Another Awkward Week [8.29.14]: I’m Baaaaack Edition

 weddinggggWell! So yeah, that happened!

#Hottwedding has come and gone and I don’t even know where to begin! It was just the best day. The best! The whole weekend was dreamy and perfect. Which is not to say it was fairy-tale flawless, but fun, memorable, exhausting, hilarious, delicious…perfectly perfect and perfectly us. I loved it!

When can we do it again?

I’m in the midst of getting my brain re-combobulated (that’s a word?) on all of the weddingy goodness I want to share, but I just wanted to pop back here and say hi!

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!

Also, to reassure you that, though with a new ring and a new last name (I mean, technically…I’ve not even begun to think about considering the paperwork but we’re in the midst of going full-on Liz Scott over here) (more on THAT to come!) (omg!) things here should continue to roll on at their normal bizarre clip.

Case in point: This Vinegar

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After the wedding we spent a few days on Fire Island (muuuuch more on THAT to come, too!) where basically every inch of my flesh was devoured by mosquitoes.

Don’t worry, Ebola is not spread via mosquito…I checked.

We got back late Thursday night and didn’t have any cortisone cream in the house, so I took to the web in search of home remedies, as I am wont to do, and learned that regular old white vinegar can be a good cure for itchy bug bites. Whaddya know, we have a large bottle right on our pantry shelf!

I went to bed early and put the bottle beside me, in case I needed to reapply during the night. I don’t know. It made sense at the time.

The following morning I woke up at the crack of dawn, because my body hates me and hates sleeping past 7 AM, picked up my glass of water and my bottle o’vinegar and stumbled out of the bedroom. First stop: bathroom! I set the water glass on the sink and promptly knocked it over, shattering it all over the floor in the one room in which we are legit always barefoot.

Le sigh.

Thank god we registered for so much glassware – I didn’t made it 2 days without breaking anything.

I blearily made my way to the kitchen, got the broom and pan, swept up my disaster and staggered to the kitchen, already exhausted. All that work had made me thirsty, so I picked up the nearest water bottle resting on the counter, unscrewed the top and took a huge swig.

Except…you know where this is going…that bottle was SO not water. It was the big, giant bottle of white vinegar.

Yum.

If you’re looking for a surefire way to wake yourself up in the mornings, might I suggest the vinegar chugging method?

On second thought…never mind.

So there you have it. Married? Yes. Together? Certainly not.

Thank you in advance for listening to me talk alllll about the wedding for the next foreseeable future. I know I have but a small window where it is acceptable to obsess over our recent nuptials and I plan on milking every goddamn second of it.

HOORAH!

(PS: photo credit Kylene Lynn Photography, Kylene is the bomb. More about THATTTTTTT, you guessed it, to come.)

xoxoxo Liz Ho…Sco?

One Awkward Wedding: The Final Countown

Oh

My

Sweet

Lord

Depending on whether you count today as Day Zero or Day One, the count is either T-8/9 days until #hottwedding. Irregardless of your counting style, August 16 is pretty darn soon. Single digits soon. Deposits due soon. 10 Day Forecast soon.

We have reached THE FINAL COUNTDOWN:

 

My current emotional state is just…weird. Impossible to describe.  Distracted. Impatient. Buzzy. Mildly panicked but much less panicked that one would imagine, considering my natural inclination to panic. I never leave home without my trusty notebook, a gift from a sweet cousin that has been a saving grace over the last month and losing it now would = losing my mind. But as I get closer, there is less and less for me to write in the notebook. Now is the hardest time for me because basically everything is done. Planned, paid for, coordinated, organized, done. All things that I can control are lined up like perfect little mallard ducks and now it’s just up to fate to take care of the rest and I’m not great at not running the show.

Por ejemplo, the weather. Despite multiple attempts, I can not (yet!) control the weather. I think if I had a superpower that would be it.

As should surprise zero percent of y’all, I am obsessed with checking the weather. The last thing I do before I go to sleep every night is check the next day’s hourly forecast, so I can be prepared. I then check again first thing when I wake up to see if anything has changed. It is insane. Due to this obsession I know oh so well that anything can change at the blink of an eye and sometimes weather.com is just straight up wrong and lying right to your face. There have been multiple occasions where I’ve been out walking and felt rain drops on my head and my weather app told me “dry conditions would continue.” Which… nope! It’s raining!!! Are you drunk, weather.com? Are you going to finish that sentence by saying “Dry conditions will continue to not happen because it is now raining?” Otherwise you’re just lying to me and I don’t like liars.

