112 days...

After going through the rules of the blog (no swearing, no changing old posts, no posting 8th grade pictures of me, etc.) and after being accused of not sharing the facts accurately (he actually bought my society lady dress), Corey is now an invited author.


What you will notice about him through his posts is that he is quick, he is sharp, and he loves to egg me on...all the qualities I would attribute to a Leprechaun.

For example, the dog did not eat an English Muffin with peanut butter. But Corey said he did to elicit the response he craves. Congratulations on your success, my friend. To this very moment I'm wondering how, with all this food you claim to feed him, he is going to be the world champion long jumper.

After a wonderful dinner at Hatties this evening, I guess it's time for me to start posting my own comments...although after 6 or 7 mojitos, maybe I'll wait until tomorrow, plus, Oliver is ready for his 11pm snack....english muffins with peanut butter.

A letter to my future in-laws

Dearst Bonnie and Gary,

What a wonderful four years it has been getting to know you both. From the moment we met that opening day of the track in 2005 I knew you were special people. I honestly could not have asked for a better set of in-laws...actually, Elvis and Pricilla would have been really cool.

Now I feel it is time to clue you in on some things you do not know about me:

1. I DO freak out. I'm not as calm as you think, Bon. Last night I almost threw a printer through the window and into the pool. Why? It crossed me.

2. I am lazy, and I very much enjoy it. Even though I have a million things going on at once, I am really day dreaming about couch time.

3. I am a horrible perfectionist. My clothes are arranged by color. I will spend hours cleaning with a Q-tip. And if I cannot achieve immediate perfection I give up, exasperated.

4. My patience threshold is low. How many times in one conversation do I really need to tell Corey what I had for lunch? One. How many times do I actually tell him? Seven. This situation does not usually end well.

There. Now we are better acquainted. Sharing feels good. I think I'll do more of it.

I ate grapes today.

Just a thought...

Off topic, why did John Q. Toaster make the slots of his most famous invention so narrow and deep? Did he not have enough forethought of the types of foods, such as my whole grain English Muffins, that would be placed in his toasting machine? Or was he satisfied enough with his initial toasting concept that he left the design of the raising mechanism up to his less-adept and little known partner, William T. Lever?

Daily, I play the real life version of Operation where I am the tweezers, the metal sensor, AND the loud, obnoxious buzzer. My shrunken English Muffin is the impossible funny bone. And with the same amount of patience I have for the game, I eventually give up on preserving the flesh of my fingers and stick 'em in the dang toaster. After all, my real life reward is much tastier and more easily digestible than those plastic pieces.

The Juicer vs. The Vacuum

Corey and I registered at Macy's several months ago. No surprise, we did not agree on much that night.

"Darling, I like this China."
"Sweetheart, I don't. I like this one over here."

"Sugar pie, what about this flatware?"
"Honey, it doesn't match the china."

"Stacie, these pans would be great."
"Corey, they are way too expensive."

"Why do you need a Martha Stewart cake plate?"

"When are you going to use a Wok??"

"Hey, why don't you just finish the stupid thing yourself?"

"Shut up about the stupid WAFFLE IRON!!"

In the middle of all of this is when we come across the juicer. I see a little $20 Cuisinart juicer sitting on the corner of a shelf and think how perfect it would be, Corey loves fresh juice.

I call him over, we turn the corner and find 5 juicers. Each one is bigger and better...and more expensive than the last. He skips right over to the granddaddy of them all. It's a beast, five feet tall and 400 pounds of bone crushing ability (but i exaggerate). I'm assuming for $200 it serves the juice in bed. He fumbles through the description, hands shaking with pure child-like excitement as he scans the bar code. We move on.

A few minutes later we come to the vacuums. I have my heart set on the Dyson Animal, but I decide to save that for a special treat to myself later. I see the smaller, battery operated swiffer-type vacuums. Honestly, this would be perfect for the miles of hardwood in the new place, and better yet, it's only $29.99. I call Corey over to scan it. He looks at it, reads the box, and finally says,

"let's do a little research on this first."

117 days...

No suit fitting and no ring shopping. But we weren't completely unsuccessful in our "wedding stuff" day. Corey picked out a tie. It was a big decision: do we go with wine, capri red or ferrari red? Paisley, plain or striped?? After about 20 minutes more than the 5 minutes it should have taken us, we finally decided on striped ferrari red.



And I bought a society lady dress.



We also saw our band. They still rock.

119 days...

The wedding agenda for today:

1. Tux fitting while I try on way-too-expensive society lady dresses (they are in the same shop).

2. Maybe some wedding band shopping...hopefully some wedding band shopping...actually, we'll probably do that later.

3. Make sure our band is still good: Hair of the Dog is performing at the Parting Glass. ...yes, Hair of the Dog IS the name of the band playing at our wedding...no, they do not play heavy metal....or soft rock. irish. it's an IRISH band.

