My new wife has been gone this week on business, and I don't like it. Apparently, she doesn't either. The first thing she said to me Monday night was, "When I left, the dancing girls didn't jump out of our closet and throw themselves at you, did they?" I hesitated.
        "No, but Scarlett just left."
        "Johansson? That's impossible, because I had dinner with her."
        "She was probably pretty hungry."
        "Asinine."
        "Think so?"
        "Yes. And by 'inine' I mean 'hole.'"

I've always been an adept bachelor, on every front. In the process of acclimating to married life, however, I seem to've lost my ability to clean and cook. Like a domesticated pig released into the wild, it didn't take long for me to harden to a life of survival. However, I make a very bad pig, or a good one depending on the metaphor.

So I've resorted to speaking aloud to my imaginary friend Scarlett, who silently coaxes me through the day. "That red underwear can't be washed with those white t-shirts. You washed your own clothes for years before this. Remember your training." Despite the pinkness, I've done fairly well. With this help I've remembered to take my vitamins, shave, and buy additional smoke alarms, too.

"Don't open four quarts of green beans. Despite your craving, you can't eat that much."

"America's Funniest Home Videos will come on again tomorrow. You need to go to bed."

"Here, watch me pout needlessly."

Still miss my wife, though.

The only thing I regret about my wedding is the impromptu speech I made. I hadn't considered speaking, but as my dad addressed the crowd I thought, "Say. Maybe I should get up there and say something." That was my first mistake. The second was actually doing it. I promptly molested the microphone into making an ungodly squeal and at once knew the immensity of my mistake. "Drop the microphone, grab Lindsey, and run like heckfire" was my initial response. But as I looked into a crowd of half-strangers I realized that I had taken Oral Communications in both high school and college, so I was prepared. I mean, I was the weatherman for our school for a semester, what's a little wedding speech? It's my own wedding after all—it's OK.

So like the true lunkhead, I listened to myself and stayed up there. As I began and then actually continued speaking, I realized that this was my worst decision since I tried to set off two dozen bottle rockets with a joint at noon in the Stanly County Sheriff's Office with a bag of aborted fetuses in the other hand and two dead bald eagles stuffed into my illegal immigrant's gay son's husband's hooker.

I fought the urge to impale myself for about three minutes, said lots of stupid things, and finally sat down. It wasn't until two days later that I realized my biggest mistake. I mentioned lots of people, mainly members of Lindsey's family, and thanked them and everyone for coming, and some other boring things. In my stupidity, I forgot to thank my own family. Not only my mom, dad, and brother, but also all the other members who had sacrificed loads of leisure time in order to attend my wedding five hours from their homes. I immediately fell face first into the sand and began swallowing in hopes of happy death. Fortunately, Lindsey recognized the problem and scooped me back up, brushed me off, and explained that it was OK—that I was nervous, hadn't planned the darn thing, and that everyone realized it. My family knew that I greatly appreciated their being at my wedding, she said, and that I can always thank them when I get home.

Well, even though few of my family know my blog exists, or even know what a mouse is, I thought this would be a good time and place to thank them publicly. I might as well. To my cousins, Justin, Josh, Nathan, Eric, and David, thank you for being my groomsmen. You were some of my best friends growing up and you mean a lot to me. Thanks to aunts and uncles—James and Cynthia, Susan and her daughters, great-uncle James and his wife Myrtle, Bobby and Lisa—I thank you also for taking the time and effort to be there; it means a great deal to me. It wouldn't have been the same without you.

And before I forget, thanks to my dad, mom, and brother Carlyn. Dad, you taught me how to play chess at age two, encouraged me whenever possible, and instilled a set of values and a commitment to learning that haunts me to this day. I'll never forgive you for it. Mom, you're weird and we don't get along a whole lot, but I think that might be because we're too similar—our mutual love of decorative wooden utensils and romance novels has put us at odds for years. Maybe it will be different now that we're not competing for stomping ground. Carlyn, even though a huge ravine of nine years divided us, I think it also helped us to bond. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm amazingly immature. In any event, thanks for all those years of video games, fireworks in the kitchen, the countless games of basketball, and generally taking my abuse with good humor. I'm sorry that I'll probably die many years before you do.

I need to go finish our thank-you cards.

Friday nights at Brian & Lindsey's are going to be killer, I can tell.

