It's like rai-ai-ain.

Dear sky,

I see that you plan on releasing water this coming Saturday. I also understand that I, as a simple human, am at your total mercy.

But I am going to take the role of humble supplicant, get on my knees, cup your chin with my palm and beg---please, please, PLEASE, if it must rain, will you end it around 3?

I'm not being greedy and asking that the rain cease all together. I'm going to aim for a more attainable goal and simple ask that it end by the late afternoon. Please.

My mother once pointed out that every significant event in my life is accompanied by rain. And I hoped that my wedding day would be different.

It hasn't rained on this date in Dallas in over ten years. I've checked. And now the weather readers say it's going to.

So please, prove my mother wrong. Let me have an open sky. Just for an hour.

Please.

This is an equal opportunity blog.

I was just using my handy phone to search for a nearby ATM when I noticed the small text on my bank's app.

"[Bank name] is an equal opportunity lender..."

I can't help but laugh a little. I mean, I'm glad my bank isn't racist. But I just think it's odd that banks (and all employers, for that matter) have to shout out, "Hey, we're not racist and discriminatory and you don't have to be a rich white dude with a mustache to work/shop/come here!"

At least I know that if I want my black friend or my brown friend or my yellow friend to come to the bank with me, they won't be sent outside.

Geez, but after really thinking about this---I guess if banks have to proclaim their equal-opportunityship, then the situation isn't funny. It's sad. It's like we expect every company out there to be full of racist asses.

Isn't it 2010?

One plus one equals two. And it'll stay that way.

One odd thing I've encountered since being engaged is the topic of divorce.

Or perhaps I shall call it the comedic subject of divorce. Because since announcing my plans to legally fuse my life with another human, people like to jest about their past separations.

"Oh, you'll love getting married. I loved it so much, I did it three times!"

"Oh, honey, you don't want advice from me. I'm working on divorce number three!"

"It's even better the second time. You get to finish your china pattern!"

No lie, I've heard all of these. Some of them numerous times.

And at the risk of sounding a little offended on purpose, I'm offended. It just seems a little crass to so casually joke about divorce when I'm not even wearing my wedding band yet.

Not that everyone has to do cartwheels when I announce my marriage plans. But in the very least, just don't mention divorce. I get it---people joke about divorce as a coping mechanism. But it's not funny. Especially to a bride. Especially to a bride whose childhood was shaped by divorce.

Yes, tons of marriages never see it through 'til death. Statistics are not in my favor. And divorces aren't as taboo as they used to be. 

But do you know what? We don't care. We're in this thing until the end because we promised each other. And we're both committed and in love and we have good people supporting us from all sides. And we're not entering this union lightly.

And next time some snarky bitch jokes about divorce when she sees my ring, I'm just going to have to tell her, "It's too bad you didn't get Craig first."

Having allergies is stupid.

It snowed in Dallas. But it wasn't Dallas snow, which will come in the middle of the night and frost everything and then melt throughout the day.

Oh no. It wasn't a Dallas snow at all. It was real snow. It snowed for hours. I know, for I was glued to the window/door/TV watching massive flakes flip and flutter down to earth.

For this native Dallasite who had NEVER seen snow fall before (like I said, it always comes at night and melts), it was the most epic thing that's ever happened (next to being in love).

I frolicked. Cooter and I made snow angels. We got into a snowball fight. We performed plastic surgeries on various snowmen around our neighborhood (and not Dallas snowmen made from the muddy ice collected off of car bumpers, but real snowmen!). And we even ate snow! It was the coolest thing ever.

Then the allergies started to kick in. I'm not sure how. I'm not sure why. But two days after the snow fell, most of the people I know got pillaged by their own bodies' inability to push out ... pollen, perhaps?

I still feel like I have water in my head. Chewing is abnormally loud and echoey. And if I talk, it rattles the mucous from its various homes in my sinuses and clogs up my through mid-word.

Lovely, right?

But for snow, it was worth it. I'll chew antihistamines for a week if it'll bring more snow.

I'm so tired.

First thing's first. If you got the Beatles reference, kudos.

I'm very tired lately. I'm tired in that I-can't-process-information way. In the I-have-no-attention-span way. In the I-can't-classify-sounds type of tired. (In fact, it took me a few times to remember how to spell "tired." I kept trying to stick a Y in there.)

It could be post-bachelorette-party-pre-wedding-itis. But I think it's more than that. I think it's because I've been getting up mega early everyday to go sit in a desk at 8:30.

I know, sarcastic boohoos from all around. Most people have to go to work early and I should just suck it up.

Well, I am sucking it up. But it's sucking me up.

Because I can't sleep at night. Waking up at seven would be easier if I could fall asleep before one. But I just can't. For some reason, the moon catalyzes my idea machine and I can't put it to rest as easily as most.

As a kid, my parents would tell me to just go to bed early. So I would. And then I'd lay there for hours frustrated. Counting sheep would only add to my aggravation because math is already hard for me--adding boredom just made it torture.

In my last two years of high school (for the most part) I managed to get my days to start at nine (my school began at 7:30 in the morning) with clever scheduling and the help of my journalism teacher. In college, I didn't attend any classes before 10. And it saved my ass.

As an adult, I've usually had pretty cool bosses who didn't mind that I rolled in after nine. Because I'd make up for it later when my brain was awake. But for the meantime, I'm sitting in an office at 8:30  in the morning. And I'm exhausted. Because my pillow wasn't soft enough until sometime around two last night.

It isn't the pillow's fault. It isn't my fault. I've just never been able to sleep early.

So here I ramble because the real work is hard to focus on. Maybe I should start drinking coffee.

Don't throw away that bra!

I saw this and thought that it was cool. Ladies (and perhaps the occasional fellow), take note.

Donate your old bras.

I am a warrior.

For some drunk reason, I signed up for Warrior Dash.

It's a 3.5ish mile run through the brambles of Forney, Texas, that's peppered with crazy obstacles like running over cars and swimming across a creek.

I've never entered a running thing before. Well, I was forced to walk a 5K for work once, but walking isn't the same as running.

But Warrior Dash seemed fun. You get muddy as hell and chug a beer when you're finished (because that's hydrating). Oh, and you get a viking helmet.

So the absurdity of the whole thing made me sign up. And now I'm having to train a bit so I don't look like a total jackass (not that you look particularly cool in a viking hat while racing through the trees).

But at least Dash is forcing me to run more. And that's good for my health and stuff. I've always wanted to be a good runner, but I've always sucked at it. But now I have my ugly finger shoes and the intriguing call of a Warrior Dash T-shirt to get my legs pumping.

And believe me, they're pumping. Pumping all the way to the finish line and a cold brewsky.

Insanity approaches.

Not long after hooking up with Cooter Brown, I posted a blog about my future bachelorette party. Aside from the fact that CB should have gone running upon this posting, things have changed.

Well, not much has changed. I plan on having a veil at my wedding (hey, weddings make even the tomboys act girly), but all of the other  fears remain. Those being phallic symbols aplenty, jeweled crowns, and getting mushroom stamped.

My final hoorah is this Saturday. And I'm completely in the dark about it. I know who's going to be there. And I know that ... well, that's all I know.

And that's how it should be. I'm actually pretty excited about being surprised. Let's just hope that surprise isn't in the form of a wang dangling in front of my nose.