Another Awkward Week [7.25.14]

OMG hi! I know, I so did not blog last week. I’m sure EVERYONE noticed and barely survived. Forgive me?

I actually started to write my usual weekly thang but it just did not happen. Typically I at least draft them (believe it or not, the drivel I post here is actually edited. Scary, right?) on Thursady nights and then just clean up a scoonch and post on Fridays but last Thursday my friend was like “want to get drinks” and I was like “duh” and then when I got home it was 10:04 aka my bedtime and I had a big day ahead travelling to Pennsylvania so I set my alarm a whole 12 minutes early for the next morning to allow myself to get about a million things done before I caught my 9:05 AM train. I did manage to pack (see below),  eat half an avocado (normal), wander around the apartment for a while and attempted to squeeze in a quick Pilates sesh which was basically just me laying on the floor flopping around until Brian came in and inquired what, exactly, I was doing down there, and I gave up. I then sat down to blog, realized I had about 12 minutes left with which to shower and get to said train soooooo I ditched the blog.

Win some, lose some. Am I right? I’m right.

We then spent the weekend in Lancaster for THE weddingiest planniest of wedding planning extravaganzas: met with the florist (aka my awesome cuz Angie), hair trial, makeup trial, met with rehearsal dinner space, toured hotel where we’re all staying, met the photographer, walked through venue, menu tasting and met with our officiant (aka my mom’s BFF). It was long and kind of crazy but also awesome and I’m feeling so ready for la dia grande. Emotionally, anyway. Logistically, well, we’ll just have to see about that one. It’s so soon! I (understandably) couldn’t sleep that Saturday night, my mom came out of her bedroom at 6:30 AM and found me wide awake, wild-eyed after having already drunk a full pot of coffee, furiously typing out to-do lists.

I have a feeling I’m going to be a real treat to hang out with these next 22 (but who’s counting?!?!) days.

COOL STORIES, LIZ. Let’s cut to the chase and take a look at what was keeping it awkward these last two weeks.

This Suitcase:

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From last weekend pre-trip to PA. Chock-o-block full of dirty laundry because somehow it is easier/better to haul dirty clothes 300 miles to a totally different state on multiple forms of transportation than it is to go down the street to the laundromat.

This is marginally better than the time I had Brian’s mom wash my undergarments…but not by much.

This Get-Up:

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I worked out over lunch the other day and then came back and found out our office was hosting some kind of bake sale so I immediately undid all my hard work in le gym with a fat pile of cake. Worth it.

Anyhoodle, while at said bake sale a colleague asked me “if I meant to tuck my shirt up into my belt like that??” which, of course not! I just don’t know how to dress myself.

Additionally, upon further inspection that top shows way too much back for the workplace, gah. I need to get it together on the business cash front. Whoops.

This Bouquet:

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It was my sweet colleague’s birthday over the other weekend, so I brought her a bouquet of flowers Monday morning so she’d have someting pretty to look at and celebrate all week.

I S to G they were alive when I brought them in but by Monday afternoon they were deader than Marley’s Ghost.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KATIE. I bought you a dead plant.

She said she extra appreciated them because dead plants was very “me” and she knew it would mean she get a blog shout-out.

So, you’re welcome, Katie! Happy Birthday from me and my cool blog!

(Side note: does anyone else find “bouquet” a difficult word to remember how to spell? No? Just me?)

This Plate:

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Speaking of Katie (so many shout outs!), she hosted a fun, classy birthday party at a local restaurant to celebrate. There was free flowing hibiscus champagne and delicious food and the only thing more yummy than hibiscus champagne and delicious food is to spill your beverage all over your plate and mix ‘em together. Saves time! You’re getting your booze and your dinner in one tasty little package.

I was also, obviously, wearing white jeans to said dinner party and they’re now in need of a serious bleaching.

That’s what my mom’s house is for!

Also, who do I think I am wearing white jeans? I can not handle that sort of pristine responsibility.

This Other Plate:

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Well, that food was on a plate but oh, look, it’s on the floor. I was home alone the other night and made myself the yummiest dinner of baked sweet potato fries with chipotle aioli (yeah, I make my own aiolis, what of it?) and a salmon burger with avocado and then was furiously shoving it in my face and shoveled so hard that I knocked it all on the floor.

PWOMP.

Luckily I’d made 3 full potatoes worth of fries, so I could sacrifice a few and, I’ll be honest, I just picked up the burger, dusted it off, and dug back in.

Gross?

Gross.

Also funny, while this happened I was reading some kind of mom blog and she remarked about cleaning up after her kids spilling food all over the place and I realized my toddlers are going to write a blog about cleaning up after me.

They’re all doomed.

This Tote:

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Another day, another tote.

We took the Amtrak back to NYC last weekend and there’s always a stressful moment as it pulls into the city, everyone gets up out of their seats and lines up by the exits, ready to pour out into the hellhole that is Penn Station. As we filed out my tote bag handle got stuck on the handle of the bathroom door. It was a sliding door, so as I walked forward, I pulled the door alllllll the way open behind me. I then had to hold up this whole long line of humans frantic to disembark while I untangled myself from said door.

LUCKILY there was no one inside but still, you guys. BUT STILL.

And that was my week. Weeks, plural. What is everyone up to this weekend? We’re moving! Just casually moving and wedding planning and it’s all going to be GREAT and omg I need a nap. I’m super stoked about our sweet new pad (I’m a skater tween from the 90′s now, did I tell you that?) and I know it’ll be pretty easy and not that big of a deal but whoo boy, will I be glad when this move is behind us. Just get me to Sunday, Dear Lord Beyonce. I believe in you.

Happy Weekend, beautiful swans. I will do my best to write next week but someone forgot to call Time Warner about setting up internet in the new apartment so I can’t make any promises. Lest you think we’re not even married yet and I’m already throwing huffy wife shade, don’t worry, that someone is totes, obvi, no duh me.

WEEKEND!

xoxo Liz Ho

One Awkward Wedding: One Month to Go!

Our wedding is in ONE MONTH! Un mes! Un mois! Xahar! Though that last one sounds like Dothraki, it’s actually Maltese. Which is apparently a real language! Who knew! Mhux lili, that’s for dang sure! Mhux lili! (That means “not me”in Maltese…obvi!)

Whatever language you say it in, one month from today I’ll be hitchin’ my star to the Brian wagon. And I can’t wait!