A month has passed since Lindsey and I were married. It's been the time of our lives so far. There has been great fun, yet many tough times, too, as we adjust to a different way of life. I've learned a lot as we've moved into a house, dealt with jobs, signed contracts, and bought big things. The first is that a generalization has been proven in the fifty-seven boxes and bags Lindsey brought from Virginia with her.

1. Women have lots of things.

When I say things, I mean crap. I've tried to be nice about it, but most of it is just that. In going through her endless stuff, we've found ten beverage warmers. I'm no warm beverage expert, but I don't think even Santa Claus had that many. Right now they're all lined up on the mantle as a reminder to visitors that cups are important, easy storage can be a curse, and consumerism is all pink, warm, and healthy. After the cups were arranged on a table I had a fun time pretending to be Indiana Jones from the climatic scene of 'Last Crusade.' Yeah, I'm adorable with youth. Anyway, after I gave up finding anything resembling a whip, I stumbled over a box of shoes, stood up, and promptly fell into another. If Lindsey ran out of table tops when using those cups in college, she surely had no trouble decorating the rest of the dorm room with high heels, sneakers, and flip flops. After playing a virtual game of Tetris with the room, I gathered four boxes of shoes. These weren't little boxes. The smallest measured about 2'x2'x1'. But the volume isn't even the most disturbing thing. What caught my surprise is the fact that some of them are almost EXACTLY THE SAME. I counted six pairs of very similar brown shoes. Into the mix I brought three pairs of sneakers, two pairs of dress shoes, a pair of sandals, and flip flops. According to my calculator—and it's a good calculator—with the amount of shoes I own, I could only supply the feet needs of 1/7 of a girl.

2. Girls like girly things.

Here I am trying to compose a nice, modern, hip, intelligently arranged home when all sorts of fancy glassware, smelly candles, and cute kitchen novelties get in the way. I was assembling an entertainment center for the living room, and when I finished Lindsey handed me a pair of glass candle holders and said, "Put these in the bottom shelf." I know, I can't believe it either. I said, "That's where the Nintendo is going." Apparently, when you get married, even if you pay for something with your own money, and go to the store and buy it, and put it together, the other person still has a say in how it's used. I'm going to find a way to get rid of those glasses. "Oops! My fishing rod fell into the entertainment center."

3. Girls do not like gory movies.

All I was trying to do was watch Dawn of the Dead (you know, the new one that came out in early 2004—it's great; you should watch it). Five minutes into the movie a little girl zombie breaks into a house and rips out the throat of a lady's husband and proceeds to chase said lady around her bedroom. Nothing major, right? Lindsey freaks out and now she can't be alone in the house for the night, turning on every light and asking me to check behind the shower curtain. She's also now protesting scary movies, but I'll be darned if I give up Alien and Rosemary's Baby (or The Garbage Pail Kids Movie for that matter).

4. Nor do girls like violent video games.

I was playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas on my PlayStation 2 as Lindsey watched from the couch. After about five minutes she said, "Is there a point to this game?"

"Yes, but I'm just playing around, now." I was driving a fire truck through a crowd of beach-goers while helicopters and police cars assaulted me with their bumpers and bullets. Another couple of minutes passed before Lindsey spoke again. By then I was on a busy road, ramming my sports car into motorcycles.

"Why don't you like to just drive normally? Stay on your side and avoid smashing things and running over people?"

"That's the whole point," I said. "I can do that any time, but I can't go around like this in reality. It's fun to just cause havoc in this game. That's part of the appeal—I can break all rules of society with no consequence."

"I don't like to break rules."

5. They really do spend that much time in the bathroom.

I see the inside of a bathroom for probably twenty-five minutes of each day, including my shower, shave, and waste relief. However, when Lindsey goes into the bathroom to get ready in the mornings, I might as well go build a model plane. One time I was so bored for so long that I painted a side of the house. Eventually I made a game of it. I see how much of the house I can paint before she's done, and then next time try to break that record.

6. My wife thinks that I can fix anything simply because I'm a man.

I was an intellectual kid. I watched Sesame Street, read, made up imaginary worlds, and looked at squashed bugs in my microscope. I never learned how to build engines, weave shingles into a roof, or lay concrete. Still, Lindsey expects me to fix four-hundred-pound appliances with all the ease of looking at a butterfly. Apparently, working with electrical wiring is not very much different than plucking blades of grass, either.

