You are currently browsing the monthly archive for August 2008.

Wedding band shopping. We’ll put that on the list of omigod I could do this all day.

Cannot wait to wear it forever.

Seven weeks…

Dear Gabrielle Reese,

Thank you so much for your enthralling article in this month’s Allure magazine on dressing for the gym. My, how uninformed I was!

A woman should never wear shorts and an ill-fitting t-shirt to the gym. It’s unflattering.

Thank you for this advice. Your recommendation on buying all outfits in black, gray or blue (so you don’t clash when you layer) made much sense. I especially took to heart how you prefer to wear Lululemon (what was I thinking shopping for gym clothes at Target??) pants and I will remember how they MUST be fitting on the bum and thighs, then slightly flared below the knee before just brushing the top of your sneakers. (Which are stealthily concealing your white or black crop socks.)

I have to commend you for just “always wearing a coat of mascara” and not the whole kit and kaboodle, as no one likes their face to run at the gym. However, I’m disappointed you did not give me tips on how to achieve the perfect hair wave by wearing a Juicy Couture headband.

Also, thanks for the tips on a cute bag with shoulder straps to carry your black ballet flats so you always feel cute — even after a workout.

As far as wedding planning goes, mine has been relatively stress-free. Other than a minor freak out in the early stages of planning, it’s basically been smooth sailing.

As you know, the invitations were a bit of a pain. Relying on a friend to get things to me on time backfired and while they did end up mailed around when I wanted them to (at the post office as we speak!), it was a big rush at the end to get it done.

I arrived at my friend’s house to pick up all the invitation components last night. She was frazzled — as usual — as her two boys ran around her feet. She showed me all the pieces and they looked beautiful. I was so happy. Until she opened the outer envelopes.

They’re not what I wanted. At all.

They’re printed in a plain font, not script, and while centered, the address is near the bottom, not the middle, of the envelope. Also, our return address is on the front, not the back like I had wanted.

I know some of you are rolling your eyes, but after eight months, lots of back and forth and a couple hundred dollars, I expected these to look exactly as I had planned.

I didn’t say anything to her. Mostly because we were at, if not passed, the deadline I wanted to send them out. And also because our recent interactions have been strained and I just wanted to get the invitations out the door without any more drama. I thanked her, got in the car, and immediately called my mom.

She was sympathetic and we talked about other things which helped calm me down. Until we hung up and I started to freak out again.

And began calling former brides for advice. Except, of course, none of them picked up.

I tore into the house upset, showing Michael the envelopes. His reply was that if this is really important to me and they’re not what I wanted, I should have them fixed. But there was no time! Then Jen arrived to help assemble them and assured me that yes, they’re not what you wanted but no, they don’t look terrible and seriously? I rip open that envelope and chuck it in the trash. I want to see the invitation!

Ok. Alright. Yes. I can handle that.

Later on my friend and former bride did call me back and told me her own invitation horror story to make me feel better. She also said that if this is the biggest thing that goes wrong during all the planning, I made it through pretty well. It’s not like the groom stood me up on the alter! (Although after all this wedding brain, he might be having second thoughts.)

Three and a half hours later, a pile of neatly stamped, sealed and slightly not perfectly printed envelopes sat before me. My wedding invitations. Holy. Cow.

This morning I heaved two overflowing boxes into the post office and sent them on their way.

There’s no turning back now.

Whenever the topic of my religious background comes up, I find myself going on and on about how my parents were raised this way, but removed themselves from it at this age and I was brought up celebrating holidays on both sides and yadda, yadda, yadda. If you’re interested, the full story with more details can be read here.

It’s not that I have a problem with the way I was raised. Not at all. I was taught to be a kind, spiritual, good person who believes in something bigger than myself. It’s just the issue of defining what (or who), exactly.

Yesterday I felt put on the spot. I was sent the final documentation for the church we will be married in and began filling out the form. Groom’s name. Easy. Age, check. Address, la, la, la.

Religious background.

I hate the silent judgement I get from people when asked this question. Just because I don’t immediately associate myself with one particular religion does not mean I don’t believe in something. And just because the person asking does not understand exactly what that means, does not give them the right to judge me.

I skipped over it and filled out the rest of the form. But then I had to come back. Leave it blank? No, because that implies that I’m not even spiritual.

OK, “spiritual?” No, too out there.

Undecided? Well, yes, but…

I considered writing out my whole story, but the only give you a space like this big ________ and yeah, it won’t fit.

I took the form home and placed it on the counter. Every time I walked into the kitchen it taunted me. Answer the question. Answer the question.

It’s not that I never want to have an answer. One day I hope to figure out exactly what my belief system is so that when we do have children, I’ll have a clear and concise thing to say when they ask me what I believe. And also so I have a clear answer when I ask myself.