One thing that has sort of surprised me about this whole wedding planning process is how utterly goopy it’s made me. I’ve gone all soft and romantical. It’s hard to put into words, but over the past few weeks, I’ve noticed myself being sort of hyper aware of my, well, love for Brian. Vomtastic, I know, but I can not be stopped. I get giddy just thinking about him and can’t look at his face without wanting to smooch it. I find everything he does utterly endearing. The other weekend we spent basically 48 straight hours together, just the two of us, no pals or distractions and very little entertainment, save HBOGo, and on Sunday night I looked back with glee thinking how much fun we had together and how much fun we always have together and how profoundly happy that makes me.

Which is probably for the best because I think that’s kind of the point of this whole rigmarole, no? Well, that and the presents, of course.

I kid, I kid!

I was emailing this week with a sweet friend of mine who is a newlywed herself. She and her brand new husband were faced with some scary challenges just moments into their marriage. They’d been home from their honeymoon a week when her husband had some scary, unexpected health problems. He’s mended spectacularly and back up to fighting speed now but their scare brought into stark reminder that the wedding party will end, but what comes after is the real deal.

And even after all they’ve already been through, she gushingly told me “being married is awesome.”

AWESOME!

In an entirely uncharacteristic instance of making someone else’s traumas all about me (hah!), I’ve been thinking a lot about their experience as we lead up to our wedding – and thus, our marriage. Sickness, health, richer, poorer, happier, sadder, in times of trouble and anger and family drama and work crisis and children and bad hair days and stomach bugs that produce results you’d never want another person to be privy to – these are the things that you’re signing up for, what remains after the champagne has been drunk dry, the flowers have wilted and the dress is packed away. It’s important not to lose sight of that. To go through all that, and more, and still wake up every day – or at least most of the days – thinking “THIS IS AWESOME,” that is my hope for our marriage.

And I know that might not always be possible. There may be days or even weeks or months where we’re struggling  and having a hard time waking up feeling awesome and that’s OK. But I still can’t seem to help myself from melting into a complete and total mushball at the very thought of spending my life, the good, the bad and the hideous, with Brian.

He is the best!

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If sitcoms are anything like real life, it’s only a matter of moments until we’re grouchy and cynical, bickering over the TV remote and the trash can, having sex once a year. I want to remember what it felt like to be totally gushy and mushy and gloopy and romantical, so below are a few points on my main man to look back upon if I’ve ever begun to question why I’ve decided to lock it down forever with this particular person.

I hope you brought your own barf bag today, folks! It’s about to get realllll nauseating up in here.

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First of all, he is dead sexy. Let me just state the obvious right up front: the man is a Grade A dreamboat and I derive great pleasure from gazing upon his face (and butt!) every day. Those baby blues? The grin? Mmm-mmm-mmm!

(That’s me trying to type out onomatopoeia for sexy / delicious. Nailed it?)

And he makes me laugh and laugh and LAUGH. Brian is so funny. Not in a “HEY EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME!” way, which is great because those people are obnoxious (trust me, I’m one of them) but he is sly and quick and clever and always knows just what to say or do to crack me up.

We love to eavesdrop on people on the street when we’re walking around and make snarky comments about what they’re talking about. It’s so mean but so fun.

He loves to gossip. He’s almost (almost!) as bad as me.

He is so good at his job. He loves math. Like loves it. Remember that teacher in high school who was like “algebraic equations are fun! This geometric formula is SO interesting” and you were like “UM no this is the worst”? Well that guy is Mr. Scott. And now he’s marrying a woman who barely eked her way out of pre-calculus with C’s.

I am still firmly in the “math sux” corner but he’s certainly doing his best to convince me otherwise!

He’s frugal and brilliant with budgets. And hilariously into low-cost alternatives for expensive things. Like, instead of buying new weights, he filled up an old duffel bag with text books and lifts that for strength training. Weirdo!  He wanted to fill the bag with sand but some killjoy didn’t want sand in her house.

He is playful and fun and adventurous. Why lay on the beach when you can toss a frisbee! Why paddle gently in the lake when you can instigate a six-hour jumping competition? Why eat at the same restaurant when you can try a new one or hang out in the same neighborhood when there are dozens of new places in our city to explore.

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He encourages everything I do, whether big or small, weird or serious. He listens to me complain about work, has been a shoulder to lean on during some difficult family times and always motivates me to do bigger and better things.  When I wrote my piece for Vogue, he was refreshing the internet hourly to see if it had posted yet. He trained with me for my half marathon, pushed me to go faster and better and woke up at the crack of dawn in the pouring rain to cheer me on from the sidelines.

He has this funny way of kind of flopping onto the couch when he’s getting comfy at home – legs akimbo, arms crossed on his chest, pillows propped just so that kills me every time. I can’t help myself from jumping on top of him to snuggle up.

He loves to snuggle. He might find that embarrassing that I just told the whole world, it seems a common misconception that men don’t like to cuddle but this guy can snoogle with the best of them.

I love it!

He cares for my family and for his family and for our family that we’re starting together. He has deep, enduring friendships from childhood. He knows the value of close friendships for both of us and works to nurture his and encourages me to do the same.

He is deeply, passionately curious. He’s always reading the news, listening to the radio, trying to learn everything he can about everything. Everything! I’m serious. Just say a word and I swear to G, he’ll start googling it within the second.

He gets extra curious after he’s been drinking, which is equal parts hilarious and (sweetly) annoying, Some people drink and get angry. Some get hungry. Some get sleepy. This guy just gets more inquisitive. Which is adorable unless you’re one of the sleepy ones, sitting next to him in a cab home from a long night as he rattles off his latest curiosities: “I wish I knew more about Ralph Waldo Emerson” or “what do you know about Kyrzkystan?” or “here are 17 fun facts about race relations in South America.”

What?! Stop reading Wikipedia and let me sleep!

But then, by the light of day, I always think it’s cute again. My clever guy!

I will always remember the first time we tentatively tiptoed into a serious future together, talking about raising eventual children…our children. We were eating at this Italian hole-in-the-wall on the Upper West Side after ice skating in Central Park and it was already the cutest date night. Brian told me that the number one thing he would want to pass on to his our children was a spirit of curiosity. And my uterus just exploded. Straight up, like a firework. Not only have I landed a man who is curious himself, but he recognizes it as an important value to pass to future generations?! JACKPOT! I had this vision of Brian and a little tow-headed kid playing with a telescope – I don’t know why it was a telescope, that just seemed like a natural toy for an inquisitive child and their nerd dad – and it was all I could do not to just fling myself across the table and beg me to impregnate me right then and there, atop the ravioli.

Just thinking about it right now, you guys! My ovaries are leaping around in my torso.

He’ll make cute babies, too, based on this photo of him as a five year old that I carry around in my wallet like a complete psycho creep.

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LOOK AT THAT FACE!

Also we’re talking like, many a year here for these hypothetical nerd children so don’t get too excited. The world does not need another mom blog!