7. Fishing always involves a headache, wet pants, and/or spilled tackle boxes.

Lindsey tries, I will give her credit. But there are lots of problems. For starters, if we're using live bait, I have to put it on the hook. I have to assure her that the worm doesn't feel anything and actually enjoys being torn into four or five pieces. When she catches a fish, I have to convince her that, just like worms, fish don't feel pain and like to have their mouths and eyes pierced. I think she finally saw through this pretense when she hooked a snapping turtle. I finally got the hook out of his mouth, and, since I'd had little fun until this point, I threw the turtle like a baseball—far, far out into the middle of the lake. By this point Lindsey had had enough emotional stress and finally released it with a lot of tears. "He's dead!" she moaned as he hit the water. In truth I reassured her that he wasn't dead, or even hurt, and that I wouldn't have done that if there was a chance he would've been. (The turtle is fine. He was there the next day.)

So, fishing with the wife is like fishing as two people because I do everything for both of us. Lindsey's mom is going to be disappointed when reading this (she's a good fisherman, for a girl). I have confidence, though, because she is learning. She asks lots of questions such as, "Which end of the stick do I hold?", "How many bobbers do I put on the string?", "I wonder what size rock I'm stuck on?", and my favorite, "Do you have any ChapStick in your tackle box thing?"

8. Super Soaker fights are not to be initiated indoors.

9. Whether traveling on interstates or winding through country roads, it is not OK to do so like a race car driver.

Again, I need to give Lindsey credit here. She can go pretty fast herself (about 15mph over the limit), but gets a little scared when I do (30mph or more over the limit). I try to convince her that I know how to drive, that people will get out of my way if I cross into their lane, especially if I have my lights on. She just doesn't understand how the road works.

10. It's not a good idea to take dozens of pictures of her just after waking. Especially not with the flash. And especially not before she's awake.

I've learned this the hard way, at least twice. Oh, and never, ever even go into the bathroom with a camera in your hand if she's on the toilet. No.

Now for the good news. I've made fun of Lindsey throughout this post, but to be truthful, she's very down to earth and understanding. For example, it's OK if I give her a gift wrapped in aluminum foil, and she doesn't get all that mad if I clean fish in the living room. She may be girly in a lot of ways, and that may limit the extremity of my male immaturity, but it's a good thing. I don't want She-Hulk asking for my comb to get wood shavings from her armpits. I like my cute, sweet Lindsey who's afraid to put worms on hooks and can't stand the sight of ugly feet. I love my little wimp.

Lindsey Proctor became Lindsey Hathcock on May 20, 2006. I'm still Brian Hathcock, unfortunately.

The wedding went by very quickly. I was nervous for none of it, which was surprising. I woke up that morning, got ready, and right away it seemed I was standing beside the minister watching my bride travel the isle. I repeated some things, lit a candle or something, and we were done. The reception had an even shorter lifespan, it seemed. We were introduced after a string of bridesmaids and groomsmen, ate, cake, done. The one constant was a Canon 20D in my face, which I quickly tired of. The photographer took so many pictures, that picture-taking is the main memory of the event. When I look at the pictures next week, all I'll be able to say for each is, "Hey, I remember posing for that picture."

OK, it wasn't that bad. It was a "very beautiful wedding," according to a buttload of women. It tasted good, I know that. There were shrimp, chocolate strawberries, and other "food" like that, but I had green beans and a pound of icing.

I think people had a good time. One thing I was disappointed about was the music. I spent at least a solid 20 hours working on gathering and arranging music for the reception. But a lot of it wasn't heard because the time ran short. I was aiming high, I guess, in assembling four hours of music. I danced, though, which I have never done in public. It was a big hit, I think. You might see a picture later on, but there is no video, thankfully.

As we exited the church, Lindsey and I grabbed handfuls of birdseed bundles to hurl at those assembled outside ready to pelt us. It was a spontaneous thing, and I think I hit someone in the face, which I didn't mind after the trouble I went to later in cleaning my car.

We left for Nags Head through a crowd of cheering people. Lindsey said the experience of driving away was surreal, and I guess I felt it a little, but for me it was pure excitement, relief, happiness.

Being completely alone for eight days of our honeymoon was wonderful. The house was great—far too large, but great. We spent lots of time on the beach, lounging in the house, and exploring the area.

