Monthly Archive

You want the truth? I’m not doing well this week.

I’m completely overwhelmed at work. I’m second guessing myself and my place here and I hate that.

My stress level is through the roof. I’m swamped with projects, I owe an overly understanding person a story that I keep forgetting to send her and my house needs to be cleaned.

I dreamt last night that they brought out my wedding dress for my fitting and it was the wrong one. Some horrible, one-shoulder monstrosity covered in sequins that they insisted was mine and refused to send back for my actual dress.

My actual fear is I will stand in the dressing room on Saturday weeping while the saleswoman informs me that the dress is too small.

And I’m tired of eating salad.

Is anyone else tired of the blog wars? Because I am. Seriously. Maybe we’re all in a funk because it’s mid-winter and crappy out. Or maybe we’re on edge because How I Met Your Mother has been in repeats forever. Whatever the reason, a lot of feelings have been hurt, a lot of egos have been bruised and you could cut the tension in Blog World with a knife.

So, here’s your chance to let it out. Whatever is on your mind, whatever is bugging you. Mad that your J Crew package hasn’t shown up yet? Pissed that the cat–well–pissed–on the floor again? Annoyed that the rain if preventing you from wearing those super cute shoes? (Sorry, SDM, I had to!)

Or maybe I just bug you. Whatever it is, say it here, say it today.

And tomorrow, let’s just let it all go, OK?

I’ll go first and it relates to my past post on gym grievances: If you want to use the machine I’m on, don’t stand next to me and glare when I rest between sets. I will get up when I’m done. Get out of my face. Thank you.

Seventeen rows up, the seat on the end. My shoe dangled as I bounced my foot, head bent over the exam. Confident, without hesitation, I filled in the bubbles.

Paralyzed. Can’t breathe. Room getting fuzzy. I looked down and the bubbles swelled and ran together, swimming on the page into one big blur. What was happening? I raised my hand and stood at the same time, mumbling words to the TA about going outside. When the cold air hit my face I inhaled sharply, feeling my heart gradually begin to slow.

What was that?

My first brush with an anxiety attack was painful, scary and out of the blue. And then it happened again. And again. The gasping for breath, heart-pounding feelings could last anywhere from 30 seconds to five minutes. Tightness in my chest was always the first sign. Unable to stop them, I would curl into a ball and cry, waiting for it to stop.

I’m still not sure what triggered these attacks. I can speculate– college was demanding, the death of Michael’s father affected me more than I realized, the future beyond school was upon me– but I never had a clear answer. The only thing I knew was that I had to learn to control it, or it would control me.

I took vitamins. I exercised. I practiced the art of deep breathing. And most of all, I forced myself to push through them. No more tears, no more defeat.

It’s been about three years since I’ ve had a full blown anxiety attack. I know the signs now and I cut them off before it gets too bad. I don’t always know what triggers them, but I no longer let them win.

Last night I lay in bed, feeling my heart race at an all too familiar speed. I took deep breaths and willed myself to clear my head, pushing the worries of tomorrow away. Soon the racing stopped, my heart returning to a normal pace.

This morning I took a vitamin. And tonight I will push myself at the gym.

The anxiety may never fully go away, but it no longer has a hold on me.

I think it’s important you know I feel very exposed right now. Like I just stood in front of all of you and dropped my pants. While my anxiety is a very personal thing for me, talking about it– writing about it– helps.

I looked up from my book annoyed. What? What do you want? Why are you nudging my book?

He looked at me with those big brown eyes and I shut the cover with a muffled thud. He put his head on my lap and turned it slightly, giving me perfect access to his floppy ear.

Scratchy, Mom. Give me love.

I conceded, because even though all I wanted to do with my Sunday was curl up on the couch and read, I’m a sucker for a boy with brown eyes.

********

I looked up from my book annoyed. What? What do you want? Why are you nudging my book?

He looked at me with those big brown eyes and I shut the cover with a muffled thud. He crawled onto the couch with me, put his head on my chest and turned it slightly, giving me perfect access to the top of his head.

Scratchy, baby. Give me love.  

I conceded, because even though all I wanted to do with my Sunday was curl up on the couch and read, I’m a sucker for a boy with brown eyes.

********

I really love those brown-eyed boys.

(Oh Dad, I love laying on you. And I have my squeaky pheasant, Dad. Do you see it? I’m watching it.)

(Hi, Mom! Look at me on Dad. I am King of the Mountain!)

- Wipe down your machine. Please wipe down your machine. There is nothing worse than going to sit down and seeing the stripe of your butt sweat.

- Do not play Shania Twain over the loudspeaker. Ever.

- I understand you’re getting in shape for spring break. But why must you come with a gaggle of your girlfriends, dressed in identical skin-tight clothing (really? I didn’t need to see your ass-crack) and take over all the equipment? You’re barely even breaking a sweat. The gym is not an extension of your sorority house. And also, you know it’s January, right? Your fake tan is really, really obvious.

- While you’re resting between sets, please don’t watch me weight-train. It’s very unnerving to look up and see your shiny, bald head directed at me, your eyes boring a hole into my chest.

- The grunting is unnecessary.

- Please change just one of the flat-screens to something other than the news. It’s much easier to work out when you can watch something mindless. But a cooking show? Now that’s just mean.

- Deodorant! Wear it! And if you don’t, you better stay the hell away from me.

Got any grievances you’d like to share–gym related or not?

So yeah, yesterday. Religion. Heavy. But today! Shoes! Light! Especially since it’s Thursday and not Friday like I wish it was. And before we get into it, I’d like say thank you to everyone that nominated me for three 20 Something Blogger Awards. You are all too sweet and I love you dearly.