Basically I think weather.com is just an evil torture tool created by some kind of monster, designed to give neurotic people a sense of control and then constantly toy with their emotions.

Since August 16 showed up on the 10 day yesterday morning – where I checked it at 6:41 AM, the moment my eyes opened – the forecast has said 81 with rain and thunder, 85 and partly cloudy, 83 and sunny (stay that way!!) and 82 with scattered thunderstorms. I know it will change 890978618694 more times between now and then and I know that no matter what it’ll be a Tony the Tiger style GRRRRREAT day but I will continue to check every hour on the hour until I’m walking down the aisle.

Other things bringing me mild stress:

  • This zit on my forehead.  Is he going to just hang out there until next Saturday, or is he on his way out? Go away, dude!
  • This weird pain in my inner thigh which is probably just from all the excessive exercise I’ve been doing in an attempt to channel my anxiety into Madonna arms or is it some kind of glandular malfunction?
  • What I’m going to have for lunch today. This is unrelated to the wedding, I just think about food 24/7
  • Potential family awkwardness/drama/situations at the wedding and remembering to love&accept things for what they are, not what you wish they would be.
  • WHAT IF I FART WHILE I’M WALKING DOWN THE AISLE?! Will the music drown it out?!

But really, I swear on my first edition hardcover of Bossypants, I’m not that stressed! I mean, I’m always stressed anyway, it’s kind of my jam, so I imagined that by now I’d be in full scale meltdown mode but really I’m just buzzing right along at my normal level of neurotic. It is surprising and awesome. And if I can plan a wedding with little to no panic, anyone can! I should probably write a book all about stress free wedding planning, now that I’m an expert and it’ll become an instant bestseller and I’ll be a billionaire and I can move to Tahiti with my husband (!!!) and everyone there will love me so much they’ll make me the queen.

That’s how life works, right?

I will now make a confession: I will miss wedding planning when it is over and primarily because I will miss the attention. I’m not exaggerating for comedic effect and any bride (or groom!) who denies they, too felt this way, is straight up lying. Planning a wedding gets you 8,000% more attention than usual and it is awesome. Everyone wants to ask you how things are going and hear about it and there’s always something to talk about and think about and do and be excited about and I love it. When else am I going to get this much attention? I GUESS if I ever pull off that Queen of Tahiti scenario, which frankly sounds unlikely and then maybe if ever I get pregnant…but that publicity stunt results in me having to care for and keep alive a human child who will then get all the attention that was previously directed at me so I’m not racing into that one. ALSO I read this New York Magazine article that revealed that science has proved that 29 is the most popular year of your life and I’m turning 30 a few weeks post-wedding so basically this is it for me! The end is nigh. I need to just embrace my inner Jenna Maroney and embrace every second of my fleeting wedding planning/age 29 popularity.

 

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Preach it sister.

I should probably be ashamed to admit my true nature but there is clearly no shame in my game around here.

Now I must dash off to refresh weather.com (still saying 83 and sunny! Come on, god, work with me here!) and then wander around the office until I can find someone to ask me about my wedding so I can really just maximize the last 8/9 of my Glory Days.

Ok bye!!!

xoxooxoxoxoxo Liz Ho

 

Another Awkward Week [8.1.14]; or, The Hotts’ Big Move

Hola, chiclets! How ARE you? Did everyone have a delightful week? I hope so! My week was basically as hectic as you’d imagine a week to be when you’re getting married in T-15 Days and counting. But no more about the wedding…for now. I’m going to take just a small slice of this one day to not talk about our impending Big Day and instead talk about our move.

How tremendously excited you all must be!