I think there’s a lot of weight put on what I say on that little form. More weight than there should be. What I believe –whatever it may be — is really nobody’s business but my own. Being asked to define it with one word really gets under my skin.

I went with “unaffiliated”.

Open to most, curious about all.

Posting is going to be sporadic the next two weeks, as every single moment of my work day is actually being consumed by work, work and MORE WORK. We leave next week for Denver and while the actual trip should be pretty cool, the preparation leading up to it is nothing but completely and totally draining.

Case in point, I brought lunch today, then completely forgot I did. So I bought lunch, leaving my leftover homemade Thai chicken pizza sitting sadly in the fridge. This is actually progress, because yesterday I forgot to eat entirely. Forgot. To. Eat. ME! Something is clearly wrong here.

I haven’t lined up any guest posters for next week because honestly, I have not had the time to read any of you, let alone compose a coherent email that says something along the lines of, space for rent — cheap. Box of chocolate donuts or best offer.

So if you’d like to do a guest post, shoot me an email. I’ve got four days to fill.

Also, I’ve been wearing jeans and flip flops almost every day to work for the last couple days. I can’t put the energy into getting dressed in anything decent because the only time I’m seeing the light of day, let alone any other human being, is when I run to the bathroom after not peeing for hours because OMIGOD THERE IS SO MUCH WORK GO AWAY.

Am I even making sense anymore? I have no idea.

Hopefully I will have a moment tomorrow because I have a dilemma to write about and you guys always have the best answers.

Back to the grind…

Work, what is it good for?

(Aside from paying the bills, allowing me to have a wedding, a roof over my head, a car, lots of shoes and food on a regular basis.)

(And oh yeah, I guess life experience and friendships that I wouldn’t have gained otherwise.)

(And maybe blogging too — because I started blogging on a down day at work.)

(Damn it, there goes my whole theory about working being good for nothing.)


I really don’t think I’m cut out to be a working woman. I mean yes, work is a necessary evil of life and I think I do my job pretty well, but if I really had the choice I would opt to retire like, last week, and live the life of a lady of leisure.

What, like it’s hard?

I just think I could fill my free time with much better things than sitting at a desk all day and dealing with press people. Like…

Being a dance teacher. Not any professional competition business, but teaching kids under 10. I realize that theoretically I could do that now, but unfortunately the paycheck would not be as substantial.

Professional shopper. Need an outfit for a big date? I’m your girl. Especially if you wear a size 8.5 shoe and need me to try on every pair of Jimmy Choos in the store. I mean, it’s asking a lot, but I’d take one for the team.

Professional blog writer. Oh why the hell not? Writing is actually something I enjoy more than anything and it’s much easier to spew the inner contents of my brain onto a page than write a magazine piece (which by the way, Anna, it came in the mail Friday and looks awesome!)

Miss Cleo version 2. Don’t you miss those commercials for a phone psychic? I could totally do that. And not end up with a lawsuit against me. I hope.

Ice cream taste tester. Ben & Jerry’s, I’m looking at you.

Muse. For Christian Louboutin.

What would you do if you could retire right this very minute?

You better not say be Miss Cleo version 2 because I’ve got the hold on that market thankyouverymuch.

Yesterday was one of those days that tosses you around like a washing machine, squeezes you out, tosses you back in for good measure then spits you out wet and cold on a dirty floor, leaving you sitting in a puddle and blinking over and over, trying to figure out how exactly you got there.

For a good two hours yesterday I thought one of our clients was going to be sued for something my team put out. As far as I know, if you get your client sued, you probably lose your job. They didn’t get sued, but I need a breath mint after all that butt kissing I did yesterday.

After eight and a half hours of pure work related hell, I was excited to at least hold in my hand the final proof of my wedding invitation that was supposed to be printed and DONE on Monday.

The proof looked like ass. Ok, not ass, exactly. But not what I thought it was going to look like and they only gave me the main part, not all the components like they were supposed to. When I called my designer friend to talk about it, she basically made it clear that it was her one night a week out of the house and she would not be available until the next day.

This is a tricky situation because she is a very good friend. But she’s also doing a business-related service for me. It has been my intention all along that my invitations would go out right before I left for a week in Colorado, which means they need to go out at the very latest, a week from today. Why? Because if they go out after I get back that only leaves people two and a half weeks to RSVP before certain vendors need head counts and we all know that two and a half weeks is not enough time to hear from 185 people.

We finally talked on the phone this morning and she could tell immediately that my patience was wearing very  thin. I think she’ll make it work. I HOPE she makes it work. Cross your fingers.

So after the initial invitation disappointment, I rushed over to the salon for my hair appointment. Usually I lighten the roots, then add some highlights, but since my next appointment is the end of September (spaced out perfectly for the wedding), the stylist suggested I just do my roots.

