It is FRIDAY and I have nothing clever to say as I’m plagued with a wicked fall cold (OR EBOLA?) (NOT EBOLA errrbody needs to calm down) and I slept about .4 hours last night so I’m running on fumes. That last one is totes my fault though. I went to see Gone Girl last night (4 out of 5 stars, great job everyone!) at 7:10 and I knew I shouldn’t have any caffeine but truly, I find there are few pleasures greater in life than an icy cold fountain Diet Coke and some peanut M&M’s in a dark movie theater so I decided you know, what the hell, treat yo self, Liz. And THEN when I got to the concession stand (which, never call it a snack stand. As a former “concession engineer” at our local movie theater MoviE-town, which is a play on our town’s nickname E-town, I can say that snack stands are for swimming pools and roller rinks, show some respect) I meant to get a small Diet Coke, which was already like 48 gallons but saw that the medium was just 50 cents more AND had a picture of Taylor Swift on the cup so I was like, lemme-lemme upgrade me because I am as basic as they come and THEN I drank this whole giant soda which of course had my heart racing like a pony all night so, yeah, I didn’t really sleep.
I’m clearly not in the state to write anything coherent this morning – and I have to like, work, ew – sooo instead I will just share a little Autumnal gift with you and leave you with my favorite piece of seasonally appropriate, office inappropriate internet writing. I did NOT write this but oh, wish that I had. Genius! I did however put a lot of time into staging that casual instagram photo accompanying the text so yeah, I think I might be the more brilliant talent in this situation.
I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I’m about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it’s gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There’s a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash.
I may even throw some multi-colored leaves into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I’m going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking gourd necklace for myself. People are going to be like, “Aren’t those gourds straining your neck?” And I’m just going to thread another gourd onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply, “It’s fall, fuckfaces. You’re either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you’re not.”
Carving orange pumpkins sounds like a pretty fitting way to ring in the season. You know what else does? Performing an all-gourd reenactment of an episode of Diff’rent Strokes—specifically the one when Arnold and Dudley experience a disturbing brush with sexual molestation. Well, this shit just got real, didn’t it? Felonies and gourds have one very important commonality: they’re both extremely fucking real. Sorry if that’s upsetting, but I’m not doing you any favors by shielding you from this anymore.
The next thing I’m going to do is carve one of the longer gourds into a perfect replica of the Mayflower as a shout-out to our Pilgrim forefathers. Then I’m going to do lines of blow off its hull with a hooker. Why? Because it’s not summer, it’s not winter, and it’s not spring. Grab a calendar and pull your fucking heads out of your asses; it’s fall, fuckers.
Have you ever been in an Italian deli with salamis hanging from their ceiling? Well then you’re going to fucking love my house. Just look where you’re walking or you’ll get KO’d by the gauntlet of misshapen, zucchini-descendant bastards swinging from above. And when you do, you’re going to hear a very loud, very stereotypical Italian laugh coming from me. Consider yourself warned.
For now, all I plan to do is to throw on a flannel shirt, some tattered overalls, and a floppy fucking hat and stand in the middle of a cornfield for a few days. The first crow that tries to land on me is going to get his avian ass bitch-slapped all the way back to summer.
Friday. Finally! It is Friday, right? This week has felt endless – it has essentially been a series of increasingly frustrating exercises in futility, all in pursuit of “getting my life together.”
Being a functioning adult is exhausting. And time consuming. How does anyone get anything done? I spent so much time this week just dealing with…stuff. Hours on the phone punching through automated answering service after automated answering service dealing with issues with our electricity bill, the cable company and my student loans. A visit to the dentist. Running all over lower Manhattan exploring new phone plans – after dropping my cellpiece on the sidewalk and shattering it. It looks like it’s decorated with spiderwebs – just in time for Halloween! – and every time I swipe, little glass pieces come off and get stuck to my finger.
That can’t be healthy.
