I'm slightly embarassed to report that one of the things I realized this year- and granted, I'd realized this before, but not realized that I'd still been doing it in certain aspects in my life- is that you should do or like what makes you happy, not what everyone thinks you *should* do or like.
Duh, right?
Strange as it seems for someone who loves music as much as I do, but it wasn't until this year that I realized that all the "cultural stuff" I'd been trying to do and convince myself that I oh-my-gosh-super-loved was, in fact, something that I kindofsortof enjoyed doing....occasionally. On the other hand, experiencing live music was something I loved, but had never really thought of as being important, because it wasn't "cultural."
And then I realized, screw that.
Because really? you should do what makes me happy, and music makes me happy (happy slash a total geek), and seeing my favorite artists and singing along or dancing around any damned way I want without worrying how I look to others is pretty much amazing.
So there.
My completely unoffical concert season officially closed last night (whoa. timeout. can something unofficial officially close?) and if I do say so myself, it was a great season.
For nothing other than my own self-indulgence at getting to look for/watch videos, here's a compliation of all the artists I saw AND a favorite video/song of theirs, because if my summer had a perfect playlist, this just might be it. drumroll please.....
Dave Matthews Band - total toss up on a favorite song, but right now? 41.
Phish! No question. Farmhouse.
L.P.- song that you might actually know, Into the Wild. My current fave? Tokyo Sunrise. We totally got to meet her after her show (here's that story).
Bad Boy Bill- a favorite EDM DJ of Cute Husband's. I actually don't know anything by him, so, here's a completely unrelated EDM song that I like that we played at our wedding.
Mumford & Sons! Traveled down to Louisville overnight to see them with a couple pals and had an amazing time. Truly can't pick a favorite (especially with a new album coming out tomorrow!) so here's one that gave me absolute chills: Roll Away Your Stone. (the musical break leading into "Stars hide your fires"- omg. I still get chills THINKING about it). The entire show was amazing. So worth it.
Jane's Addiction for Cute Husband's birthday celebration! Jane Says, hands down.
(and just a couple days later) Bob Dylan! I'd been told it was hit-or-miss with him, but since I can't teleport back to the 1960s and see him when I would have really liked to, it was my only shot. Alas, he didn't play Shelter From The Storm but he did play a few other of his hits (apparently?).
NOFX on a whim. Didn't play it, but my fave has to be Creeping Out Sara, because three years ago T&S were one of the bands Cute Husband and I talked about the first night we met, and then he sent me this song to listen to, and then we went on a date and then, well, he became my husband. So there you have THAT.
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros! Great night to end my summer concert series, especially getting to hear Om Nashi Me which I will confess I totally absolutely thought was a shortened version of a meditation I used to do, but apparently, is just completely made up, because it turns out shortening the phrase in fact basically renders it meaningless, SO HEY, something else I've been wrong about in my life. However, it's still an amazing song and one that I was so jazzed to hear live and bounce around in a crowd with others chanting along.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
The Scene In Which I Meet LP!!!! And Yes, Geek Out.
I wrote this post two months ago and scheduled it to post a day later and then I sort of went on about life and never actually realized it didn't post until I went to reference it in another post and OH HEY.
Here you go.
Every so often I get really geekily excited about a piece of music that I hear somewhere that isn't the radio, like a TV show, commercial, etc, and then I spend a ridiculous amount of time and effort trying to find it.
Sometimes these end disappointingly, like the Canadian Pacific Rail holiday commercial last year where the one brother grows up playing with tractors and the other brother grows up playing with trains and you fast-forward ten years and one is a farmer and one is a train engineer and they get together for the holidays and it's all like "we're brothers but we can't show emotion" and so they give each other's kids presents instead and the train guy gives the farmer's kid a tractor and the farmer's kid give the train guy's kid a train like THEY USED TO PLAY WITH, and then they shake hands but then they really hug, and then everyone cries (specifically, I cry).
You don't believe me? Here. Grab a tissue.
Anyway, back to the point, TELL ME you don't want to know what that song is after. I do, because I want to listen to it like two thousand times more because (as you'll recall) I'm a geek like that. So I spend 40 minutes stalking it online, and discover that it's NOT A REAL SONG AND THEY JUST WROTE IT FOR THE COMMERCIAL AND WELL, SHIT.
So when I first saw the Citibank commercial where the girl is climbing the rock and it's a kind of kick ass song with an amazing female vocalist that I didn't recognize, I didn't get my hopes too high. What were the odds that Citibank just didn't have someone write them a little jingle?
But I still turned on my geek and searched around. And then I found songwriter- and now singer- LP. and "Into The Wild," the song.
Her album wasn't out yet, so I spent a good half -hour scrolling through various "OMG WHO SINGS THIS SONG" links until I found a download of it, which I promptly listened to 10,000 times until her iTunes album was released, which I then proceeded to begin listening to 10,000 time, and then last week, I was backing out of my driveway one morning when my favorite local radio station, WTTS, announced they were doing a free show that night with a promising emerging artist named LP and I about backed into my mailbox.
In a fit of irresponsibility I cancelled a night meeting, put off some to-do items, and headed out for a night on the town with Cute Husband who agreed to come along to hear "some girl that sings some song in some commercial" with me, despite the outdoor location and less-than-pleasant temps.
She gave a freaking bad-ass performance (note: the description is actually Cute Husband's, and though I certainly concur, I say this to illustrate just how talented she is) and then HOLY SHIT, THIS HAPPENED:
which is that I GOT TO MEET HER, and I might have geeked out even more than the time I was the biggest Babysitters Club fan ever and got to go to an Ann M. Martin book signing and I had all these things I wanted to tell her about how much I liked the books and my favorite character and I waited in line for an hour and what I finally said to Ann M. Martin was, "Hi."
(Brilliant. Bet she'd never heard that one.)
So I decided to go all out and just be my geeky honest self, and what I told her was, "Hi. That was a great show. And I can't lie, I totally can't even be cool right now because I about crashed my car this morning when I found out you were playing here,"
AND THEN SHE SAID, "Ha. That's awesome. You actually seem cool,"
AND THEN WE TOOK A PICTURE AND SHE SIGNED A POSTED FOR ME AND IT WAS THE BEST MONDAY OF THE SUMMER.
All because some song in a commercial got under my skin.
So there you have it. Be a geek about whatever you're a geek about. Maybe if you're lucky you'll wind up meeting the very person who inspired it.
Here you go.
Every so often I get really geekily excited about a piece of music that I hear somewhere that isn't the radio, like a TV show, commercial, etc, and then I spend a ridiculous amount of time and effort trying to find it.
Sometimes these end disappointingly, like the Canadian Pacific Rail holiday commercial last year where the one brother grows up playing with tractors and the other brother grows up playing with trains and you fast-forward ten years and one is a farmer and one is a train engineer and they get together for the holidays and it's all like "we're brothers but we can't show emotion" and so they give each other's kids presents instead and the train guy gives the farmer's kid a tractor and the farmer's kid give the train guy's kid a train like THEY USED TO PLAY WITH, and then they shake hands but then they really hug, and then everyone cries (specifically, I cry).
You don't believe me? Here. Grab a tissue.
Anyway, back to the point, TELL ME you don't want to know what that song is after. I do, because I want to listen to it like two thousand times more because (as you'll recall) I'm a geek like that. So I spend 40 minutes stalking it online, and discover that it's NOT A REAL SONG AND THEY JUST WROTE IT FOR THE COMMERCIAL AND WELL, SHIT.
So when I first saw the Citibank commercial where the girl is climbing the rock and it's a kind of kick ass song with an amazing female vocalist that I didn't recognize, I didn't get my hopes too high. What were the odds that Citibank just didn't have someone write them a little jingle?
