Tuesday, June 30, 2009

I understand nothing

I’m sick of this.

I don’t doubt that he’s into me. First of all – I’m damn near perfect, so I don’t see how or why he couldn’t be. Second of all – I was at that wedding and fairly damn sober the large majority of the time. I saw how he looked at me. How he acted towards me. And I’ve replayed the evening in my head, more times than I care to admit. I swear that I wasn’t imagining any of it. Third – he did invite me to those fireworks, right?

It’s just that I’m always the one initiating conversation. I wonder, had I never sent him a text message, had I never friended him on Facebook, if I would have ever heard from him.

So – what the fuck?

Maybe he’s incredibly shy.
Maybe he’s incredibly busy.
Maybe he has crap going on at work.
Maybe he’s waiting for the perfect time – I know that he’s going away for the holiday weekend. I know that he has a big birthday the week after.
Maybe he’s waiting for the bride and the groom to orchestrate another bridal party bonanza.
Maybe he’s intimidated by me.
Maybe I really did give him the cheek in the car after the wedding and ruined this all on my own.
Maybe I just need to be patient.
Maybe I’m just making excuses.

Maybe I did imagine all of this.

Monday, June 29, 2009


Of the 152 emails sitting in my inbox, a large majority of them are notifications of comments to my humble little blog.

I can't quite explain why I keep them around for as long as I do. (Occasionally I'll purge en mass.)

I think it might make me feel less alone. Like I am a part of something.

Oh, how I love you all.

Weekend: Quiet and Great

I spent my Friday night on Chet and Lucy’s patio. Snacks and drinks and two great friends. The weather was mild. I was happy.

I spent my Saturday on the deck at Mom and Dad’s. My parents, as many of you have read me rant about previously, live on a slice of heaven. I had a book and the sunshine and the state of mind to lounge through my afternoon. I went on a walk with my little cousin Max. It was blissful.

I met Ashley and Darren for dinner on Saturday. Darren was one of those people who I was so close with when we were working together, but sadly assumed that we’d fall out of touch when we were no longer coworkers. When he decided to join us for dinner, I was pleasantly surprised.

Ashley is another former coworker. She is one of those friends who happen to meet at work but remain friends with once you’ve moved on. We went to Starbucks after dinner (Darren had another event to make an appearance at) and we sat on the patio and watched people and gossiped our hearts out. The weather was perfect. The coffee was perfect. The company was perfect. Not a weekend evening that makes for funny stories on Monday morning. I didn’t mind.

Sunday was much like Saturday. A swimsuit. A book. The deck. Watching the Confederations Cup on television. And my own soccer game later in the evening – a frustrating 2-2 tie.

And so I start another week.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

I am

Sporting the most glamorous head of terrifyingly wild hair, thanks to the humidity and this morning’s under-application of product.

Rightfully concerned about my job.

Going to have a new sister dog as of next Thursday.

Excessively confused about the situation with The Groomsman.


Looking forward to drinks and dinner at Lucy and Chet’s tomorrow.

Reading Angela’s Ashes. (Finally!)

Not bouncing back from my latest job interview/rejection like I should.

Wearing the same rings I’ve worn every day for the last 5 years.

Not getting an extra day off due to the holiday.

Still not done writing up Bridezilla’s wedding. Slacker!

In need of summery work clothes. (With the looming layoffs and pay cuts, I think I’ll hold off.)

Still Twittering.

In need of a pedicure.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Let's play a game!

Name of the game: Relocation Relay

Rules: suggest a location - exotic, quaint, urban, whatever - that I should consider as my relocation destination.

Rationale: the situation at my company is not looking good. The economy in Michigan is not looking good. The likelihood that I'm going to have to move grows by the day. I might as well start pinpointing potential locations, right? Right.

Ready. Set. GO.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

It isn't much, really

I sent The Groomsman a text message last Wednesday, sometime in the middle of the workday. It was a random, funny text that had to do with something that happened at the wedding. Nothing that really justified a response. And I didn’t get one.


It stung a little bit. I had fully expected to hear back from him. The Groomsman is a funny guy – and that is one of the things that I liked most about him. He could handle, and return, my sharp and sarcastic humor.

I heard back from him. On Friday night, in the greeting card aisle of Target, where I was shopping with Colleen. I had been texting with Meg and assumed, upon hearing my phone, that it was her. “I hope it is The Groomsman,” I thought to myself.

My hope? It springs eternal.

