She Likes Purple

My Shoes And I Are Catching A Plane

I leave in the morning for New York. I'm going for business and will be gone until Sunday. I'm taking 10 pairs of shoes (really) and leaving my husband and my dog home alone, with total control of our TiVo. Something tells me Gilmore Girls will not be waiting for me when I return. I'm pretty excited about this trip, as I'll have good friends, lots of books and a cupcake or two to keep me company. But I won't have Mike, and I'm not exaggerating when I say traveling with Mike is better than traveling with anything/-one else. Even vodka.

I won't be posting much until I return. (It stings a bit, I know.) But until then, tell me it's OK to already miss him, even though I haven't left yet. Even though, for now, he's right here, three feet away, watching MythBusters and eating Taco Bell, all sexy and covered in mild sauce, all sleepy and mine.

Making My Family Look Normal

I've started answering my phone—even when I don't know the number calling—which is something I never used to do. I've started doing this for three reasons: 1) I'm all mature and shit now that I'm married 2) I washed my phone a couple of weeks ago and therefore answering the phone is the only way to find out who is calling, regardless of who is calling and 3) The debt collectors stopped calling a year or so ago.

But I remembered, after a conversation I was a part of this afternoon, why screening worked so beautifully for me for so many years.

(Not exaggerating a little bit. I pinky swear.)

Me: Hello.

Other End: [heavy breathing of the intentional variety]

Me: Hello?

Other end: [more gross heavy breathing]

Me: HELLO?

Other End (stammers, totally embarrassed): Oh. I think I may have the wrong number.

Me: Who on earth are you trying to reach?

Other End: Maria. My mother-in-law.   

Breathing A Deep Sigh Of Relief

When Mike and I began thinking about our honeymoon, I decided to let Mike plan it. He picked the place, the villa, the flight, etc. And he loved doing it. If there was a career for honeymoon planning that didn't involve being gay, he'd be all about it. I gave him some rules, though: find me a beach and a drink to hold while on said beach. I suggested Hawaii and Mike suggested I LEAVE HIM THE HELL ALONE, but I thought getting passports in the midst of planning a wedding would be, oh, A PAIN IN OUR ASSES. Mike picked St. John. Don't think my husband (never gets old) is a total bad-ass with his honeymoon-picking skills? Look at this and oh, this too. He did good, right? He promised there is indeed alcohol on St. John and—even better—there is no one there we know. Not that we don't love you but Mike and I haven't taken a vacation (just the two of us) since we went camping in Oklahoma more than a year ago. People, we need this. We went to Oklahoma to get a little alone time. OKLAHOMA. And both Molly and Mike came home from that trip with ticks.

But Mike so stupidly so sweetly booked our honeymoon tickets in my new last name. He showed me the reservation, all proud of himself, and I said, oh so lovingly, I assure you, "Baby—love of my life—changing your name is kind of a long process and showing our wedding pictures may not be enough to get me on that plane, although the dress IS that fabulous."

He looked so defeated when I told him this that it forced me to say, "But I'm sure it'll be absolutely fine, love." And then I panicked alone in my closet as nothing calms me down more than looking at my shoes. But, in all honesty, I was prepared for all our wedding money to be spent on buying a new plane ticket to get me to our honeymoon.

Mike called AA and Travelocity and the state of California and his mom a bunch of times for reassurance, and everyone told him all we would need was our official marriage license. Phew. OK. Now, how do you get an official marriage license? Call #34 to Placer County went a little something like this:

Me: Hi! OK, I'm getting married on May 19th and we need our official marriage license by June 18th because my soon-to-be husband made our honeymoon reservations in my new last name, and isn't that kind of dumb? I mean he's cute, yes, and he has totally awesome hair, but obviously he hasn't visited theknot.com to print out the honeymoon checklist. So how do we MAKE SURE we get that license in time?

Lady Who Must Talk To Neurotic Brides Like Me On A Daily Basis: Just make sure you have sent in your check for $13 and you'll get it in two to three days after we get the paperwork from you or your minister.