Brian loves Asian food, NPR, Larry David, Buzzfeed lists, America’s-Home-Video-style clips of people getting knocked over or otherwise accidentally injured, IPAs, sleeping in, running, The New Yorker, burritos and, best of all, ME!

He lets me know he cares for me and appreciates me in infinite ways every day, through touches, words and thoughtful gestures.

Brian often gets home from work earlier than I do and every night I bustle in the front door, yelling one of the million strange pet names I have for him (buddy, buns, beans, honeybunch, honeybuns, hot pants, cutels, cute magoot, etc) and he comes and meets me in the hall as I’m hanging up my coat and keys and gives me a big fat smooch and I can see it in his face that he’s genuinely excited to see me and to have me home.

It is my favorite part of every single day.

I hope I always remember these things about my BriGuy. And I am excited to learn more lovable things about him over the years ahead.

I can’t wait for a lifetime of homecomings and adventures. Of burritos and This American Life and strange homemade contraptions and late night rambles and snuggles and bike rides and pinching that hot booty every chance I can get. I know it won’t always be easy. I know we’ll face some tough times. But I also know, more than I’ve ever known anything, especially math, of course, because I barely know any math, that we’ll get through it together.

And there is not a single person I would want to go through life with than this studmuffin.

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warned you I’d gone soft! I’m just a grinning fool over here, counting down the days until our wedding and our marriage.

ONE MONTH! BIR AY!* IB LUB HLIS!** O LUNA!***

* Turkish

** Hmong, DUH

*** Romanian. Seriously do you guys not know any foreign languages like, at all?! Get with the program!


 

Another Awkward Week [7.11.14]

Hi guys!!! How was everyone’s week? Mine felt like, interminable, but now I’m looking back and wondering how exactly I passed all that endless time because I feel like nothing got done!

Hmm. Giving thought it seems I mostly ate cherries, looked at at vintage wedding bands on Etsy (NO we don’t have our rings yet, don’t worry about it) (Also: anyone giving away any free estate jewelry? ), power binged through the entire final season of Game of Thrones (TYRION!), worked out a ton (yay!) (shredding for the wedding!) and listened to a disturbing amount of Jason Derulo.

Guys…he’s really good. I mean, yes his songs are like, sexist and raunchy and horrible and about butts and stuff but…I love butts! And bad pop music. So, yeah. No shame in my game.

#WiggleWiggleWiggle

Also: terrible segue, but powering through. A quick note related to my wedding rambles from earlier this week. Wedding Paper Divas, my favorite online paper goods supplier is once again offering a Gilt Group coupon and it is SO good! This is how poor people who have mixed emotions about paper products can afford nice paper products! Score to the maximum. So if you’re planning any sort of soiree in the near future for which you’ll need invitations or thank you notes or any of that good jazz...hop to!

(As always when I talk about things I buy, they in no way are paying me to endorse them! I’m not that famous. I just really like this website. But if you are from Wedding Paper Divas and are reading this and want to give me money or products, I’m all aboard.)

Oook. Cut to the chase, Liz. Let’s all clasp hands, wiggle our big fat butts and take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.

This Display:

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This is less of an anecdote, more of an observation.

This week was my sista’s birthday (HBD Margie!) so I popped over to the drugstore to pick up a card. When I got there, a man was standing in the card asile right in front of the birthday section, carefully reading through every card looking for the perfect one.

Which, of course! Is how one should shop for birthday cards and bully on him for getting there first but HOW painfully awkward is it when you need to do something very specific and someone is in your way and you have to just linger around. Like, when you get to the office microwave seconds after someone has put in their Lean Cuisine for one minute and forty-five seconds. What do you do for the one minute and forty-five seconds? Stand there and stare at them? Make small talk? Go all the way back to your office and risk a) losing the microwave to someone else and b) returning to find yourself in the exact same situation? Pretend you came to the kitchen for a whole other reason?

Starve to death?

Or when you go to buy your sister a birthday card and this cute old man is taking his sweet fucking time reading EVERY SINGLE CARD ever made oh my god, dude, just pick a card and get on with your life we don’t have all day here, what do you do? Stand really close behind him and hope he gets the hint? Ask him politely to get out of the way? Go stand in the nail polish aisle for a while, keeping one eye on the card section and then sprint over the second the man is done?

Gently say “excuse me, sir” and share the card rack?

Probably that one, on retrospect, but still! Awkward.

Life is SO HARD sometimes guys.

This Gift:

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Last night we went out to dinner with Brian’s college friend and his wife who just moved up to Brooklyn. They were married September 7, 2013 and we missed the wedding.

We just gave them their gift…last night…July 10, 2014…wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper.

We are the WORST people on earth. Honestly we deserve to get zero gifts at our wedding.

Although! I would like to point out that though we did not give a single gift on time in 2013 (also, this one was totally Brian’s to send so…blame the man!), we are 4 for 4 with timely wedding gift giving in 2014! I’ve even sent gifts to showers I couldn’t attend. So, we’re getting there.

Still close to the worst, though.

(Michelle, Carlo, if you’re reading this, I still have your wedding gift sitting here in my office. I can see it now! I promise to mail it to you before your first anniversary…so like, any day now.)

Related: never do I feel like such an “adult” as when doing things with other couples. Recently we went to dinner at another couple’s apartment. We brought a bottle of wine and homemade potato salad and I was just like, this is what grownups do. Holy shit, we are grownups.

And mostly I love it! It’s fun! But also, you know.

Holy shit!

We’re grownups!

This Spill:

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I k now what you’re thinking

A) Brian is so hot, I’m jealous Liz gets to marry him.

B) finally! Brian is the one spilling water on himself, it’s not just Liz out there humiliating herself.

Well you are wrong, friends. At least on the second part. You’re dead right on the first. He’s a smokin’ hot babe and back off. The boy is mine. But if you actually think Brian caused a scene in public all by himself without a small (huge) assist from his intended, you are incorrect.

Last weekend we were out and about shopping for wedding rings, which we obviously did not yet buy — holy cheese we need to get it together and fast. I was drinking a San Pellegrino* on the subway into Manhattan and sat it down on the seat beside me, totally reckless like. Brian picked it up and made a comment on how I’m always “playing it fast and loose with my beverages.”

True story – I’m always just like, sitting cups on the arms of chairs or haphazardly tilting them all over the place and then wondering why I am covered in liquids.

Well, if Chekhov and his gun have proved anything it is that if someone calls you out on your “fast and loose” beverage lifestyle, you will end up spilling by the end of the day.