ALSO: my laptop chose this week to fully stop functioning. Like, it won’t even turn on anymore, cool beans! And we need a new mattress, which…I don’t know how to buy a mattress! What am I looking for? Why is everything so expensive?!
LIFE IS SO HARD!
I just genuinely don’t know how anybody gets anything done, ever. And! We don’t even have kids. Thinking about how stressful I found this week trying to just keep me and Brian organized and afloat, I truly don’t know how parents get anything done, ever.
And it fully cemented for me that whatever monster came up with the idea of “having it all” was smoking crack. No one can have it all! You’re crazy.
I know I can’t have it all and will probably never be a functioning adult human and that’s fine.
HAHA JUST KIDDING I will get there or die trying.
First step: painting our kitchen.
We lucked out when apartment hunting this year, finding a spacious one bedroom with lots of light and big closets (two closets! Basically a New York City unicorn) and a fancy modern shower that has various settings so you can take a regular shower or use the hand-held nozzle, OR turn on powerful jets that shoot into your neck and lower back, giving dreamy and free massages after a long day.
The one downside to our apartment is the paint. OY the paint. The apartment has three rooms – a kitchen which opens into the living room and then the bedroom. Each is a painted a different bright and vibrant color. The bedroom is blue, the living room green and the kitchen is some kind of orangey yellow, which makes me want to die inside but I’ll get to that in a moment.
My friend Mary, who grew up in Miami, came over recently and commented that the colors made her feel like home. YES. This small apartment is painted the gaudy colors of a kitcschy Florida shopping mall. You know, the kind of outdoor tourist emporiums you’d find in Fort Meyers or Coral Gables, decked to look like some kind of vibrant island paradise where vendors hock tacky shell art and ankle bracelets and $15 ice cream cones.
Key words above not applying to our apartment would be outdoor, Florida, tropical.
The living room, I can live with. PUN! The green is fine. Whatever. The bedroom I find too bright and would prefer something a little more neutral and soothing but I don’t outright hate it and Brian loves it and apparently marriage is about compromise – even though I think the world would be a much better place if everybody just did everything I want all the time! – so we’re sticking it out.
But OH THIS KITCHEN. I hate the kitchen so, so, SO much. The orange tones blend in with the light wood cabinets and when the evening sun comes in the kitchen window the whole place glows in one horrible orange blob. The only thing brighter than these walls is the fire of hate that burns deep inside me every time I look at them.
I am a woman obsessed. Every day since we’ve moved in – all 76 of them (yes, I counted) – my hate for this ugly yellowy-orange kitchen has grown and grown and grown until it is poisoning me inside. It is all I can think about. Good days have been ruined the second I walk in the front door and find myself smacked in the face with these hideous walls. I can see into the kitchen from the couch and instead of watching TV I just sit on that couch, stare at the walls and stew.
I know, I know, I KNOW: I’m out of my mind.
These ugly walls have become almost a physical representation of all of the things I find negative or stressful in my life. They represent my inability to be assertive – they wouldn’t be orange anymore if I’d just asked the landlord to paint before we moved in…but I didn’t want to be “difficult.” And our out-of-control busy weekends – we haven’t had TIME to paint in 76 whole days! Where does the time go? What am I achieving in this life? And they are the reason our house is a MESS – the kitchen could be organized if only we hung shelves and racks on the walls but we can’t hang anything until we paint, lo the counters are scattered with pots and pans and spices and the mess spills into the living room which spills into the bedroom and it’s all the kitchen’s fault, not mine!
Add to that the stress of marriage. Marriage is great but, as I said above, it’s a compromise. Being a partner with someone means you have to practice, you know, partnership. It’s not just YOU all the time, there’s someone else involved and you have to consider their thoughts, needs and opinions. Let’s just say I’m not the best at that. Brian doesn’t seem to care as much about the walls as I do and I find myself getting angry with him that he doesn’t share my zealous fervor. Which isn’t fair at all. He’s been perfectly supportive of this plan and NO ONE could care as much about these walls as I do. I’m a maniac. No one has had this much single minded passion about something since Napoleon decided he needed to conquer France or wherever.