But it was The Groomsman. I read his text – a little joke, followed by “Finally thought of something hilarious to say. Wow did that take a long time!”

I gave him an A for his humor, an F for his speed. We exchanged maybe another text or two – that was all. Nothing to get too worked up about. But so nice to hear back from him.

On my way between the wedding ceremony and the reception on Saturday, I sent him another text message. “Quick! Respond with something funny. Am timing you. Try to beat your previous record of 75 hours.”

I never got my funny response.

What I got was an invitation.

“Hey. I think we are all going to watch the firework in [his hometown, which is also where my cousins Liz and Danielle grew up] tonight.”

I told him, apologetically, that I was at a wedding.

He told me it wasn’t a big deal. To have fun.

By now, I’m at the reception, texting away cocktail hour. “You kids have fun at the fireworks! Am bummed that I can’t come. Something else soon, eh?”

His response: “Definitely.”

I left it at that.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Pictures from the weekend

Only the most hilarious will do!

If you like it than you shoulda put a ring on it. Before the bouquet toss, obvs.

Promo shot for our Las Vegas revue.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Unfriendly friend

I have a lot of things that I could write about. I attended Lucy's little brother's wedding last night and it was fun and fabulous. I was in charge of Colleen. And she was obnoxious. It is the only thing that I can think about.


Mean and hurtful and excessively drunk. Totally trashy. I spent the majority of my time at the reception wanting to poke her in the eye. It was really painful.

When she drinks, it all comes out. Everything she's thinking. Unfiltered and mean. Want to know what she really thinks about your personality? Ask when she's four drinks in. Want to hear her obsess about her weight, a boy, her smoking habit or her future? Bring it up when she's drinking. She'll be happy to talk about the subject of your choice for hours upon hours.

Last night, she was on me about what is perceived to be my lack of openness. Unlike Colleen, I don't see much of a need to discuss things to death. [That's what my blog is for!] I mentioned The Groomsman to her, before having told Lucy. And she was just appalled that I hadn't called Lucy and told her every detail. ...not that I told Colleen every detail. Not that there were many details to tell!

I'll write more on that later, perhaps. It wasn't just that. It was her stumbling around. It was the run to Taco Bell. It was her unfiltered words, flowing freely from her loose lips.

I just...ugh. I love the girl, I swear I do, but I didn't tolerate her well last night. I'm sensitive. She's a bitch. And she didn't know many people at the wedding, so she had to target Lucy and Chet and me with all of her snark.

Am not chomping at the bit to hang out with her next weekend, I'll tell you that.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Sign of the times

Last week, and into this week, marks the first time that I’ve been scared that I’m on the verge of losing my job.

Nothing performance related. Just the fear of Tough Decisions. My office is right outside the conference room – where the president, the controller, the head of HR and my boss, the VP, have been meeting. Frequently. I can’t hear everything, but I can hear enough. Enough to make me worry.

Part of me (the arrogant part, no doubt) thinks that I have nothing to worry about. That I work closely enough with the decision makers that they couldn’t see cutting my job. Because they’d have to pick up the slack.

Part of me (the easily frightened part, for sure) thinks that maybe I’ll be let go. That maybe all of my work will be pushed onto the president’s very passive, workhorse of an assistant. Because they know that she will not and cannot say no. She’s a smart, sweet girl. There’s no way that the president would get rid of her.

I’m mentally preparing myself to be laid off. Maybe that’s a little dramatic. But I’m a little dramatic. But there was never anything wrong with a little preparation. ...and getting my personal belongings out of my desk and off of my computer.

I don’t want it to happen. I will be a mess if it happens. This blog will become a mess if it happens. (You think that I was an obnoxious mess about The Groomsman? This will be exponentially worse.)

So I guess I’ll just sit here and bite my nails until something happens. Or until something doesn’t.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Saturday: Mugging for Pictures and Catching the Bouquet

(Guess I should finish up this wedding recap, eh?)

After pictures in the church, we piled into the limo. We broke out the champagne and went for pictures around A2. The bride and the groom both attended my alma mater, and they were all about getting pictures around campus – The Big House, the law quad, a few of the more beautiful campus buildings.

At one point, in front of the stadium, we all had to simultaneously jump for joy. Yes, this picture is overdone. Yes, it will still be hilariously awesome.