But I still turned on my geek and searched around. And then I found songwriter- and now singer- LP. and "Into The Wild," the song.
Her album wasn't out yet, so I spent a good half -hour scrolling through various "OMG WHO SINGS THIS SONG" links until I found a download of it, which I promptly listened to 10,000 times until her iTunes album was released, which I then proceeded to begin listening to 10,000 time, and then last week, I was backing out of my driveway one morning when my favorite local radio station, WTTS, announced they were doing a free show that night with a promising emerging artist named LP and I about backed into my mailbox.
In a fit of irresponsibility I cancelled a night meeting, put off some to-do items, and headed out for a night on the town with Cute Husband who agreed to come along to hear "some girl that sings some song in some commercial" with me, despite the outdoor location and less-than-pleasant temps.
She gave a freaking bad-ass performance (note: the description is actually Cute Husband's, and though I certainly concur, I say this to illustrate just how talented she is) and then HOLY SHIT, THIS HAPPENED:
which is that I GOT TO MEET HER, and I might have geeked out even more than the time I was the biggest Babysitters Club fan ever and got to go to an Ann M. Martin book signing and I had all these things I wanted to tell her about how much I liked the books and my favorite character and I waited in line for an hour and what I finally said to Ann M. Martin was, "Hi."
(Brilliant. Bet she'd never heard that one.)
So I decided to go all out and just be my geeky honest self, and what I told her was, "Hi. That was a great show. And I can't lie, I totally can't even be cool right now because I about crashed my car this morning when I found out you were playing here,"
AND THEN SHE SAID, "Ha. That's awesome. You actually seem cool,"
AND THEN WE TOOK A PICTURE AND SHE SIGNED A POSTED FOR ME AND IT WAS THE BEST MONDAY OF THE SUMMER.
All because some song in a commercial got under my skin.
So there you have it. Be a geek about whatever you're a geek about. Maybe if you're lucky you'll wind up meeting the very person who inspired it.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
The Scene In Which We Don't Drink The Water
Having worked in a restaurant for a few years in college, I'm well aware of how a restaurant kitchen looks.
If you currently live under a blissful cloud where every restaurant has stainless steel everything, employees with runny noses don't ever come to work, everyone wears gloves, and spotless glass bins sporting carefully lettered signs hold food supplies, well, then.....stop reading. You'll never eat out again if you do.
So, yes. I get it. Occasionally in my own kitchen a random fruit fly might alight on a syrupy drink and get stuck. The dishwasher doesn't always get every item perfectly clean and I don't always catch it before I put it away. 99% of restaurant mistakes are just simple things, multiplied in chance by the number of people served every day.
THAT BEING SAID.
There are things that, as a restaurant, you can do to ensure your dining guests have a great experience and maintain the mental image of your kitchen as a Martha Stewart-esque lair.
The following? Is not one of them.
I had been seated at a local restaurant waiting for a friend of mine to arrive to join me when the waiter came and asked if I'd like something to drink. Not knowing if my friend would want to join me in an adult beverage or not, and not knowing what I planned to order yet, I asked for a glass of water.
Sip of water.
A minute or so later, my waiter casually walked up to the open-window serving area about 10 feet away from my table. There were only 3 or so tables full in the restaurant, so it wasn't exceptionally loud, and as I wasn't currently talking with anyone around me the conversation floated my way.
Sip of water.
General joking about food service, and then
Waiter: "And you know why you NEVER order water at a restaurant? Because guaranteed, it's *lowers voice* mumble mumble mumble."
Kitchen Staff: "BWAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Me (mentally): ohmigod.
My friend chose that moment to walk in, and pleasantries for exchanged for about twenty seconds before he realized something was not entirely right with me, and that was because at that point, I still wasn't sure I wasn't going to puke because WHAT DID I JUST DRINK.
I explain.
And then I get mad. Because REALLY?!
And then we debate what I'm going to do about it because...I mean....I have to say something, right?! Right. But then again...this person is now responsible for my food for the whole night.
The waiter returns with a diet coke for my friend.
"Excuse me," I say. "I think I'd like something, um, other than water to drink."
"Um.....sure." says the waiter, looking mildly concerned by what is probably a green pallor on my face. "What can I get you?"
"A Coke would be fine," I reply, then sweetly add, "Unless there's a really good reason not to order one of THOSE at a restaurant, too."
I'm pretty sure if his eyes could have gotten wider, they'd have popped out.
So there you have it, folks. Don't drink the water. Dave Matthews knew it, and now you do too.
If you currently live under a blissful cloud where every restaurant has stainless steel everything, employees with runny noses don't ever come to work, everyone wears gloves, and spotless glass bins sporting carefully lettered signs hold food supplies, well, then.....stop reading. You'll never eat out again if you do.
So, yes. I get it. Occasionally in my own kitchen a random fruit fly might alight on a syrupy drink and get stuck. The dishwasher doesn't always get every item perfectly clean and I don't always catch it before I put it away. 99% of restaurant mistakes are just simple things, multiplied in chance by the number of people served every day.
THAT BEING SAID.
There are things that, as a restaurant, you can do to ensure your dining guests have a great experience and maintain the mental image of your kitchen as a Martha Stewart-esque lair.
The following? Is not one of them.
I had been seated at a local restaurant waiting for a friend of mine to arrive to join me when the waiter came and asked if I'd like something to drink. Not knowing if my friend would want to join me in an adult beverage or not, and not knowing what I planned to order yet, I asked for a glass of water.
Sip of water.
A minute or so later, my waiter casually walked up to the open-window serving area about 10 feet away from my table. There were only 3 or so tables full in the restaurant, so it wasn't exceptionally loud, and as I wasn't currently talking with anyone around me the conversation floated my way.
Sip of water.
General joking about food service, and then
Waiter: "And you know why you NEVER order water at a restaurant? Because guaranteed, it's *lowers voice* mumble mumble mumble."
Kitchen Staff: "BWAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Me (mentally): ohmigod.
My friend chose that moment to walk in, and pleasantries for exchanged for about twenty seconds before he realized something was not entirely right with me, and that was because at that point, I still wasn't sure I wasn't going to puke because WHAT DID I JUST DRINK.
I explain.
And then I get mad. Because REALLY?!
And then we debate what I'm going to do about it because...I mean....I have to say something, right?! Right. But then again...this person is now responsible for my food for the whole night.
The waiter returns with a diet coke for my friend.
"Excuse me," I say. "I think I'd like something, um, other than water to drink."
"Um.....sure." says the waiter, looking mildly concerned by what is probably a green pallor on my face. "What can I get you?"
"A Coke would be fine," I reply, then sweetly add, "Unless there's a really good reason not to order one of THOSE at a restaurant, too."
I'm pretty sure if his eyes could have gotten wider, they'd have popped out.
So there you have it, folks. Don't drink the water. Dave Matthews knew it, and now you do too.
Monday, June 25, 2012
The Scene In Which I Totally Change How I Do Business *Just For You!* (Alternately Titled: Dear Rude Person).
My favorite thing about my business, aside from the whole bringing-joy-to-your-event thing which is obviously well above all the other perks, is that it's MY business.
Becuase I'm the one who *gets to* arrive early, stay late, and assume all the worry, I take the trade-off as well: I get to make the rules, I get to make the decisions, and I get to be the boss. I get the right to run my business as I wish, and offer what I want, and not offer what I don't.
And sometimes, my decisions mean that I have to turn people down for things, and most of the time people are generally understanding when it comes to this.
"Are you free on my date?" "No, I'm sorry, we've already closed that date," is typically met with an "Oh, darn."