What was Napoleon’s deal again? Prussia? I should go back to high school.
I have become convinced that it is just these fugly walls standing between me and the picture-perfect adult life I know is unattainable but continue to strive for. As soon as these walls are painted our house will become a home! Constantly tidy and organized. I’ll discover a talent for interior décor that’s been hiding latent inside of me for the last 30 years. As soon as we paint this kitchen we’ll be one step close to having it all!
I know it isn’t wise to put all of your eggs in one basket – or, in this case, all of your brushes in one bucket of Valspar Candlelit Dinner (or should we go with December Starlight??) –and recognize, of course, that after we paint the kitchen we’ll still live in a frequently messy, adequately decorated, small apartment – now with light walls! – but I’ve gone too far down this path of insanity …there’s no turning back.
I’m nuts. I do know this, but this weekend, it ends. I am taking control! (PS: remember just last weekwhen I decreed this was the year I learn to chill out? LOLOLOL I’ll chill out just as soon as we paint this godforsaken kitchen!!!)
I’ve decided it must happen this weekend. I refuse to get up Monday morning without the kitchen being painted. I have a plan. It involves going to Lowes twice in one day…on foot, uphill both ways, in the snow! Just kidding…it’s only uphill on the way back, at which point we’ll be carrying heavy buckets of paint. And I doubt it will snow BUT the weather does call for a 100% chance of rain so this should be a TREAT. Brian may divorce me and I’ll certainly cry at least fourteen times but none of that will matter when I’m sipping coffee in the comfort of my fresh, neutral, not orange kitchen, HAVING. IT. ALL.
Wish us luck? Come over and help us?
Here are some photos of our kitchen as it currently stands, just to illustrate this tale of madness. I’m not wild about that light fixture either but…one issue at a time, Hobag.
I still haven’t decided exactly what color we want to do but definitely something pretty neutral, to offset the Tropicana Café feeling of the rest of this joint. The problem is, there are so many different shades of white. In my next life I want to be the person who comes up with names for paint colors. They’re so hilariously evocative. Apricot Haze! Snowy Dusk! Sweet Slumber!
Valspar weirdly has a whole line of paints named after Woodrow Wilson. Woodrow Wilson Presidential White…Woodrow Wilson Putty. Now there’s a sexy paint name. Why Woodrow Wilson?! Was he known for his interest in tastefully neutral interior décor? Did he start out as a house painter?
Obviously I don’t know a thing about Woodrow Wilson…I don’t even remember where Napoleon lived.
ANYWAY that’s what I’ll be up to this weekend, just in case anyone was curious which, surely they were not.
What are your plans? Coming to my house and painting??? Buying me a new laptop? Balancing our family budget? Basically I’m just trying to convince someone to be my free Personal Adulthood Assistant. I will pay you in JOKES!
Well, well, welll! What do we have here? Bet you didn’t expect to see me ’round these parts after Monday’s big manifesto. But just goes to show how surprising life can be. Sometimes you don’t feel like blogging and then life throws a dildo at your feet and suddenly you’re full of inspiration.
Oh, that’s not a gross metaphor. Just a true anecdote from the disgusting metropolis I call home.
WARNING!
NSFLife!
I spotted this um, big boy, on my commute home the other night, just laying on the dirty grate outside of my subway stop, directly next to the artisinal pickle stand.
That’s also not a metaphor, they really sell real pickles.
I spotted it out of the corner of my eye and kept walking past and then the second my brain registered “that’s what you think it is!!!” I screeched to a halt and whipped out my camera faster than you could yell “stray weiner!” and the pickle sales guy saw me and was like “oh hey did you drop something” and I was like “oh yeah!” and he may have been vaguely sexually harassing me but the whole thing was just too surreal for me to get my #yesallwomen hat out so I just laughed and ran away.
WHAT A WEIRD GROSS DIRTY CITY THIS IS!!