Me: Yes, this is the same information I was told the previous 33 times I called but I need a little more reassurance. So will you tell me what I'm allowed to do on day three if I haven't yet received the license? Like who am I allowed to yell at?

LWMTTNBLMOADB: Um, ma'am, you should have it within a few days. But you'll definitely have it by June 18th.

Me: OK, will you define definitely? As in how sure are you that we'll receive the license by then?

LWMTTNBLMOADB: I'm sure, ma'am.

Me: Has anyone ever not received their license in the time frame we're working with?

LWMTTNBLMOADB: I don't know about that—

Me: Could you find out for me? Just maybe ask around.

LWMTTNBLMOADB: Can I talk with your fiance? I think he may be biting off more than he can chew?

(Last sentence made up. The rest TOTALLY VERBATIM.)

So, today, roughly five business days (don't remind me how Memorial Day went and pissed me off) after we got hitched our marriage license showed up in the mail.

I'm going to send a nice thank-you letter to Juanita, the lady at the county office who made sure our honeymoon wasn't ruined by, you know, me not being there. Although, ruined may not be the word Mike would use.

Not At All Inappropriate

(On the phone with my good friend Nick*)

Nick: I have a wedding gift for you.

Jennie: Oh, you didn't have to do that.

Nick: I looked at your pictures. You looked beautiful. Really, really pretty. I—

Jennie: Wait, are these compliments my present? See, I'm going to need a material gift.

*Nick, I can't remember what you asked to be called in my blog so people wouldn't know your real name. So hi, Nick!

Things On My Mind Tonight

1. What the hell am I supposed to watch on TV this summer?

2. If you haven't bought me a wedding gift yet, I have an idea for you! Come clean my house!

3. I hope my finger is OK. Molly bit me last night. (She bit me because I stuck my finger inches into her mouth to get a bone she was chewing on, and she accidentally chomped down mid-chew.) She's very sorry, and I've forgiven her because Mike allowed me to buy these shoes to take my mind off "the incident." The finger is looking funky and it hurts something fierce, and I hope it heals, people, because losing my finger would totally suck. But silver lining? It isn't my left ring finger. Those rings wouldn't look quite so sparkle-y and pretty on a stump.

4. Seriously, will you come clean my house?

5. Now that the wedding is over, it's time to scrapbook the wedding. Mike loves that I have no respect for our money.

6. I want to cut my hair even shorter than I did this past week.

7. Honeymoon diet starts tomorrow. Wish me luck. I've been a gorging fool since the day after the wedding and my stomach and my jeans will thank me sincerely if I put the pizza down for a few weeks.

8. Working on Memorial Day was a stupid overly ambitious idea of mine. 

9. I can hardly wait for our honeymoon. Let's hope we enjoy nine straight days of no o-e but each other. If not, we should re-think getting married. Oh, wait.

10. I better at least attempt to pick up around here. Since YOU won't do it for me. Sheesh.

Because, For Now, It Seems They're Enough

Mike and I have talked about having a baby. We've talked about having one (or trying to have one, at least) sooner than most newlyweds may consider reproducing. Sooner as in the coming months. Before you start with the judging (Hi Judgies! Thanks for coming! Would you like a drink? OK. I don't know if No, whorish lush was altogether necessary, but welcome anyway*), we've also talked about moving to Alaska or becoming professional poker players, so our talk isn't nearly as please-take-us-seriously as other adults' talk.

But Mike is older than me. (He's hitting The Big 3-0 this year and the only thing getting him through this milestone is the fact that getting older does not force him to mature, and by GOD people he will fart in public as many times as he has to in order to hang onto his immaturity if he can't hang onto his youth.) Mike has always known that he wants to be a dad, which is a really endearing and surprisingly sexy quality in a man, aside from that red hair. Which, people, if you don't think he pulls off like a ROCK STAR, then maybe take a look at this:

And this:

You can't have him though. Sorry.

I've always known I want to be a mom, but in the same way I've always loved heels. See, if you press me hard enough to expand on my feelings, I usually break down and admit the pain associated with either (babies and fancy footwear) hardly seems worth it when there are such nice substitutes in this world as our dog and J. Crew flip-flops.