Later that afternoon we were riding the escalator back down into the subway station at Grand Central. I was thirsty, having just spent a few hours wandering in the hot sun, so I bought a bottle of H2O from the Hudson News. I was ahead of Brian on the escalator, we were chatting away and I guess I dropped the bottle of water? Or something? It all happened so fast I don’t remember how it went down, but all I know is I somehow ended up very quickly “catching” the bottle between my elbow and my torso, effectively squeezing a big fountain stream of water all over…Brian.

HAHAHAH! I had some on my sandal but otherwise was dry as a bone and poor, handsome, sexy, studly (sorry, got carried away there), Brian was drenched.

I will say I’m glad it was someone I know and not a stranger but I will also say that I sometimes feel bad for BriGuy. He really landed a weird one and now he’s stuck with me forever.

MWA HA HA HA HA.

*I mention what I was drinking because am I the only one who falls for those fancy sodas with their fancy tinfoil lids every.single.time. I can’t see one in a store without wanting to buy it. DAMN YOU and your clever packaging, San Pellegrino!

Okey, that’s about enough for now. I must get to workity before I inevitably fall back into the seductive distraction that is Wedding Planning. SO MANY THINGS TO GOOGLE!!

What’s everyone up to this weekend? I just realized it’s 7/11 which means that 7-11 is giving away FREE SLURPEES!!!

[races out of the office for a slurpee at 9:01 in the AM]

HAPPY WEEKEND KIDDIES!

xoxo Liz Ho

One Awkward Wedding: Liz Finally Loses Her Mind!

Like sands through the hour glass, so are the days of my wedding planning.

Did that make sense to you? No? Me either.

There is no time for sensemaking. NO TIME!!

Our wedding is in 39 days and counting and so much is happening. It’s starting to feel really real in a way that is at once exciting and a tad overwhelming.

And by a tad, I clearly mean a ton. A metric ton! Unless that’s less than a regular ton…I’ve never been one for math and science.

Someone recently commended me on my zen attitude towards wedding planning and I do (honestly!) think I have kept things pretty mellow which is kind of surprising, considering what  a stress monster I usually am. But I’m noticing that as the days slip by faster and faster even I, Zen Bride Extraordinaire, am beginning to lose my cool.

Last night I dreamt that we were in a chapel and they were performing back to back to back weddings and then, suddenly, it was our turn! But, wait! We weren’t ready! Some of the bridesmaids had their hair done. I did not. One bridesmaid had to leave to “go to another thing” and Brian’s parents were missing. I had spaghetti sauce on my wedding dress. There was no music.

Our #Hottwedding was a #Hottmess.

Now I know about as much about dream psychology as I do about metric tonnage (aka nothing) but if I were forced to dig deep and try to decode, I’d go right ahead and say it seems I’m just a pinch worried about getting everything done and not being ready.

For the wedding, at least. I’m totally ready to legally lock it down with Brian. I am going to marry the HELL out of that guy and I can’t wait. It’s going to be awesome! But the wedding is another story. Try as I might to avoid the pressure to make my One Special Day be perfect through and through, I’m turning into a little bit of a crazyperson!

Would anyone like to hear a very insane and long-winded example? No?

TOO BAD, BITCHES. KEEP READING.

Woo, forgive me. Got a little carried away there! But seriously sit back and allow me to regale you with a tale of madness, mayhem and paper products!

LIZ HO VS EMILY POST: ENVELOPES OF DOOM: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

So! Like I said, must to the surprise of all parties involved, I’ve been pretty cool & calm on all fronts including getting along with mi madre which, if Say Yes to the Dress says anything about real life, is basically a miracle. At this point in the game we should have had about 15 knock-down-drag-out fights renouncing one another as family, her threatening not to come, me screaming back “GOOD, YOU’RE DISINVITED!”, both of us in hysterics, but so far, we’ve managed to avoid major arguments.

Weeeeellll except that little tiny one over the invitations.

Not the actual invitations, mind you. Those I’m pleased as punch over. My pal Jamie who is a stellar graphic designer (and available for hire!) (SRSLY email me if you’re looking!) designed our “invitation suite,” as I would call it, if I were the sort of person who used fancy terms like that. They are everything I could have wanted: classy, simple, whimsical, gorgeous.

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AMAZING, RIGHT???!!!!

Oh, and, did I mention cheap? They were so cheap!

Everyone has their priorities in weddings, as in life, on what they think is worth a lot of money and for me, paper products was at the bottom of the list. I like looking at pretty paper and I respect your right to blow the bank on whatever the H you feel like but, the way I see it, that embossed, lined, monogrammed envelope stuffed with 12 different letterpressed cards all tied up in a satin bow and hand addressed by a professional calligrapher are going one place and one place only: the garbage can.

Rough stuff but it is true. I barely remember what most of my friends wedding invites looked like (or birthday invites or baby showers or anything) except in the cases where they were really fancy pants and then I only remember how guilty and horrible I felt when I inevitably chucked them because as much as I love my friends (SO MUCH!) and value their right to fancy invitations, ain’t nobody got space for all that fancy paper.

And YES I know every single aspect of wedding planning is a waste of time and money, duh, but we all pick and choose how to waste our time and money and for  me, this was just not it. Friends and countrymen, feel free to toss these in the garbage can guilt free!

That said, I didn’t want the invites to look like actual garbage. Luckily for me, two of my best friends, Jamie and the World Wide Web teamed up to create magic and bring us something that is hella fabulous for UNDER BUDGET. Boomshackalacka. In case you are curious, which you are surely not, but I’ve already started telling this story there’s NO STOPPING ME NOW, we used a Gilt Group coupon for the website Wedding Paper Divas to print our invites, hand designed as a generous gift by Jamie. I would probably never have used this website were it not for the coupon – I cringe at the word “diva,” as it is usually used in a derogatory manner towards women considered to be “difficult,” in a way that is very rarely flipped back on men (am I right, Nicki, or am I right?) BUT sometimes my frugality gets in the way of my morality (I know, I’m the worst) so I couldn’t say no to this coupon. And I’m super glad I didn’t. Silly name aside, WPD was beyond professional. They send complimentary samples of their stationery, their customer service was quick and helpful and the quality was A+++.

And our designer was A+++, too! Y’all should hire her. The best way to get a good deal  is to become her friend, because then you get free graphic design and you get to hang out with her and she’s the bomb.com, so it’s kind of like you’re getting paid in the end, really, but if you can’t find a way to worm your way into her life/heart, you could certainly email me for an intro and I bet she’d offer you a fair deal. Just sayinnnn’!

Ok so now we have learned that a) I didn’t care much for invites to begin with and b) loved the ones we ended up with so why did c) they lead to the d) most intense melt down of Liz Ho’s Wedding Planning Extravaganza Extraordinaire?