"Do you sell flowers by the stem?" "No, I'm sorry, we're an event planning and floral firm only," is typically answerd with "Oh, ok, thanks."
But then there's the 1% of people who just truly do not understand, or who don't bother to try to understand. They don't read the signs in the parking lot or on our window or on our door which say "Appointment Only!" and "Events Only!" or even stupidly specific signs such as the one in the window that literally says "We Do Not Offer Cash and Carry Services At This Time!"
(Seriously. We could not be more clear about this. NO.)
And sometimes, when faced with the harsh reality that the rules and decisions I have made in the way I run my business might actually apply to them, these people turn into what I like to call the "I QUESTION YOUR LIFE CHOICES, BIATCH" people.
Usually, these are callers, and usually, they've been told "No," for some crazy reason like we're already busy on their date or we are not available at the precise ONE window of time that they desire to meet with us, other clients or events be damned.
I can usually peg that they're going to be an IQYLCB caller when I can hear their hip popping out sassily and their pointer finger coming up in the silence between my "No" and their "Esssssxcuuuuuuuuuse ME?!"
"What do you MEAN you are closed that weekend? I mean *sound of abject disgust* how many events can you POSSIBLY be doing that day?" (Answer: If we're closed already? Probably 5. Maybe 3. Maybe 1 really awesome big one. There are about 13,000 weddings in our region PER YEAR. Do the math. Or maybe I'm just not working that weekend, not because I have a life or anything like that, but because my robot batteries need recharging and that guy who thinks I'm his wife wants to see me.)
"I mean, really, WHAT kind of place does not offer Saturday/weekend meetings *sound of abject disgust*?" (Answer: The kind that does Saturday/weekend events. Like the one you're calling to book.)
(and my absolute favorite): "*Sound of abject disgust* Well, you SHOULD be able to do mine, because MINE isn't that hard. I totally already met with someone and I know EXACTLY what I want and I just need you to do it." (Translation: Please steal another person's work and ideas and give it to me for less, and make it exactly what I want.)
But today was definitely a first. Today I had a IQYLCB walk into the shop, snark, leave, and then COME BACK FOR MORE.
There's a reason my door is now locked.
So this person walks into the shop -without a greeting- and starts explaining what they need for a luncheon. I question if the luncheon is today and when it is, explain that we don't do cash-and-carry pieces and are appointment only (like it says on three different signs located BEFORE you enter my shop) and unfortunately, we have no flowers in the store.
This is typically met with an "Oh, rats!" reaction.
Oh no.
Blank stare ensues. This person is literally in disbelief that I cannot help her. I give her recommentions of two other florists, both within a 5-10 minute drive, and say, "I'm sorry we can't help you today!" to which I literally get a "huffff.....Yeah, me too," as she storms out.
Pleasant. Nice to meet you too. Terribly sorry you don't approve of my business model- gosh, I will just get RIGHT on that.
Back to work, right??
Oh no.
5 minutes later.
This person comes back in, tells me they're just going to buy flowers at the grocery, and asks to take a free vase so they can just make a centerpiece on their own- they'll return it, naturally, so obviously I'll just give it to them for free. Because they aren't just any person- they are WITH A CATERING COMPANY, thankyouverymuch, and therefore I am obligated to help solve their problem.
In between the 10 or so seconds of incredulousness (wait-weren't you just in here questioning the way I choose to run my business and now you want something free?) they point to a cut-crystal display vase and say "You're a doll. I'll take this."
Awkward discussion (between my mentally berating myself for not locking the door earlier) ensues about how I'd prefer to give her something that is a little more of a typically stocked item (not, say, a CRYSTAL VASE) which is met with a less than pleased reaction.
I wind up offering a glass curved vase that is nicer than a "plain vase" but something I won't miss if it doesn't come back to me, which though she says it will, meh, may or may not be likely. And that's fine, mind you, it's a vase- but no, you're not taking one of my expensive ones, and certainly not when you're taking it for free, and certainly not when you've basically been rude this entire time.
I get an exasperated "yeah, fine, I guess." The key words not utilized during this transaction are "thank" and "you."
Bonus?! I had a client in my office the entire time, who thank god is also a close friend, but which this person had absolutely no way of knowing.....so this *professional* came in and did this TO someone she didn't know, IN FRONT OF someone she didn't know.
And people wonder why my door is locked.
Becuase I'm the one who *gets to* arrive early, stay late, and assume all the worry, I take the trade-off as well: I get to make the rules, I get to make the decisions, and I get to be the boss. I get the right to run my business as I wish, and offer what I want, and not offer what I don't.
And sometimes, my decisions mean that I have to turn people down for things, and most of the time people are generally understanding when it comes to this.
"Are you free on my date?" "No, I'm sorry, we've already closed that date," is typically met with an "Oh, darn."
"Do you sell flowers by the stem?" "No, I'm sorry, we're an event planning and floral firm only," is typically answerd with "Oh, ok, thanks."
But then there's the 1% of people who just truly do not understand, or who don't bother to try to understand. They don't read the signs in the parking lot or on our window or on our door which say "Appointment Only!" and "Events Only!" or even stupidly specific signs such as the one in the window that literally says "We Do Not Offer Cash and Carry Services At This Time!"
(Seriously. We could not be more clear about this. NO.)
And sometimes, when faced with the harsh reality that the rules and decisions I have made in the way I run my business might actually apply to them, these people turn into what I like to call the "I QUESTION YOUR LIFE CHOICES, BIATCH" people.
Usually, these are callers, and usually, they've been told "No," for some crazy reason like we're already busy on their date or we are not available at the precise ONE window of time that they desire to meet with us, other clients or events be damned.
I can usually peg that they're going to be an IQYLCB caller when I can hear their hip popping out sassily and their pointer finger coming up in the silence between my "No" and their "Esssssxcuuuuuuuuuse ME?!"
"What do you MEAN you are closed that weekend? I mean *sound of abject disgust* how many events can you POSSIBLY be doing that day?" (Answer: If we're closed already? Probably 5. Maybe 3. Maybe 1 really awesome big one. There are about 13,000 weddings in our region PER YEAR. Do the math. Or maybe I'm just not working that weekend, not because I have a life or anything like that, but because my robot batteries need recharging and that guy who thinks I'm his wife wants to see me.)
"I mean, really, WHAT kind of place does not offer Saturday/weekend meetings *sound of abject disgust*?" (Answer: The kind that does Saturday/weekend events. Like the one you're calling to book.)
(and my absolute favorite): "*Sound of abject disgust* Well, you SHOULD be able to do mine, because MINE isn't that hard. I totally already met with someone and I know EXACTLY what I want and I just need you to do it." (Translation: Please steal another person's work and ideas and give it to me for less, and make it exactly what I want.)
But today was definitely a first. Today I had a IQYLCB walk into the shop, snark, leave, and then COME BACK FOR MORE.
There's a reason my door is now locked.
So this person walks into the shop -without a greeting- and starts explaining what they need for a luncheon. I question if the luncheon is today and when it is, explain that we don't do cash-and-carry pieces and are appointment only (like it says on three different signs located BEFORE you enter my shop) and unfortunately, we have no flowers in the store.
This is typically met with an "Oh, rats!" reaction.
Oh no.
Blank stare ensues. This person is literally in disbelief that I cannot help her. I give her recommentions of two other florists, both within a 5-10 minute drive, and say, "I'm sorry we can't help you today!" to which I literally get a "huffff.....Yeah, me too," as she storms out.
Pleasant. Nice to meet you too. Terribly sorry you don't approve of my business model- gosh, I will just get RIGHT on that.
Back to work, right??
Oh no.
5 minutes later.