But the clothes in BabyGap aren't completely lost on me and there are full days at a time when I think: I want —right now—something to fit into those little khaki cargo pants. But one thing that was not good for my internal conflict about parenthood was spending a week with some of the cutest and well-behaved babies around.

These three:

(Noah, Jake, Micallen)

They were all born within five months of each other, and if every woman on earth spent time with just one of these little princes, the birth control industry would become bankrupt in mere days. Spending time with all THREE? NOT SAFE. Let me tell you just how good these babies are: I decided—months and months ago—since we are so blessed to have these three baby boys in our family, we needed to properly whore out their cuteness on our wedding day. I came up with the idea to stick them all in a wagon, in matching adorable outfits, and have Robbi (Micallen's mom) pull them down the aisle. Now, when I began voicing this idea, I got lots of mixed responses. From "OH MY GOODNESS THAT'S SO CUTE YOU MUST TAKE A BAZILLION PICTURES!" to "Huh? You really are insane. I thought you just talked about being insane to get a few laughs, but, no, you're like totally effing crazy." Now this was back when I thought the wagon they were to be pulled in had wood slats on all sides to prevent the infants from falling out and cracking open their heads. Nothing says "this wedding is good and ruined" like bleeding infants. (You can quote me if you'd like.)

But, the wagon didn't have wood slats (see picture above). It was just ... a wagon. And I thought, Oh Lord, their moms will never let them be pulled in this. I then had a drink because the same day I found out about the wagon, I found out 10 guests were no longer coming (the same day that happened to be, oh, two days before the wedding), and at that point I just wanted to send out a mass e-mail stating, "WE DIDN'T SPEND ALL THAT MONEY ON RSVP CARDS SO YOU COULD WIPE YOUR BUTT WITH THEM." Instead I had another drink.

But the three boys are as wonderful as they are because they all have wonderful mamas. Mamas who let me dance with their sons when the open bar had already made me its bitch.

And mamas who when told about the slatless wagon just smiled and said, "Oh, it'll be fine!" Then I had another drink because I love those boys and those boys' moms so much. (I had the fourth drink because I don't have boundaries, but that's for another post altogether.)

But the boys were perfect. Micallen WAVED all the way down the aisle. The boys, all three of them, became instant friends, sharing pacifiers and plotting how to become the center of attention, and, kiddos, trust me, JUST BE YOU. When they came down the aisle, there was a long drawn-out "aw," and if you were there and seeing those boys didn't make you want to immediately hump your date in order to try for something so cute, then you're heartless and to be honest I'm not totally sure how you got invited to our wedding in the first place.

So you can understand how getting married and officially being allowed to procreate (no dress to squeeze into) while simultaneously being around him:

And him:

Oh, and this one, too:

would royally mess up my hormones—and my relationship with strong margaritas. And you can probably understand how relieved I was to sit by a toddler in Chipotle who threw his mom's burrito bowl across the restaurant, flinging rice and beans all over a perfectly nice looking man, while CACKLING and pointing at his horrifying behavior. All the while his mother cowered and apologized to all around without ONCE saying to her child, "Oh no sir. You mess with my Chipotle bowl, you don't eat for a week." That was the sentence that came to my mind, but apparently that's not appropriate parenting, and it then dawned on me, if I'm not allowed to starve my child in order to get across the lesson: Do not come between a woman and her Chipotle goodness, well, then I'm definitely not ready for parenthood, because, apparently, they don't all come out like this:

And anything less than this doesn't seem worth it right now. Maybe one day. But until then, I'll keep on being this woman:

The drunk aunt who won't put her arms down but gives her nephews anything on earth they want, including her heart.

*When I read Mike this sentence he said to me, "Wait. You have conversations? In your blog? With your readers?" "Uh-huh." "Yeah, we're not gonna make it." Then he went to round up Molly and a suitcase. 

Scene From A Drunken Wedding Reception

(During our reception)

Me: Crap, I lost my drink. I can't find my drink!

Bonnie (Mike's Mom): What was it?

Me: Vodka and sprite.

Bonnie: I found it! I found it!

