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.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