Also so sad for whoever dropped this 😦
This is the second best piece of sexual paraphernalia I found on the streets of this town, the first being an unmarked DVD case, inside of which was a disc labeled “Grandpa and the Shemales” which my friends and I found late late laaate one night leaving a bar back when we were young and cool and stayed out until 4 AM. We took this dirty porno out of the gutter (whyyy?) and went home and popped the disc into the DVD player (kids, this is what people used before Netflix was invented) and made it about three point eight seconds before turning it off in horror. Even in a fuzzy stupor of a million Miller Lights or whatever it was we consumed back in our youth, this video was TOO MUCH. Just too much. Basically a greatest hists compilation of all the most perverse perversities you can think of. Actually if you can think of the things that we saw on this DVD I don’t even want to know you because you are DIRTAY. Normally I’d be like “whatever floats your boat!” but even my alleged open-mindedness has it’s limits and maybe sometimes DON’T FLOAT YOUR BOAT, you boat should sink, you freaky DEAK.
Obviously I still own this DVD and, though I find it utterly grotesque and dirty on literally every level from the physical -it did come from the gutter, after all – to the psychological, it is my most treasured possession and I have now moved it with me to three separate apartments.
Perhaps I am the freaky deak?
PERHAPS!
I did, however, leave the errant dildo laying on the street, don’t worry.
I really hope my mom’s reading this now. She must be SO PROUD.
To cleanse your palate, here is a story totally free of dildos. At least to my knowledge – you never know what weird stuff people are up to.
Star of the story: This Cup
I am obsessed with hydration to a level bordering on insane. I always drink at least the recommended 64-oz of H2O per day if not much more. I never leave home without a water bottle and at work, am constantly filling and chugging and re-filling this big sippy cup. I remember in high school the field hockey coach was kind of scary – I didn’t play field hockey, I lack the hand-eye skills – but there was this rumor (or real story? Who remembers these things!) going around that she wanted the girls on the team to stay hydrated so she would check the color of their pee at the end of the day and if it wasn’t totally clear, she’d yell at them.
Did I make this up? What a weird thing to make up, but even weirder, I guess if it is true. Anyway that was the first time I learned about visible signs of dehydration and have been totally obsessed with the color of my urine ever since and get way stressed if my pee isn’t clear.
Why on EARTH do I feel like this is an appropriate fact to unleash on the world the world? I need help. I am clearly subscribing to the Lena Dunhamschool of over-sharing.
I am the voice and clear pee of my generation!
Good lord, Liz.
ANYWAY, the other day I went to fill up my water for probably the eighty-fifth time. The office water cooler is right inside the entry to our little kitchenette, so usually there’s a bit of a jam up to get to the microwave or the fridge or whatever. As I was filling my water, a young gentleman colleague I’d never seen before was reheating something in the mikey. I filled my cup, set it down on top of the water cooler, idly screwed on the lid and made the major rookie mistake of picking it up by said lid.
Big mistake. HUGE.
I must not have screwed it on tightly enough because suddenly all I had in my hand was the lid, the cup flew to the floor and water was EVERYWHERE.
I am not joking. It remains the greatest mystery of science to me how liquid can seem so small when in a cup but when spilled, appears to grow by a billion gallons. I had water on my pants, on my shoes, it was all over the water cooler, the floor…the rando young man heating up his leftover Chinese food.
Instead of being mad, he seemed deeply concerned for my safety, probably because instead of just calmly reacting like a normal human, I loudly gawped and yelped and flung my gangly arms all over the place and generally made a scene.
Oy yoy YOY.
I then went into the bathroom to dry off and ran into two colleagues at the sinks. I recounted the story and the first response outta both of them was “THAT’S going on the blog” because I am a cliche of myself at this point.
WOW this whole post just makes me sound like a raving madwoman. Owning it. Thirty and Flirty and Oversharing About Pee and Dildos. All Day. Errryday.
Have a GREAT weekend, you guys!! What are you up to? We’re going to an Indian engagement party out in NJ to visit Brian’s parents (ugh, the inlaws. Am I right, folks?! Whackawhacka) and also attend an Indian engagement ceremony which means I get to wear my sari again! Holla!