(She hands me an empty Dixie cup.)

Me: Yeah, except mine wasn't empty.

Bonnie: Oh. I'll keep looking.

Productivity

Tonight I've uploaded hundreds of pictures from our trip, more from the wedding and some from the other days in Tahoe, as well. Please, go look. Comment if you'd like. Most of all, enjoy. I've also watched three episodes of Gilmore Girls and eaten six mini peanut-butter cups, so I'd say this night rivals any night—in terms of productivity—when laundry gets done.

I've spent the last few hours looking through these pictures and thinking up clever titles for some, adding effects to others. And I've smiled, thinking about how many times in my life I'll look back at these pictures and think about our wedding day. And it has occurred to me that if there's even a chance life will get better than that day, well, then I better hang on. It's going to be quite the ride.

Now, I have to start thinking about which picture to use for our thank-you cards, so tell me which one is your favorite.

Changed, Forever

My husband is sick (therefore a giant, whining, pain in my ass), our house is disturbingly messy, Blake didn't win American Idol, Veronica Mars was canceled, Green Day performed on American Idol and, also, in our disturbingly messy home, we're out of Diet Dr. Pepper and unopened wedding presents. Still, oddly enough, all feels right with the world. Perhaps it's this second ring I'm wearing. And the ring he's wearing, too.

The Best Day Of Our Lives

For weeks leading up to this past Saturday, Mike and I took turns whining about how we should have eloped. See, I'll be honest, planning a wedding is stressful if you 1) Don't have someone to do it for you or 2) Don't have someone to do it for you. Although I do believe I handle stress fairly well—I either internalize it or throw things at Molly—I was just about ready to tell all of those judgmental people with opinions (um, everyone) to suck it, and we'd send pictures from Vegas.

When we got to Tahoe, the first day handed us a few more reasons to consider ourselves incredibly stupid for thinking a wedding of any kind was a good idea. I swallowed my complaints, drank some and decided to just roll with it all. I still had the dress to consider and the dress had been nothing but fabulous to me and deserved a little positivity in return. Also, if we had to leave Molly for six days, we owed it to her to enjoy ourselves.

Then came Friday (the rehearsal/rehearsal dinner/gambling spree) and after that, Saturday (the day). Those days were perfect, and I don't throw the word perfect around, oh, ever. We laughed non-stop. We were surrounded by good people who were happy and excited to be with us. It was everything we could have ever wanted and then some.

I got nervous right before I walked down the aisle and not because I was having cold feet or doubts of any kind, but because I so desperately wanted to remember those moments leading up to THE moment. I wanted to take it all in and not forget a second of it. And—thankfully—I remember. Vividly. I remember turning the corner, my arm tucked under my dad's. I remember making eye contact with Mike and watching his unwavering smile as I walked toward him. I remember my dad kissing me on the cheek before he took his seat and Mike whispering to me, "You look gorgeous." I remember crying and Mike crying and I remember thinking, I am so damn lucky. I remember Mike saying, in his vows to me, that he too was lucky; that when he saw me at the end of the aisle he knew everything would be all right. Then he told me he loved me, over and over again. And, you know, I've never felt more loved by him than in that moment. And the moments that followed.

The wedding was dream after dream come true. We danced, we laughed, we drank, we sang, we took pictures, we were so happy from start to finish. We kicked off this marriage of ours the best way possible. Mike said to me, the next day, "I'm glad we didn't elope." And I agreed.

If all weddings are as happy and full of laughter and love as ours was, well, I don't know why everyone doesn't have one. I'll never tell another person to elope because if that person could feel what I felt this past Saturday, advising them against it would be just mean. I will advise that an open bar is really the only kind of bar to have. And also pick a man and a dress that make you feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, on your wedding day and always.

My vows:

I love you. I love our life together. I love watching The Office and rewinding Sonic commercials to laugh another time at them. I love going to the grocery store and riding on the carts. I love that our dog makes us laugh more than most people. I love date nights and Entourage marathons. And I am so certain we'll be happy because I know our life is going to be full of laughter. And the thought of getting to laugh with you forever is almost too much to take. I love our family: you, me, Molly, your fish, and all my shoes. Michael. You are the best decision I've ever made. I love you.