‘Twas not what was inside the envelopes (plain white, came free with the order!) that upset me, you see, ‘twas what was written outside of them.

As I’m sure you can surmise, I was not about to pay for someone to calligraphy (caligraph? is there a verb for this word?) these bad boys, I would have been happy printing them out on a laserjet printer like an uncouth monster but we did still want them to look nice, so my dearest Schmoopster offered to hand-write all 101 addresses. She was very cute about it, sending us samples with different pens and practicing a little bit each night and all was right with the world until we experienced what I am now calling a minor communication breakdown. Others might call it a major meltdown. I’ll let you be the judge.

My one and only request with these invitations what that none sent to married couples be addressed in the so-called “traditional” manner, to Mr. and Mrs. Hisfirstname Lastname because that makes my skin crawl. Like, what is that even about? It’s not enough for a woman to take a man’s last name? AND change from a Ms. to a Mrs. when he gets to keep Mr. all along? She also don’t even get her own first name anymore?

I know this is the “proper” way and how Emily Post would do it but I think it’s sexist and stupid, Emily. That bitch is like, 700 years old and not even invited to our wedding so who even cares what she thinks.

Apparently a whole lot of people!

Somewhere in this whole process this point was not made clear and it came to my attention after about ⅓ of the invitations were already addressed that they were, in fact, going out in this traditional manner. My mom and I had a huffy, mildly dramatic phone conversation but managed to end on a civil note, with me agreeing that the already written invites could go out as-is, and Schmoops agreeing that any going forward would at least mention the woman’s name on their somewhere, Emily Post be damned, and we hung up, end of story.

J to the K. One of us, I won’t mention any names (women don’t get names, remember?!) (calm down, Liz) could not … ok…would not… let it go. This person was me, obviously. I hung up and stormed around the apartment, fuming, getting more and more upset.I am a feminist! And now I’m sending these misogynistic envelopes all over America! HOW WOULD THAT LOOK?! What would people think?! Just as paper crushes rock, so will these paper envelopes crush my sterling, powerful reputation! This could not go on!

So I took the mature route, called my mom back and oh, the doody hit the fan. I started weeping – and I don’t mean like, gently crying or sniffling, I mean like, tears down my cheeks, hyperventilating, weeping — about feminism and individuality and last names and choice and envelopes and women and identities and demanded that my mom re-do all of the invitations,even the ones she had already written.  I could NOT have my return address associated with a Mr. and Mrs. HisFirstname situation. At one point I actually shrieked “THIS IS MY BRIDEZILLA MOMENT! I AM THROWING DOWN MY BRIDEZILLA CARD AND YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME!”

Oy yoy yoy.

(Spoiler alert: I did start my period the next day so I blame my hysteria on the hormones. But I stand by the subject of my hysteria!)

My mom fired back that it was a silly thing to waste my bridezilla card on, some people like to be addressed in such a manner, that she likes cares about adhering to certain types of tradition, she is helping to fund this wedding so her reputation is on the line too and maaaayyybe, just maybe, I should think about other people’s values as much as I think about my own.

Game, set, match: Bernie.

Loathe as I am to admit it. And oh, I am so loathe. She’s totally right, guys.

And lo, we managed to reach a conclusion. All envelopes already written would remain “proper” as well as those to anyone who might like to be addressed in such a manner, because some people do like tradition and that is ok (it is!), but all others would be a little more progressive.

My sweet  mom, trying so hard to prevent another meltdown took it to the furthest level, addressing married women as Ms. instead of Mrs. or in some cases, completely omitting gendered pronouns at all.

I loved it!

Of course, after all this, I will bet you all a haypenny and a half that not one single solitary person even noticed how they were addressed. And if they did and they were offended, oh well. Please trust that we were just two ladies doing the best we could under the pressures of tradition, the patriarchy, the Wedding Industrial Complex and the most stressful situation in all the land: mothers and daughters planning a wedding together.

We tried! We really, really tried.

I still maintain it was a worthy cause for throwing down my Bridezilla Card. Flowers, playlists, party favors – these things are silly details about one day which will eventually fade into memories in a photo album and therefore not worth truly stressing over. But my anxieties re: the traditional manner of addressing couples reflect something actually life-altering. I have gradually come around to the idea of possibly (probably) (ok, more than likely) taking Brian’s last name, a saga I’ll delve into another time, but I still can’t shake the fear that marriage means sacrificing my personal feminine identity. Elizabeth Scott is one thing. Ms. Scott? I’m still on board. Mrs. Scott, less so. Mrs. Brian Scott?

No way, Jose.

And by Jose, I could mean Jose OR his wife because married ladies don’t get their own first names!

Enough, Liz. ENOUGH!

Like my pal Elsa, I’m letting it go. I understand that women have different ideas of what feels right for them and it is important to honor their decisions and that you can still be married and be a badass individual feminist lady, and names are just names and all that other good stuff and perhaps I need not take everything so seriously all the damn time. And maybe stop reading Jezebel. But I still reserve my right to throw occasional temper tantrums on my road to self enlightenment.

I’ll be sure to send you my mailing address when I get there. Just don’t send any correspondence to Mrs. Brian Scott ;).

And that, my friends, is my tale. What a mess, right? I’m a nutjob.

But other than this, and the dreams, and the nail biting, and the various Google rabbit holes I keep falling into, I’m doing pretty a-ok. I might just survive the next 39 days with my sanity (and relationships!) in tact.

Wish me luck! JK wish my mom luck. And Brian. That poor guy is stuck with this nutjob for LIFE.

Sucks to be himmmm!

The end.

Liz

PS: I am very sorry, I realize this whole post this is probably insanely rude and awkward to talk about/show off wedding invitations because not everyone who reads this is invited.  Believe me, I would have liked to invite the whole wide world but that’s just not a possibility…a post for another time. I’m still too busy barfing with guilt over guest list cuts to discuss it.

Another Awkward Week [7.3.14]

Hey GUYS! Remember me? No? Didn’t think so. It’s been what, like, years? Decades?

Oh, a week and a half? Well it feels like decades. The stress of trying to plan a wedding + find an apartment + move into said apartment + at least appear productive at work + pop zyrtec like it’s candy because my sinuses are not on board this summer + finish the first 4 seasons of Game of Thrones (3 down!) (RIP so very many people) + watch ALL the soccer + take so many cold showers after watching ALL the soccer because HOT DIGGITY DAYUMN all these men in shorts + play with my new blender + eat, drink, sleep and, you know, stay alive has really caught up with me and, much as I love you all (and the attention you give me, letz be honest here), writing has fallen onto the back burner.

The way, way back burner.