So yes, spoiler alert: we moved! Boom. It was a total smash success and we are now comfortably nestled into our new neighborhood, Park Slope which is, honestly, such a cliche. For those of you not up on your Brooklyn neighborhood stereotypes, Park Slope is basically just all upper middle class married white people with puppies and/or babies. Like, OF course we turn 30, get hitched and move here. It’s inevitable. Puppies and/or babies, though, can stay on hold for a while. We’re livin’ that yuppie life. Or, I guess the cool new term for our tax bracket is is DINK: Dual Income, No Kids. But we’re more like DINKBLIMECIAOWPSSPDP: Dual Income, No Kids, But Living In the Most Expensive City in America and One Works in Publishing So Still Pretty Dang Poor.

Great use of time coming up with that acronym, Liz.

How #Brooklyn is our new neighborhood? Well everything, and I mean, everything is quote-unquote artisinal: wines. furniture. coffee. Even podiatry:

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Artisinal Podiatry, guys. right next door! Livin’ the dream.

ANYWAY, successful as it was, the move was not without its more absurd moments. Por ejemplo, we did our best to be minimalists and throw out/donate stuff we no longer need or use but still ended up with so. much. STUFF. Like this pile of totebags…only 1/6 of my vast collection.

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You know you work in publishing when…

Y’all know how it goes. At first you’re so organized, packing everything snug and perfect, labeling each box and taping perfectly and then an hour later you’re just throwing all your random shit into whatever box you can find, slapping a strip of tape somewhere on the box and calling it a day. I took to just labeling boxes “Liz’s crap.” “More of Liz’s crap.” “EVEN MORE LIZ CRAP!!!”

Except this box, the super VIP and rando contents of which were too funny not to list out:

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  • Iron? Check!
  • Foam roller? Cheeeeck!
  • Christmas wreath? Check plus.
  • Football?! Check and check.

All the essentials!

I didn’t even know we had a football, that’s how little we use it and yet we moved it from A to B. Why oh why.

Oh and while we’re on the subject of packing, here’s a masterpiece I’m particularly proud of:

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That’d be a tupperware container filled with packing peanuts and shot glasses. I didn’t want them to break! GENIUS idea!

Also, much like the football, do we ever use those shot glasses? Of course not, this ain’t the club. And yet, we moved them. Why oh why oh why?!

Oh riiight, THIS is why:

Everybodddaaayy!

Some things, such as curtain rods and the coat rack required us to use tools, so we reached for our brand new toolbox:

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This is a generous gift from my cousin and perhaps what follows is karma for trying to use your wedding gifts pre-wedding? Without having written a thank you note yet, to boot. Ugh I’m so tacky. Like Weird Al!

Anywhoo, this toolbox is, I assume, awesome and this is not to be negative towards the gift-giver, if anyone is to blame it’s us, we registered for it. Well, no, really the person to blame is Stanley Tools himself because that there toolbox is screwed shut.

As in, you need a screwdriver to open it.

As in, one of the three screwdrivers that comes INSIDE the toolbox…which is screwed shut…requiring a screwdriver…to open.

What the actual fuck, Stanley?! If we had a screwdriver we wouldn’t have needed this box in the first place! What kind of mind games are you playing? Is this a gift of the magi situation? Someone out there has a screwdriver and no screws to screw with and we’re meant to meet so we can screw together (nonsexually!)???

How many times can she say screw?

SCREW!

Srsly, though, screw you Stanley, this shit cray. Also does anyone have a screwdriver and want to come over to my new house and open my toolbox for me? THAAAANKS!

It should come as no surprise, considering the chaos that we had to go back to the old apartment not once but TWICE after we “officially” moved out. We rented a zipcar the following morning for a planned trip to finish cleaning and pick up some things we weren’t able to fit in the truck the day before and then realized, once we’d dropped off the car and returned to the new place “for the final time” that we’d forgotten to pack an entire kitchen cabinet. So three days later we jogged back across the park to pick up what we’d forgotten. We fully intended to carry our leftover belongings home by foot but thank JC we were able to get a taxi because we forgot like, a lot of stuff.

Behold:

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That’d be two cookie sheets, a slowcooker, the “lil’ dipper” slow-cooker, rice cooker, mini food processor, and a strainer. These, no joke, are our necessities and yet THESE are what we left at the old apartment. Not the Xmas wreath or 9 shot glasses but all the kitchen stuff we actually legit use.

OY.