(Pictures will be posted to my flickr account in the coming days/weeks. Check back often and you can keep tally of how many pictures there are of me waving my arms in the air. I enjoyed quite a few glasses of champagne that night and our DJ played Journey more than once. It was definitely a night to celebrate.) 

The Wedding Post Before The Actual Wedding Post

Mike and I left last Wednesday, engaged and a little stressed. We returned today, husband and wife, and a bit depressed our trip to Tahoe had to come to an end. It was easily the best trip we've taken together, as this past Saturday, our wedding day, was easily the best day of our lives. We had such fun. We enjoyed every minute. There aren't enough thank-yous in the world to show our appreciation to our guests and to our families and friends. We took enough pictures to fill a few hard drives, and I will soon find the time to upload and organize every picture from our trip and our wedding. 

Until then, here's a few to hold you four readers over:

And this:

And:

Oh, and:

(First dance to "God Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts)

 

(I like this last one because it accurately conveys we put the open bar to good use.)

I'm officially his wife. And Molly couldn't be happier her parents can check "living in sin" off their long list that is appropriately titled: Why Mom And Day Shouldn't Be Allowed Actual Children.

Final Stretch

I have always loved weddings, but all that oohing and ahhing and sipping on free champagne is usually mixed with an odd feeling. To me, it's a strange tradition, as it's one of the few things we celebrate (so intensely) at the beginning of the story. There are more retirement parties than I-got-the-job hooplas. We celebrate births, of course, but we celebrate birthdays much more extravagantly. We have graduation parties, not first-day-of-school blowouts.

With a marriage—those marriages that are kicked off by weddings, at least—the celebrating happens at the beginning, and I've never quite understood this. Which is why I've felt the constant need to apologize over the last nine months for all I've asked of our friends and family. I've felt we haven't earned all this fuss. We've asked our parents for financial help, we've asked for pretty heavy time commitments from our friends and my bridesmaids had to supply me with gallons of tequila at the bachelorette party. We know, five four days out from our wedding day, the sacrifices have been many and I can't help but feel indebted.

I think this is my one regret. My inability to let go of my deep concern for putting people out and my desire to make this as fun and enjoyable for others as it is for us. Regardless of what anyone says, a wedding—in my opinion—shouldn't just be about the couple. It is about those who helped get us here, who carried us when we needed it, who encouraged and supported and knocked some sense into us, also. But, I know—and I know this in my bones, which is what frustrates me for losing sight of it—the people who really love us will find joy in our joy and they won't need anything from us except our happiness.

It's still tough, as even those who love us don't always understand our choices and I usually feel compelled to explain them, to find the perfect words to make a situation easier on someone else. That's my giant flaw (along with 86 others, including Doesn't know how to turn off lights). I'd simply rather be uncomfortable than for you to be.

I've enjoyed being Mike's fiance. I've loved it with every part of me, actually. Being his fiance. I've loved the sound of it. And the hope that has come along with it. We have been able to talk about our future kids without knowing if we'll have any trouble conceiving them. We have envisioned our future house without the stress of figuring out how to finance it. We have planned our yearly trips for the next 15 years because in this moment we don't have to worry about getting time off work or who will watch Molly or how much money will be in our savings account at that time. (Note to self: Open savings account. Also: Deposit money into it.) I've also loved planning this wedding. I haven't loved every second of it, no, but I know I'm more excited about being Mike's wife than the other parts and that's provided me with a level of sanity. But the constant attempts to please others, and the coming up short more often than not, well, that hasn't been much fun, and it's exhausted me.