Which bums me out but c’est le vie, my friends. C’est le motherflipping vie.

Are you curious what else has been going on in my life, besides the above? No? Whelp, we all know I’ll probably tell you anyway. Let us all join hands and take a look what was keeping it awkward this past decade week and a half.

This Travel Mug:

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My BFF Mo generously gifted us with a Ninja blender for my bridal shower, complete with two travel mugs and this cool attachment function that lets you make your smoothies right there IN YOUR MUG. It’s miraculous. My old blender could barely chop. If I wanted to make a smoothie with frozen fruit, which I do, every single day, I would have to defrost the fruit in the microwave first and even then the blender would only get half of it, leaving me with warm smoothies with chunks of thawed, mushy fruit floating around. No bueno.

So to say this new toy is life changing is an understatement. My smoothie game has been revolutionized!

There is one downside which is sort of an upside in disguise, which is that the travel mugs twist on SO tight. And stay on SO tight. How tight? Neither I nor three of my colleagues could twist off the other day when I wanted to rinse it out. I tried to clean it with the lid still on by pouring in some warm water through the drink hole and swishing it around and pouring it back out again but that did NOT work and then all day I was left with this mess which, let’s be honest, looks like a travel mug full of diarrhea.

Yum!

Did I ruin your appetite? I kind of ruined mine…

PS: Is it considered bad form to use your wedding shower presents before your wedding? If yes our form is bad to the bone, because we have been going nuts with all of our new kitchen gadgets. Whoops?

This Noodle:

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This past weekend was my bachelorette party – I demanded a whole weekend long party, I am such a ‘zilla. My gals rented a lake house in the Poconos and it was just the best. THE BEST. THE BEST!!!!! I have never felt so loved and special and also just so relaxed and so very, very full of food. Essentially we partied like it was 1999 (aka 8th grade) but this time with booze. And an inflatable penis. Disney singalong? Check. Cotton Eye Joe? Check.  Getting weepy while talking about Dawson’s Creek? Check. 5 gallon tub of cheese balls? Check aaaaannnnd check.

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We also swam in a pool, fended off a raccoon attack (mild exaggeration), played with sparklers, played “Pin the Hose on the Firefighter,” invented some kind of group Wawa chant, played dozens of rounds of Heads Up, created a new sex move inspired by “Free Willy” (yes, this Free Willy) called the “Whale Tail,” (we’ll tell you all about when you’re older), polished off copious amounts of Firefly vodka, Bud Lights and champagne (including one really fancypants bottle gifted by a friend who couldn’t be there (hi Ash!) which I drank through a straw because I’m classy like dat) and each of us ate a full years worth of calories in one night in the form of chips, dips, buffalo wings, cheese, cheese balls, cupcakes, cookies, brownies, macaroni salad, potato salad, hot dogs roasted over an open flame while completely hammered at 3 AM (an ill advised idea if I’ve ever heard one) and late night Kraft macaroni and cheese.

When I went up to bed I took of my pants and found a mac-n-cheese noodle in my underpants.

HA! How did it even get there? I was wearing leggings! Maybe the stripper put it there?!?! With his teeth!

JK there was no stripper.

Suffice it to say, it was the best weekend of my whole life. But how the H-E-Double Macaroni Noodles did that thing get in my pants?

A mystery for the ages!

This Nectarine:

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Somehow we did not eat all of the food we brought that weekend, despite our very best efforts, so all of us brought snax and things home with us. I got dropped off on the Upper East Side and then took the subway back to Brooklyn carrying my suitcase, my ever-present tote bag, a basket of gifts and goodies from one of my girlfriends (Hi, Leah!!! I love you!!) and a big shopping bag full of leftover chips, one avocado and two nectarines. Quite the mix.

I managed to make it all the way to my stop without incident but then when trying to stand up and disembark my grocery bag tumbled over and started to spill all over the place. There was NO TIME to waste so I just grabbed what I could and ran off the train. I saw a nectarine rolling down the car and a woman yelled after me “ma’am! your groceries!”  But there was no turning back. This is not Saving Private Ryan.

RIP, that nectarine. I’ll miss you.

I thought both nectarines were goners until Tuesday when I unpacked the chips for a little World Cup party at the office and found a smashed nectarine in the bottom of my bag, just rotting away.

So he may have survived the subway but his life was no better. Sorry, nectarines. I tried.

Sorry also, USMT. Tough loss out there. You did GREAT and I would still do filthy things (like the Whale Tail!) with each and every one of you, so thanks for inspiring our country and the libidos of millions of weird women. Or at least just this one. LOVE YOU TIM HOWARD.

This Traffic Cone:

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I was walking to work the other morning wearing this pretty maxi dress (last seen covered in coffee at Brian’s sister’s graduation) (from Old Navy, OBVZ). The dress is sort of faux-wrap style in that it doesn’t tie, but the skirt is fully slit up the middle so when the wind blows it blows right on open, giving all of NYC a real show.

I came up with a trick of positioning my cross-body bag right in front of my goodies when I’m walking and wearing this so that it blows open but only up to a certain point and all the necessary stuff is still covered up.

I did not come up for a trick for when you’re walking by a turned over traffic cone sitting on the sidewalk and the bottom of your long skirt gets caught on it and you get stuck and a fellow commuter has to help you untangle yourself because you’re holding up morning rush-hour traffic.

So…that happened.

This Leftover Snack:

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Y’all know I love buffalo wings and blue cheese. So much, in fact, that sometimes I like to spill blue cheese dressing directly into my pocket.

You know, so I can save a little treat for later.

Couldn’t be classier if I tried.

And, that, beautiful people, is what’s been up! How have YOU been? Any big plans for the holiday weekend, Americans? The weather is supposed to be a butthead and rain all day in NY so I don’t know what I’ll get up to. Maybe write our wedding ceremony or get our wedding bands? You know, those minor yet crucial details that we should probbbably get on top of? Or we could clean and pack our apartment? Sell our old stuff? Stop spending so much money?!?!

Ohhh boy. Welcome back, stress. It was a nice 10 minutes not thinking about you. The next 6 weeks are going to be cray to the cray but I’m excited. Bring it on, life.

Happy weekend to you all and Happy Birthday, America!!! I love you. Thank you for being the home of the free and land of the brave and I just realized I mixed those two up but I ain’t going back to fix it.

Baby you’re a firework,

Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [6.20.14]

Guyyys, hi! I did NOT make good on my promise for wedding updates this week, now did I? I hope no one actually died of anticipation.  I don’t know if I could handle the guilt.

