WaffelHausen Everywhere

7/19/99

I live in the South.

Those of you familiar with the South, or at least with Southern truck stops, probably recognize this:

These damn resaturants appear at EV-ery FUCK-ing freeway exit in the South. All over the place. I ate at one when I was, like, ten. Going to Florida as a child, I remember waking up, the van dark and quiet, and gazing out the window at the Scrabble-tile signs of Waffle Houses.

John’s theory is that Waffle House is run by the Klan. Totally un-PC, but hey, that’s my husband.* Many of the Waffle House signs have one or two burned-out letters, so they read WAFLE HOUSE or WAFFE HUSE. “Some kind of Klan Kode,” he says. I think he watches too much Jerry Springer.

After passing a few dozen WaffleHausen we’d begun to pronounce it with a V at the beginning. Vaffle House. Natural progression into “Die VaffelHaus.” Or VaffelHausen. (I don’t remember the German article rules.) And after 12 or so hours on the road, we’d developed the Waffle House Salute: basically it’s like the little heavy metal sign with the index finger and pinky finger raised, thumb pressing on the other two fingernails, but we wiggle the two raised fingers. And shout: “VaffelHaus!”

We even invented the Waffle House Game: when driving past an exit, try to be the first to spot the Waffle House. And execute the Waffle House Salute, of course.

Did I say husband? Oh, yeah. John and I were married on July 16th. At a tiny chapel on the main street of Gatlinburg, TN. I had a little bouquet, and our parents were there, and everything. Stilted, uncomfortable, but sweet. And now we’re married. John’s family seemed delighted. My family was about as happy as they ever get. (None of us are easily impressed.) Dinner with everyone, and it was over.

I really have trouble believing it. John’s ring is being sized now, so I’m the only one wearing a ring, and I feel damn weird, let me tell you. Married. I can still feel it, no matter what I’m doing. Just not used to it. We’ve both been stumbling over the words. Every now and then one of us will look at the other and say, “Dude. We’re Married.” John has even called me His Wife. I’m not used to the idea yet, just like I’m not used to the ring. I can’t forget about it. I am always aware of the ring’s presence.

But we’re having fun. His parents gave us a bed as a wedding present. I haven’t slept in a real bed more than a dozen times in the last few years. We’ve had a variety of mattresses and futons, all on the floor, and a couple of temporary fold-out beds. Now we have a real bed, with a mattress and a box spring and a frame, and sheets, bedside tables, EVERYthing. My back feels better already, and I haven’t even slept in the new bed yet.

Well, we’re moved in, everything’s set, I’m going to look for a job this week. I have a few leads on playing gigs, teaching gigs, solo opportunities. I turned 24 two days ago. Things are good. I have an entry for the 14th, but it’s going to be up tomorrow. It’s unusual in that I’m using a lot of hypertext, and I’m too tired for all that coding tonight. It’ll be cool--you’ll see.