Yesterday was busy. Between work and last-minute phone calls and errands at lunch and the commute (DALLAS TRAFFIC? HOW'S IT GOING? I FLIPPING HATE YOU.) and the coming home to a grouchy man who had to shop all day and then we went back out shopping, together, and spent HOURS looking for luggage and sunglasses and a laptop bag and travel-sized containers and dinner and then we got home and I had to do some work, and then finally we were done. Mike was making toast and this conversation occurred:

Mike: You only have two pieces of your bread left.
Jennie: WHAT? ARE THEY THE ENDS? I HATE THE ENDS. DON'T GIVE ME THE ENDS.
M: No, two pieces plus the ends.
J: Oh, you can just throw those stupid ends away. I hate the ends. Can I get a word?
M: Word?
J: Yeah, as in you agree with me.
M: But I don't agree with you. I happen to be the campaign manager for the anti-throwing-the-ends-of-bread-away organization.
J: Campaign of one, you weirdo.

Mike has done this throughout. He has made me laugh. He has made the quiet moments more meaningful and the crazy moments calmer. He has never asked anything of me, in this engagement or in this relationship. He has always been just fine with who I am. And, he has consistently forgiven my shortcomings better than anyone else in my life, except my mother (he would totally agree that she trumps him). He has worked through the stress with me, while heightening the enjoyment of everything fun. Mike has—and always has—made me feel safe enough to be me. Yes, he does roll his eyes and ask me to keep my voice down when I'm screaming in Wal-Mart, "YOU ARE NOT TARGET, WHY DO YOU EVEN TRY TO BE?", but only because it's important to both of us we stop getting asked to leave stores. He doesn't get disappointed in me, he doesn't get let down. And because of him, I'm working on not getting disappointed in myself and not letting myself down, either. He has shown me the beauty of an ordinary life, a life filled with bad TV, torturing the dog, too much beer, lots of traveling and laughing at things only deemed funny by 13 year olds. Through all this madness (the good, the bad, the ugly and the superb) he has been where I turn. My home.

He has told me, daily, that our life will all work out, it will all be OK, we're some of the lucky ones, we're going to have fun, we have it good, we can only do our best, we have to rise above the stress and the hurt and he loves me.

Michael, I believe you.

Let's do this.

Cause And Effect

Last night I did our final load of laundry. I felt so good about this feat that I treated myself to TWO 100-calorie packs. This morning, as I was rushing to get ready for work (going to bed at 4am will cause you to hit snooze a few extra times) I couldn't find my phone. I figured it was probably in the pocket of the jeans I wore yesterday.

Now, where were those jeans? Wait. . . . Did I leave them in the washing machine?

Phone = ruined

Me = total idiot

Overall situation = too good not to laugh at

Wedding guests who need to get a hold of the bride but can't = pissed

Bride = hoping wedding guests still bring gifts despite the fact that the bride is, again, a total idiot

Groom = doesn't know anything about this because the bride wants him to stay the groom 

I May Not Be A Great Writer, But I Am A Great Picture Taker Of My Dog

I've been thinking about what to write about before we head out this coming Wednesday morning. Currently, the perfect parts soulful and witty post ideas are being silenced and ignored by all the excited shrieking my brain is doing and, of course, by visions of wedding cupcakes.

But, tonight, you get pictures of my dog:

When Mike and I start packing up for a weekend away, Molly usually jumps in the opened car and just waits for us to join her. She'll sit in the car for a half hour because leaving the car risks being left behind.  This past Saturday morning, as we packed up, Molly jumped in the open trunk. That sort of dedication to traveling with us has to be admired. And we showed her our admiration by pointing at her and laughing hysterically, all the while screaming "STAY! STAY!", while we ran to get the camera.

The Anticipation

Remember this post? Remember how you thought 246 times was a bit of an exaggeration? Remember how you rolled your eyes and thought: Will that girl just tell the damn truth?

Remember how the phone bill came the other day and on our $49.99/month plan we somehow (and I'll own that by we I actually mean not Mike even a little bit) managed to rack up $186 in charges?

That last part? I REMEMBER IT WELL.

I'm hiding the bill from Mike until he marries me and I can say to him: "Ha! Fooled you! You thought I was all together and responsible and in possession of a little SELF CONTROL. And were you EVER wrong." Then I'll wave my ring in his face and do a little you're-stuck-with-me dance. And then he'll lock me out of the bedroom and I'll drink champagne on the couch for a few hours until he finds some funny video on killsometime.com and he'll yell out to me (and I'll be a little tipsy by this point, of course): "I'm still mad at you but you gotta see this." After we've laughed for a while, he'll karate chop me a couple of times so I know he's not a pushover and then we'll put the whole thing behind us, just as mature, committed adults do. Oh, and we might yell at Molly some, just to get that last bit of frustration taken care of.