Now…on to the good stuff. Or should I say, the bad stuff.

Attack of the butterfly! Don’t worry, when you kill it, you can preserve your specimen in the lovely attached clear viewing container.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones were concerned at first, but the doctor assured them that nowadays, circumcision is the norm.

Real or faux, your crocodile shoe should not actually look like a crocodile. Those eyes!

Every month Real Simple shows you new uses for every day things. I don’t think using your cheese grater as a shoe was what they had in mind.

All that’s missing is the matching wind pants and the light-up visor. Atlantic City, here comes grandma!

And then Pocahontas dried the hide, then cut the hide, then wove it together with twine.

Tired of making puppets out of your old stockings? Try a shoe!

Santa Crocs. Two words that should never, ever go together. (I’m sorry, Ashley. I’m sorry.)

Right after Michael and I got engaged I threw myself head-first into wedding planning. The were highs and there were lows, specifically breaking into hives from a stressful reception venue search. But things came together and before I knew it, we had a venue, a caterer, a photographer and my dress. I was floating around in the engagement happy bubble and decided that with the holidays coming up, I would put the planning on the back burner until January.

Well, January is here. And is more than half over. So, um, time to resume planning.

Next big items on the list are save-the-dates and invitations.

And oh yeah, a place to actually get married.

Our reception venue does hold ceremonies, but because of the set-up I’m not completely sold on holding it there. So that leaves us with finding a church. Which if you remember, we weren’t going to do.

Michael was raised in a very religious home. Raised Catholic, he grew up attending church and Sunday school, received his confirmation and said grace before every meal.

I didn’t grow up that way. My religious background is one I discussed a long time ago. You can read about it here. In short, while I was raised with values and the understanding that there was something bigger than myself, it wasn’t within the structured walls of an organized religion.

As you can imagine, this has never settled well with Michael’s mother. In her eyes, my life will never be complete unless I accept Jesus Christ into my heart. I tend to disagree, seeing as though my life is pretty good. Let me make it clear–I’m not anti-religion. Not even close. I believe in a higher power, the beauty of nature and the importance of being a good person. But finding religion–whatever religion I end up finding–is just something I need to do on my own.

Needless to say, when we decided to start looking at churches I was very apprehensive. Would we be able to find one that fulfilled Michael’s beliefs while also allowing me to feel comfortable?

We have plans to visit one near our house. I’ve checked out their website and like the message they’re sending. Accepting of all backgrounds, promoting community. I also like that they hold two services: a traditional and a contemporary–leading me to believe that the laid back atmosphere I’m looking for actually exists.

I think finding our ceremony site will be the beginning of a personal journey for me. A journey that will hopefully lead me in a clear direction.

Only time will tell.

Lying in bed:

“Get up. Get up, get up, get up. Yes, that first digit on the clock is a six. It doesn’t matter. Must. Get. Up. That’s it, one foot out from under the covers. Ignore the sleeping boy next to you! Do not be dragged in my his warmth and sexy tousled bed head. Well, maybe just five more minutes. Mmm the down comforter is so nice and the pillow so soft and…MOLLY GET UP. It is the Year of the Bride. You have no excuse to not be in that gym. Go.

OK. Up. Good. This isn’t so bad. Ready to go and, oh. Hi, Kodiak. You have to go out? You can’t wait a little bit? Of course you can’t, what am I thinking. Sorry, baby. Alright, let’s go. Leash, hat, Michael’s big coat. All set. Holy CRAP it’s cold. Thirteen degrees? Are you kidding me? I better start the car or it will never defrost in time. Kodiak, no. You cannot go in Mom’s car. Stop it. Seriously, dog. Stop it.

Good boy! You peed. Now poop. No, don’t sniff the tree, poop. Stop looking at the ducks, it’s cold. Please poop. No? OK, we’re going in. Dad can take you out later. Yes, yes, I know there are ducks. Please stop looking at me forlornly. Some of us don’t have a built-in fur coat.”

At the gym:

“I made it. Wow, is that really the time? It’s early. Wow! I weigh two pounds less in the morning. Sweet! Hi, Jen! Yes, I didn’t want to get out of bed either. Did you know it’s 13 degrees? Good morning, elliptical.  This is probably the cleanest you’ll be all day. Let’s go!

Oh, In Touch, you make the workout so much easier. Is it bad I feel a little smug that I’m sweating up a storm while Britney stuffs her face? Nah, you’re working it, girl. You’re fit! And healthy!

And…wow. Tired. Really tired. And my legs are sore. And, huh. What do you know? It’s time to go home.”

Back at home:

“Hi, Kodiak! Oh man, Dad is still sleeping? OK…let’s try to poop again. Seriously, dog. I mentioned it was cold, right? I’m beginning to think this was just a ploy to see the ducks again. We’re going in.”

While getting ready:

“OK, I thought about this in the shower. Turtleneck. Check. Textured stockings. Check. Need skirt. What about this one? No, Michael, this is not a new skirt, I just haven’t taken the tags off yet. Not sure, not sure. Too long? Yes. New skirt. Yes! I like this skirt. But which shoes? Am thinking the slouchy boots. Do they go with this skirt? Yes, they do. But isn’t it supposed to rain? I don’t remember. Why does this feel like a deja vu? Alright, no slouchy boots. Purple heels. Yessss. Love the purple heels. Time for work!

Wait, only 8:45? I think it’s going to be a long day…”

…don’t leave me a bitchy comment. OK? Thanks.

For the record, I know my forehead looks like a wrinkly mess in the pictures below. When I raise my eyebrows I get Grinch forehead. What of it? My mom and I even joked about how bad the picture was.

