege. Oh, and all these people lifting us up. 

Death and the DMV

Yesterday Peter and I took a trip to the DMV. It was unpleasant and inefficient as most trips to the DMV are, but we still had a good enough time because we were together. In fact, we had a conversation about our future funerals and dead bodies which was entertaining to the people next to us. I know, because they all made no effort to hide their laughter.

It begun when I commented that the Organ Donor posters that they have at the DMV are so forward. "Check the box. It's the right thing to do" is their slogan, and while I do agree with them, it still feels slightly alarming that someone is telling me so self-righteously (while I'm standing in line in Purgatory) that I should allow people to harvest my organs ASAP once I'm dead. Cool.

Me: I am torn between wanting to donate my organs, and wanting to donate my body to science. Do I save a couple people immediately? Or potentially save lots and lots of people in the long run?

Peter: That is a tricky situation.

Me: I'll probably just donate all the good stuff to people now, then donate my brain and bones and skin and what have you to science. You can keep my hair, though.

From here we discussed what our parents' wills say about their last wishes, which was interesting, because every one of the four has a different plan.

Me: Do you want to be buried? Or cremated?

Peter: Well, I think cremation is a lot cheaper...

Guy in line behind us: It is, by like, a couple thousand.

Me: Oh wow. But then, if you're cremated, there's no where for people to visit after you're dead.

Peter: I'll be dead. I won't care if they visit or not.

Me: But, they can't, you know, weep over your grave if you're cremated.

Peter: Let them weep in their own homes, it's much more comfortable for everyone.

Me: That's gracious of you.

Peter: Yeah, I don't care where people weep, just so long as they ARE weeping.

Me: I respect that. What do you want done with your ashes? Urns creep me out, I think I'd want to be scattered some where pretty. Then people can visit my scatter-place and possibly get me in their lungs. My last revenge.

Peter: Getting your ashes scattered is so cliché.

Me: It's not cliché! How is it cliché?? It's beautiful! It's like, I'm becoming one with the earth!

Peter: It is SO cliché.

Me: That is so rude! When I die I'm putting it in my will that my ashes are to be scattered as far away from my husband as possible because HE DOESN'T APPRECIATE MY DEATH WISHES.

Peter: I'll just have my ashes divided and put in like five different urns around the world so that you'll never avoid me no matter where you're scattered.

Me: What?! That's crazy talk! If I want to be scattered away from you I should be able to!

Peter: Nope. You will always be in scattering distance from my dead ashes.

Me: Gross. Then I'll have my ashes buried under the sea! Hah. There. Ooh, or you know what? Better yet, I'll have a Viking funeral! Send my body off in a burning boat into a lake. That's not cliché. I'd have the coolest funeral of anyone!

Peter: Okay, would you like me to fire a burning arrow into your body from the shore?

Me: Honestly, I'm imagining you as 80 years old with shaky hands, and you've never really used a bow and arrow, so definitely not. You'd probably kill one of the people at the funeral instead.

Peter: Wow. Thanks. I actually have used a bow and arrow.

Me: You can do a flaming Nerf gun bullet!

Peter: I'm imagining that backfiring big time. I'm trying to load up the bullet, and it just destroys the gun making it explode in my face.

Me: Hehehehehehehe

Peter: Glad my death-by-Nerf-gun at your funeral amuses you. Well, if you're going to have a Viking funeral, I think I'll have an Egyptian funeral. You have to build me a-

Me: I am NOT building you a pyramid. If cemetery plots are out of our budget I DEFINITELY think pyramids are as well.

Peter: You could just dig a cave into the side of a mountain. I'd settle for that.

Me: You know that if you're having an Egyptian funeral, that would mean that if I'm still alive-

Peter: You'd have to be buried with me. Exactly. heh heh heh

Me: You are sick. I refuse. You can have a full sized Melece doll instead. Plus, if you have a pyramid you run the risk of being grave robbed.

Peter: *rolling his eyes aggressively* that's why you have GUARDS hired to protect my burial site. Gosh.

Me: and I'M too cliché.

At this point the line moved forward and we moved on to other exciting conversation. Right now Peter is sitting next to me, (I needed to have him clarify that our conversation was accurate). He wants you all to know that when we first entered the line, we placed bets on what time it would be when we reached the front of it and he was right exactly to the minute. It really was pretty exciting.

