The new baby

So it's official. A. and I are now really, truly, officially, totally married.

We were married October 31, 2007 in a Las Vegas quickie wedding, after I had waddled my 5.5 month pregnant ass around Vegas to get to the license bureau and then threw up in the license bureau bathroom (pregnancy-related, not nerves). We were really married when I gave birth to our daughter, whom we had created while consumating our relationship (for the umphundredth time). We were reeeaaally married when we bought a couch together. But now it's official:



Meet our new baby. We bought a car together.

Yes, as of today, A. and I are the proud owners of a 2002 Jeep Liberty. She's beautiful. And I feel hot as hell driving it. Which really is the most important thing. Gas guzzling be damned -- I'm sexy in my Liberty.

It was a day I never thought I'd ever see. After the worst winter ever, when both of our cars took a shit on us, my grandmother gave me her car to get us through the winter, fighting with the Lumina every other week, and getting A. to finally admit that his Honda Prelude is NOT family friendly... followed by months of us fighting and arguing over what kind of vehicle to get.... it's here. It's in the driveway. It's mine and he can't take it away from me, namely because my name is on the title, too.

First, A. saw the car at a dealership. Talked to the dealer (I was not around for this), liked what he was hearing. Told me to go test drive it, which I did the next day. I fell in love instantly. Then I told A. as much, at which point he rambled on for awhile about the impracticality of it, and how it's a gas guzzler and.... who cares, all I heard was "Blah blah blah, I don't love you and you can never have a car you want, blah blah blah".

What ensued was a tantrum that would make even the most spoiled three-year-olds stop and marvel at the skill of my game. My tears are magical, ya'll. My bodily fluids in general are sheer magic. My breast milk makes a consistently 98th percentile baby, and my tears make a grown man buy me a car.

Don't think I am not without my match. After waiting 2 hours at the bank to get the car loan (after being told it would take 20-30 minutes), A. had the bank branch manager calming him down, offering him everything from water to her own private stash of Diet Pepsi to donuts from the Wells Fargo employee break room. I wasn't around to hear just how it reached the point of the bank manager groveling and offering donuts, but I don't doubt he was epic. Gotta love being married to an Irish man with an Irish temper.

But now it is mine. And I am content. The How2 has spoken.