To answer the question forming in your head right now:

No. We don't see a relationship counselor. WHAT'S YOUR POINT?

It's How We Roll

Last week a few storms came through and totally made Texas their bitch. But they didn't knock our power out, and Mike got home safely, so I'm not holding too tightly to a grudge. They did however litter our driveway with branches (large branches and small branches and branches of every size in between). Our retired neighbors swept their driveway the day after the storm. We've yet to clear our driveway because we've been fairly busy, checking our wedding registry and being excited. Sunday, after we came home from our movie date, Mike kicked a branch into our side yard and he said to me, with a serious look on his face, "Baby, every time you get out of the car, if you'll just kick a branch into the yard, we'll eventually get this driveway cleared."

I kicked a branch.

"YES! JUST LIKE THAT!"

"All right, babe."

We went inside without mentioning how totally out of our minds we both are. But, every time I get out of the car, I kick a branch. And I smile.

The Contents Of My Purse

Because they entertained me:

1) Antibiotics
2) Our honeymoon airline tickets (have yet to grasp the concept of a SAFE PLACE)
3) Four sheets of stamps (seriously)
4) A mailbox key to the apartment we moved out of almost a year ago
5) Scrapbook pens (I, for one, want to be prepared in case of a scrapbook emergency)
6) My planner
7) Pictures of my nephews and my dog (we all know I love the dog more; it stopped bothering Mike YEARS ago)
8) A Symphony chocolate bar. (It's Mike's, and I bet he's going to be PISSED when he goes searching for it only to remember he stuck it in my purse during the movie last night)
9) A watch (???)
10) A coaster from Outback that says, "Let us know if you valet parked. We don't have valet parking." (I stole this because it made me laugh for minutes, but I apparently forgot what a coaster is used for as it has yet to leave my purse since then)
11) 12 pens (NOT. AN. EXAGGERATION.)

I think I need to clean out my purse just as soon as I get to the laundry, the dishes, the vacuuming, the dusting, the wiping down the dirty counters, the finishing my thank-you cards, the giving the dog a bath and the shooting myself in the head. In. That. Order.

Edited: After thinking long and hard, I've decided I just need a new purse.

Ready

This weekend Mike and I made a list of things left to do for the wedding and then spent hours—and a lot of money—getting those things done. We had luggage to buy (um, didn't though), groomsmen to dress (we love you, Kohl's!), wedding rings to purchase (huh? procrastinate much bride and groom?), and we also had to eat at Genghi's Grill and buy Molly a new squirrel (oh my gosh she's so happy).

I'm not sure how, but Mike and I found enough energy to go to the movies tonight and then we came home to watch Charla and Mirna NOT win The Amazing Race: All Stars. And now instead of cleaning, I'm snuggling with my puppy and sort-of obviously writing this.

I want to realistically talk about how this wedding process is wrapping up and although yesterday I was at a loss as to how I still think it's important to at least mention my wedding is TWELVE days away and things are fantastic, if not still a little strange for me. There are many things about all this that were a bit unexpected. For example, the last couple of weeks have been less chaotic than I thought they would be. I've gone at this sans wedding planner, and although I don't think we'll make the photo gallery on theknot.com, it hasn't been quite as scary or out of control as some warned. I also wasn't prepared for some to judge us as they have. I'm never quite prepared for judgment, although, in retrospect, I probably should be. I have judged plenty in my life, but I give others the benefit of the doubt far too often and it ends up, at times, poking a hole in my happy little all-is-right-with-the-world balloon. I thought Mike and I would have fought more, and although we have fought plenty, he's also given me the most joy and has made me laugh more than anyone else through all of this. At this point in the game, when we're in the same room together, we're just pretty damn excited. I thought we'd spend a lot less money, that's for sure. I thought the time would go by a lot slower (how cliche, I know). I thought we'd have all the time in the world, and in a way we did, but we just thought that for too long, and soon enough we didn't have much time and now we have very little time and I'm still wondering, where did the time go? I thought I'd be skinnier (but kids, the dress, again, IT FITS). I thought I'd be more worried about it all, and I'm not really. I'm more worried about the kind of wife I want to be and if our honeymoon will EVER GET HERE. I'm also worried Mike is going to ask me if I'll pick up cooking the day I become legally bound to him, and I'm wondering if that will be the first thing I say HELL NO to as a married woman. I also thought my house would be cleaner because I really did think I'd be a much more on-top-of-it bride. I thought I'd feel a bit better about some things and a lot more overwhelmed about others.