But now our move is d-o-n-e DONE and we can focus on getting settled into our new home – organizing furniture, decorating and, oh yes, setting up appliances such as this cable box:

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Which is, of course, a saga. I do hope you’re sitting down. Do you need a water break? You might need to hydrate.

Let’s GO!

SO. As I mentioned last week, I’d totally spaced on calling to set up an internet installation appointment for the new place and then proceeded to play phone tag with Time Warner for six straight days. When I finally reached them on Monday, I was delighted that they could schedule an appointment for Wednesday afternoon, between 4 and 5 PM. An appointment just two days later with a one-hour window? That’s basically a Sasquatch Loch Ness unicorn. Usually they only have appointments available 97 days later, somewhere in the window of 2 AM to 7:15 PM.

It was almost too good to be true!

No, it was literally too good to be true.

Wednesday morning at 9:30 AM I got a text saying, and this is a direct quote: “Time Warner Cable  will call you shortly from a 718 number to confirm your appointment. You must answer to keep your appointment.”

MUST ANSWER!

I turned my ringer up as loud as it could go and carried my phone everywhere with me – meetings, coffee machine, even the bathroom. Not to be crude but I was prepared to take this phone call while changing my tampon. GROSS, I know, but I just need to demonstrate how dedicated I was to holding up MY end of this appointment. By 12:00 they’d not yet called and I had to go to a lunch meeting, where I wouldn’t be able to sit by my phone, so I called Time Warner and unleashed THE most insane slash quintessentially “LizHo” monologue upon the customer service rep, basically “HELLO, It’s me, Liz!!! I got the text but they’ve not yet called and I have a meeting and then might be on the subway and there’s no service in the subway so I won’t be able to answer their call but I promise I’ll be home at 4 PM this appointment is so important I can not lose it we need internet I have to plan my wedding and I need the internet OMG OMG OMG HELP ME!!!” all in one frantic breath. She assured me all would be peachy keen and not to fret.

WELL sure enough I missed their call around 1:30, whilst in my lunch meeting, a meeting from which I then RACED home, missing a full four hours of work, so I could be awaiting my cable appointment.

Did they show up? HELL NO they did not.

I tried to remain calm. I worked out. I read. I checked work email on my phone. I made Brian’s lunch for the next day because I am seriously the best (almost) wife ever and y’all should be jealous you’re not marrying me, I’m amazing. Finally at 5:40, with no cable guy in sight, I could no longer pretend to keep my cool, so I dialed up Time Warner, ready for some drama.

I called, no joke, nineteen times, and each time, I would be greeted by an automated message from NFL superstar Victor Cruz, telling me that Time Warner would help me make my dreams come true, then go through the automated voice system to be connected to a customer service rep and then…the phone would disconnect.

Nineteen. Times.

Dear Victor Cruz: I have but one dream and that is to speak to a Time Warner Customer Service representative and guess who is NOT making my dreams come true? That’s right, Time Warner Cable. Or you. I’m sure Victor Cruz is a lovely human being and an ace football star but if I ever see him, I am going to punch him right in the face.

Long story extra long, I finally, FINALLY managed to get through to a real human customer service rep who informed me that, as we already had a modem and router, we could actually just set the internet up on our own, no rep needed! She walked me through a series of steps and, though I did everything she told me, I still couldn’t get the internet to work. She told me it might take 24 hours, she’d call me back at 7:30 PM the next day.

I hung up, exhausted and dejected. Brian came over to help and, cliche of all cliches: the modem wasn’t plugged in to the wall.

Great work, Liz! Great work.

We plugged it in and now the internet works so well I’m here type type typing away from my very own home. A whole lotta drama for one mediocre blog post. A win for everyone!

Also, did that lady call at 7:30 PM the next day? OF COURSE NOT. Time Warner Cable – so far, NIET ZO GOED! Which is Dutch for Not So Good. Did you guys know I speak limited Dutch? FUN FACT!

Ok this post is longer than longer than LONG and I only have 7 days left at the office before #hottwedding so I should probably do some of that thing people call “work.” What is my job anymore, anyway? Hopefully looking at the Ikea website and frantically making wedding related to-do lists because that’s baaaaasically all I’ve been doing.

Happiest of weekends, hotties! Hope it is splendid from start to finish!

xoxoxo Liz Ho

 

 

 

 

This Cable Box

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.