When I got home they had become not light, but a dark band of dark darkness around my head. Which is not only a waste of money, but NOT WHAT I WANTED AT ALL. I left a message this morning pleading to get back in there this week.

And oh yeah, I got my period too. I think the Universe deserves a medal for this crushing defeat.

Today has been the work day from hell. So bad, in fact, that my Gmail status has read “Someone Give Me Chocolate” all day long.

And then someone did.

Like an angel, the FedEx man appeared with a package from the lovely Mike at MS&L Public Relations, who in honor of my wedding (his words!) was bestowing upon me the lovely gift of 15 delectable Ferrero Rochet chocolates.

Dude, this blogging thing? Has it’s perks.

A big thank you to Mike, MS&L and Ferrero Rochet for making my day. Now please excuse me while I go stuff my face.

I knew nothing about what the evening was going to entail until it actually happened. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know if I should pack an overnight bag until minutes before I left for my shower. When the shower was over, 10 of us piled into cars and arrived at a hotel with a few hours to spare before dinner. Those four hours may have been some of my favorite of the whole weekend.

Sitting around with some of my best friends, drinking champagne and reminiscing was so wonderful.

Then it was party time.

It started with adorning me in classic bachelorette gear — a pink and fuzzy tiara, a “Bachelorette” sash, a garter and my Bad Girl/Good Girl wand. (Which by the way, is awesome for bopping people with all night. It also had bells so you know I was shaking it.) I was also given a little something something for the wedding night. Those crazy friends of mine have good taste.

Dinner was amazing — yummy drinks and lobster ravioli that was to die for. I’m still waiting on pictures (cough, cough, bridesmaids, COUGH) from dinner, but I’m pretty sure we got some awesome group shots.

Then it was off to the bars. I found out later that this wasn’t exactly the plan. Apparently the place we had dinner was supposed to be hopping with music and dancing, but when we got there that was not the case. I was none the wiser, so when the girls figured out some bars to go to I was happy to tag along.

The first bar we went to had an outdoor section and as we paraded through I was met with calls of “Don’t do it!” by stupid boys. I just laughed and shook my Bad Girl wand in their face. Then we ran into a bachelor party and blame it on the drinks, but I thought the groom to be (who was wearing a coconut bra) asked me “Why are you getting married?” Mustering up my New York ‘tude, I threw back, “Why are you getting married?”

“I asked WHEN are you getting married,” he laughed.

Oh. Oops.

Inside was another bar and a DJ so we were prepared to dance. Until we heard the horrible 70s disco music pumping from behind the door. Still curious, we went in and were met with an…interesting…scene. First there was the old man in the full white linen suit. He liked us, for sure.

Then there was the woman in the bustier and sailor hat. Yes, really.

And then there were the two women in mom jeans and mullets shaking their thing to I Love the Nightlife. We asked the DJ if he would change the music, but apparently that was a no go. So what’s a girl to do?


I would have stayed all night shaking my groove thing to that music because I’ll dance to anything. Somewhere there is a picture of me and my sister twirling around and I can’t wait to see it.

The rest of night included more bar hopping, one incident of me begging (and getting my way) a bouncer to let my 18-year old sister in the door because “It’s my bachelorette party and I neeeeeed her!” and probably one of my favorite encounters of the night.

As I was walking down the street shaking my wand, someone called out, “What are you? Miss America?”

“I’m Miss Bachelorette!”

“Ooooh you GO girlfriend! Work it out!”


All in all, a wonderful evening. I have the bestest sister and friends in the whole wide world.

I just wish someone would have stopped me before I broke my Bad Girl wand. It would have made a great addition to my work cube.

I’ve had a few days to take it in now and the more I think about it, the more I smile. So much work went into the shower and I feel so very loved.

My color wedding color scheme was threaded throughout the party — purples and reds in the beautiful flowers bought fresh at a farmer’s market that morning, in the invitations, the wisdom book and the little boxes of M&M favors that were perfect. Blame it on my sap faceness, but I get teary when I think about it.

There were women from all walks of my life in attendence. Family friends that have known me since birth, friends I grew up with, women from college, future in-laws, family and my amazing mom and sister.

I cannot thank the two of them enough.

And then there was the haul. Holy moly, did we clean up. Everyone was beyond generous and it felt like Christmas morning at age six.

Everything was wonderful, but some of the standouts included a homemade recipe box (in the theme of my shower) by my mom filled with recipes from all the guests, five Juicy bathing suits for honeymooning, Michael’s dream coffee maker from all the bridesmaids and a basket filled with wine, each with a different tag describing a different milestone in life. (ex- “Little Black Dress” wine for Date Night.)

Our second bedroom is filled with unopened boxes which I will slowly have to work through!

I’m still smiling every time I think about it. It was so lovely.


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Alltop, all the cool kids (and me)