They weren’t all group pictures, of course. The bridal party had to stand around and wait for all of the bride and groom’s pictures. And, in the process, act like jackasses. At one point, the groomsman who I walked down the aisle with was hanging off of a fence wearing a fierce stare. At another point, I cajoled a boy riding by on a bicycle to stop to have his picture taken with me.

(Like I said: I was totally out of control.)

Back at the reception site, guests were anxiously awaiting our arrival.

When we got to the hotel, we did the usual: bridal party entrance with our own silly twists. Watched the cutting of the cake. Listened to toasts. Ate filet. Clanged our glasses to harass the newlyweds.

It was a very traditional wedding. They left out nothing that “everyone” does.

Although, the bride and groom’s first dance was definitely an elaborately choreographed ballroom number. Oh, goodness – that groom is a trooper! I couldn’t/wouldn’t ever do such a thing. To my groom or to myself. But good for them, right?

Steeped in tradition, they couldn’t leave out the garter belt hullabaloo or the bouquet toss.

I caught the bouquet. CLEARLY I caught the bouquet. (And it isn’t the first time, so don’t ya’ll go on and on about that marriage superstition.)

Oh, and I also cut my finger in the process. Because the bouquet was wrapped in ribbon with wire. And I was stabbed with the wire. And left some blood droplets on the bouquet. Classy!

But it only gets better.

Had I known what was following my victory, I wouldn’t have even pretended to try for the damn bouquet.

I swear that I’ve never been at a wedding where this has happened. But everyone I’ve told this story to is like “um, duh. That’s what they do.”

The asswipe who caught the garter belt then proceeded to put it on me. What? How did I not know this was coming? All of a sudden, I’m being introduced to this tool and sat in a chair and he had NO QUALMS about trying to put that garter belt, like, around my hips.

This is a family show, brother. Could we stop just past the knee so that I can maintain some sense of dignity? Sweet baby J, I was embarrassed.

Not embarrassed enough to stop myself from spending the night alternating between the photo booth (so fun!) and the dance floor. But embarrassed. The groomsman I walked down the aisle even said something about how red I turned after he reached a certain point on my thigh. Charming. Really.

The reception – it is a bit of a blur. A lot of the same, on repeat. The dancing. The pictures. The chatting with guests. The giggling with the other bridesmaids. The mad dashes to the bathroom, to check my makeup and make sure I didn’t have frosting smeared across my face. The periodic visits to the bar.

I blinked and it was midnight. And I was walking with the Maid of Honor to the bridal suite, picking up our belongings and hunting down the bride’s sandals. And falling onto the couch in the lobby, quietly waiting as The Groomsman finished packing up wedding presents.

I have never been quite so excited to take off a pair of (custom dyed) shoes. Or to unzip my dress. Or to see my bed.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

On quitting

Tell me, friends, when I should give up on this.

Because I am 26 and I don’t know how these things work.

I just know that I want this boy to call. And he isn’t. And I am trying awfully hard not to care, not to notice, not to hope too much.

So if you guys wouldn’t mind being brutally honest. And letting me know when I should abandon my hope. I’d appreciate it. Otherwise, I'll hang on far too long and fall way too far.

Monday, June 15, 2009


I haven’t really met any of my neighbors. I’ve chatted with Scott – the middle-aged guy who lives across the hall – but that’s it.

Except for this other dude, Richard, who I ran into that Friday I took off of work because of Bridezilla’s wedding. He lives in an apartment facing the parking lot. Perfect for knowing when I am, and am not, here. He chatted me up for way too long. He’s divorced. The father of twin daughters. Retired from Ford. Bored.

I’ve successfully avoided him for a week and a half. Until tonight, when I was leaving for the gym.

And he starts shouting at me from his balcony. Asking me if I’m on a baseball team, because he always sees me in a track suit. (For the record, I do not own a track suit. Nor have I ever played baseball.) I told him that I was just going to the gym. So then he’s got to go on and on about how he used to own a threadmill.

And then he asks me for my number. So we can talk like friends.

“When I get back from the gym,” I lie.

I get home from the gym and successfully sneak into my building. Which is, unfortunately, also his building.

A half-hour later, he’s knocking on my door. Not loudly, so I figure that I’m okay not to answer and pretend that I just didn't hear him.

Five minutes after that, he’s hitting the buzzer to my apartment. Incessantly. It is loud. And the sound itself? It is scary. And he is scary. And I am scared.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

I heart early June

There are few things I love more than I love my Sunday summertime soccer league. It is the only time of year that I get to play real, legitimate, full-field soccer. And I love it.