This person comes back in, tells me they're just going to buy flowers at the grocery, and asks to take a free vase so they can just make a centerpiece on their own- they'll return it, naturally, so obviously I'll just give it to them for free. Because they aren't just any person- they are WITH A CATERING COMPANY, thankyouverymuch, and therefore I am obligated to help solve their problem.
In between the 10 or so seconds of incredulousness (wait-weren't you just in here questioning the way I choose to run my business and now you want something free?) they point to a cut-crystal display vase and say "You're a doll. I'll take this."
Awkward discussion (between my mentally berating myself for not locking the door earlier) ensues about how I'd prefer to give her something that is a little more of a typically stocked item (not, say, a CRYSTAL VASE) which is met with a less than pleased reaction.
I wind up offering a glass curved vase that is nicer than a "plain vase" but something I won't miss if it doesn't come back to me, which though she says it will, meh, may or may not be likely. And that's fine, mind you, it's a vase- but no, you're not taking one of my expensive ones, and certainly not when you're taking it for free, and certainly not when you've basically been rude this entire time.
I get an exasperated "yeah, fine, I guess." The key words not utilized during this transaction are "thank" and "you."
Bonus?! I had a client in my office the entire time, who thank god is also a close friend, but which this person had absolutely no way of knowing.....so this *professional* came in and did this TO someone she didn't know, IN FRONT OF someone she didn't know.
And people wonder why my door is locked.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
The Scene In Which I Think I Smell Funny Today
To be honest, I'm not sure what happened.
I woke up this morning like any other morning and took a shower. I used the same body wash I always do, smoothed on the same lotion and deoderant, and splashed the same perfume.
But now? I'm pretty sure I smell funny.
Not bad, mind you, but not great. Not disgusting or dirty or anything but just.....weird. Off.
I thought it was my car, and granted, it still might be after the amount of water I spilled from flower pots over the weekend and how disgustingly hot and humid it's been.
But then I just went to walk out the door and the breeze blew past me and my nose went, "Huh. That's it again."
And now I'm paranoid. (DOES THIS HAPPEN TO OTHER PEOPLE?! For the love of God, please tell me it does. Lie if you have to.)
Not once, but twice, have I peeled off my cardigan (which is one I'm trying to wear to rescue it from the Goodwill bin, as it's in danger of the not-worn-in-6-months default donation) and waved it around to air it out.
And now I'm trying to remember WHY this was in the Goodwill bin to start with.
And NOW I'm pretty darn sure that it's because the last time I wore it, my skin started to smell funny.
And now I'm stuck in this potentially funny smelling sweater for the entire day.
And I'm even more paranoid. And starting to sweat as a result.
You might call this a catch-22. Or, in a more hipster-ish fashion, "an ironic moment."
I really wish I could say this was an odd occurance, and in fact it sort of is, but the act of having an odd occurance is, well, really not odd.
So it's just Wednesday. Hope you're having a good one. If you see me today, and I smell a little off to you, please don't tell me. It will only make it worse.
I woke up this morning like any other morning and took a shower. I used the same body wash I always do, smoothed on the same lotion and deoderant, and splashed the same perfume.
But now? I'm pretty sure I smell funny.
Not bad, mind you, but not great. Not disgusting or dirty or anything but just.....weird. Off.
I thought it was my car, and granted, it still might be after the amount of water I spilled from flower pots over the weekend and how disgustingly hot and humid it's been.
But then I just went to walk out the door and the breeze blew past me and my nose went, "Huh. That's it again."
And now I'm paranoid. (DOES THIS HAPPEN TO OTHER PEOPLE?! For the love of God, please tell me it does. Lie if you have to.)
Not once, but twice, have I peeled off my cardigan (which is one I'm trying to wear to rescue it from the Goodwill bin, as it's in danger of the not-worn-in-6-months default donation) and waved it around to air it out.
And now I'm trying to remember WHY this was in the Goodwill bin to start with.
And NOW I'm pretty darn sure that it's because the last time I wore it, my skin started to smell funny.
And now I'm stuck in this potentially funny smelling sweater for the entire day.
And I'm even more paranoid. And starting to sweat as a result.
You might call this a catch-22. Or, in a more hipster-ish fashion, "an ironic moment."
I really wish I could say this was an odd occurance, and in fact it sort of is, but the act of having an odd occurance is, well, really not odd.
So it's just Wednesday. Hope you're having a good one. If you see me today, and I smell a little off to you, please don't tell me. It will only make it worse.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
The Scene In Which We Get Married
We are married.
And let me tell you, it is amazing.
For starters, the thing about being married is that when you wake up the next day, that person next to you? the one that's your best friend? the one who knows all your silly stories and smart-ass sayings and serious secrets? the one who you want to raise a family with and grow old with? is your husband. Or your wife. Or your partner. Or whatever label you choose to ascribe them with. They are yours.
It's lovely.
Our wedding was a beautiful, amazing weekend of celebrating with friends and family in a truly gorgous place. Naturally there were also some hilarious moments.
In hindsight.
Among other things, we had a fantastic wedding party that included our closest friends and siblings. On Friday night we had an amazing rehearsal dinner night where Cute Husband and I had the pleasure of toasting each of them and sharing silly stories of how we met them all.
On Saturday, despite the threat of inclement weather our Golf with the Groom and Beach with the Bride events were both a hit, though Beach with the Bride did turn into "Poolside with the Bride under Tented Cabanas with Food and Indoor Entertainment" which doesn't roll off the tongue quite the same way but was fun nonetheless.
I'm told our welcome party on Saturday night was a fantastic evening with wonderful food and a fun time to mix and mingle. I, however, was....um....otherwise occupied during the party.
Brides. Heed my advice. If you should start to feel a little, ohhhhh, under the weather at your welcome party? Like you're about to star in your own version of "Bridesmaids," and not so much the scene where they all band together and sing Wilson Philips with coordinated dance moves but more like....the scene where they're trying on dresses?
Cut and run. Don't wait to see what happens. I've seen what happens. It's not pretty.
In a moment of BLINDING CLARITY it becomes apparent that something is really, really not right here, and that it's about to become really, really wrong, and that time is right. now. and let me tell you, when that moment of brillance happens, you lose all pride and sense of polite decency and you worry about one thing and one thing only and that is GET ME TO THE BATHROOM.
I don't think I actually shoved anyone out of my way, but I was definitely on a mission.
Awesomely, at this point, approximately, oh, everyone at the party has seen me heading to the bathroom at one point or another. I didn't so much mind that, or really care who in the public bathroom got to witness the amazingly glorious site that was me hurling my guts in said white minidress.
What I cared about? Was making sure everyone knew I WAS. NOT. PREGNANT.
I'm pretty sure I advised everyone who had the guts (no pun intended) to come near me that night of that fact. Classy. Let me tell you.
Spoiler alert: I lived. My mom actually came in my room at 2 AM after Round 3, when the meds started kicking in and it became apparent I would live through the night, and said "Don't worry. Nobody really even realized you were gone. And at least this will make a funny blog post!" to which I'm pretty sure I groaned and moaned "TOO SOON." Alas, she was right. Well played, Mom.
Sunday dawned gorgeously and thankfully barf-free. Despite high winds that forced us to move off our original beach site, our wedding day was sunny and beautiful.
Our ceremony was beautifully officiated by one of my bridesmaids (and former college roommate) who is now a wondeful minister. The dress fit like a glove thanks to the couple pounds I'd miraculously shed the night before (again, see Bridesmaids reference), Cute Husband looked amazing in his suit, the flowers were gorgeous, and dolphins literally danced in the surf just outside our ceremony site.
OH YES. Top that, wedding gods. Dolphins frolicking during our vows.