But if you want to make fun of me, anonymously at that, that’s your priority.

Just do it somewhere else.

Alternately titled: I love you guys enough to post myself looking like a total fool.

Because many of you have been requesting it for awhile now, I’ve finally put together the Molly Curl tutorial. To begin, you should start with the following items:

1. Hot rollers in three sizes. It’s important not to use all one size for this particular look. While jumbo rollers are great for volume, they won’t give you the curl you’re looking for, and while small rollers are great, a whole head full will leave you looking more Shirley Temple than Kate Hudson.

2. Volumizing curl mousse. Probably the most crucial product aside from the rollers. If you can’t find a combination volume/curl, go for the volume.

3. A texturizing product. I use a texturizing foam wax because it doesn’t make my hair too sticky, but if you have a product you prefer, go with that.

4. Hair spray.

Step One:

After washing hair, I apply two good palmfuls of mousse. The amount of product you use will vary depending on your hair type. I have fine hair, so the mousse is important to obtain the volume I’m after. Distribute evenly through damp hair, making sure to really rub it into the roots.

Blow dry upside down to achieve maximum volume. Don’t worry about a perfect blow out. Working with your natural texture makes the style even better.

When fully dry, apply a quarter-sized amount of texturizing product. Distribute evenly, this time avoiding roots. My hair tends to get a little tangly here, so I gently run a brush through the ends.

Step Two:

Position hair with your part the way you want it when curly. Begin with a medium-sized roller and a two to three inch piece of hair. Pull taut and roll away from your face. Secure with roller clip.

Step Three:

Work around the top of your head in the same manner. Do not worry about making uniform lines or if the ends stick up a little. We’re not going for a perm-look or something too fussy.

(My head does not usually look like an old lady’s. For some reason I was raising my eyebrows without thinking.)

Step Four:

Continue working around your head, adding smaller rollers (in white) around the frame of your face where tighter curls would naturally occur.

Step Five:

Continue rolling, using largest rollers for bottom layers of hair. These rollers will produce big, soft waves that will provide a good base for the rest of your curls.

When fully rolled, spray entire head with a good misting of hairspray.

Let sit for 20-25 minutes until rollers are fully cooled.

(Dorky face optional.)

Step Six:

When cool, slowly unroll rollers, being careful not too pull hair too hard. Pulling equals frizz, not curls. When all rollers are removed, flip head over and shake out the curls. Lightly spray with hairspray.

Note: at this point your hair is going to look BIG. Lion-esque, if you will. Don’t worry. In a few minutes the curls will begin to relax.

Gently play with your hair until you’ve achieved the desired position. Give it another spray for good measure.

Ta da! The Molly Curl!

Front:

Side:

You like?

Before I get into today’s story, I hate to inform you that no, you will not being seeing a picture of me in my dress. You’ll have to wait till October. Why? Because Michael reads the blog, sillies! (Hi, baby!)

Moving on…

Last night was my long awaited hair appointment. I usually go every six weeks for a trim and fresh highlights, but because of travel I had to push it back. My hair was screaming to be refreshed and my body was longing for two hours of having to do nothing but relax, chat and read crappy magazines.

All was going as planned in the beginning. I chatted with my stylist about Vegas and my wedding dress, flipped through InStyle and slowly watched my head turn into a giant mass of foil. After she finished, I reached for Us Weekly and was about to take a sip of my herbal tea when…

“It’s ruined! You ruined it! How could you?!”

I turned, expecting to see the woman behind me screaming at her stylist. Instead, she was sobbing into her phone, her newly red hair falling over her shoulders.

“I should have never listened to you! I look horrible!”

I don’t know who told her to go red, but apparently they were in big trouble. All the while the stylist is trying to explain to her that its just hair dye and she could always, you know, dye it another color.

After she settled down I got lost in the story of Heidi and Spencer’s breakup, when I got the sense I was being watched. I turned to my right and was shocked to see a black lab sitting at the next station. In the chair.

Now I am most definitely a dog person, but I was in a salon and this was clearly not a seeing eye dog or anything. This was just…a dog. Sitting in a chair. I looked around me, opening and closing my mouth as if to talk, but no words were coming out. Before I could find my voice a woman came running from the lobby apologizing.

“Sorry! I just stopped by to pick up my coat I left here. Honey wasn’t supposed to come in!”

Honey. The dog. That was sitting in the chair.

At this point I’m kind of on edge because my relaxing hair appointment has been anything but.

But then it was time to wash my hair and that is heaven. The intoxicating smell of expensive shampoo, the warm water and the head massage. I could fall asleep in the chair every time.

I left the salon exactly the way I had intended. Relaxed, blonde and bouncy. And I was very happy to arrive home and see Kodiak.

Lying on the floor.

Coming Monday:

How-To Hair: The Curl Tutorial.

My wedding dress is in!!!!!!

If I could beam myself to New York I would be trying it on this very second.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here’s a confession: I don’t spend a lot on products. Shoes? Yes. Jeans? Yes. But products? Well, with the wonderful worlds of Target, Walmart and CVS, I’ve found I really don’t have to. Now it’s true, in the summer humidity nothing is better to my hair than some Aveda, but for everyday stuff I’m a bargain queen.

(On a side note, here’s one of the pairs I bought last night. Meow. And don’t be fooled, that’s not Louboutin Red you see. I wish!)

 So, back to the products. I’m always hunting for new stuff and I know lots of you are too. So I thought I’d share! To start things off we have the True Blend foundation (#420) by Cover Girl. I have very fair skin with cheeks that like to turn pink and this stuff evens everything out nicely.