What I don't love is how absolutely cranked I am after our games. It is hard to fall asleep and it is hard to stay asleep. We pulled off a mighty victory today. I'll pay for it in the morning. And when I'm wandering around my apartment at 4:30 am.

This weekend? Fabulous. Despite the Red Wings losing. I was reasonably productive, reasonably busy and I found time to start a new book and nap in the sun - nothing like the insanity that was last weekend.

Finally, an update on the groomsman. I didn't see him. I didn't hear from him other than the texts on Friday during the day and another that came when I was at the Red Wings game on Friday night.

My Facebook stalking skills indicate that he had a party to attend today. And, actually, I was busy last night with Lucy's birthday extravaganza - so I guess it was for the best. For whatever reason (and I'm sure that reason is the text he sent me on Friday), I'm feeling less freaked out about the whole thing. Like maybe I've done all that I can do - and now I just have to let it go and see what his next move is (or, I suppose, what his next move isn't).

I'm sure that this will all change tomorrow, when I post 12 raging paragraphs about how undesirable I am and how I ruin everything by letting The Groomsman know that I play soccer.

So until then, dear blog friends, we'll be calm. But don't say that I didn't warn you!

Friday, June 12, 2009

Hey, hey Hockeytown

It is a good day.

The weather is gorgeous. (My boss said "has there ever been a day as perfect as this one?")

My mood is exceptional. (You may confuse me for a ray of sunshine.)

I heard back from The Groomsman. (If I hadn't, you wouldn't confuse me for a ray of sunshine.)

And tonight I am going to watch a team win the Stanley Cup.

It is Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. They don't come around that often. The final series is usually finished in 4 or 5 or 6 games. Rarely 7.

Even more rare than a Game 7 is a ticket to Game 7.

Three of them, as a matter of fact. Me, Meg and Dad.

Should be fun.

Discussion. Via text message.

...which I'm okay with. My boss is notorious for listening to my phone conversations while I'm at work.

So I told him the details of tonight.

And then I told him that I wasn't going to be there.

This is what I got in response:
"Thanks for the details! But if you are not going to be there why would I want to go? I guess I can hang with those girls too, though just won't be as fun."

Happy, happy.

A few more for good measure

At the rehsearsal dinner with our gifts for being bridesmaids - adorable Coach wristlets, and the necklaces we wore on wedding day.

Before the ceremony - at the church.

4/5 of the bridesmaids.

The boyz at the ceremony.

The lovely ladies.

What we were good at: being bridesmaids, acting ridiculous.

Sassin' our way from one photo location to another.

I am such a spaz

Facebook notification:

The Groomsman wrote on your Wall:

"Sounds like there is something going on for tomorrow? I'll give you a call tomorrow for all the details."

Maybe he's just decent enough not to call at 11:15 pm.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

So I called

Colleen had a boy to call, too. When getting together to wrap Lucy's birthday presents, we discovered that we both had numbers burning holes in our pockets. After we dropped off the presents, we'd stop at the bar, grab a drink and make our calls. (In the privacy of our cars.)

That was at 8:30.

Colleen's number, from a guy she met at the bar last Saturday night, was a. complete. fake. Understandably, she was humiliated.

Mine, on the other hand. Mine was the right number. I know mine was the right number. I called The Groomsman at that number on Sunday morning. And he answered.

Tonight he did not answer. It went to voicemail after the second ring.

I haven't heard from him.

Guessing that I won't.

Wondering why I did this to myself. Blabbed this all over the place.

I'm supposed to keep this quiet. That's what I do. Quiet and private.

So that I can suffer my own humiliations in private.

Please excuse me while I freak out for a moment

He’s just not that into me.


Also: shit.

That has to be what it is.

Because it is Thursday. And it isn’t like he’s called me. Isn’t that what you do, if you’re the guy and you’re interested? Call?

I think I will spend the day feeling bummed. Because I honestly thought something was going to come of this. And I’m absolutely certain that he was digging me at the reception. Which means that I’m the one who fucked it up. Was it my big mouth? Was it how I drove? Was it what I ate at brunch? When he leaned in to hug me on Saturday night – was he trying to kiss me? Did I unknowingly give him the cheek?

I feel like a pretty big loser.

And also like maybe I could cry.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Saturday: Preparations and Ceremony

Saturday morning came quickly.