We also saw some wonderful sunsets.

And sunrises.

After Nags Head we weren't ready to leave the ocean, so we made the long journey down to Myrtle Beach, SC. We stayed there another two days, hitting the hotspots we usually visit on our yearly summer trips there.

We reluctantly made our way home, dreading thank-you cards and work, but that dread was easily gulfed by our fun and anticipation. We stopped in Dillon, I bought a couple bags of fireworks, and we found our way to Albemarle in time to see X-Men 3 with Justin.

It's taken me a while to get this entry on the site because of married life business. There may be more pictures in a couple weeks, but I won't be writing much more about our wedding day. Friends and family, you can always read the wedding blog Lindsey and I kept from October 2005 until now, detailing some things about the wedding. There are a few more pictures here and those previous.

Life is fun right now. We have a lot of work ahead of us, but things will be great now that we don't have to worry about tuxedos or Jerry Falwell.

By now Lindsey and I are at Nags Head and we've been married for 24 hours. Praise God and thanks to everyone who made our wedding special. Yes, I'm writing this two months before yesterday even happened (starting to feel like Marty McFly here), but I know that even if aliens invade, gunmen arrive, or, God forbid, a dress strap breaks, it will have been a wonderful event simply because of what it is. Thank you, Proctors and everyone else in Poquoson, Yorktown, and the surrounding area who were involved, especially the members of Poquoson Baptist Church who welcomed me. I feel like I suddenly have a big new family. I've felt this way for nearly two years now, especially with Lindsey's immediately family. But now that it's official, well, it just feels great.

You've all been such a big help. Dee Forrest, Sylvia Wood, Sandra Lindell, Donny Goodrich, Bobbi Fordham, Pastor John, thank you for your cooperation and help. There were a few tough times, but we made it through.

Thank you, Kathy, for being a great mother-in-law. I don't know what's with all those rumors and jokes about mothers-in-law (Fred Flintstone just had a rare, unfortunate situation, apparently). You're great. That "in-law" part is negotiable.

Ashley, what can I say! You've always been very nice to me, right from the start. You're the closest thing I'll ever have to a real sister. Too bad I wasn't there to torture you as a child.

Bud, thank you for also being great. I remember when I first met you in KFC's parking lot in Albemarle. On that first day I could tell that you're a fantastic person and father. I look up to you, and not just because you're 6-foot-7.

I could never forget Gammy, who has become a grandmother to me. I lost both of my grandmas in 1994 and I've missed them a lot. You are a wonderful addition to my life and I love you, Gammy.

My biggest thanks goes, of course, to God. Without Him, Lindsey and I would never have met.

Lastly, but not quite least, Lindsey. Thank you for loving me and proving to me that there are some people out there worth risk; that things aren't as bad as all that; that I could find somebody worthy of love and who would echo it fully. You've loved me through all my bad times, when others would have left. You've helped me. You've probably saved my life, and only you can know what exactly I mean by that. To others wondering what that means and whether it's a cliché: it's closer to reality than rhetoric. Lindsey keeps me straight; "I walk the line." But enough with this talk! I love you, Lindsey. Let's start our life together.

It seems as though I've always had problems with organized religion, even when I was small. I remember when I was little thinking how strange it was that everybody came and did the same things over and over in all the same ways every single time. Not to mention how incredibly boring it was. And church didn't even seem to be about love; it was about going through a routine, not breaking from it to talk about things, dressing up in acceptable ways, giving money, and trying not to offend old people by speaking your mind or asking questions. Meet for an hour, do these things, leave. What if I have a problem? Will all these people even care? The only time these things seemed to disappear in the least was around Christmas, which probably added to the joy of it.

(That, of course, is not the case everywhere. Some churches are worthy, with sincere people.)

I'm talking about this because Lindsey and I just found out that we are not allowed to dance during the reception at her church. Here is what we were written:

While dancing in and of itself is fine - the venue where it takes place is an issue.

About 4 years ago a wedding reception was held here and there were just a few dances - daughter and dad - son and mom - and it caused major problems among the membership.

You guys want to do more than that which would cause greater issues.

While we do not want to be legalistic - because the reception is being held here at the church we cannot be a stumbling block [to] others in faith.

Short answer - there can be no dancing bacause [sic] of the venue - we do [not] feel it would be appropriate.

