Also, don’t forget to comment in order to be entered into the drawing for my super awesome giveaway.  Its totally better than socks.  Or a hat.  Or testicle warmers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hold that thought. I have to take a Xanax. BRB.

This weekend Ben and I went to a wedding.  A glorious, rainy, wonderful wedding.  You may remember the lovely couple from this post about how Ben is a jerk.  Here is a picture of them to jog your memory.  A warning?  They are overly adorable.

Back to the wedding.  It was positively lovely.  Except there was a hurricane.  That killed people.  Not people at the wedding though.  That would have been such a bummer.

The ceremony was a postcard.  This wedding was on the picturesque Maine coastline.  Gorgeous.  Rocky shoreline, silver grey water, lighthouse in the distance.  The ceremony ends, and the reception begins.  The reception was held in a tent directly next to the ceremony site, overlooking the water.  Obnoxiously perfect.  Until Mother Nature showed up.  That chick is such an asshole.

So the rain starts.  And then there is flooding.  And then the electricity in the tent goes out.  And then there is more flooding.

Side Note:  When I was a kid, I was petrified of flooding.  The whole Noah’s Ark thing?  Scared the shit out of me.  Living on a giant barge with lions and snakes and possums?  Worst childhood fear ever.  Aside from The Pants With Nobody Inside Them.  Was I the only kid that read this particuar Dr. Suess story?  Because that was fucked up.  There are these pants.  That I’m pretty sure are green.  And they’re ALIVE.  And they scare the piss out of everyone in this town, but in the end it turns out that they’re like nice.  Or something.  I’m not sure, the moral of the story was lost on me.  All I remember is the unbridled fear I felt whenever I saw green pants.  I was a weird kid. 

Okay, where was I?  The wedding.  So, it ended up being great.  The flooding subsided and the lights came back on.  Our friends looked so incredibly happy and in love.  There was lots of dancing and great music. 

And no one died.  That I know of.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure no one died.  And on that note, here’s a photo of me on my way to the wedding.  Notice how awesomely 80s my hair is?  What happened there?

And since that was scary, lets end on a better note with an adorable picture of Ben bowling at the rehearsal dinner.  Look how serious he is.  Don’t you just want to eat him up?

You know how a common fear may be something like, the fear of public speaking, or fear of dying, or fear heights?  Well, I actually have all of those too, but none of my more conventional fears are as intense as my WORST FEAR EVER.  So, what is it?  Throwing up.  Stop laughing.  Seriously, I live in constant fear that I could, at any moment, vomit.  Given the choice between vomiting and say, losing a limb, it would be a really tough call.

So, here’s a little story about something I did a few months ago.  I woke up in the morning, and I felt a little queasy.  I quickly panicked and began chugging Pepto Bismol (which I always keep on hand in case of vomiting emergencies).  I paced around my apartment, basically having a panic attack, wondering what to do.

Now, lets pause here.  I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “Bitch, relax.  Go lie down on the couch and just go to the bathroom if you have to throw up.  What’s your damage?”  To which I respond, “Dear, you can’t even begin to understand the extent of my damage.”  To me, vomiting?  It’s the first sign of the apocalypse.  Like when I get sick to my stomach, the world?  It. Is. Ending.  Back to my story.

So, yeah, panic, possible vomiting, apocalypse.  Solution?  I should drive to my doctor’s office in my pajamas and see how much I can scare the staff there.  Obviously!

And that’s exactly what I did.  I drove to my doctor’s office.  In my pajamas.  Hair, a total mess.  Crazed look in my eye.  I bust through the front doors into the waiting area and say, “Excuse me, miss?  Is it possible to see Dr. Thomas?  I don’t have an appointment, but I’m not feeling very well.”  Except it came out more like this, “BITCH, I NEED A DOCTOR!  STAT!”

Now, do I live in a fantasy world wherein my problems supersede those of the elderly patients already waiting to see the doctor?  No.  Do I live in a fantasy world were unicorns fly me to work and cupcakes tell me their innermost secrets?  Not anymore, they have medication for that.  What I’m saying is that, rationally, I knew I was being a complete and utter asshole demanding to see a doctor right that moment, but the animal part of my brain had taken over.  And the animal part of my brain is kind of an asshole apparently.

So, the alarmed receptionist calls a nurse to come out and get me.  The nurse looks incredibly concerned, and helps me to an examining room.  Finally!  Someone who understands what I’m going through here!  Then we have the following conversation:

Nurse:  How long have you been vomiting for?

Me:  I haven’t thrown up yet.

Nurse:  Oh, are you having diarrhea?

Me:  No, but I feel like I might throw up.

Nurse (now looking less sympathetic):  You *feel* like you *might* throw up?

Me: Yes.

Nurse:  Is there anything else?  Headache?  Sharp pains in your back or abdomen?

Me:  Hmmm, no.  But I definitely feel like I might throw up.

Nurse (totally unsympathetic at this point): The doctor will be in to see you shortly.

And then my doctor and I had a nice long talk about seeing my psychiatrist to adjust my meds.  The end.

New Hampshire enjoys about 3.2 miles of Atlantic coastline, and the area surrounding that coastline is known as the Seacoast.  I live in the Seacoast.  Why am I telling you this?  I have a point, I swear.

Up until a year and a half ago, I had always lived in Massachusetts.  In cities, in Massachusetts.  Cities, with things like subways and street lights.  The convenience was unbeatable.  