The reception was absolutely amazing thanks to the hard work of John, Monica, Elise, Ben and everyone who helped us with the design and decor aspects of the day. The food was fantastic, the lounge area was thoroughly enjoyed, and the live music during our ceremony and cocktail hour were amazing.
For the dancing portion of the evening, we hadn't provided a complete playlist for the DJ. We'd simply requested that he stick to pop, Top 40-ish songs, and work in a couple slow songs that I'd provided and a couple house songs that Justin had provided. No Katy Perry, no Beyonce. Nothing against those ladies but, eh, not my favorites.
We'd also requested he avoid such *amazing* wedding hits as the Macarena, the Electric Slide, the Cha Cha Slide, and, well, basically anything with any type of universally accepted dance movement.
Easy, right? Great.
In retrospect the first Katy Perry song should have tipped us off.
Possibly also the beginning of a trio of 80s songs that no one recognized.
If not either of those things, I probably should have realized it when the strains of OH OH OH, OH OH OHHH OH OH ALL THE SINGLE LADIES! began ringing through the air, but I was in the bathroom at the time, and really, have YOU ever peed in a wedding dress? Let me tell you, that requires enough attention, thankyouverymuch.
Also hard to do in a wedding dress? The Cha Cha Slide. Oh but we did. Slide to the left! Slide to the right! Take it back now y'all! One hop this time! Two hops this time! Criss cross! Criss cross! Cha Cha now y'all!
Which was the first time - but oh, not the last - that Cute Husband caught my eye on the dance floor and mouthed "What the eff?"
However, the point of the evening during which it became blindingly apparent that we had completely lost control of the music? was me leading a conga line through the reception hall to "Jump In the Line."
I'm pretty sure the DJ just assumes that you are so ravingly drunk at this point (oh sad but true: copious upchucking the night prior leads one to spend most of their wedding night stone cold sober) that you don't actually really care what he plays, and besides, who wouldn't want to Shake! Shake! Shake! Senora! at their wedding?!?!?
Work your body line. Work it all the time.
The thing about the wedding music is, it's a party. It doesn't matter. In the end, you plan everything down to the very last detail and you know what? stuff goes wrong anyway. And nobody cares, least of all you, because what went RIGHT? is that you got married.
After a week of sunshine with family and friends, we came home and back to reality. Wife-dom has apparently triggered a new instinct in me and in the couple days we've been back, I've been cleaning up a storm, cooking homemade dinners (whatever. two dinners is a plural. Who cares how many days that's over??), and grinning like a madwoman every time I refer to Cute Husband as, well, Husband!
And THAT, right there, tells you that the best part of the whole thing? Is that now we are MARRIED.
(that, and the new Keurig.)
And let me tell you, it is amazing.
For starters, the thing about being married is that when you wake up the next day, that person next to you? the one that's your best friend? the one who knows all your silly stories and smart-ass sayings and serious secrets? the one who you want to raise a family with and grow old with? is your husband. Or your wife. Or your partner. Or whatever label you choose to ascribe them with. They are yours.
It's lovely.
Our wedding was a beautiful, amazing weekend of celebrating with friends and family in a truly gorgous place. Naturally there were also some hilarious moments.
In hindsight.
Among other things, we had a fantastic wedding party that included our closest friends and siblings. On Friday night we had an amazing rehearsal dinner night where Cute Husband and I had the pleasure of toasting each of them and sharing silly stories of how we met them all.
On Saturday, despite the threat of inclement weather our Golf with the Groom and Beach with the Bride events were both a hit, though Beach with the Bride did turn into "Poolside with the Bride under Tented Cabanas with Food and Indoor Entertainment" which doesn't roll off the tongue quite the same way but was fun nonetheless.
I'm told our welcome party on Saturday night was a fantastic evening with wonderful food and a fun time to mix and mingle. I, however, was....um....otherwise occupied during the party.
Brides. Heed my advice. If you should start to feel a little, ohhhhh, under the weather at your welcome party? Like you're about to star in your own version of "Bridesmaids," and not so much the scene where they all band together and sing Wilson Philips with coordinated dance moves but more like....the scene where they're trying on dresses?
Cut and run. Don't wait to see what happens. I've seen what happens. It's not pretty.
In a moment of BLINDING CLARITY it becomes apparent that something is really, really not right here, and that it's about to become really, really wrong, and that time is right. now. and let me tell you, when that moment of brillance happens, you lose all pride and sense of polite decency and you worry about one thing and one thing only and that is GET ME TO THE BATHROOM.
I don't think I actually shoved anyone out of my way, but I was definitely on a mission.
Awesomely, at this point, approximately, oh, everyone at the party has seen me heading to the bathroom at one point or another. I didn't so much mind that, or really care who in the public bathroom got to witness the amazingly glorious site that was me hurling my guts in said white minidress.
What I cared about? Was making sure everyone knew I WAS. NOT. PREGNANT.
I'm pretty sure I advised everyone who had the guts (no pun intended) to come near me that night of that fact. Classy. Let me tell you.
Spoiler alert: I lived. My mom actually came in my room at 2 AM after Round 3, when the meds started kicking in and it became apparent I would live through the night, and said "Don't worry. Nobody really even realized you were gone. And at least this will make a funny blog post!" to which I'm pretty sure I groaned and moaned "TOO SOON." Alas, she was right. Well played, Mom.
Sunday dawned gorgeously and thankfully barf-free. Despite high winds that forced us to move off our original beach site, our wedding day was sunny and beautiful.
Our ceremony was beautifully officiated by one of my bridesmaids (and former college roommate) who is now a wondeful minister. The dress fit like a glove thanks to the couple pounds I'd miraculously shed the night before (again, see Bridesmaids reference), Cute Husband looked amazing in his suit, the flowers were gorgeous, and dolphins literally danced in the surf just outside our ceremony site.
OH YES. Top that, wedding gods. Dolphins frolicking during our vows.
The reception was absolutely amazing thanks to the hard work of John, Monica, Elise, Ben and everyone who helped us with the design and decor aspects of the day. The food was fantastic, the lounge area was thoroughly enjoyed, and the live music during our ceremony and cocktail hour were amazing.
For the dancing portion of the evening, we hadn't provided a complete playlist for the DJ. We'd simply requested that he stick to pop, Top 40-ish songs, and work in a couple slow songs that I'd provided and a couple house songs that Justin had provided. No Katy Perry, no Beyonce. Nothing against those ladies but, eh, not my favorites.
We'd also requested he avoid such *amazing* wedding hits as the Macarena, the Electric Slide, the Cha Cha Slide, and, well, basically anything with any type of universally accepted dance movement.
Easy, right? Great.
In retrospect the first Katy Perry song should have tipped us off.
Possibly also the beginning of a trio of 80s songs that no one recognized.
If not either of those things, I probably should have realized it when the strains of OH OH OH, OH OH OHHH OH OH ALL THE SINGLE LADIES! began ringing through the air, but I was in the bathroom at the time, and really, have YOU ever peed in a wedding dress? Let me tell you, that requires enough attention, thankyouverymuch.
Also hard to do in a wedding dress? The Cha Cha Slide. Oh but we did. Slide to the left! Slide to the right! Take it back now y'all! One hop this time! Two hops this time! Criss cross! Criss cross! Cha Cha now y'all!
Which was the first time - but oh, not the last - that Cute Husband caught my eye on the dance floor and mouthed "What the eff?"
However, the point of the evening during which it became blindingly apparent that we had completely lost control of the music? was me leading a conga line through the reception hall to "Jump In the Line."