Instantaneous headache, right?

The elders of the church do not want us to dance because the church "cannot be a stumbling block to others in faith." If dancing causes a problem for people and their faith, then they have much larger personal issues to deal with. The apologetic first sentence is virtually meaningless because of what follows. Anyway, I understand and agree that raunchy hip swaying, jiggling and jiving are not quite appropriate for this—and that's not what we want; there will be no junk shaking—but not even allowing the bride and groom's first dance? That is ridiculous. Father-daughter, mother-son, and the bride and groom's first dance caused major problems among the membership? [Contemplative, perplexed pause] That's the sort of info that makes people wish to never even go to your church—if you can't use some sense, and you just continue to loyally stick to crazy certitudes. Insane. Inane. Laughable. I've seen so many problems within churches. The church I attended as a youth split because of the purchase of new hymnals. It also experienced the same stupid division over a choir director. Other churches divide because of similar things, things that aren't important enough to cause such problems. Explain to me what is wrong with the father-daughter dance. Lindsey is going to dance with her father during her wedding reception. Thirty years from now I want her to think back on that moment and be happy. I will not let you take that away because of some silly restrictions.

Needless to say, we're moving the reception. We will not be controlled in this idiotic way on our wedding day. I will not let this irrationality represent me to my family and others visiting the church. Our wedding and the party afterward will be how we want them. I can see it now. "Watch out fellow Christianites, they're slow dancing!" [Woman's scream] [Several faint] "Run!"

I kill me.

Don Corleone had it right when he said, "A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man." Although not exactly what I had in mind, the core principle is the same: family is one of the most important things in life. I love my [extended] family. Today we gathered at uncle James' house for fun and food. Josh, Jodi, Nathan, Jordan, Justin, Alexis, James, Cynthia, my parents, Cynthia's brother Ted and his family all piled in. Justin has bought Alexis a big trampoline, which is lined with a protective net to prevent clumsy boys like me from falling out. We flopped like manic fish for at least an hour, hitting and kicking a giant ball at each other. We were children tonight, and it was great.

I'm pleased that at twenty-four I still act like a child, or have the ability, anyway. I have lots of responsibilities, and even more now that I'm getting married. But I can still be silly and carefree. I see many, many adults who have let "the weight of the world" get to them. When one leaves childhood, he's a part of the "real world," and he sees things differently, usually without the curiosity and hope childhood allows. I'm going to do my best to hold on to that throughout my life. I think too many people lose it. (Let's see if I'm successful fifty years from now.)

Tonight was a reminder of that. It was probably the last time we'll have that sort of get-together before I'm married. I stopped looking at it that way, though. That makes it seem like something is ending and things will forever change, and that's not how it is. Things will still be the same, except that Lindsey will be a great addition, who will make things even better.

As I've written, midnight has come and gone, so 'today' has become yesterday. This is a special day, the day I first met Lindsey. We didn't officially start dating until the latter half of June, but I'm still reminded of her when May 7 comes. How would my life be different now if she hadn't bumped into me that day? A lot of people would say, "Oh man, I don't want to think about it." I do because it reminds me of how fortunate I am.

What a weekend. I spent who-knows-how-much on jewelry and various electronics. Seriously. Lindsey and I also went deep sea fishing before a meal in a you-can't-spend-less-than-$500-here restaurant overlooking the ocean. I have never touched so many diamonds or shook so many hands. What a world we live in.

Speaking of which, I bought a new camera. Finally. I have my new phone as well, so call me, everybody.

There are nineteen days between now and the wedding. I wish May 20 would get here; I'm tired of waiting. Everything is in place, as far as I'm concerned. Lindsey's mother seems a tad worried, but Lindsey tells me she would be no less worried if everything were perfectly tuned three years in advance with an infinite budget and a direct phone line to God. (I'm only kidding, of course. Kathy has been a huge help.) So, no worries! Everything is going to be fine and dandy. I need to arrange the music for the reception, finalize the vows, and maybe start work on the PowerPoint.

We are officially into "crunch time." This is it.