I took a shower and threw on a stunning outfit: yoga pants and a zip-up sweatshirt. With cute matching I-slept-4-hours bags under my eyes. And I was off.

First stop: the 24-hour supermegahuge grocery store. Needed: wedding card and sustenance. I was mildly concerned that I wouldn’t have a chance to eat all day. Thus: the wonder that is Luna Bars. Two of them, to be tucked away in my purse so that I could avoid being a crabby, hungry bitch with dangerously low blood sugar.

Second stop: the hotel, where I met up with the rest of the bridesmaids.

Third: the salon for hair and makeup. Because we had a largeish group, we got a little side room to throw our crap in. The bride’s mom brought bagels and fruit and snacks – which I happily feasted on when I wasn’t in the chair. I liked how my hair and my makeup turned out. I would have liked both a little better had I not paid for them. Such is life.

Then, back to the hotel. A little time for snacking. We got dressed. Put on our shoes and our jewelry. Tried to stay out of the way of the photographer and the videographer. Did the whole Help The Bride Into Her Dress ordeal. OMG, the buttons. On her dress? Such a pain. They looked pretty. Her dress was gorgeous. Definitely not something I would choose – too big, too bulky, too ornate. But she loved it and it loved her.

Next: pictures. Endless pictures. In the lobby of the hotel. Then outside of the hotel. Walking with our arms intertwined, pretending that we were talking about something funny. Standing in windows. Staring off into the distance. Strategically placed under chandeliers and near pianos. You know, the typical.

(Side note: if/when I get married, I will not go this route. I don’t want a thousand posed photos. I really don’t want table shots. The photojournalism style is much more appealing to me.)

We hustled back to the hotel room, threw together a bag of “just in case” items and met the limo driver back in the lobby.

Our ride to the church was uneventful. Listened to a silly wedding-themed CD that the driver put on. Sang along. Acted silly. And arrived at the church, where the groomsmen were waiting at the door.

Like I mentioned before, The Groomsman was standing outside. He looked at me. With his blue, blue eyes he looked at me. And I could’ve fallen over. But I am an excellent actress! I was also carrying our overflow bag of emergency items, which was really heavy and I needed to set it down ASAP.

The bride did a few shots in the church. We all milled about. And we were ushered into secrecy, the bride’s room in the basement, before long.

And then we were on the stairs.

And then we were walking down the aisle.

Slightly different from other weddings I’ve been in, I walked the majority of the aisle by myself. Kind of freaky. The groomsmen met us just after the last pew, and we basically walked up the stairs together.

“Have fun,” my groomsman whispered to me. “Behave yourself,” I whispered to him.

The ceremony was nice. Very pretty. They had a singer and a flautist, which was classy. The ceremony was pretty standard - nothing that you haven't seen before. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) They read 1 Corinthians 13:4-7. Lit a unity candle. Kissed.

The pastor completely skipped over her aunt, who was supposed to do a reading. ...but ended up awkwardly sitting up with us, though in the shadows over to the side, for the entire ceremony! (She ended up reading the poem at the reception.)

After the ceremony was over, the bridesmaids handed out bubbles. The guests gathered on the stairs outside of the church and blew bubbles on the bride and the groom during their faux exit. Everyone watched as they entered the limo and drove off.

Around the block.
And back to the church.

For more photos!

More wedding photos

The Groomsman, the maid of honor, me and the best man. Wearing my famous bridesmaid shirt!

The Groomsman took this picture of me at the rehearsal dinner. Remember how I said I was on fire that night?

Am not sure if the white dress tipped you off, but this is the bride and groom.

There was a photo booth at the reception. Now, from what I understand, having a photo booth is crazy expensive. But from what I experienced, having a photo booth is crazy awesome.

The bridesmaids pull out some sass in the photo booth.

The Maid of Honor and I squeeze into the photo booth with the groomsmen.

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

The Groomsman, Part II

He lives by me. He lives and works by where I live and work. I learned that on Friday. I remembered that on Saturday – when he was too drunk to drive and I was not.

I drove him home.

I imagine that got some tongues wagging – us leaving together.

Nothing to report, however. Chatted on the drive home. A hug when I dropped him off.

We had to attend brunch the next morning. He was, obviously, without a vehicle. The master plan was for us to drive together to the brunch, we would do the brunch thing, he would get his car and we'd each go on our merry way.

I called as I was leaving my apartment. "Hey Aly!" I liked that he used my name when he answered the phone. Or maybe I just liked hearing his name. "Good morning, Sunshine! Just wanted to make sure you're awake!"

