Meet My Other Half. Notice I Didn't Say Better Half.

Time to introduce my husband (still not even close to used to that word yet.)

He is Ryan.

He is a very important trader at the Chicago Board of Trade.  This means he gets calls at three in the morning from the guys that trade for him overnight.  It’s lovely, truly.  And the master bathroom door, from behind which he yammers away about unemployment numbers and such, is totally TOTALLY soundproof.  It’s made of like wet tissue paper, so, I mean, clearly it’s impenetrable. 

He can sing.  Or at least that’s what other people tell me.  He does not sing in front of me, much less to me.  In fact, when we were dancing our first dance at our wedding, I was the one singing to him, and it was the song “You Are The Best Thing” which is sung by a bearded hippie man in real life, not a clean-shaven (at least on my wedding day), drug-free (unless you’re one of those people that count alcohol as a drug), tone-deaf, corseted to the point of almost-death girl.  The only times I have ever really heard Ryan sing are:

1.      In our high school senior talent show when he was pretending to be either Bill or Ted from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure and singing Good Riddance by GreenDay.  But I wasn’t really paying attention because I was busy getting my hair French-braided by my bff .  Which is why I do not remember if he was Bill or Ted.  Also, I do not know which one is Bill and which one is Ted.

2.      When he is pretending to be Joe Cocker and singing Joe Cocker songs in his Joe Cocker voice.  Or maybe this is just his real voice?  And he hasn’t admitted this to me because one time I laughed at him so hard when he was singing like this that I fell off my chair and got a really big butt bruise?

3.      When he thinks I’m sleeping or in the shower or something and he sings songs to the dogs.  Songs in which he replaces all nouns with the names of our dogs.  One time he was all “I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day.  When it’s cold outside, I’ve got my Daisy Mae.  I guess Zooey would say, what could make me feel this way? My dogs.”  And then I laughed so hard I fell off the bed and got a really big butt bruise.  In the same spot as the Joe Cocker butt bruise.

This is a picture of Ryan playing the picture and singing to the whole wedding party at our wedding.  I was off taking my individual shots (like pictures, not vodka), clearly.

I am glad Ryan doesn’t sing to me or in front of me.  Because as history has demonstrated, his singing makes my butt hurt.

Ryan is pretty athletic.  He loves to ski and wakeboard and is pretty good at both.  He plays soccer (with work), softball (with me!) and volleyball (even though he’s not that tall) recreationally.  He also ran the hottest Chicago marathon in history and then quit running forever.

He’s a White Sox fan.  It’s devastating.  I thought about making him sign a pre-nup that indicated he needed to change loyalties but then I thought maybe he might make me sign a pre-nup in return that would included clauses about “using his razor” and “making him wear pink ladies long underwear” and “hiding hide pizza boxes under the bathroom sink so he doesn’t know I ate the whole thing while he was at the gym.”  So I rethought that idea.

Ryan and my sister Jordan are like best friends.  They text a lot.  They do things without me.  Things like attending football games and shopping for hot sauce.  Sometimes Ryan knows more about what’s going on in my sister’s life than I do.  Sometimes I think Ryan only married me because if he and I broke up then he couldn’t be friends with Jordan any longer.  He assures me that this is not the case.  “Because even if we weren’t together Lauren, Jordan and I would have found a way to stay friends.”

Ryan doesn’t have any cooking aspirations besides sometimes turning on the grill (which I TOTALLY BUILT – upside down at first, but right side up and perfect on the second go.)  This makes me like him more.  It means I get to do all the cooking and then I get to have the cooking compliments all to myself.  Plus it means that he doesn’t have any reason to touch any of my cooking/baking stuff and then put it away in the wrong spot and totally give me a panic attack.  If he ever did that, I would knife him.  If I could find the knives.

Ryan LOVES that I cook.  It is in fact maybe the only thing he LOVES about me.  Sure there are things he LIKES and things he DOESN’T HATE and things he DEALS WITH FOR THE COOKING, but the cooking is why he married me.  I know this is completely true because these words – they are like verbatim his. Also for our six month wedding anniversary (which I know isn’t really a thing) he gave me a card that said “I Love You because you cook me dinner” on the front.  And then on the inside he wrote “It’s true.  Love Ryan.”

Ryan went to Northwestern.  Then he graduated from Northwestern.  I don’t know how really, I don’t know if he opened a book or attended a lecture the entire four years he was there.  When they gave him his diploma he yelled “You can’t take it back now.”  It’s the same thing I yelled when he gave me my engagement ring.  Then I said, “I mean yes.”


  1. This just put the biggest smile on my face! What an awesome post!

  2. This is adorable. Just found you through the Bloggess. Give me about 2 days and you'll have a new stalker.


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