Bought on a whim, this stuff is my newest obsession. Pantene Silk Transforming Crème. (Oooh lala, it’s French.) It does double-duty for my hair. Used before drying it made my hair SO soft, and added later to dry hair it rejuvenated my waves. Plus, it smells really good.

I have small eyes. So it’s very rare that I leave the house without some sort of eyeliner/mascara combination. The Telescope mascara by L’Oreal is the only mascara I’ve ever bought that I feel comfortable wearing alone. Just two swipes makes my lashes great for day and a few more at night makes major drama. Love.

This is not a drugstore purchase, but I have to tell you about it because it’s fabulous. I received the Lip Fusion lip gloss set from my boss and I adore it. Lip plumping, yummy tasting (my favorite is the one that tastes like grapefruit) and it stays on forever! Seriously!

Now I’ve been nice and shared with you, so now it’s your turn. Tell me about your drugstore loves. I’ll probably run out and by them!

Unlimited vacation time, stress-free wedding planning, a closet full of designer shoes (in multiple colors), calorie-free pizza (and a stomach that likes dairy), chocolate-covered cherries, the perfect black dress, naturally highlighted hair, porcelain skin, summertime weather without humidity, hours in the gym to feel like minutes, a grilled cheese sandwich.

To write a book.

I want a comfortable relationship with my future mother-in-law, the last five pounds to just vanish, smaller arms, bigger eyes, to always take a perfect picture, old-school Britney, frizz-free curls, the ability to tan, fresh strawberries,

A bigger bathroom.

I want to sleep in, drive with the windows down, have more time with Michael, the dog not to shed, a housekeeper, a personal chef and a trainer, to visit my family, catch up with old friends,

A Snickers ice cream bar.

What do you want?

I missed Delurking Day. I should really have a discussion with my job about making me leave the state when there’s important blogging business going on.

I was bummed, but then I realized something. I don’t have to be conventional. If I want delurking, I’m going to have delurking! I hereby name today Delurking Day Revisited. So there.

I want to know who you are and how you got here. I cannot tell you how much I value my readers and every time I get a comment or an email from someone new I get as excited as I did from my very first comment.

But delurking isn’t fun unless you’re sharing something embarrassing, right? Right. So along with the basics, I’m asking  you to share the ugliest shoe in your closet. Tell me all about it is. Is it pleather? Platform? A Croc? Regular commenters, you are NOT off the hook. I know you’ve got some doozies hiding in the depths of your closets. Or who knows, maybe they’re on your feet!

To be fair, I’ll share the ugliest pair in my closet. I want to stress that I DO NOT wear these anymore, but if we’re being honest, I used to. A lot.

Look at these beauties. Leather uppers, rubber soles, strap so big it practically eats your toes. Sweeeet.

If anyone is feeling super adventurous, they can send me a picture of their worst. If I get enough I’ll make a whole post about them!

So welcome, lurkers. Can’t wait to meet you!

I chose a window seat so I could lean against the side during the flight. I know it’s a risk picking that seat. You never know who you’re going to end up next to. But because the flight was long and I was running on minimal hours of sleep, I decided to go for it.

A couple took the two empty seats next to me. Grungy with stringy hair, they reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. I rolled my eyes and exhaled at my misfortune, silently judging them as they pulled out identical McDonald’s bags.

While trying to hide myself in my book, I noticed that while he has scarfed down his food, she was quietly picking at hers. I noticed her wedding ring…a simple band of gold nestled next to a circle of colored stones. A glance at his hand confirmed that the weathered band around his finger made him her husband.

The plane began to taxi the runway and tears formed in her eyes. “I can’t,” she said shaking her head. “You can,” he replied.

She leaned towards him and he wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug. And he held her in that hug the entire flight. All five hours of it.

Sometimes he would hold her hand or stroke her hair. Sometimes he would kiss her on the forehead.

But he never let her out of that hug.

As we made our descent over the bright lights of Chicago, I found myself tearing up. This couple–one that I clearly and rudely misjudged–represent what love is all about.

I smiled at them as I left the plane, saying a silent thank you with my eyes.

Then I pulled out my phone and dialed that familiar number.

“Two more hours, baby. I cannot wait to see you.”

 High: Amazing food including ricotta gnocchi from Wolfgang Puck and  homemade table-side guacamole that should really become one of the basic food groups.

Low: Probably gaining about five pounds.

High: Getting on the VIP list at JET and seeing Heidi and Spencer.

He’s even uglier in person, if you ask me.

And Heidi, my god. Eat something!

Low: The arrival of three excruciatingly painful blisters that made each step through JET require calming breathing exercises.

High: My company’s 10-year anniversary party that started in a beautiful suite with a huge balcony overlooking the strip.

High: Meeting tons of industry people, making great conversation and being told that I look gorgeous in my dress.

High: Getting on the VIP list at Tabu and table dancing till 4:30 a.m. with coworkers and clients while drinking a $400 bottle of vodka.

Low: Getting up two hours later to begin the actual work part of the trip.

High: Meeting more industry people, editors and people from every major television network while learning a lot about my job.

Low: Standing in the freezing cold for nine hours each day.

High: Room service.

Low: There is no low to room service.

High: Finally coming home after a very long week.

Low: Seven hours of flying to get there.

High: Coming down the escalator last night and seeing Michael smiling up at me.

It’s good to be back, I’ve missed you! Now fill me in…what’s going on in your life? I feel so behind!

Hi. I’m not Molly.

No. It’s true!

I dressed up as Molly once, but that is really none of your concern.

I’m Peter!