Now, I know you’re all just aching to hear about the fight I had with my mom about addressing the invitations (I’d make Emily Post turn over in her fancy little grave) and my bridal shower (spoiler alert: it was awesome!) and the long, overly poignant 700 paragraph essay I keep drafting about the complexities and anxieties related to composing the guest list. And I am aching to share these stories, too! What do I love more than talking about myself? NOTHING, that’s what. But sometimes you can’t do what you love and instead you have to work and go to physical therapy and clean your house and do laundry and sleep and be responsible and ugh, being a grown-up is the WORST!

But just stay tuned, ok? I’ll get around to it. I must!

Meanwhile, was my week all work, no play and no weird moments? Of course not! Let’s take a look at what was keeping it awkward this busy week:

This Beverage:

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On Tuesday night I went to a work event and they had a few bottles of wine and a few bottles of seltzer (and cheese!!) for guests to imbibe upon so I decided to get my Real Housewife on and make a little white wine spritzer.

Turns out the seltzer was the flavored kind.

And turns out you can ruin pinot grigo by adding a few splashes of lemon-lime seltzer water.

I mean…I drank it but still, woof.

And while we’re on the topic of vino (am I ever not on the topic of vino?)…

This Bottle of Wine:

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Last night I went running for the first time in weeks, after taking some time off to nurse my broken butt cheek and it was SO great. I missed running and breaking a sweat. Pitbull has a new (ish?) song out called Wild Love and as with all things Pitbull it is equal parts ridiculous and amazing and I listened to it four times in a row. HAH. Pitbull is my spirit guide.

ANYWAY, I brought along some cash and my ID in this little runners’ fanny pack of Brian’s so I could stop at the wine store on my way home and grab a bottle for the weekend. My mom is in town, so I figured we’d need the double bottle, or as I like to call it “family sized.”

The wine store in my neighborhood is this tiny little yuppie place that sells all kinds of fancy stuff but I always buy right off their “discount table” because, duh.

On this particular evening, they were hosting a tasting at the front of the store, so a group was gathered around a tiny table sipping and talking about tannins and soil and whatever the fuck else fancy wine people talk about and I barged in DRENCHED in sweat and made a beeline right for the bargain table, grabbed the family sized bottle of sauvignon blanc and plonked it down on the counter. As the snooty cashier run it up, I began digging crumpled dollar bills out of my fanny pack. The total came to $19 which is like, $12 more than I prefer to spend on wine, but they’re the only game in town, so you gotta do what you gotta do. Unfortunately I realized I only had $17 on me so I got all frazzled, as I do, and blurted out “I don’t have enough cash! I need another one. A different wine. Cancel the order. Cancel the order!” I grabbed the big bottle, raced back to the dicsount table, picked up my go-to regular sized, screw-top sauvy b (still priced at a cool $12…come on, store, would it kill you to stock some Barefoot brand?) and sprinted back up to the register.

At this point I caught myself in the mirror behind the check out. I was straight up glistening with sweat, wearing a fanny pack and waving around a handful of crumpled one-dollar bills.

Did I mention I only had ones on me? I don’t know why I had such a big stack of Washingtons.

This guy must have thought I was some kind of frantic, crazed, wino stripper or something. Sprinting in and out of the store, grabbing bottles, throwing around one dollar bills.

I’d say I can never show my face in there again but let’s all be real, I’ll be back within the week. Ok, weekend.

This Wound:

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Technically this happened last week but who’s counting? No one. Great. My friend reminded me of this story THIS week so it still counts. Hi Ami! Thanks for the reminder!

ANYWAY recently I was at a 30th Birthday Party (June is 30th Bday Party Month round these parts – we have one every weekend!) at Brian’s friend’s gorgeous apartment in midtown. This guy lives in like, a TV apartment – it has a BALCONY. A private balcony! What the actual what.

(To all y’all who don’t live in horrible cities are like, I have 17 wrap-around porches, why are you so excited about a balcony? I know. Just…don’t go there.)

The door from the living room to the balcony was super heavy and hard to open. It felt like when you’re trying to push a door against a heavy gale of wind, but the night was perfectly still. It was VERY difficult!

I was NOT the only person to have trouble opening the door but WAS the only person to somehow get their finger caught in said door and end up gushing blood all over the place.

You 4 real can not take me anywhere.

This Flyer:

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The corner around my office is like a wind tunnel, always blustery and blowy and ten degrees colder than the rest of the city. It is weird and the WORST.

The other morning I was walking the one block from the subway to the office and a gust of wind blew this flyer up and it got stuck on my leg and the wind just kept it there for the whole block!

HAHA this is a horrible story but oh my god, guys, I can’t even tell you how much this made me laugh. I was like peeing myself laughing, walking along the street with this paper stuck to my leg, sporadically stopping to take photos for my blergh.

Even the local homeless man who stands on the corner every day and asks for money so he can take a taxi back to his costume shop on Broadway (aww, it’s sad I know) thought I was a loony tune.

This Drawer:

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Oh, and this one too:

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I’ve now shown you the grotesque hoarder nightmare zones under my desk and inside my purse. Today I bring you: my desk drawers.

If you read any Real Simple magazines, and I read them all, one tip they’re constantly sharing on organization is to avoid drawers. Drawers are the worst. You can just toss all your crap in there, slam ‘em shut and never think about it again.

I am SO guilty of doing this, to the point that yesterday I wanted to put some paperwork in a drawer, thought “oh there’s too much garbage in there” and then THREW the paperwork out instead of trying to file it.

I then realized maybe I could clean out my garbage drawers so I would have room for actually important things. And so I did.

Here are just a few of the tippy top highlights of what I discovered:

  • A Christmas card for my friend and her husband, dated Christmas 2012 (Merry Christmas 2012, Liz and Bobby!)
  • A cutout from Marie Claire Magazine entitled Sex in a Blanket, tips for having sex while wearing a snuggie. I kept this.
  • And a cutout from Glamour with tips about how do do a workout while laying on your couch. I kept this too. Apparently I am the laziest mf-er known to man.  
  • About five dozen photos of myself from various points in my youth. What do you think it says if a person keeps drawers full of photographs of themselves? Don’t tell me. (PS. see below for an especially choice image of a young Liz Ho.)
  • Two Christmas tree ornaments
  • Program to Brian’s school’s 2012 production of Clue
  • A Tiffany pen, my gift upon reaching five years of employment. Per the internet, this pen is valued at $125 or more. It has never been used. It is also the only item I own from Tiffany and Co. WHAT THE HELL, BRIAN! BUY ME SOME DIAMONDS.
  • Two vials of store brand bug bite cream
  • One button
  • One box of sparklers, a gift from the resident office crazy to thank me for giving her a book
  • Saline spray
  • A blonde wig worn for Halloween when I went as, that’s right, Taylor Swift. I’m the worst.
  • One box of old conversation hearts
  • One Half eaten box of Girl Scout cookies. I can’t believe I never ate these! I don’t even remember when I put them in there?! Disgusting? YES.
  • One package of bamboo skewers… you know, for all the grilling I do in the office.
  • One pair of hideous sensible black wedges I bought my first winter on the job (that’d be winter of 2007) in an attempt to dress more mature and professional. I think I wore them twice?  
  • The folder from the first campaign I ever did solo. No paperwork inside, just a manila folder with the author’s name written on the outside. AWWW! I guess I was feeling sentimental? 

