Wedding boot camp

So tonight Rachel and I went to pick out tuxedos for the wedding. Was actually pretty painless. We kind of knew what we wanted going in, which made it easier. We decided against selecting different tuxes or making color changes between my tux and the groomsmens tuxes, or the ushers or our fathers. It just gets too complicated if everyone needs something different. Plus, I don't really feel the need to stand out from them any more than I already am. I mean, I'm 6'2, my bride-to-be is 5'1" and the priest marrying us is about 5'5. I think I'm going to stick out enough. Basically it's going to look like Chewbacca marrying R2-D2 and having one of those wookie things as our priest.


At one point the girl working at Mr. Formal asked how Rachel and I met. That question still bothers me. We used the ol' "it's a very long story" excuse. She wasn't buying it. She seemed almost pissed off that we didn't want to tell her. (For those of you who don't know how we met, I'd be happy to tell you somewhere a little more private than the WORLD Wide Web. I don't mind if my friends know, but people I don't know still look at me a little weird when I tell them.)

Then little miss full of questions asked if I wanted to get fitted. That's when it hit me.....I've got to wear a tux in a little over 5 months and I still look like a hippo when I get in the bathtub. *DISCLAIMER* I don't really take baths that often, but a hippo in the shower makes much less sense. So now I have to really be serious about working out and eating healthy. So I am asking all of you to help. Be an asshole if you have to, but don't let me eat a whole bag of potato chips in one sitting. If we're eating out....make some comment about how I should get a salad. If I'm playing X-box, pull the plug and throw a pair of tennis shoes at me. Actually, make sure I'm not winning my game before you pull the plug. If I'm winning, I promise I'll go as soon as the game's over. For me to be at my best come July 7th, I need you all to be at your worst up until them. Call me fatty.....I can take it.

Back in the winter of 1978, a farmer named Dale and a former college cheerleader named Louise got busy and nine months later, out popped a beautiful baby boy they named Andrew. On the outside he seemed perfect. And he almost was. But there was one fatal flaw......motivation was a recessive trait in both Dale and Louise, so little 'Roo was born without the motivation gene. I seriously lack it. Hence the seven plus years it took me to get a four year degree. So beat me if you have to. Put a padlock on my fridge. It's for my own good and I know it.

And yes, 'Roo was a Winnie the Pooh reference. I called my mom Kanga I was so into it. I was a very awkward little kid.