Molly picked me to be the final guest blogger because she loves me the most. But, don’t tell the others. Shhhhhhhh. They’ll all be like “Molly’s pet! Molly’s pet!” while I am trying to eat my Snackables during recess. Nobody wants that. NOBODY.

Before I get started, I have to admit that Molly told me that I wasn’t allowed to “cheat” in order to get the most comments amongst the guest posters. The reason she mentioned this is because I am a dude and, thus, a teensy bit competitive. And also because I have a habit of replying to comments. Which, if you ask me, is just being polite. And, as a nice Canadian boy, it is going to be hard to rudely ignore comments.

But, you should feel free to comment away.

Have I mentioned just how lovely you are as a group? Really. Such a combination of beauty and brains. It is quite impressive.

OK.

Since this is Molly’s blog, I have decided to write about two of my recent shoe purchases. Please note that these look moderately less pontoon-esque when I am wearing them. What do you want? They are size 12 1/2.

#1 purchase…

Adidas Sambas, baby!

These are my every day sneakers. Good for running errands, first dates, toppling foreign governments.

#2 purchase…

If you are asking, “Are those old school Adidas Gazelles?,” wonder no longer. They are!

These are my more formal sneakers. For job interviews, speaking at the U.N., or weddings. (Yet somehow I remain single. It’s a head-scratcher.)

The beauty of both of these is –

I’m sorry. I… I can’t go on with this charade.

I thought that I could treat this as just another guest posting gig. I thought…

But, I can’t keep it inside any longer.

Molly and I used to be involved.

Are you done gasping? Can I continue?

It was years ago. Before she met Michael.

In fact, it was 2002. A simpler time, really.

I was a somewhat licentious young business man. I would buy companies, tear them down, and sell the parts for a profit. And Molly was a college girl, paying her way by working as a high class call girl. What? She didn’t mention this? Check her archives. I’m sure it’s there.

So, yeah, I was a rich businessman with good hair, falling for a hooker with a heart of gold. Which, you may remember, is the plot of a fairly popular Hollywood film…

Dances With Wolves.

I met Molly in a bar. I actually met Molly’s cute brunette friend first. But, it turned out that she was a Patriots fan. So, I told the bouncer that she had grabbed my junk and got her tossed.

And then, as Santana’s “Game of Love” featuring Michelle Branch played, I spotted Molly. She was looking at her reflection in a window, displeased with her recent experiment with bangs. (Not a euphemism.)

I approached her. We talked. We danced. We connected.

It was like magic.

Actually it was more powerful than that.

It was like… magique.

Or something. I don’t know.

Things went well for quite a while. We had one little snag. I insulted her by trying to pay her for something early on. I didn’t know. I thought that the goat was a bit above and beyond the call of duty, but whatever…

I taught her to stick up for herself.
She taught me to love.

I taught her that it was OK to rely on others sometimes.
She taught me to dream.

I taught her how to claim shoes as a business expense on her taxes.
She taught me this thing with ping pong balls…

But, then, as so often happens, we changed and started drifting apart… until it ended.

And that is the story of the love that Molly and I once shared.

I am actually pretty proud of how we’ve gotten past it all and become blog friends.

Thanks for your time and for letting me get it all out.

Remind me some day to tell you about the time Clink and I spent a weekend together in that romantic city with the beautiful tower and sparkling lights…

Odessa, Texas.

Hi all! I’m Kate and I live (well not LIVE really but you know what I mean) over at Walking Kateastrophe. What I am most famous for are my “Kateastrophes.” They are the most requested feature on my own blog and I figured giving you one would probably be the best (and most embarrassing) way to introduce myself to all of you. And I’m going to start with a bang and tell you about the Kateastrophe to end all Kateastrophes. Some of you may have already heard this, and I apologize for the repeat, but it’s really the one that gives you an idea of just.how.stupid.I.really.am. And I still laugh every time.And it’s all about entertaining myself, really.

So, flashback to April, 2002. I have finally completed my requirements for my Fine Arts Degree in Music Dance Theatre from Brigham Young University. I’m finally a real adult and I’m proud of it. You should know that our small major was notorious around the Fine Arts Department for being loud and obnoxious, and we lived up to our reputation during the very long, very boring commencement.

Toward the very end of the ceremony, the dean was thanking everyone who had been involved in all the graduates’ achievements; the graduates themselves, their peers, their teachers and of course, their parents. It was at this point that my best gay buddy Clark leaned over and said to me “we should stand up and cheer for our parents.” Being the obnoxious MDT majors we were known to be, we stood up and whooped and hollered and cheered and drew all the attention to ourselves. And our humiliated parents, of course.

Then we sat down.

Only . . . when I sat down my chair . . . well . . . “scooched” backward.

Now, “federal regulations” require that any riser taller than about 3’ has to have “back support” to prevent individuals from falling off the risers. BYU had followed this rule to the absolute minimum. The “back support” was about the equivalent of a ruler held up by two ¼” dowels. So, when I “scooched” the back support “snapped.”

The back two legs of my chair were off the edge of the riser and I had no back support.

I.started.falling.off.the.six.foot.high.riser.

So, I did what any normal, flailing, falling college graduate would do. I grabbed on to Clark to support me. Only, it didn’t work. Clark’s chair “scooched” and he started falling.

So Clark did what any normal, flailing, falling college graduate would do and he grabbed on to Cindy, the girl next to him. Only THAT didn’t work. Now she had been a little smarter and saw the fall coming and held on to her chair for dear life. There was a loud “SSSCCREEEEAAACCCCCHHH” sound before she AND her chair started going over the edge.