I'm sure that the gossips loved that we showed up together on Sunday morning, too. And that he sat next to me. And that, as the bride and the groom opened their presents, we leaned against the wall together -- when we weren't picking up wrapping paper or pushing presents out of the way. And that we left together.

I drove him to his car.

And got another hug.

He mentioned, as he got out of the car, the plans that the other bridesmaids have to go out next Friday night. "So you girls are planning on going out..."

"...well, I'm going somewhere else first, so I'm not sure if or when I'll be out."

So -- that's it, really. Now I sit around and wait? One of the bridesmaids just tagged me in all of his Facebook photos of the wedding. He has my number. It isn't like he needs to do much work. Other than call me.

And suddenly I remember how much The Game sucks.

Monday, June 08, 2009

The Groomsman, Part I

When we met, just inside the doors to the church, I remember him looking at me. Really looking at me, it seemed. I immediately convinced myself that I was imagining things. Reminded myself that I’d have the pleasure of meeting his charming, bubbly, pretty girlfriend on Saturday night. Left it at that.

He sat across from me at the rehearsal dinner. I was on fire that night. I was surrounded by groomsmen – throwing funny stories and good natured bantering and decent conversation left and right. Still myself – but the myself that I show to my friends and my family, not to people I’ve known for a few hours. For no good reason, really. Just more comfortable in my skin.

Didn’t see him again until Saturday afternoon. He was outside the church when we arrived in the limo. Again with those eyes. That look. I brushed it aside. My silly, wishful imagination.

He sat next to me on the limo as we travelled from the church, around town for pictures and to the reception. Some of the bridal party switched around seats as we hopped in and out of the limo. I stayed put. He stayed put.

Coincidence. Lucky coincidence, I was sure.

At some point after dinner, the groomsman who I walked with asked me if I had my eye on anyone. “Oh, I have my eye on everyone,” I laughed. I think we left it at that.

Later, he asked me again. “You found anyone you’re going after?” I can’t recall how I answered – just that I avoided the subject. “One of the groomsmen has a thing for you.” He did not elaborate.

There were only two unmarried groomsmen. And I hadn’t had much interaction with the other. So there you go.

I’m still not sure I believed it. Then or now.

Towards the end of the night, we finally had a chance to dance together. He kept me close. I could feel his breath on my shoulder. The bride shot me an absolutely hilarious, shocked glance. “Oh!” she mouthed. If she had asked me about it, I would’ve told her it was nothing. But there was this millisecond where he pressed his forehead against mine – and it didn’t feel like nothing.


Only one of the bridesmaids has posted her photos on The Facebook. I'll share more as I get them!

With the maid of honor in the limo. Not exactly an adorable shot of me. [Note to self: lift your chin!] Whatev!

At the head table.

That's me at the right edge of the photo. And that is the groomsman next to me. (Giggle.)

Chillaxing (I'm the one with my feet up) on my way to the church.

Friday: I Make A Bad Decision

I took Friday off of work.

But went in for a little while. That always happens.

I had spent the night at Mom and Dad’s – I’d gone home to watch the Red Wings get shellacked by the Penguins on Thursday night. I woke up earlier than I would’ve liked. Drank coffee with Mom. Watched Dave Matthews Band on the Today Show (I prefer GMA, actually, but my love for David J. Matthews triumphs all). Played a bit with Blue the Wonderdog.

I picked up Emma and we went and got pedicures. Her high school graduation party was on Sunday – the perfect excuse for her to join me. Emma is a horrendous pain in the ass sometimes, but we usually do okay when it is just the two of us. Friday was not an exception. With wet toes, we happily waddled back to our car and back to her house, where our mothers were busy preparing for her graduation party.

I stayed and helped for a bit, before heading off to home, to work and to the rehearsal.

I pull into the parking lot just behind of one of the groomsmen. He’s changing into his bride-appointed tuxedo t-shirt in the parking lot. I am amused. (And already wearing my bride-appointed, bedazzled bridesmaid t-shirt.)

So I go inside and I mill about. Gossip with the other bridesmaid. Meet the groom’s parents. Meet the shirtless groomsman. And realize. That. He. Is. So. Adorable.

Oh, how sure I was that I was not lucky enough to walk with him.

And I was right. I walked with one of the groom’s married friends. I ALWAYS get the married groomsman. But it was okay. I loved my partner in crime. In a platonic sort of a way.