But now I live in New Hampshire, where I don’t pay taxes, and I buy my liquor from the state , and I don’t have to wear a motorcycle helmet should I choose not to.

Those were fun facts, right?  Let me share some more insights about New Hampshire living with you. 

1.)    Seriously, no sidewalks.  New Hampshire doesn’t even know what a pedestrian is, and it does not feel the need to accommodate them.

2.)    Sometimes I get up in the morning and go outside to get in my car, but my car is surrounded by turkeys.  Aggressive turkeys.

3.)    I drive down this one street regularly to get to the highway.  I often have to stop my car for chickens.  That are crossing the road.  To get to the other side.  Seriously.

4.)    In my town center?  A fruit and real estate store.  Fruit. And. Real. Estate.

5.)    There is this gas station in the western part of the state, where my in laws live, and you know what they sell?  Moose drooping earrings.  Jewelry made from moose shit.

6.)    Remember how I mentioned that I don’t pay taxes?  No state income tax, no sales tax?  Guess what that means?  No money for things like “plowing the highway.”  In the winter, its every man for himself.

7.)    In New Hampshire you can wear a gun strapped to your leg, outside of a presidential town hall meeting and that’s totally kosher. 

8.)    I have learned that “LIVE FREE OR DIE” is an appropriate response to any and all political discussions.  Gun control?  “LIVE FREE OR DIE!”  Universal healthcare?  “LIVE FREE OR DIE!”  Kittens for the homeless? “LIVE FREE OR DIE!”

9.)    I have also learned that “live free or die” is my most favorite thing to say.  Ever.   

In closing?  New Hampshire is awesome and you should live here.  We’ll be best friends.  It will be the balls.

P.S.  It turns out I actually didn’t have a point, but here’s a drawing instead.

You know who has taken over my site?  JOHN!!!  DUN, Dun, dun!  Actually, John’s not scary at all.  I’m just trying to create some drama.  Truth be told, John’s a doll.

Now you may be asking yourself, “Self, why is this mysterious John taking over Pilgrim Congress?  And is he as offensive as the wench that usually runs this piss poor excuse for a blog?”  Let me answer those questions for you, friend! 

1.)  John and I are both members of 20sband we are participating in a blog swap.  John will be doing a guest post here, and I will be doing a guest post over on his site.  Please come and check it out. 

2.)  John is not at all offensive.  He is quite a writer though.  Also, he’s knows a ton about baseball.  My husband was very impressed.

3.)  I am not a wench, I’m a vigorous milk maid strumpet.  Please address me properly from now on.  Thank you. 

Enough tomfoolery!  Lets get down to business!  I now present to you, John of College Grad Real World:

First of all, thanks to Jill for allowing me to write on the blog. I certainly don’t have her Paint skills – heck I don’t even have Paint since I switched to a Mac last week – and I’m not nearly as funny, but I hope this does the trick for a day. I thought since Jill was talking about relationships, I’d talk about mine!

I have to say, I have really brilliant timing. Like down-to-the-second unbelievably amazing timing. For instance, I went to graduate school last June a single, carefree guy. And for a year, it stayed that way. There was this one night in March when I started talking to a girl from the program that I’d never met. (Who ironically went to the same high school as my father – talk about small worlds.) Of course the conversation that night probably didn’t paint me in a particularly flattering light. Also, I ended up calling her “bouncy.” (Not like a tennis ball bouncy, I meant vivacious – I was just a little drunk.)

Well, talk about a rocky – you might even say, “bouncy” start. So in June – when we finally started hanging out and playing Taboo with friends – I didn’t have the nerve to act on it either. I took until after we’d graduated and until just 60 hours before she left for London for 10 weeks. Yup, that was the perfect moment I’d been waiting for.

The impetus, as much does in life, came from a joke. It was moving day for my friend to her new apartment. As we pushed the dolly down middle of the street I said, “It’s our last game night. My last chance to corrupt Laura.” It gave us both a good chuckle – but as they (It turns out “they” are pretty smart.) say, “Much truth is said in jest.” Of course, nothing actually happened that night – besides me actually getting up the nerve to at least flirt with the girl – I’m shy!

The next night, after watching “Princess Protection Program” – on DVR no less – it was 3 a.m. when, over lovely conversation and a bottle of white wine, I – said to myself “schedules be damned” and finally got up the nerve to kiss Laura. We went to see “The Proposal” on our one true “date,” spent Saturday night talking and then on Sunday she was on a plane to London.

Since then, this is nothing like I’ve ever experienced. The emails are like books and the conversations are always amusing. I’ve never been one to talk on the phone, but I find myself spending hours talking to her on Skype. (And wishing that the 9.6 million other people who are online would get off so the connection would be smoother.)

Now, I guess we’re still in the part of the “relationship” – for lack of a better term – that people write sonnets or ballads over. Still, I find myself wishing I had things like time off, or plane tickets to London. And I find myself counting down the days until Sept. 9. (Of course, I should probably be counting down until like Sept. 11th? 12th? There’s that time off problem again.)

I’m pretty sure my timing could’ve been better. But sometimes you just have to make the most of the moment.

If you enjoyed this, well I’m glad, but I can’t promise anything similar on my blog, College Grad Real World. It truly is a collection of whatever I’m thinking about at the moment. That said, I hope you’ll take a moment to stop by and check it out.

Thanks again.

-John