4. Have a wedding nightmare about arriving at the Hall of Springs 5 minutes before the ceremony in my pajamas.

A tribute to the Dog.

Corey and I own a dog. Oliver.

Also known to me as Oliter, buddy, bud, buster bottoms, sugarkins, and psycho.

Also known to Corey as dog.

If he had an online dating profile it would read:

My name is Oliver, I am a 4 year old golden retriever who loves the outdoors. Although I'm a cancer, don't expect me to be independent. I will latch onto you like a tick, which I've had. My hobbies are: swimming, hiking, rolling in the grass, rolling in the snow, eating stuff people drop on the floor, cuddling, and chasing my back foot.

I am looking for friendship, anything more is physically impossible. Pee on a stick in Congress Park if you're interested and I'll track you down.

120 days...

Under four months now. Do I sound like a pregnant lady describing her swollen ankles and weight gain? September 1st, will I be taking three naps a day and telling everyone who will listen how ready I am to have this wedding over with?

"Look at her, she has that pre-wedding glow."

"Honey, don't eat that. It's bad for the wedding dress."

"Sit down for a minute. You ARE doing the work for two, after all."

hmmm...I hope Corey's prepared for the post-wedding attention withdrawl. And I hope he's equally prepared for the cure (eviiiil laugh).

(there will be no further comment or reference to the timing or process of Corey Jr.'s arrival because, 1. it's our business, and 2. my DAD reads this blog! ewwwww!)

121 days...

Crisis averted. Meltdown over. Wedding: on.

Yesterday's mini-breakdown stems from me wanting it all. Selfish, spoiled, brat? Um, no. The live giraffes and fireworks display would solely be for our guests benefit. The elephant, on the other hand, would be for me...I've always wanted to ride one bare back like they do in Africa.

With help from the FH (that's Future Husband in chatspeak) I have come to the realization that I not only can't have it all, but I don't NEED it all.

I don't NEED the ice cubes cut in the shapes of our initials, or the diamonds glued to my nails. I can go on living if Frank Sinatra himself does not make an encore performance for our first song!

Because that is not what it's all about folks! It took one auto-pilot commute, a frantic phone call, and four bags of leftover St. Patrick's Day chocolates for me to realize that it's about Mssr. Corey and Beetle lovin' each other and gettin' hitched.

The players...groom's side

Announcer continues:


Standing over there to the left of that piece of napkin on the floor is the chef of doom, Scotty O'Dwyer. He'll serve your beef tips with a side of misery.


Sitting this round out is Jeff, he teaches MATH. We wish him the best as he recovers from his pythagorean theorem accident.



Squatting near the empty nacho tray is Casey...it looks like he could use that napkin.



And finally, running around the ring is the ultra-energetic, ultra-coordinated Super John. No, I am not referring to a fully loaded (pardon the pun) portable latrine, I'm talking about the man who will mow obscene gestures in your front lawn, or send you to Vegas with a swish of his typing finger.



Yes. It IS on.

The players...bride's side

Announcer says:

In this corner, checking in at barely 5’ is Liz the barracuda. She may have a low center of gravity, but beware of those perfectly manicured nails!

In that corner we have the towering titaness of terror, Jill from Philly. She'll bake your foot if you don't WATCH OUT!

In the other corner hovers Katie the banshee. Her shrieks will paralyze your SOOOOOOUL!

In that corner over there is Kimberlie the...uh.....oh, she's babysitting.

And finally, in the last corner of this pentagonal ring is Lily the not-so-innocent. Harmless little figure skater? You'll be guessing again with a toe pick in your forehead!


Oh, it's on groom's side. On like Steel Magnolias.

123 days...

Here are a few more numbers for you: 235/60-16.

The girls say, "Wha...?"

The guys say, "(spit) Maybe you should have a more aggressive tire."

This is the guy who came into Queensbury Tire after me

I say, "Please disregard the paper McDonald's napkins (nervous laugh) because the four new tires I got cost us our linens..."


Just kidding. Corey doesn't like those jokes.

127 days...

I found a seamstress! (...just in case anyone was feeling sympathy stress pains.) I had to try four others first, buuuuut with perserverence, persistence, and running all over upstate New York I have come out ahead!



Apparently, 4 months is too soon to be starting this stuff anyway. I don't meet with Miss Amy Lucy for another month!



Which reminds me...I should probably take her contact info off the sample of Veet wax strips I keep in my purse and put it somewhere safe...

128 days...

Why I am marrying Corey: a short essay by Stacie

On Saturday I ordered haddock to go from a particularly delicious Italian restaurant. Realizing fish may not be their specialty, I included a side of tartar sauce in my order (one of my favorite condiments, next to pickles and mustard. the filet o'fish gave tartar sauce its special place in my heart). Yet, to my amazement, it was not in the bag.