Now, SOMEHOW, after losing my chair to the floor below, I managed to grab on to the underside of the riser and hold on, but, my graduation gown flew over my head and I was hanging, butt down, from the riser with my gown covering my face. My calves were the only thing not suspended in mid-air, and probably the only thing that saved me from falling all the way down.

Clark was not so lucky. He started flailing even more and somehow managed to grab on to the curtain of the theater and SLIDE down it to the floor, hitting with a thud.

Cindy and her CHAIR pitched sideways over the edge and landed RIGHT.ON.TOP.OF.CLARK. Face down, provocative style. By itself, it’s funny. But knowing that Clark was very, very gay, made it even funnier.

Clark and Cindy exited stage right as quickly as they could and it probably took me about twenty minutes to get my laughter under control and start breathing normally again. I still can’t believe that I wasn’t mortified . . . I just thought (and still do) that it was HILARIOUS.

Later that night my family was laughing about what had happened and each person who had been in the audience was telling their reaction. There was a fun combination of laughter and hysterical fear, but my personal favorite was my brother Sean’s reaction. (Keep in mind that I went to Brigham Young University and 98% of the attendees and their parents are tried and true Mormons.) Sean, seeing my fall says OUT LOUD from the SECOND ROW of the HUGE MORMON FILLED THEATRE in a LOUD VOICE:

“My stupid sister just F***ING fell off the F***ING back row.”

I’m pretty sure the BYU Honor Code Police are still looking for me to strip me of my diploma for that one. Shhh. Don’t tell them where to find me.

Hi everyone! La, here, from The New Fanny. The lovely Molly asked me to fill in for her whilst she is off gallivanting in Sin City, and before I begin? I must reveal how much I sincerely just love the crap out of Molly. Not only is she gorgeous, with hair to die for, but she is smart and funny and sensitive and supportive, and just a wonderful, wonderful friend. She is my shoe soul sister – and god help us if we ever get together and go shoe shopping, because not only does she love shoes just as much as I do? We even have the same exact pair. I was going to honor my time here by posting pictures of all my shoes, but the wonderful KLC beat me to the punch. So I decided, once again, to get a little personal.

For those of you who don’t know me, in a nutshell, I’ve been going through a very difficult time lately. I was living with a man whom I’d been with for almost six years. We recently got engaged, had an engagement party, started planning the wedding, and I purchased my wedding dress. Then, out of nowhere, he decided to leave me. Five months before the wedding. At first, he claimed it was not a permanent thing – he said he just needed time to figure things out. But what it was all along? And what I never, not in a million years, expected it to be? Was the fact that he had been cheating on me for the past three months with a woman I know, who he is now convinced that he is in love with. Sufficed to say, the relationship is over. This post is not going to be about the heartbreak that I’ve suffered, or the disgust and self-doubt I’ve been through, but rather looking positively towards my future, and the fact that I have to start over. That I get to start over.

Dating is a scary thing. Dating is something that, day in and day out, my ex and I used to discuss and literally brush our brow and heave an emphatic “phew”, because we never had to go through it again. Or so I thought. And when my relationship first ended with him, I couldn’t even fathom the thought of being intimate with anyone else – to me, it would almost feel like cheating. Physically or emotionally. I just couldn’t see being with anyone ever again. And when I thought about what I wanted in my next mate? All I could come up with was a running tally of my ex’s better qualities. I was destined for failure.

But then, I started getting out of bed. And changing my pajamas, and my heart became less heavy, and I started thinking about the fact that I really would like to have sex again some day, and the idea became more and more appealing. I can say definitively that I’m still not ready, but I’m open to the idea. Which is a huge step. And the more I thought about my ex, the more I thought, “I definitely don’t want my next mate to have x, y or z characteristics”, and all of the sudden, I feel like I’m hand-crafting the perfect man. And even though I sometimes worry about my age (33) and feel like I’m too old to start over, I also know that I’m not going to settle for anything less than I truly want and deserve. And it’s nice to love myself that much. It really is.

But in addition to browsing online personals and dating sites, one, in particular, where I found a profile of someone who looked extremely familiar to me and I couldn’t quite pinpoint why, until it was pointed out that it was my ex-husband, I’ve also tentatively agreed to be set up on a few blind dates. Which, I’m not going to lie, scares the bejesus out of me. I feel like I’m back in 7^th grade – that I’m going to be judged, and maybe rejected, and it’s just something that’s so unfamiliar to me. It’s been a really long time since I’ve been on a date. So I beg you all for advice. What is your best dating advice? What are some of your more disastrous date stories? Your funniest stores? Your great date stories? Share!

Howdy folks, I’m Sassafras.  Or as Molly likes to call me, Sassy Pants! 

As you know, Molly is getting married in October (yes you groan, we know!) and since Molly was such a source of support and love while I was planning my wedding, I thought I would give her and the rest of the bloggie brides out there a little counsel. 

Please note I am a minimalist.  I wear jeans and a sweater every day.  If I need to dress up I put some boots on too.  Take what you like and leave the rest.

10 Things I Learned About Being a Bride:

1.  There is no right answer.  I was always searching for what the “right” thing to do was.  It doesn’t exist.  Do what you and your future hubby feel is right for you.

2.  Everything you do the week leading up to your wedding (including day of) will take twice as long as you think it will.  I can’t explain the phenomenon, just know it’s true and plan accordingly.

3.  Wedding planning is frustrating.  I’ve never watched the Hills and know nothing of Heidi and Spencer but when I read in Us Weekly the other day that they are putting off their engagement because wedding planning was making them fight (among other things I imagine) I wasn’t surprised.  At times I wanted to elope just to make the bickering stop.  Yes, it is all worth it, just grin and bear it.