I'm pretty sure the DJ just assumes that you are so ravingly drunk at this point (oh sad but true: copious upchucking the night prior leads one to spend most of their wedding night stone cold sober) that you don't actually really care what he plays, and besides, who wouldn't want to Shake! Shake! Shake! Senora! at their wedding?!?!?
Work your body line. Work it all the time.
The thing about the wedding music is, it's a party. It doesn't matter. In the end, you plan everything down to the very last detail and you know what? stuff goes wrong anyway. And nobody cares, least of all you, because what went RIGHT? is that you got married.
After a week of sunshine with family and friends, we came home and back to reality. Wife-dom has apparently triggered a new instinct in me and in the couple days we've been back, I've been cleaning up a storm, cooking homemade dinners (whatever. two dinners is a plural. Who cares how many days that's over??), and grinning like a madwoman every time I refer to Cute Husband as, well, Husband!
And THAT, right there, tells you that the best part of the whole thing? Is that now we are MARRIED.
(that, and the new Keurig.)
Friday, May 4, 2012
The Scene In Which I Am Totally *That* Girl
If you don't know by now that I'm *that* girl, you probably haven't been reading this blog too long.
Or else I haven't been posting all that often.
Meh. Tomato tohmahto.
Seriously though, I'm absolutely *that* girl. The one that the thing that you think only actually happens in a slapstick movie, likely starring someone like Zooey Deschanel as her typical loveably-quirky-character, actually happens to in real life.
I fall up stairs.*
I'm the person who goes to pick up the heavy trash bag and makes it alllllllllll the way down the driveway and then (and THEN) the bottom falls out and the entire contents of the bag dump into a large pile at their feet.**
Awesomely, this particular trait occasionally involves realizing significantly after the fact that I have done something totally embarrassing.
So this morning.
I've tossed on a pair of jeans for the day that I haven't worn in awhile, and for the life of me, I can't remember why I haven't worn them recently. They are finally broken in, which means I've washed and worn them exactly enough times that I have finally gotten them to exactly the level of softness and comfort that I love.
It also means that they have inevitably acquired a small hole in the knee area. So they've become "work jeans" where knee holes are acceptable, because all I'm doing is making flowers.
Except for days like yesterday, when I wear those jeans to work not remembering to bring something else along for the latter part of the day, when I'll be actually going out in public and interacting with other humans.
Fast forward to the fun part, which is this morning, when I pull on the same pair of amazing jeans (because right? I'm in love with them now?) and head off to work.
And sit down on the floor to work on something.
And notice a slight....scratchy feeling.
Like I can feel the carpet through my jeans.
And that's when I remembered why I had retired this particular pair of jeans awhile back.
Possibly because there is a small rip in my jeans.
And by small, I mean, there is a LARGE rip in my jeans.
And by *in* my jeans, I mean, smack in the middle of the ass of my jeans.
The jeans that I spent the entire day walking around the Zoo in yesterday with three small children in tow and countless others who have now possibly*** seen my backside.
And, apparently, my hot pink underwear.
I can't help it. This stuff just happens.
*More frequently than I care to admit.
**I literally couldn't make this shit up if I tried. This happened WEDNESDAY.
***I say possibly because it makes me seem less totally weird and freaky. There's no way people didn't notice. How I didn't notice the BREEZE is another story.
Or else I haven't been posting all that often.
Meh. Tomato tohmahto.
Seriously though, I'm absolutely *that* girl. The one that the thing that you think only actually happens in a slapstick movie, likely starring someone like Zooey Deschanel as her typical loveably-quirky-character, actually happens to in real life.
I fall up stairs.*
I'm the person who goes to pick up the heavy trash bag and makes it alllllllllll the way down the driveway and then (and THEN) the bottom falls out and the entire contents of the bag dump into a large pile at their feet.**
Awesomely, this particular trait occasionally involves realizing significantly after the fact that I have done something totally embarrassing.
So this morning.
I've tossed on a pair of jeans for the day that I haven't worn in awhile, and for the life of me, I can't remember why I haven't worn them recently. They are finally broken in, which means I've washed and worn them exactly enough times that I have finally gotten them to exactly the level of softness and comfort that I love.
It also means that they have inevitably acquired a small hole in the knee area. So they've become "work jeans" where knee holes are acceptable, because all I'm doing is making flowers.
Except for days like yesterday, when I wear those jeans to work not remembering to bring something else along for the latter part of the day, when I'll be actually going out in public and interacting with other humans.
Fast forward to the fun part, which is this morning, when I pull on the same pair of amazing jeans (because right? I'm in love with them now?) and head off to work.
And sit down on the floor to work on something.
And notice a slight....scratchy feeling.
Like I can feel the carpet through my jeans.
And that's when I remembered why I had retired this particular pair of jeans awhile back.
Possibly because there is a small rip in my jeans.
And by small, I mean, there is a LARGE rip in my jeans.
And by *in* my jeans, I mean, smack in the middle of the ass of my jeans.
The jeans that I spent the entire day walking around the Zoo in yesterday with three small children in tow and countless others who have now possibly*** seen my backside.
And, apparently, my hot pink underwear.
I can't help it. This stuff just happens.
*More frequently than I care to admit.
**I literally couldn't make this shit up if I tried. This happened WEDNESDAY.
***I say possibly because it makes me seem less totally weird and freaky. There's no way people didn't notice. How I didn't notice the BREEZE is another story.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The Scene In Which It's All In A Name
I've been thinking a lot about names lately, namely (har har) because I'm about to add one to mine- I'm taking Cute Boy's last name in just a few short months!
After much consideration, and given the fact that his last name manages to pack two W's, to O's, a J, and a CZ-sounds like-CH combo over three syllables whereas mine now is FOUR LETTERS, pronounced EXACTLY LIKE THEY LOOK, and given that it makes my entire name a total of four syllables.....well, let's just say I'll be retaining my maiden name for business purposes. I'm planning to hyphenate my last name legally.
But I really wanted to take on Cute Boy's last name, because I personally think it's important for a family to have a family name, and because one day I want to have the same name as my children.
Another reason I'm planning to hyphenate is that here in the great state of Indiana, you can't have two last names without one, and you can't have more than three names, and I didn't want to give up my middle name, which is Laine.
Which is apparently, as I learned today, A COMPLETELY CRAZY NAME. Unlike one, say, with multiple W's and O's, and J's and T's and Z's. Say that threetimesfast.
Now, I've had a lot of people tell me my middle name is unusual, but I've never really had anyone insist that it was wrong and then try to PROVE that to me...until today. I had to give the Victoria's Secret checkout girl my license so that I could return a bra (purchased as a possible wedding-day need but my awesome tailor didn't require it), and apparently, you also need an Act of God to return something to there, because this girl critiqued my entire license. Which led to.......
cashier: Oh look, they like, spelled Lane wrong on your license.
me: Nope, haha, that's how I spell my name.
cashier: No, no, like the street part, that's ok, but like, here in your name? That's wrong.
me: Nope, that's really how I spell my name.
cashier: oh. With an I? Like, not the street?
me: Yep!
me in my head: um, it's getting weird. It's my name. Just return this thing and sell me this other overpriced bra, mmmmk?
.........
cashier: Really?
me: Yes, I promise, really.
other salesgirl starts to stare at this point. Either she thinks I'm a crazy name misspeller (hah- funny- spellcheck dings that word) and possibly a psychotic killer as a result or she's mentally trying to tell her coworker: LET IT GO .
.........
cashier: apparently receives mental message Oh.
It's days like these, along with the times I watch/listen to my fiance spell his name for people after saying it and watch their brows furrow as they try to reconcile the letters they are hearing with the word they just heard that I'm really, really grateful that the first 29 years of my life were spent with such an easy name.