As I picked at the fish, pulling the slimy black stuff I'm only assuming was skin off the bottom, and eating the potatoes that came with it, Corey noticed I was less than pleased. Always one to make sure I'm happy, he left his freshly cooked pizza and side of cooling meatballs to find the toppings that righfully belonged on my haddock.

Fifteen minutes later he storms through the door, tartar sauce in hand and a story on his lips. While I warmed up my fish and he ate cold pizza he told of his gallant search throughout the city. He told us of the Stewarts that doesn't carry my condiment, and of the Price Chopper miles away where he ran up and down aisles carrying thousands of other products on its shelves, searching for that one perfect bottle of mayo-relish deliciousness.

That man, whom I lovingly refer to as Msssr. Corey, (it's actually mr. corey, but with a french accent...long story) left his fresh, hot pizza, his favorite meal only available to him a handful of times each year to buy me a bottle of tartar sauce.

The End

That's the stuff eharmony commercials are made of, folks.

Cats fondly referred to as "The Boys"

Actually, yes. I will comment about the cats. Two cats. Two completely opposite cats in terms of personality and likeability...and fur length, color and texture. To clarify, these cats are like night and day. Yet, both hate me equally.

Brief: Kippling is a white Himalayan with a sweet, good natured disposition (however, he is always annoyed with my cuddling attempts and pretends to be sleeping when i am around). I have no idea what Tullemore is besides the cat version of a 'roid raging, post-adolescent who's just waiting for a reason to be mad (i am very afraid. we don't make eye-contact).

Many a night in the North Country have been spent watching the cats. Throwing balled up pieces of paper at them taking, squeeling with delight when they start to clean themselves, or taking pictures while they roll around on the floor. And by "they" I really mean Kippy. Tulley spends this time perched on a ledge somewhere watching and planning his attack.

This is what I woke up to Sunday morning. Pret-ty scary...

(settle down guy i stole this picture from, i will let everyone know it's not actually my picture. and for the attitude i am not going to be giving you any credit. so nyah.)

Camping out

Over Mother's Day/Corey's birthday weekend we had the wonderful opportunity for a camping trip in his home town. The nights were lovely. Crisp, fresh air on our faces. Falling asleep the the nocturnal sounds of the wilderness. Snuggled up in our sleeping bags we were able to see the stars through his parents' living room window as we curled up on an air mattress on the floor.

It's gotta be a funny sight; two adults (one nearing middle age) taking up almost the entire living room, in sleeping bags. What might have been funnier is Corey waking up bright and early Sunday singing "happy birthday" to himself as he made his coffee.

I won't even comment on his facination with the cats.

131 days...

That little outburst was unnecessary. Things are better now. I'm doped up. Got my chocolate IV connected, little wheels on the cart so it's portable, goes everywhere I go. Corey and I will deal with the double vision and the tremors...and the hallucinations once I go off the drip after the wedding. I appreciate your concerns, but you shouldn't worry about me...just mail me a stash every now and then.

132 days...

Chocolate is my valium. It's my Benadryl PM without the groggy side effect. I just ate one of the best brownies in the state of New York (what?...you have a better brownie?...and you think I should judge a taste test?!) and all is well. Moist and delicious gooiness with mini chocolate chips and walnuts on top makes the world alright.



I haven't heard from my seamstress in a month. I'm not worried.



75 more invitations to go. Eh, I'll finish 'em.



Wedding shoes make me taller than the groom. I can squat.



Still no string duo to round out the trio....yeah, no problem....



No honeymoon flight or accommodations booked, um....that's.....ok.



Florist closed up shop....AAAAARRRRRGGGHHH!!!



Ahem, excuse me. I have to, uh, take care of some things.

133 days...

Corey is my big helper. He is actually much more involved than I would have hoped...I mean expected. He has helped me with every decision from choosing the type and color of our flower arrangements (red roses, red berries, green hydrangeas) to picking the icing flavors in our cake. And fortunately for all of our guests, he also noticed the font in the invitations made the h's look like b's, so it was quickly changed...and then it was changed again because it wasn't fancy enough...and again because it "just wasn't right." We finally settled on the perfect font. You know what they say: third time's a fist in the face!

134 days...

...that translates to a little over four months. Venue:booked. Photographer: retained. Food: decided. Dress: bought. Band: scheduled. (We actually have a lot more than that done, I just couldn’t think of any more words to say...done) Next stop, detail-city.

A year ago, I thought it would be a good idea to add a personal touch and make the invitations myself. I had no idea it would include: cheesy wording, printing, stamping, embossing, gluing, gluing, stamping, cutting, printing, assembling, addressing, licking. In that order. Too late to change my mind now, I’m knee deep in embossing powder.