4.  Losing weight it hard.  If you’re (mostly) happy with how you look, don’t stress too much about losing weight.   About a month before my wedding I mentioned in passing to a guy friend of my (soon to be) husband’s that it didn’t look like my weight loss goals would be met and I was OK with it.  Know what he said?  “You look great – you’re active and don’t need to make yourself miserable (head nod towards his skinny girlfriend) and a bitch towards everyone else.” Enjoying life, including eating and drinking with my friends was much more important to me.

5.  If you can, make the family happy.  Stick to your guns on things that are important to you but if you can make grandma happy simply by doing something small, do it. 

6.  Seriously consider doing pictures beforehand if your ceremony & reception will be in the same place.  I know it is different for everyone but after the ceremony we wanted to mingle with our guests…we didn’t want to pose for pictures. 

7.  Don’t let the “Bridal Industry” brainwash you into thinking you need to have this and that.  By all means if you want to have it all, go for it.  I’m a minimalist and couldn’t imagine spending a ridiculous amount of money on something for one day.  We used toasting glasses that we were given as an engagement gift and a cake knife that my husband’s parents used.  I didn’t have special underwear for the day of and I didn’t spend money on beautifying myself months prior because I didn’t need to.  It is easy to get caught up in what other ultra-brides are doing.  Do what you want and nothing more.

8.  If you can’t go on a honeymoon after the wedding don’t sweat it.  Hubby and I couldn’t and I am glad now that we didn’t.  It would have been too much stress for me to worry about packing and traveling.  We enjoyed nursing our hangovers (OK, fine it was me), opening our gifts and relaxing on the couch.  We’re looking forward to celebrating our honeymoon in April – 6 months after we got married.

9.  Things will go wrong.  Know that going in and you will be fine.

10.  The greatest compliment we received was from our friends who were finishing up their whirlwind 2007 wedding tour with our wedding.  They enjoyed our wedding because it was us.  Everything about it was what we wanted, what we felt comfortable with and as a result we had an amazing day.  In every picture we are grinning ear to ear.  THAT is what it should be all about.

Hey guys, it’s KLC from kwarterlifecrisis. As you know, Molly’s in Vegas so for today you’re stuck with me. (And I also consequently get the weekend! For the record, other guest posters, she must totally like me best.)

This whole guest posting thing is new to me as this is my first time to do it. It’s been an interesting process and I relate the whole thing to the experience of college. At first, you’re super excited and all the possibilities are so alluring and shiny and then you get there and get settled in and you’re like ‘crap, this is gonna be tougher than I thought. I want my mom.’ Guest posting is the same way. At first, I was all ‘Molly likes me! And she has soooo many readers! Yay!’ and then as this day grew closer and closer, I became all ‘what in the hell am I gonna write about? I want my mom.’

I frantically emailed Clink yesterday and told her that I felt like I was having that nightmare where it’s finals week and I just found out I was enrolled in a class I hadn’t gone to all semester long and the final is tomorrow. I also asked her for any suggestions. She emailed back that she stressed out about what to write here too. She was also really helpful and told me that when she was deciding what to write about she asked herself what Molly’s readers wanted to read about.

I scrolled through some of Molly’s old posts and thought of topics. Weddings? Umm don’t exactly have one of those in the works yet, thankyouverymuch. Hair? I have no idea how she gets hers so perfect. Mine’s a curly mess most days. Dogs? Nope, unfortunately don’t have one of those yet either.

And then it hit me. What is the one noun that you think of when you think of Molly?

SHOES.

I may not yet have a fiance or awesome hair or a dog, but dammit, I’ve got shoes.

One of my favorite shoe things that Molly does is her ‘Makes My Feet Hurt’ posts. Instead of pulling pictures off the internet though, I decided to put my own spin on it and pull actual (albeit very old and not at all recently worn) shoes from my closet. Please don’t dump me as a friend based on some poor footwear decisions in the past. I promise that today I am wearing super cute and fashionable leopard print stilettos.

Anyway, here goes nothin’.

Flip flops with a twist! And by ‘twist’, I mean 3-inch plastic platform and wide foam straps. The geometric red and cream patterns and the faded red foam straps make this shoe compatible with a whopping total of two outfits: a white shirt and jeans and a white shirt and jean shorts. And even then you’ll still be a fashion disaster.

The general idea of these shoes isn’t bad, but they’re what my mom would refer to as ‘clod-hoppers’ because they are clonky. The side of the box should read ‘guaranteed to make your feet appear two sizes larger and your legs appear six inches shorter!’

Actually, no, I wasn’t born in the 70’s and I never went to Woodstock. I also never wore long flow-y tie-dyed skirts or smoked weed on a regular basis though these shoes might have you believe otherwise. And on another note, I’m almost willing to bet money that some other unfortunate girl who had these same shoes broke her ankle while wearing them. Let’s just say that those leather ankle straps aren’t the sturdiest or most supportive and when one’s feet get sweaty and slip around, it’s pretty easy to fall off that massive suede platform and bloody one’s ankles. Not that I would know.

Nope, your eyes are not deceiving you. These really are hula-girl themed flip flops. Complete with grass-skirt-like trim wrapped around each one. They’re perfect for any barbecue or luau because you’ve already brought the party - on your feet!

I think if they ever created the movie Ariel using real people that whoever was in charge of wardrobe would want these for when Ursula becomes a human. They totally scream evil aqua marine mermaid/octopus creature turned human. And depending on if you wear them with anything other than pants, they also kind of scream street walker. Like, maybe whoever was in charge of wardrobe for Pretty Woman should have searched a little harder and found these lovely shiny blue gems.