But I'm still really looking forward to having the hard one to add :)
After much consideration, and given the fact that his last name manages to pack two W's, to O's, a J, and a CZ-sounds like-CH combo over three syllables whereas mine now is FOUR LETTERS, pronounced EXACTLY LIKE THEY LOOK, and given that it makes my entire name a total of four syllables.....well, let's just say I'll be retaining my maiden name for business purposes. I'm planning to hyphenate my last name legally.
But I really wanted to take on Cute Boy's last name, because I personally think it's important for a family to have a family name, and because one day I want to have the same name as my children.
Another reason I'm planning to hyphenate is that here in the great state of Indiana, you can't have two last names without one, and you can't have more than three names, and I didn't want to give up my middle name, which is Laine.
Which is apparently, as I learned today, A COMPLETELY CRAZY NAME. Unlike one, say, with multiple W's and O's, and J's and T's and Z's. Say that threetimesfast.
Now, I've had a lot of people tell me my middle name is unusual, but I've never really had anyone insist that it was wrong and then try to PROVE that to me...until today. I had to give the Victoria's Secret checkout girl my license so that I could return a bra (purchased as a possible wedding-day need but my awesome tailor didn't require it), and apparently, you also need an Act of God to return something to there, because this girl critiqued my entire license. Which led to.......
cashier: Oh look, they like, spelled Lane wrong on your license.
me: Nope, haha, that's how I spell my name.
cashier: No, no, like the street part, that's ok, but like, here in your name? That's wrong.
me: Nope, that's really how I spell my name.
cashier: oh. With an I? Like, not the street?
me: Yep!
me in my head: um, it's getting weird. It's my name. Just return this thing and sell me this other overpriced bra, mmmmk?
.........
cashier: Really?
me: Yes, I promise, really.
other salesgirl starts to stare at this point. Either she thinks I'm a crazy name misspeller (hah- funny- spellcheck dings that word) and possibly a psychotic killer as a result or she's mentally trying to tell her coworker: LET IT GO .
.........
cashier: apparently receives mental message Oh.
It's days like these, along with the times I watch/listen to my fiance spell his name for people after saying it and watch their brows furrow as they try to reconcile the letters they are hearing with the word they just heard that I'm really, really grateful that the first 29 years of my life were spent with such an easy name.
But I'm still really looking forward to having the hard one to add :)
Sunday, January 1, 2012
The Scene In Which I Think That Was The Holidays
So, the holidays happened.
I mean, I'm pretty sure they did. There was mid-November, and now it's January 1st, and I'm 99% convinced that in the six weeks between those two points I logged a couple thousand miles on my car, went to Detroit, went to Chicago, went to Detroit again, went to Toronto, wrapped a bunch of gifts, sent a bunch of cards, cooked a bunch of food, ate a bunch of food, and generally was merry.
The week of Thanksgiving I drove around solo a lot, and I spent a lot of that driving time listening to NPR, except for the one time I crossed a state line and the channel change and I totally thought I was still listening to NPR but in fact I'd tuned into the Christian Family Values network, and let me tell you, NOT the same.
We spent Thanksgiving at my parents house in Chicago with Cute Boy and his family, which was good for a lot of laughs and some very yummy food. It was Princess's first Thanksgiving with us, since we got her just after it last year, and she was amazed by the idea that the whole day was dictated by the process of MAKING, BAKING, and EATING FOOD.
We actually had to lock her out of the basement, where the turkey roaster was, for fear she'd pull a sneaky move a la the dogs in "Christmas Story" and we'd wind up with Chinese for dinner.
This, of course, from our dog with the, shall we say, discriminating palate, whose antics lead me to have to send texts like this:
Me -> Cute Boy: Princess just ate one of your socks and then barfed it back up. It's in one piece but it's really gross so I'm just going to throw it out.
After I thankfully was able to visit her just before Thanksgiving, my grandma passed away the week after the holiday and my family went to Detroit in early December. While I'm sad that she's gone, I am grateful that she was spared long-term suffering, and it was really nice to see some of my dad's immediate and extended family. I can't honestly remember the last time we all got together, even with just his brother and sister, and I was especially glad to get to spend some time with my only cousin on his side and am really looking forward to that relationship developing.
I hosted an end-of-year party for the amazing girls who help me out at lilly lane, for whom I have to thank for an incredible year with a record-setting number of weddings! The party was also a surprise baby shower for one of our gals, who is expecting the first lilly lane baby in January. We decked out the kitchen and living room in pink and Cute Boy demonstrated extreme tolerance for having a whole lot of estrogen in the house.
I watched Christmas Vacation and am completely, entirely convinced that Chevy Chase's character in the scene where he goes off on his boss for enrolling him in the jelly club is based off of one of my Uncle Bob's rants.
I got jelly for Christmas from Uncle Bob's daughter. Even though it was totally not a reference to that movie at all (she just knows how much I freakin' love Traverse City Cherry Jam) it was funny, because, um, see above if you don't know why that was funny.
We went to a holiday concert at Butler, my alma mater. It was on the same night that IU, Cute Boy's alma mater, beat Kentucky. Pretty much every single IU alum was glued to the TV.
He watched the score auto-update on his phone while chatting with other alums during the pre-concert reception.
That's love, folks. I'ma marry that boy.
I surfed the Interwebs and Etsy and found approximately eight million adorable, easy holiday crafts that I wanted to make and I bookmarked them all and then I made exactly ZERO of them, which is fine. And then my aunt, who is awesomely crafty when it comes to knitting, actually made me one of the crafts that I had had the idea for last year except that it never left the idea stage for me whereas she actually DID IT, and I LOVE IT, IT'S SO AWESOME, and I am totally going to try to do more of my ideas this year, and by more I mean AT LEAST ONE.
I earned major awesome-future-wife points by buying Cute Boy skis for Christmas, and let me tell you, I am going to remember this for the future, because this is how THIS went down:
1) I told Cute Boy I would buy him skis and gave him a budget
2) He went out and did all the research
3) He went out and bought the skis
4) I paid for them
5) He put them out on display in his "man-room" and told everyone how awesome I was
6) He wore them around the house and told everyone how awesome I was
7) He booked a ski trip with a pal (code for: girls weekend for me at home!)
8) He put them by the tree and I stuck a bow on them.
Guaranteed love of the gift + no wrapping + no shopping +points for me = CHRISTMAS AMAZINGNESS.
I also got him a calendar. It's a tradition.
We spent Christmas in Indy with my parents (visiting from Chicago) and brother, Cute Boy's folks and sister, my aunt, uncle and cousin, and "Grandpa Ed," the neighbor we got Princess from when he went into a nursing home last year. Which, if you're keeping tally, means that yes, I hosted Christmas Day Dinner for 12 people in our house.
Unfortunately, I was apparently convinced that we had, in fact, already recieved the kitchen and cooking things we registered for recently, like, say pots and pans and baking pans? Which led me to do a whole lot of dishes and scrape together a whole lot of interesting cookware solutions and have to send a couple texts to my future sister in law that looked like this:
Me -> Sister: Can you bring some water glasses? Ours all say Coors Lite.
Me ->Sister: Also, can you bring some spoons?
Sister -> Me: Like, regular spoons? Or serving spoons?
Me -> Sister: Yeah.....both please.
I talked to my Grandpa on Christmas Day, which was sad because he was missing Grandma, but then just sort of odd because I'm pretty sure he thought I was actually my dad the whole time I was talking to him, so either he wasn't listening to me or my voice has hit a new low, no pun intended, in sexy huskiness. Either way, meh, it's cool.