In four weeks I'll be a married man (that sounded terrible). This brings about all sorts of feelings, ranging from love to anger. On the love side, I have a reasonably nice girl whom I'm marrying, and who's bringing a great group of people into my life along with her. I'm also going to be out on my own, finally. As far as anger is involved, I guess the confines of tradition sort of piss me off when I think about them. I'm one for independence of thought and expression, so getting all dressed up and running through an acceptable routine is not my thing. I've coped with this by making the wedding how we want, and not worrying about how old people are going to react if something isn't the way it's "supposed to be." This is my wedding—if you don't like Judas Priest or despise tri-cornered hats, then just don't come.

Most emotions are found on the positive side of the spectrum, so everything is going to be just peachy. Both Lindsey and I admit, however, that the night of May 20, 2006, when we drive away from the church, will be one of the very best times of our lives. The stress will burst out of us, allowing us to deflate back to our plain ol' selves.

The funny thing is that I don't feel any different. I see this is a good thing, I reckon. I think it means that I've established who I am and accepted my place in life and who I want to be. Lindsey is a part of me now, and has been for a long time, so marriage is just the official human stamp. Our love was consented a long while back by a power greater than tradition, buildings, or people can match. I should write greeting cards or something.

Perhaps the strongest emotion right now is excitement. I'm ready, I'm moving forward, it's time. My life needed this change, and God knows it's time. I'm satisfied with my life. I've found a peace about things, and I'm ready to do whatever it is that I need to do with my life. In time I'll find out more specifically what that is. This marriage is one step in my life—a big step, of course—but one of many. It doesn't define me. I won't let anything define me accept myself and God. I've been blessed with a person to share everything. Some never have that, or think they do but discover otherwise. I love you, Lindsey.

On a lighter note, I need money. Send cash.

Lindsey and I are registered at Wal-Mart and Target. What else do you need, right? (Well, maybe Cracker Barrel gift cards.) I can view these online, and I check about once a week out of curiosity. It's exciting to see things "Fulfilled." Not because I want things, but because it shows that there actually are people out there who care about me (this is a delusion—they care about Lindsey).

My big question is, why hasn't anyone bought me that black 60GB iPod yet? Who needs forks and plates?

My dad and I were walking at Norwood's park yesterday for a little exercise and conversation. We walked three miles, most of which I thought about Lindsey and our wedding. Within our little park are usually several ducks and other birds. A kingfisher makes the park his home; he's always perched on a few select tree limbs and wires (I saw him swoop down to the water and snag a small fish today). I can't wait for Lindsey and I to have the ability to go walk there whenever we want.

A black car drove by the park covered in toilet paper and dragging cans. I hope they decorate my car like that. I can't wait to drive away with Lindsey.

As everyone surely knows, the best part of any wedding is the honeymoon. You get to drive away from a bunch of crying relatives after taking their gifts and cash; leave everyone else to clean up after your party; and begin your life anew with someone you (hopefully) love. (Don't worry Proctors, I love your daughter beyond words). Then, you're able to lock yourself in a house for several days and do God-knows-what.

I said house because Lindsey and I will be heading to Nags Head after we swap rings and giggle like idiots for 3 or 4 hours. It's the same house in which we stayed in October 2004 for a birthday-vacation, which you can read about here. This is exciting because:

1. We're staying in a very nice house not far from the water for free which usually rents for $1800 a week
2. It's a week before Memorial Day and schools aren't out yet, both of which, according to Lindsey, mean that there will be less people around (to report our God-knows-what to the police)
3. There is a hammock on the deck of the second floor
4. There's a second floor!
5. I've been wanting to go back to Nags Head ever since we went a year and a half ago
6. I've always been in love with beaches and the ocean, so I can't go there enough
7. Lindsey likes it. Maybe I should've put this a little higher on the list.

Gosh, does this bring back memories. Soon I'll have the link sidebar up and running again so I don't have to append them to entries like this.

The white house isn't going to work out. Simply stated, for what was to be given, too much was being asked. Besides, we'll probably want something up in the northern tip of the county so we don't have to drive 30 minutes to work and school.

Bambi II has been made. Unnecessary!

Lindsey bought her dress yesterday. I'm not allowed to see it or even hear about it. That's fine, because I want it to be a surprise anyway.

I hope it's white.

Lindsey and I had planned to be in Yorktown March 31-April 2. I learned shortly that Brian Regan is scheduled to perform in Norfolk that Friday night. I've mentioned Brian Regan a few times before, and he certainly deserves the credit. I guess I should include him in my personal agenda/wish list of things that should happen.