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, pals. I filled up my office trash can lickety split and had to go get an empty cardboard box out of the supply room, fill THAT up with garbage and bring it down to the big communal trash can in the copy room, where I then covered all of my discarded belongings with a layer of paper because I didn’t want everyone to know how grotesque I am.

I did not pitch everything, so if anyone would like a blonde wig or an expensive silver pen or a box of sparklers, just let me know, I’m sure we can work out a fair deal.

And that, my friends, was my week. How was yours?! What’s everyone up to this weekend?! As I mentioned above, my Schmoopster is comin’ to town! We are going to shop for a dress for her to wear for my wedding. I am so excited. I want her to feel like the beautiful special goddess she is! Love that lady.

On that note, I will leave you here to stare at this beautiful photo found in my desk drawer, of Liz Ho at her 5th Grade Field Day. It’s hard to pick a favorite thing about this photo. My height? The Seattle Mariners cap hooked to the belt loop of my Bermuda length mom jorts? The pose? The Jon Lennon sunglasses?!?!

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It always shocks me I never had a career as a child model.

Happy weekend, buddies. And Happy First Day of Summer – it’s finally here!!

xoox Liz

Another Awkward Week [6.13.14]

Goodness if I haven’t been the worst blogger in all the land lately. I’ve barely had time to read blogs (save a few of my fave housewives, obvi) much less write one. I’ve felt crazed with work and travel and visitors and I’ve been dealing with this debilitating butt injury (don’t ask) (obviously I’ll tell you all about in just a few moments)  and life is just whooshing on by.

Whoosh, whoosh!

Before we know it, it’ll whoosh right on up to August 16 and holy cats, y’all, we have a LOT to do before then. By “then” I mean our wedding in case you for some strange reason don’t think exclusively about my life and the important dates therein. I will update you on many, many wedding things next week, try not to die of excitement before then but for now, the usual nonsense.

A look at what was keeping it awkward this week. Two weeks. Three? Oy!

 

These Paper Boobs:

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I ordered a bunch of brassieres from Gap Body this week and they came stuffed with paper – I guess to help them keep their shape? For some reason these paper boobs made me laugh and laugh and laugh so I lined them up on the floor where they just look like balls of white paper because um, that’s what they are.

Actually they look like biscuits. Now I want biscuits!

Isn’t biscuit a hard word to spell? I always want to put a “q” in there.

Which, side note to the sidenote, through working at Penguin I have come to learn just how many people think that Penguin is spelled with a “Q.” A LOT of people. GUYS no, just no. There is not a Q in Penguin, are you kidding me?

Biscuit, on the other hand. There is probably a Q in there.

Oh. My. God. Liz. WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.

Point of this horrible story: my assistant Margaret came in and caught me taking this photo and was like WHAT are you doing and I was like “photographing these paper boobs, obviously” and she just backed slowly out of my office and down the hall and sprinted out the door.

JK she has yet to run screaming from this office but I would NOT blame her if/when she does. She always catches me doing the weirdest stuff. Licking tupperware. Paper boobs!

Ugh.

BISQUITSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

These Sandals:

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Cute, sure. Cuter still when you learn they are Bass, ordered after I ran an extensive Google search for “sandals with proper arch support.”

29 going on 89, y’all.

This Bootay:

It’s mine!

J to the K it is very clearly Beyonce’s but mine pretty much looks the same in the fact that we both have butts but the similarities pretty much end there.

Anyhoodle, as I mentioned earlier, my booty is currently on the disabled list. But srsly, though. I guess all this running took a toll on my body, for the weeks after my half marathon I started having increasing pain in my left hip and glute, especially when sitting for long periods of time or upon first standing up. After attempting a zillion weird home cures and diagnosing myself with fatal diseases like I never don’t, I finally got myself to a physical therapist who concluded that I had a tight IT band and a strained piriformis muscle.

The piriformis is this weird little muscle that goes from your butt around your hip and is supremely hard to stretch so now I go in to physical therapy twice a week for what basically amounts to 30 minute nonsexual butt massages.

It is awesome. I am not even remotely joking. I’ve never had a back or shoulder massage, I have a sad life I guess, so this is my first taste of the massage world and I am LOVING it. It is the best part of my week! I mean I feel a little strange just laying there, booty up, getting a rub down and I’m always worried I’ll fart in the PT’s face but so far, so good!

My hip is starting to feel better, but I might have to pretend to still be in pain…I’m like, legit addicted to butt rubs.

This Straw:

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Actually it was another straw but I forgot to take a photo of it so this is a substitute straw.

Just don’t worry about it.

So last weekend my cousin Angie was in town and it was the best! Angie is the coolest – she is an art teacher and one of her students won a prestigious national Scholastic Gold Key Award so she was in NYC for the awards ceremony at Carnegie Hall. So amazing, right?

Right!

At one point during the weekend we were sitting around at the bar, just casually hanging out, not even remotely drunk (that came later when, while Angie attended the awards ceremony, her boyfriend Jeremy, Brian and I proceeded to ring up a $200 beer and french fry tab, yikes) and I picked up my glass of water to take a drink straight from the glass, forgetting there was a straw in the glass and as I turned the cup towards my mouth, the straw poked me on the underside of my nostril just CENTIMETERS away from going straight up into my nose, impaling my brain and killing me.

I almost died and Angie just laughted and laughed and laughed and said she thought sometimes I made up my blog stories but she now saw first hand I’m actually that hot of a mess.

Can’t make this up, kids.

PS I ALMOST DIED!!!

(PSS Not really.)

PSSS now I want a bloody with my biscuits. LET’T ALL GO OUT TO BRUNCH!!!!!!!!!

Ok still the worst blogger, even when writing! None of these stories are funny to anyone but me and even I”m like eeeehhhhh? Eh. My brain is mushier than my muscles which are surely atrophying now that I am a sedentary blob with a broken butt cheek.

I’ll be back next week with WEDDING UPDATEZ and good stories I swickity-swear.

Have a great weekend! Call your dad on Sunday!

xoxoox Liz Ho