As I've said, I really never thought it would get here, this wedding of ours. But every day I'm with Mike I am more and more ready to vow to stand beside him through everything. I'm ready for it all: the marriage, the life, the kids, the traveling, the debt (well, more of it), the successes, the failures, the joys, the laughter and a lot of crying at the possibility that shows like Veronica Mars can be canceled while The Real World will continue on until our grandchildren are auditioning for it, half naked.

But what I really wasn't ready for was meeting someone like Mike to begin with. I didn't think I'd be this ready to be married. I didn't think I'd be this thrilled and not even a little nervous. I just didn't think that I'd be so damn fortunate. And I'll take all the other unexpected parts of this because, kids, I'm officially ready to be this man's wife.

It's Called A Silver Lining

I've had a pretty shitty week. I've been physically not doing so effing good. I've been drinking cranberry juice by the gallon, but I won't go into why I'm drinking cranberry juice by the gallon because it couldn't possibly be obvious, could it? I also I think it's best to form boundaries around here. I will say that I now know what Uristat is and what it's used for and why some people would gladly marry Uristat or at the very least name their first-born child after it. But, seriously, don't ask what's wrong. I'm not comfortable telling you.

In addition to the "mystery" ailment, there has been other stuff mixed in to make for a mood that I'm pretty sure can only be uplifted by: 1) lots of alcohol or 2) lots of new shoes. I say "or" as if combining the two wouldn't be total bliss. I say "or" as if you don't know me at all. 

I thought about how to blog about all of this in a way that is mature and ends with a lot of grown-up perspective and also, of course, with just the right amount of humor. Oh, the catharsis we'd all enjoy! But that would require me to be a much better writer than I am.

So, I can't. I just don't know how to put this last week into words, as I'm still trying to figure out the bright side of it all. And it's proving to be harder than I had originally hoped.

I will say that at the end of the day, I do usually force myself to see the silver lining of all shitty things that may have happened over the previous 24 hours, and tonight, as I go to bed, next to my redheaded fiance who used the phrase douche nozzle tonight and made me laugh so hard I spit champagne all over the couch and also near our dog who continues to amaze me with her ability to be cuter than every other dog including yours and in a bed that is—you know—under a roof that we rent, yes, but we rent with our own checking account and under a roof that is close enough to the roofs of some spectacularly fabulous friends and family, certain ones who continue to stun me with their loyalty, their support and their humor, I can honestly say (and say with a smile) I've got it better than some.

(Huh? Maybe I'd be a better writer if I avoided run-on sentences, but I just couldn't figure out how to write that last paragraph WHILE keeping the douche nozzle part [and that was my favorite part] and also the part about Molly [oh the cuteness] and my friends really do deserve a shout-out, especially some, so I had to accept that you would cringe and, oh shit, I'm doing it again.)

Not On The Same Page

Mike: So, I was reading Yahoo! news today and somewhere in Montana ... no, wait, what state is MN?

Jennie: Minnesota.

M: Yeah, that's right, it was Minnesota. Anyway, on the DISNEY Channel they accidentally showed porn. These kids were just watching a show and all of a sudden hard-core porn came on. Isn't that crazy? Makes me wish I watched the Disney channel more often.

J: Wait. What is the abbreviation for Montana?

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(After Googling, it actually happened in New Jersey, but you can understand why Mike chose to focus solely on the detail of the story that included the phrase "hard-core porn.")