Oh mylanta. Is Friday finally here?! This was my first full five day week since Memorial Day – we get half day Fridays during the summer (I know, I know, I’ll never complain about my job again), then it was Labor Day, then we did some travelling and I don’t know what it is about this oneee extra day of work but I am struggling.
Woof.
Case in point: I just wrote a whole blog post about my week but only one of the stories was even remotely funny so I deleted the rest. Excellent use of my work time, methinks.
What’s the winning story that was keeping it awkward this week?
These Shoes:
I’ve mentioned before that I have a bad habit of sitting pretzel style at my desk. This causes the foot under my behind to fall asleep, so when I get up to go to the printer – or, more likely, the vending machine – I have a hard time walking and occasionally stumble.
Wa-hellll. This week I was rocking these sassy tall wedges like a boss bitch and also eating canned lentil soup like a cheap lazy person and also sitting full pretzel like a Liz Hobag. I finished my soup (meh) and got up to bring my dishes to the kitchen and my left foot was in full REM sleep. I walked out of my office, turned towards the kitchen, attempted to put weight on my left leg but the combo of sleep tingles + 4 inch wedges was too lethal and I bit it.
Like…fully fell down, to the ground, sprawled on the floor,lunch dishes scattering…including a paring knife which nearly impaled me…bit it.
One colleague ran out of his office to see if I was OK.
Another, who knows me better just laughed at my plight.
“Did you actually just fall down?” she asked, as I lay on the floor.
SHO DID.
It was quite the scene, guys.
I have also apparently learned zero lessons as I currently sit here typing with one wedge encased foot pretzelled up under my buns of steel.
Bets on how long I go before I faceplant on the carpet again? I’m hoping I can make it a full week but that might be too bold a goal.
THE END.
Cool story, bro. I know! I’ll do better next week, I swickety swear. Now I must go hide in my office and speed-read 100 pages of our office book club book before our meeting at noon today. Wish me luck!
And how was YOUR week? Long? Short? Sexy? Delightful? Perplexed? Obtuse? Any other cool adjectives I can’t think of at the moment? Do tell!
xoxo Liz Ho
PS – on a more serious and personal note, an uncle of mine passed away last weekend and his services are being held this morning. I wasn’t able to make the trip to be there, but my mind is in PA. If you wouldn’t mind turning your thoughts there as well for a brief moment to send a little love & care to my aunt and family, I’d surely appreciate it.
Hiii guys! What’s up?! Guess where I am?! MAINE! Pretty cool stuff, huh? I posted this from my cellular phone because I am a hip millennial. I know what’s up.
JK I don’t have a clue. But it’s OK because I’m turning 30 in TWO DAYS so I don’t need to worry anymore about technology and apps and twerking and any of that young people stuff. I’m officially and oldster and THANK GOD. I’ve been patiently awaiting the day when I could start unironically wearing holiday themed sweater sets and listening to Joni Mitchell all day and my time is almost here. BOOM. But enough about my impending old age for the moment…I have some deeper thoughts to share on that next week.
Do try not to die of anticipation in the meantime.
Ok enough jibberbabber, these lobster rolls aren’t going to eat themselves. Let us all gather round, join hands and take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.
This Chocolate Fountain:
HOLY YUM.
We went to a wedding last weekend (and are attending another tomorrow!) and they had so much amazing food, I honestly think I gained 14 lbs before the day was through. hashtag worth it. hashtag bigtime.
One of the highlights of the evening was the chocolate fountain and then another highlight was watching me try to scrub chocolate out of my dress.
Oh did I mention the dress was borrowed?!
Sorry, Mary! I love you!
Don’t worry, I took it to get dry-cleaned.
The cleaner was super impressed with my spillage skillz. In addition to the obvious chocolate stain, there was another lighter blob running down the front of the skirt.
“What’s this?” He asked. “Water stain?”
