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And they say romance is dead.

Joel has been traveling a lot this year.  Every other week or so, he's in California working on a huge project for work.  This will be going on until October, so we're halfway there!  It totally sucks, but it's good because it reminds me of how I used to live when I was single and so I appreciate having him around so much more.  It's also good because it gives me a lot of time to watch TV that Joel doesn't like to watch, like any of my favorite police procedurals and/or shows about psychics/mothers/elderly/crazy people who solve crime in their spare time.  (I didn't even need to use a rhyming dictionary for that, suckers.  I'm that good.)

We also get to talk on the phone a lot, which I love, but it is not my favorite thing to do.  I need to get one of those old fashioned handsets for my phone like my friend Rory has, because holding the little Razr next to my head is no good.  This is made worse by the fact that, for some reason I can't hear well enough out of my left ear, so I can't switch ears and my arm gets tired.  I refuse to get one of those bluetooth devices, though, because I swear they will be the downfall of mankind.  Everyone starts wearing them 24 hours a day and the next thing you know: cyborgs.  Mark my words, friends.

Anyway, last night we were on the phone and, as our conversations are wont to do, we started discussing poop.  I was complaining to Joel because we only have one bathroom here at work and people still poop here.  It drives me crazy!  And, Joel thinks I'm crazy because I refuse to poop when there's just one bathroom.  Instead, if I must, I go home and do it.  Yes, I go home during the day to use my own facilities.  What of it? 

So, during this conversation, my one true love says something so wonderful, that my heart just swelled with pride that this man was mine.  He said, "I was in the airport bathroom today and it stunk so bad that when I took a crap, it made it smell better."  Is that not the most awesome thing you've heard in your entire life?  Well, I thought so, and that's all that matters. 

And, that, my friends, is how I know I love this man.  Even though he didn't get my joke about stealing a Daikini baby, he makes jokes about poop, which was high on my list of things I want in husband.  We will be renting Willow, though, because that's just not acceptable. 

You had me at hobo.

I met my husband on match.com.  I had put my profile up 5 years before he wrote me, after breaking up with my boyfriend and finding it impossible to find anyone to date in Utah.  Honestly, I never really thought that anything would come of it because it seemed like everyone who wrote me had one fatal flaw: a raging case of the crazies.  Well, maybe not everyone, but I maintain that the majority had a subtle undercurrent of crazy.

I think I went on one date from match for the entire time I had the profile up.  If I remember correctly, he said that he was 6' tall, but when we met... well, he wasn’t.  He lied, which is understandable because he was basically a hobbit.  This wouldn’t be a deal-breaker if I were shorter, but I’m 5'9" and I need my man to have a couple of inches on me.  That’s just where I’m most comfortable.  Needless to say, that didn’t really work out and while it wasn’t horrible, it did kind of put me off the whole Internet dating thing.

During the intervening five years, I found that my profile on match was at least good for some entertainment in the form of e-mails from guys who (1) couldn’t spell, (2) couldn’t speak English, or (3) an amazing combination of the two.  And the pictures!  I never got the suave, beautiful, golden gods.  I got the short, the squat, the rotund, the uni-browed.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that I was too good for these guys!  Heavens no!  I’m not a troll, but I’m not really Miss America, either.  They just weren’t my bag physically and the addition of horrible grammar and/or lack of a basic grasp of the English language didn’t help.

This all changed, however, one fine late spring day in 2005.  When I checked my e-mail, I had mail from match.com telling me I had a message.  Upon opening said message, I was very pleasantly surprised to find that this guy could spell!  He could write so that I actually understood what he was saying!  So I click on the link to check out his profile.  I tell you guys right now, I just about hit the floor... it was my brother!  Just kidding!  I don’t have a brother!  HA!

Seriously, though, he was tall and cute and, physically, everything I liked in a guy.  I could kind of tell from his e-mail that I would probably like the rest of him, too, because he mentioned that he was in the process of buying a house and was currently living like a hobo under an overpass.  If you know me at all, you know that I am a big fan of all things hobo and hobo-related.  When I read that, I knew that we would have to meet.

On our first date we ate dinner at Blue Iguana, a wonderful Mexican restaurant here in the SLC, and then went back to my place to watch Team America: World Police.  Awesome, no?  Long story short, we met and we were pretty much together from that moment on.  It was so easy.  Any of the problems I had with other guys (like wondering when he’s going to call or wondering if he liked me as much as I liked him) I didn’t have with him.  It was always just easy and that was wonderful.

In about 2 weeks, we’ll have been married for a year and I thank God every day that Joel found me.  Our story isn’t filled with moments of spectacular drama, but that is something I’m really happy about.  What we have is simple and true and wonderful and I think that the quietness of our story is what will ensure that it never has an end.