YAY PETER

Not pictured: Peter in flames on the shore with the remains of a Nerf-gun.

The origins of a household psychopath

This past Sunday, Peter and I were lounging on our mattress (which we had moved into the living room area for a fun weekend adventure) doing very little. I was feeling bored and desperate for my husband's attention that he seemed very unwilling to offer me. As I lounged, I rolled and sang a song, which I can't remember now, but probably was just the words, "play with me, play with me" sung over and over to a classic children's song tune. Evidently, this strategic play which never worked on my siblings in the past, is still one that I cling to, because I am a creature of learning.
Turning from the show on his laptop Peter surveyed me calmly, clearly unmoved by plight.

"Chip?" he offers, holding out the bowl he has been snacking from. Excited by this friendly interaction from my loving husband, I agree, and reach my hand up to partake of the snack. From where I am sitting I can't see what is in the bowl, but I grope blindly with the faith and trust I have in my kind husband motivating me, only to learn that he has no qualms against calmly watching me dip my hand into queso.

"What the crap??" I scream, "What was that? You just watched me reach for dip!"
"Yes," he responds, still devoid of emotion and empathy, turning back to his show, "yes, I did."

Another dirty rotten trick of Peter has been to frequently hide the toothpaste from me. Seeing as he tries to spend a lot of time on my mouth, you'd think that he'd want me to know where the mouth-hygiene products are at every moment, yet each morning and every night I seem to be searching, dry toothbrush in mouth, for this elusive little tube.
Finally, yesterday morning I confronted him about it.

"Why do you always insist on hiding the toothpaste from me??" I demand.
"What are you talking about? It's always right here, on the shelf!" he says, picking up the tube from HIS shelf of personal toiletries.
"Just last night it was hidden under something on the kitchen table!" I yell, wandering into the bedroom to find clothes for the day.
"Oh. I'm sorry," he calls after me.
"Eez okay," I soften, "I know you don't mean to hide eet."
"No," he says, poking his head into the bedroom, "I'm sorry you found it. I'll do better next time."
*Melece issues angry animal noise while shaking fist* "Peeeeettterrrrrr!!!"

Last night, thanks to Peter's internship as an Assistant Campaign Manager to a local politician, (yes, he's political, so really these signs of psychopathology should be unshocking to me), we were treated to a wonderful dinner at Waimea Valley at the "Hawaiian Republican Party Party." Wahoo! Free food for me! A sneaky Democrat behind "enemy lines"!! (heeehee, I'm teasing, there is no enemy... EXCEPT SARAH PALIN (again, I'm joking), heehee) It was a fantastic evening, and I had so much fun feeling fancy and loving my husband, and eating FREE food. Then we returned home and begun our evening duties to prepare for bed.

I open the cabinet above the sink to retrieve my toothbrush and find both Peter's toothbrush and the toothpaste gone.
"Peeetttteeerrrrrr" I call, coming out from the bathroom to find him giggling with toothbrush in mouth and toothpaste in hand, waiting for me.
"Give. Me. The toothpaste," I say firmly.
"No!" he yells, before taking off for the couch where he jumps up on to the arm and holds the toothpaste up against the ceiling. "You can't reach it!!!"
"YOU THINK GUM DISEASE IS A GAME, GREGORY?!" I scream, climbing on the couch, only to have him jump off and begin to run around the apartment.

My husband is faster than me, smaller than me, and better at hiding than me, so within a couple minutes I'm tired and confused to how I cannot find him in an apartment that is essentially only one room. Then he emerges, smiling but sans toothpaste.
"I hid it!" he tells me proudly, continuing to brush his teeth.

At this point, I am tired and I am rapidly realizing that I will never win. Throwing what small remnants of dignity I had away, I advance on Peter.
"I don't have it!" he says, laughing, yet still backing up against the wall in fear, "you have to find it!"
"No. I don't." I say, and in one quick movement I yank the toothbrush out of his mouth and place it in my own.

Suddenly, this game isn't funny to Peter anymore, but disgusting, and he follows me saying, "no! Wait! It's right here, I'll show you! Just give me my toothbrush back!"
"I will give you this toothbrush when I have the toothpaste in my hand," I say, but not very distinctly, because, you know, I'm brushing my teeth with his toothbrush and all.

The moral of the story, Peter may be trying to be a psychopath, but I have very little fear of germs and grossness. Next time he offers me a bowl of queso, I'm smearing it on his face.