My brother learned to cook and made an amazing roast and a couple side dishes, and my mom brought a ham, and I made the rest of the meal and breakfast and snacks and they actually all turned out OK and it miraculously ALL CAME TOGETHER at the right time and then at the end of the night after everyone left or was outside or was passed out I poured my mom and I shots of rum and made her drink one with me because I never realized how freaking hard it is to host a huge holiday party.
We went to Toronto for New Year's to visit Cute Boy's pals and family who live there (Cute Boy is Canadian, eh? Have I told you that yet?) and, as always, I discovered something new about the city, namely:
While out to dinner at Pangea, an amazing, amazing, amazing restaurant that Cute Boy's best friend (and best man) is chef at:
*rumble rumble rumble rumble rumble*
Me: What the eff is that? Is there some sort of freaking underground train here that I don't know about?
Cute Boy: Ummmm........you mean the subway?
Me: Get out, Toronto has a subway?
Cute Boy: *hysterical laughter*
Whatever dude, I didn't grow up here, the subway is effing UNDER THE GROUND and I just totally hadn't noticed it yet.
And then it was midnight on December 31st and 2011 came to a close and I got to kiss this really adorable blonde dude and I realized that HOLY HELL, we are getting married in less than four months, and if you think the HOLIDAYS went by fast- well, hang on, sister.
Happy New Year to you all!
I mean, I'm pretty sure they did. There was mid-November, and now it's January 1st, and I'm 99% convinced that in the six weeks between those two points I logged a couple thousand miles on my car, went to Detroit, went to Chicago, went to Detroit again, went to Toronto, wrapped a bunch of gifts, sent a bunch of cards, cooked a bunch of food, ate a bunch of food, and generally was merry.
The week of Thanksgiving I drove around solo a lot, and I spent a lot of that driving time listening to NPR, except for the one time I crossed a state line and the channel change and I totally thought I was still listening to NPR but in fact I'd tuned into the Christian Family Values network, and let me tell you, NOT the same.
We spent Thanksgiving at my parents house in Chicago with Cute Boy and his family, which was good for a lot of laughs and some very yummy food. It was Princess's first Thanksgiving with us, since we got her just after it last year, and she was amazed by the idea that the whole day was dictated by the process of MAKING, BAKING, and EATING FOOD.
We actually had to lock her out of the basement, where the turkey roaster was, for fear she'd pull a sneaky move a la the dogs in "Christmas Story" and we'd wind up with Chinese for dinner.
This, of course, from our dog with the, shall we say, discriminating palate, whose antics lead me to have to send texts like this:
Me -> Cute Boy: Princess just ate one of your socks and then barfed it back up. It's in one piece but it's really gross so I'm just going to throw it out.
After I thankfully was able to visit her just before Thanksgiving, my grandma passed away the week after the holiday and my family went to Detroit in early December. While I'm sad that she's gone, I am grateful that she was spared long-term suffering, and it was really nice to see some of my dad's immediate and extended family. I can't honestly remember the last time we all got together, even with just his brother and sister, and I was especially glad to get to spend some time with my only cousin on his side and am really looking forward to that relationship developing.
I hosted an end-of-year party for the amazing girls who help me out at lilly lane, for whom I have to thank for an incredible year with a record-setting number of weddings! The party was also a surprise baby shower for one of our gals, who is expecting the first lilly lane baby in January. We decked out the kitchen and living room in pink and Cute Boy demonstrated extreme tolerance for having a whole lot of estrogen in the house.
I watched Christmas Vacation and am completely, entirely convinced that Chevy Chase's character in the scene where he goes off on his boss for enrolling him in the jelly club is based off of one of my Uncle Bob's rants.
I got jelly for Christmas from Uncle Bob's daughter. Even though it was totally not a reference to that movie at all (she just knows how much I freakin' love Traverse City Cherry Jam) it was funny, because, um, see above if you don't know why that was funny.
We went to a holiday concert at Butler, my alma mater. It was on the same night that IU, Cute Boy's alma mater, beat Kentucky. Pretty much every single IU alum was glued to the TV.
He watched the score auto-update on his phone while chatting with other alums during the pre-concert reception.
That's love, folks. I'ma marry that boy.
I surfed the Interwebs and Etsy and found approximately eight million adorable, easy holiday crafts that I wanted to make and I bookmarked them all and then I made exactly ZERO of them, which is fine. And then my aunt, who is awesomely crafty when it comes to knitting, actually made me one of the crafts that I had had the idea for last year except that it never left the idea stage for me whereas she actually DID IT, and I LOVE IT, IT'S SO AWESOME, and I am totally going to try to do more of my ideas this year, and by more I mean AT LEAST ONE.
I earned major awesome-future-wife points by buying Cute Boy skis for Christmas, and let me tell you, I am going to remember this for the future, because this is how THIS went down:
1) I told Cute Boy I would buy him skis and gave him a budget
2) He went out and did all the research
3) He went out and bought the skis
4) I paid for them
5) He put them out on display in his "man-room" and told everyone how awesome I was
6) He wore them around the house and told everyone how awesome I was
7) He booked a ski trip with a pal (code for: girls weekend for me at home!)
8) He put them by the tree and I stuck a bow on them.
Guaranteed love of the gift + no wrapping + no shopping +points for me = CHRISTMAS AMAZINGNESS.
I also got him a calendar. It's a tradition.
We spent Christmas in Indy with my parents (visiting from Chicago) and brother, Cute Boy's folks and sister, my aunt, uncle and cousin, and "Grandpa Ed," the neighbor we got Princess from when he went into a nursing home last year. Which, if you're keeping tally, means that yes, I hosted Christmas Day Dinner for 12 people in our house.
Unfortunately, I was apparently convinced that we had, in fact, already recieved the kitchen and cooking things we registered for recently, like, say pots and pans and baking pans? Which led me to do a whole lot of dishes and scrape together a whole lot of interesting cookware solutions and have to send a couple texts to my future sister in law that looked like this:
Me -> Sister: Can you bring some water glasses? Ours all say Coors Lite.
Me ->Sister: Also, can you bring some spoons?
Sister -> Me: Like, regular spoons? Or serving spoons?
Me -> Sister: Yeah.....both please.
I talked to my Grandpa on Christmas Day, which was sad because he was missing Grandma, but then just sort of odd because I'm pretty sure he thought I was actually my dad the whole time I was talking to him, so either he wasn't listening to me or my voice has hit a new low, no pun intended, in sexy huskiness. Either way, meh, it's cool.
My brother learned to cook and made an amazing roast and a couple side dishes, and my mom brought a ham, and I made the rest of the meal and breakfast and snacks and they actually all turned out OK and it miraculously ALL CAME TOGETHER at the right time and then at the end of the night after everyone left or was outside or was passed out I poured my mom and I shots of rum and made her drink one with me because I never realized how freaking hard it is to host a huge holiday party.
We went to Toronto for New Year's to visit Cute Boy's pals and family who live there (Cute Boy is Canadian, eh? Have I told you that yet?) and, as always, I discovered something new about the city, namely:
While out to dinner at Pangea, an amazing, amazing, amazing restaurant that Cute Boy's best friend (and best man) is chef at:
*rumble rumble rumble rumble rumble*
Me: What the eff is that? Is there some sort of freaking underground train here that I don't know about?
Cute Boy: Ummmm........you mean the subway?
Me: Get out, Toronto has a subway?
Cute Boy: *hysterical laughter*
Whatever dude, I didn't grow up here, the subway is effing UNDER THE GROUND and I just totally hadn't noticed it yet.
And then it was midnight on December 31st and 2011 came to a close and I got to kiss this really adorable blonde dude and I realized that HOLY HELL, we are getting married in less than four months, and if you think the HOLIDAYS went by fast- well, hang on, sister.
Happy New Year to you all!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