• Reformation of social structure
• Decrease personal and collective apathy while increasing understanding and empathy
• Religious tolerance all around, on every side
• Heal the bruises and patch the scrapes within our political bodies
• Get those thirdworlders some physiological and safety satisfaction¹
• For the kids: decrease high school dropout rates and drug & alcohol use; and make them know the extreme importance of education and cognitive/emotional development
• Convey the significance of history and the value it has for the present and future
• Destroy all McDonald's "restaurants" and anything similar
• Attend and redress the reputation of cats, especially in relation to dogs
• Spread the word about Brian Regan and increase his fan base, which should be larger than most other popular comedians performing today (if popularity is actually measured by the proper criterions)

I have opinions.

I have no idea what teams are playing in the Super Bowl, but I know about Bambi II. Surely I am a man's man. Whatever that means. You can't live around here without knowing that the Panthers aren't in it, though. I love college basketball, but I'm a pansy in the area of football—I know nothing. I always feel awkward when in a relative's house and a game is on television. "Go my favorite sports team, go! Yay! they scored a goal unit! Go squadron, do good! Beat the opponents...soundly!"

I know you want to click on one of those links.

Actually, the site doesn't do him justice. Listen to his CD or watch his DVD. Or heck, you can buy both together and save $3.95 off the standard price! I have not been paid to endorse Brian Regan. Brian Regan.

¹It must be odd to have the upper-middle 40% of the pyramid without the proper foundation.

²There was supposed to be a second; I don't know what happened.

I have been looking all over the balding countryside and even the areas of urban attempt for a house to rent. The first was the smaller end of a duplex, the connecting door of which wouldn't conceal my devil worship. Lindsey and I drove around to some other places after that. We happened upon a white house overlooking water with a large deck and a wall of windows. It was a place you might picture keeping me—something about it pulled on me, maybe its modesty. I peered into the living room, imagining sunny Saturday afternoons and crisp autumn nights. Family Fourth of July cookouts with stretched little girls planting their nostrils on the wooden railing, looking toward symmetrical splashes of color. Maybe the neighborhood dog, curious without a tail, will stop by and wait for an accident.

Yeah, my hopes are high, but probability isn't with me on this one. That's fine because I know we'll find a nice place. And nearly anywhere with a person you love is better than most places without them. I've been ready to move out of here for a while.

I mended my schedule, as I said I would. I'm now double majoring—History and Social Studies. The Social Studies major differs from History because it combines economics, geography, sociology, and psychology with the courses required for certification, in addition to history classes. I dropped an online course and Twentieth Century Europe, but I'll now also work on The Falcon's Eye, our school paper.

Lindsey and I are to look at a house in Oakboro this weekend. It's exciting to do things like this because it really hits me: in less than four months we'll be on our own. Our house, our payments, our silence, our unbroken times. It's going to be hard but good.

Until Lindsey's 'blog is running again, it is my duty to post whatever she tells me. And we're not even married, yet.

A decision has been made. 4 down, 1263 to go. This is the dress for the bridesmaids, but a different color will be used. They will probably be some other green. The featured lovelies are Laura (left) and Emily. (Click on the image for a larger picture). They've obviously seen the fires of Hell.

While I'm using my own voice again, let me say that exams are awesome, especially when you take three in a twelve-hour period.

By the way, we have also started a wedding journal. You know, for posterity.

I say official because we've known for a long time that we're going to marry. I just needed to abide by proper protocol and buy a diamond.

I'm so romantic, I know.

Lindsey and I are simple people. By that, I mean we're down-to-earth and desperately unadorned. We get our kicks by walking in the woods, waiting for falling stars, and rolling pennies when the pickle jar fills.

No, really.

Anyway, Dan Daniel park in Virginia is a place at which we've stopped several times during our travels. It's very quaint, and quite unpopulated just after sunup. I decided to ask her to marry me in a little spot beside the river where we once had a mini-picnic.

We left very early this morning just so we could be in the park when it opened. After walking around for a while, talking and remembering, we made it to our little spot. After some lovey-dovey talk I bent down and asked, after which she went nuts and said some things in a foreign language, which she later told me was freaked-out girl talk for "OHMYGOSHOFCOURSEYESILOVEYOU."

We will be married in Virginia on May 20, 2006. You can come as long as you bring an expensive gift or, preferably, cash.