Sigh. My poor, poor feet. You live and you learn though, right?

( Disclaimer: None of these have graced my feet in at least five… okay, maybe four years. Somehow though, they all came with me when I switched cities (and states) after college. You should see the shoes that DIDN’T make the cut and now are either sitting in a Goodwill store somewhere or residing at my mom’s house. Yikes, right? I cringe just thinking about them. And also, Molly, I swear if you ever come to visit, I will rid my apartment of these shoes before you step foot off the plane. Promise.)

(Hi there, Molly readers. It’s Clink, filling in while our girl is in Vegas. )

One of the (many) things I love about Molly is that we can freely discuss our weddings without it turning into a competition. There is no trying to one-up each other, there is no jealousy. We support each other and give each other ideas and it’s all pretty much rainbows and sunshine and GAH I MISS HER MOLLY COME BACK.

Ahem.

So, one of my good friends - a bridesmaid, in fact - got engaged recently.

She’s the first of my close friends (that I have met in real life) to be engaged at the same time I am and?

I hate it.

And I don’t mean that in a (*stomps feet*) “But I want to be the ONLY BRIDE! I want ALL the attention! ME! ME! ME!” sort of way.

I hate it because she’s competitive and has thus turned our respective wedding planning into the Battle of the Brides.

It started a few weeks ago, when I met her downtown for manicures and dinner. Comparison of rings, talk of how the “diamond guy”‘ her fiance got the ring from is the personal jeweler to various celebrities and how it was designed just for her and you know what? La la la la don’t care, love my own ring la la la la.

The competition continued at dinner with talk of how she’s just going to buy a Monique Lhuillier gown because who cares about price when it’s your wedding gown? and how she and her fiance are thinking of getting married at one of the most expensive reception venues in all of already-expensive NYC because it’s “just so opulent!” She said that she “considered” my reception site (um, isn’t that breaking a cardinal rule of girlhood? Thou shalt not get married in the same place as your friend!) but she and her fiance thought it was “too much of a blank slate.” (Which is exactly what I love about it.) (Also, why the hell did she have to go and diss my place? Why even mention it?)

I just kept stuffing more bread into my mouth to keep from asking her, politely, to shut the hell up.

And this is someone I love! She’s not a faux-friend that I put up with because, like, she has access to exclusive restaurants or because our significant others are close. This is a true blue, has-hugged-me-while-I-sobbed-on-the-floor-after-a-break-up, very close friend.

Who, apparently, turned into Psycho Bridezilla the minute her 2.5-carat diamond with baguettes was slipped onto her ring finger.

I’m so naive sometimes. I was excited when she initially told me she got engaged because I thought great! Someone who can support me and knows what I’m going through and maybe we can even go dress shopping together, how awesome would that be?

And now, of course, it’s turned into My Wedding vs. Her Wedding, against my will. I’m really not in the mood to add “compete with close friend” on the list of things I have to do because my “to do” list is very long and complicated and WHO HAS THE TIME TO WORRY WHETHER MY FAVORS WILL BE BETTER THAN HERS? (Note: they will be, but still.)

She’s loaded, and thus prone to bragging about how she and her fiance are getting married in 2009 so that they’ll have an extra “bonus season” to pay for both the wedding and a McMansion in Connecticut that they will move into shortly after. Just yesterday she emailed me about whether or not I think 400 guests is “a bit much” because “we really don’t want to cut the guest list, you know? We want EVERYONE to be there!” This is someone who I had emotionally discussed my guest list with, someone I confided in and told that I was upset at having to keep it around 175 because I wished I could invite the entire world.

Oh and she’s “got to cancel dinner” with us girls because they “have an appointment with Sylvia Weinstock!” She “wants the cake to be the centerpiece - shock, awe, etc.!”

That sound you hear is me vomiting into my garbage can at work. Also, it is taking all my strength not to offhandedly comment that “if the Platinum Wedding taught me anything, it’s that money can’t buy a wonderful wedding.”

I miss my friend, I really do. I hope that after the initial rush of wedding-mania that comes with getting engaged she’ll simmer down and revert to her old, lovable self. I mean seriously, I cannot stress enough how surprising her behavior is. Before yesterday I would’ve put her at the top of a list of some of the funniest, most likable people I know.

So, in sum: thank you Molly for being nothing but supportive and helpful about my wedding; I hope I’ve been the same to you.

And I’m so glad that neither one of us turned into a psycho freak once we got the rings. Amen to that.

So 2008 is officially here. I rang in the new year with some of my closest friends, my lovely Michael and some very delicious Parrot Bay and Sprite. In a tall glass, natch.

Thank you all for the amazing birthday wishes, texts and cards. I would especially like to thank my IBFF for the ridiculously cute “Soon to be Mrs. (Michael’s last name)” hoodie. I cannot wait to wear it.

And also, you guys are too funny with my hair. Seriously? You like it that much? I’d love to tell you that I wake up with it looking like that everyday, but that would be a lie. What you see is a result of lots of curl-shaping mousse and hot rollers. If you really want I’ll give you a tutorial sometime.

So far, my 25th year has been great and I can’t wait to see what 2008 brings. (And oh yeah, I’M GETTING MARRIED!!!!)

And tomorrow it gets even better as my office and I leave for an entire week in Vegas! Don’t worry, I’ve left six wonderful guest bloggers in charge of this place.

Now I must go, as I have 1,001 things to do before tomorrow and like five minutes to do it all.

Have a great week! I will miss you!

xoxo

  Hope your new year’s eve was spectacular…

…and that you totally boogied down.

I know I did.