“WATER?!” I chortled. “OH that, good sir, is wine.”
You literally can not take me anywhere.
#literally
This Cup:
Guys, I went to get an iced coffee yesterday morning and when I tried to put my straw in the lid it had no straw hole!! WHAT! So I went to the counter to ask for another lid and she exasperatedly told me those were the only lids they had.
Like I was the obnoxious moron asking for a lid with a straw hole.
Am I living in an alternate reality? Are we no longer doing straw holes? Out of trend for Fall 2014?
Help me.
This Finger:
Good news is the knife set we received as a wedding gift is S-H-A-R-P!
Bad news is I’m a spaz and now missing a large chunk out of the top of my finger.
Oucherson.
I was rushing around to get dinner on the table because despite my protestations to the contrary last week, I do NOT know how to go with the flow and was having a light about how it was Sunday night and I needed to eat a healthy dinner and it was already 8 PM and I need to go to bed at 9 PM and there’s so much to DOOO and slice: right into my fingie. It hurt so much! And bled all over the place.
Lesson learned: CHILL OUT.
JK but I’m working on it.
Also thank GAWD this happened after the wedding, seeing as how it’s my ring finger. Would have looked real cute.
Some women like to draw further attention to their engagement/wedding ring fingers by adding a little gems or designs to that finger nail (I like to judge these women because come on, girls, you already have a ring…we get it) but I’m taking it a fun, sassy step further by accessorizing with a gaping wound and huge bandage.
Now THAT is what’s Hot for Fall 2014.
This Shirt:
Photo taken on a different day…same week…as the photo above. I think I need to spice up my wardrobe.
This shirt unbuttons really easily around the booble region. It’s not a huge deal, it is barely noticeable and usually I catch it but apparently not always. The other morning I came up out of the subway lugging my big bag, walked a few feet and caught the eye of a woman and thought she was smiling at me so I smiled back and then I realized she was actually silently mouthing something at me.
I focused.
“Youuurrrrr braaaaa” her mouth said, soundlessly.
I looked down and sure enough, my entire left boob was hanging out. And I mean all of it. OUT.
The shirt had not only unbuttoned but fallen fully open and the whole thing was out there for the world to see.
Luckily the actual boob itself was still covered…but by THE most sensible nude bra imaginable so…maybe worse?
Oy yoy yoy! Happy Morning, New York.
This Hot Look:
OH YES the laundry backpack still lives! I decided to multitask the other night by getting happy hour beers with a pal whilst simultaneously doing laundry at the laundromat across the street, which resulted in this SEXXXXYYYY look of me sipping IPA’s with my laundry backpack strapped high and proud.
2 KEWL!
And that was my week! If you would like to read more about awkwardness, someone wrote a hella long, boring, overly introspective article about it for the New Yorker this week. Apparently people enjoy awkward humor because we live in a post 9-11 world and something about our parents never teaching us about sex? Or something? I don’t know. I couldn’t get through it. A little too intellectual for my taste but maybe you’ll enjoy it?
You snob!
Just kidding. Have a fabbo weekend, my chicklets. Any fun plans?!
Hi guys!!! TGIF! Except I forgot it was F because of the FDW!
(Four Day Week)
But now it is the weekend and we can part-ay! H!
(Hooray!)
Acronyms don’t always work, do they?
Actually I kind of forgot it was Friday because I seem to have lost complete track of what day it is, where I am, what is going on. After travelling for the wedding (I just got married! NEVER FORGET!), Fire Island and Labor Day I am having a hard time getting back onto a normal routine. And life will continue to be nutty for the next few weeks. Tomorrow we’re going to New Jersey for a wedding for someone else, which people tell me means I’m not the one walking down the aisle? I don’t really understand what that means…I’m not the bride and center of attention? WHAT?!
I may need to be restrained.
J to the K – congratulations Kathryn & Mike! Can’t wait to celebrate!
