When I first met the Beagle, we talked a lot about music, and I admitted my draw to Gwar -- except that I kept calling them "Thor". Now Beagle is extremely musically inclined and when he admitted that he had never heard of "Thor" I was shocked. When I finally described them as "the band with the monsters" he set me straight. To this day I have to think really hard to remember not to say Thor when the opportunity arises.

This story reminds me of another scary band. I was about four or five when Kiss was super-big. I seriously thought they were from outer space. The idea that these grown men were sporting major makeup didn't make any sense to me. They were monsters! And people loved them! One of them even looked like a beat-up feline. My fascination/fear grew, and I begged my Dad to find a picture of them. He picked up some heavy metal mag, and I remember pouring over it, thinking, "aren't monsters bad? did they come from another planet? who taught them how to play instruments? why are they angry? why do they wear spikes?" I became so entralled that I freaked myself out, giving myself monster band nightmares for years to come.

In other news, the kitch is in. Mission accomplished on the homefront tip and my fears of exploding tempers went unfounded. Not to get too dorky but new kitchen cabinets are uber super. And I joined the manual labor force by laying the stick-on stone tiles! I'm so happy I think I'll take another two Alleve. Meep!

However, I think he's mellowed out in the past couple of years. For example, Bark and I strapped a UHaul trailer onto his truck last year, loaded it with furniture and drove it from Philly. When we arrived in Chicago, the trailer had unhinged itself from the truck. So when the Beagle and Rich stepped into the UHaul, it tipped over, scraping and puncturing the flip-down door of his beloved F150. Twice. And he didn't flip out. Two martinis later we laughed about it, happy that it hadn't come undone on Lake Shore Drive. So if history is any guide, I will probably spend this weekend very nervous and very drunk, both waiting for a potential outburst and imbibing when it does.

Also, I just installed a guestmap, so maybe you can fill it out? Meep.

And now some good g'nus: The Beagle heard from his first law school. Yips! No decisions yet but he's excited. Could this spell a move back east? If it were up to our families and friends the moving trucks would be loading our stuff, but we're still playing the "wait and see" game.

However, I did learn about the phenomenon of the "Bridezilla". Apparently, Modern Bride writes, it's the monster created while planning your uber-ivory shindig. Well, I met Bridezilla's match: it's . . . Motherzilla of the Bride!! Unfortunately for me, it's me own mum! I will recount some of the ho ho ho funny events that led to my monster-mom's unmasking.

One. Classic passive aggressive. "I'm only going to say this once," Momzilla began. [This could mean a)I'm actually going to repeat this many times, many different ways or b)I'll say it once but inject it with so much guilt that you'll hear it repeatedly in your head.] Ok. "I really wish you'd get married in a church."

Two. Veils. I don't want to wear one. Momzilla reaction: "What do you mean you think veils are 'stupid'?"

Three. Limo. I am so not a limousine girl. But somehow transportation popped up. Me: "Limos are a waste of money." Momzilla: "Rrrrwwwaaaahhhhh!!!! You will be getting a limo." She sounded like she was talking through a voice modulator.

Granted, these are little things. And, from my bridal research, I've learned that picking your battles is necessary. So, if the mum really wants to pay for that stretch transportation nightmare, maybe I'll let her. Or maybe I'll keep up the constant questioning of these silly traditions just to hear that voice again.