Actually, I kind of loved all of the groomsmen. A hilarious bunch, they were. Much more fun than I guessed that they would be.

Anyway. We did the rehearsal thing. Appreciated the gorgeous church. (Really colorful and vibrant – they didn’t even need to order flowers for the ceremony.) Chatted it up. Went to dinner.

Dinner was at a big, generic, chain restaurant that primarily serves Buffalo wings. Not exactly my sort of thing. But whatever. I entertained the bridal parties with tales of the creepy one-man IT department at work, with how I couldn’t fit into my bridesmaid dress two days earlier and other random stories of glory and stupidity. I also was proposed to. By a married groomsman who said that he would gladly take my hand in marriage in exchange for me taking him to game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Hilarious.

I left the rehearsal dinner at a reasonable hour. I was spending the night at Meg’s house. And that is how I got myself into trouble. Because one of her best friends was in town. So we went to the bar. Lucy met us out. My cousin Liz met us out with some of her friends (it was her impromptu divorce party). And then we closed the bar. And Meg jumped in a fountain. And Lucy took a cab home.

And that is the story of how I got four hours of sleep the night before a marathon of a wedding. NOT SMART.

Sunday, June 07, 2009

Wedding Weekend

My legs are going to hurt so bad when I get up tomorrow morning.

Correction: IF I get up tomorrow morning.

Thank my first soccer game of the season.
Thank all the time I spent in heels over the last three days.
Thank the weekend. Every second of it. With approximately 8 hours of sleep between the two nights. And 15 hours in a bridesmaid dress. And the birth and development of an enormous crush. And a martini bar. And a divorce party. And a little bridal drama. And Emma's graduation party. And the fast depletion of a full tank of gas. And, admittedly, more fun than I expected.

I am drained.

Pictures and stories to follow!

Pickin' 'em up.

I took a groomsman home tonight.

No, literally. I literally put a groomsman into my car and drove him home. We live close by. He was drunk. Fun drunk. Not obnoxious drunk.

Other things that he is: blond, attractive, amusing, charming and - rumor has it - into me.

I might be feeling a little guilty about all of the bitching I did about this wedding.

Wednesday, June 03, 2009

The truth of the matter

I had a job interview today.

I think that it went fairly well. I wasn't as articulate as I wanted to be (I never am) but felt as though I did a fair job of answering the questions.

Whatever. Here is the thing. My opinion on interviews? NOT VALID. If you're ever feeling spunky, go through the archives and tally up the number of interviews I've been to in the last four years. It is a lot. And after each of them, I think that I did well.

Obviously that's not true, on the account of the fact that I didn't get a job offer from. even. one.

So I'm telling ya'll that I went on an interview for the sake of telling ya'll that I went on an interview.

If I break my streak, you kids will be among the first to know.

Stranger things have happened. I mean, I do I think that I did well.

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

Oh no you didn’t!

My asshole coworker is, well, an asshole. Huge one.

There is nothing he likes more than to rip on me. Which is fine, because it gives me complete permission to tear him up whenever the opportunity presents itself.

But today that fucker crossed the line.

He implied that Meg is a lesbian because she plays hockey.

Which he has NO RIGHT to do.

He does not know Meg. Only knows that she plays hockey.

When I informed him that his suggestion was incorrect, he snorted. “Yeah, she’s not. Only her girlfriend is, right?”

Seriously, dude? Fuck off.

There isn’t a person in the world who I am more protective about.

Sit around and say that I’m not going to get married until you’re blue in the face. But rip on Meg one more time? I’m going to be forced to kick you in the balls. In front of all of our coworkers. On your birthday. In a staff meeting.

Monday, June 01, 2009

Letting it go

I blogged yesterday in a fit. An ugly fit.

Oh, I was in a strop.

I sat at my laptop with a cup of coffee and 10 minutes to spare.

And got it out.

My entire day was more tolerable due to those 10 minutes. Due to the cathartic act that is throwing my words, my feelings and my idiosyncrasies into cyberspace.

I can't turn off The Crazy.

But blogging allows me to mute it for a while.

Just 'cause

Falling in Love is Like Owning a Dog
an epithalamion by Taylor Mali

First of all, it's a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you're walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain't no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is unpredictable.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?

On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.

Love doesn't like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.

Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.

Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don't you ever do that again!

Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise.
It runs you around the block and leaves you panting.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you're all wound up and can't move.

But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.

Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.
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