And then next weekend we’re going to Maine for one day and then New Hampshire for another wedding (bitches be really committed to stealing my thunder) and thennn it is my 30th Birthday! Old lady alert. And then it is Brian’s 30th Birthday the weekend after! (I’m a cougar.) So basically my life will continue to be kind of crazy for the next few weeks and I have decided I am ok with this. Normally this would stress me out, because I like clear cut routines and schedules but I am “going with the flow.” That’s a thing right? I am just going to be “casual” and “fun” and keep drinking too much and eating crap and not worry about the gym and do my best at work and not have a heart attack if I don’t get my meal plan written out by Sunday night and (gasp!) don’t know what I’m eating every meal every day and maybe even stay up past 10 PM on weeknights (!!!) and just go with the flow.
It’s happening!
As a result of this, I’m not super organized for my usual recap but here are a few things that defined my week:
Marriage:
We’ve been married for a mere 21 days (traditional 21 Day Anniversary gift is over sharing about your personal life on the internet) and are already fulfilling so many Married Couple cliches. Por ejemplo:
Last weekend we went bowling with another couple Saturday night and then Sunday…we went to Lowes.
Foregoing intercourse because “it’s just too hot out to try.”
Calling it “intercourse.”
JK I always call it that, it’s hilarious.
The other night when Brian was in one room doing his Fantasy Football draft and I was in the other room vacuuming and looking at Pinterest.
“Babe, I appreciate that you did the dishes and hate to be a nag, but how many times do I have to tell you, if you just stack the bowls like that they won’t dry!”
We are basically the living version of Everybody Loves Raymond. HELP!
Fantasy Football:
Speaking of Fantasy Football! In addition to the league he was drafting for while I was wifeing it up in the other room, Brian does a league with his high school friends, which I have played in for the past few years. It’s too hard to get everyone together to draft so we do an Auto Draft, which is where the computer just picks teams for you. It’s not ideal but I usually finish in the top 3 so I’m all aboard.
UNTIL this year! After the draft, I went to Yahoo to check my team and saw they had a “Draft Report Card” and I’d gotten a B.
A B??? But, I’m a straight A student! What is this, 11th Grade Math? (Actually, if it was 11th Grade Math, I actually would have gotten a C minus and my teacher would have humiliated me in front of the entire classroom by telling me that maybe my younger and smarter brother should have tutored me…but that is a different story for a different day. CLEARLY not over it.)
But seriously…a B? The pain got worse. The Report Card includes notes on your draft. Mine begins: “Susan B. Anfernee was handed a solid draft position and apparently they saw that as an opportunity to blow it.”
WHAT!!! Screw you, Yahoo!! I didn’t blow it! YOU blew it! I didn’t even draft…the computer drafted for me and now the computer is telling me that IBLEW IT?! HELL NAW.
Offensive.
I do realize that I’m yelling at a computer about a fake football team and that’s a little insane but no one has been that mean to me since my 11th Grade Math Teacher!!
I might need to get over it…
Also yes my team is called Susan B. Anfernee. Because of Feminism. And Mean Girls. Duh!
Coffee:
I really need to give up coffee because A) I’m addicted and B) it gives me a tummy ache and C) I keep spilling it all over the place.
Also do you like how I artfully styled that photo with the roses and the mess? The juxtoposition of beauty with disaster is a reflection of the mysogonistic humanitarian struggle affecting the earth and also it is about death. And sex. And my mom.
JK it’s just a stupid picture.
I don’t really care for art.
Annnd that’s it. THAT IS IT! What are you beauties up to this weekend?
I am going to go do some work and then go to happy hour and then go to this wedding and then who even knows what, I sure don’t because I’m going with the flow! I’m just a laid back cool cat taking life one day at a time, who even cares what happens and OH MY GOD where is my day planner and what’s for lunch and I haven’t checked weather.com in 4 minutes AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
#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
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.)
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:
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.
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:
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:
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:
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:
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:
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!
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:
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:
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:
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:
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:
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:
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.
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.
Also: terrible segue, but powering through. A quick note related to mywedding 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:
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:
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:
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]
One Awkward Year 