Eh, fart on it.

Yeah, you read it right. It's one of those days.

One of those days where you just might tell your boss what you think of his new office supply memo system, or you spend hours online, ignoring accumulating email reminders of internet usage policies, researching exactly how many ways you can serve a zucchini.

Today, you will find me on Craigslist. I will be looking for the ugliest piece of furniture in the Albany area and then I will laugh at it. Next, I will email a picture of said furniture to everyone in my address book (7 people) and we will all laugh at it. By then I will have completely forgotten that Corey is and always will be a male functioning with a male brain, and that I was left alone in this office with no M&Ms.

48 days...

Step aside, Bobby Flay. Eat my garlic powder, Rachel Ray. Move over, Paula Dean...no seriously, there isn't enough room for two on this chair.

Chef Stacie is now on the scene and she is something to be feared.

So I don't know how to saute, or when to use tarragon. So what if I've actually never baked a cake that didn't come from a box. And what does it matter if I've really only made five successful dishes?

The point is, I've caught the cooking bug. I enjoyed every delightful minute while making those delightful lemon-raspberry low fat muffins. The individual raspberry cobblers were also a delight. And my delightful turkey and balsamic onion quesadillas were...you guessed it, delightful! (see, i've already got the lingo down)

I'm a cooking machine!! (not to be confused with cookie machine, although i can eat cookies at industrial speeds) Next on the list: something chocolate. Followed by deviled eggs. Followed by meatloaf. And I'll continue like this on and on and on and on....

...until i find something else i like to do better.

Wedding Nightmare #5

Ahhhh, the panic. The dread. The embarrassment.

I completely understand, now, why brides are so neurotic on their wedding days: they are constantly humiliated in their dreams in the months prior. When it finally arrives they replay all of the skirt tucked into underwear, lipstick on forehead, missed hair appointment nightmares and it literally drives them c-r-a-z-y.

In my latest nocturnal soap opera I forgot my dress, forgot to pick out special music, forgot to give the band leader directions, and I forgot my shoes. I wore a green tank top under my dress and I was sweating a whole lot. Everyone could tell I was so unorganized and all I wanted to do was cry.

Ok subconscious, we need to have a heart-to-heart.

I appreciate what you're trying to do for me here. I really do. But I don't think sending me down the path of inevitable nervous breakdown is really going to help me remember to take my PJs off before putting my gown on or that I should shower first, dress second.

A for effort, but really I just end up curling into a ball and shaking. So, you can stop "helping" me now. Thanksomuch.

A letter to my parents

Dearest Mother and Father,

It has been the greatest of pleasures living in your home for the last 27 years...or, my whole life. You fed me, clothed me, and kept me from turning into a dirty hippie.

Although, you did let me wear my hair long and frizzy and this incredibly nerdy Kermit Klein shirt every other day in 7th grade.

I've greatly enjoyed Cinnamon Roll Night calorie fests and the ensuing sluggishness. And I will miss Mom's good home cooking...actually, I've been missing it for about three years.

But this is no time for tears! You will have one less person using your hot water, complaining about getting frostbite inside during the winter, or leaving TVs on in various rooms of the house.

You can butter to your heart's desire as I will not be able to lecture you on trans fat and heart disease statistics.

Daddy, watch your extreme outdoor grody survival shows as loud as you want. I won't be there to threaten you with vomit or premature deafness.

And Mom, the amount of times you will have to nag at me to keep the basement door closed will be significantly reduced. That's a win-win for both of us.

In 50 days there will be an empty bedroom (with a broken closet door) upstairs and I suggest you spend the time you would use grieving over my departure and instead plan the layout of your yoga-dojo, or whatever you old folks do with your spare time.

Much love,

Stacie

51 days...

"Um, hi. I would, uh, like to buy a week."

"...wha..."

"Yeah. I don't think I'm going to have enough time. I need some more. A week should be fine."

silence

"So how much will that cost me?"

"...we make sandwiches here."



"Yes, hello. I am planning a wedding and I am running out of time. Can I buy some?"

"You, uh, want a watch?"

"No, thanks. I have one, see? No, what I need are hours. Several of them. Preferably the kind where I am wide awake. You know, daytime hours."

"Lemme talk to a manager.........Yeah, we don't sell that. This is Joann Fabrics. We sell...fabric"



"Hi there. Looking to buy approximately 168 hours if you have any in stock."

"Hours of...vacation??"

"No, unfortunately the vacation comes after the wedding, which is what I need the extra time for. Lots to do!"

"Lemme get this straight, you want to buy time. Like stretch out days. Make weeks longer. Completely interrupt the whole world's schedule."

"That's it exactly! So do you have any?!"



"Uh, hi. It's me again. Yes, I'll have a six-inch meatball on wheat hold the cheese..."

And the 2009 Winner for Most Disturbing Display of a Product is...

...the second hand store down the street from my office!!!

Congratulations on your creative use of wig-on-wig-on-creepy/realistic mannequin head. But I would have to say the extra long neck conspicuously disguised by a pantyhose sock is what ultimately won the prize.

And I really must say the purple tinted sunglasses really put out a cool vibe, which offsets the completely mismatched ensemble below.

Bravo. You have inspired me to shop elsewhere for my previously used goodies.

57 days...

Oh. My. Gosh.



Do the periods and implied pauses between each word accurately relay the seriousness of 57 days?



Do you know, we still have a ceremony to plan? And I can't put together a program until I have stuff to fill it with.



We also don't have a song. He likes Rage Against the Machine, I'm more of a Michael Buble fan. There is NO happy medium.



And I've been told my bridesmaids have to walk down the aisle to something other than silence and blank stares. News to me.



1,359 hours. 81,540 minutes. 4,892,400 seconds...give or take a few.



So, when am I going to do all of this?

During Everyone Loves Raymond?

Should I cancel my dinner parties and social soirees??

Am I supposed to have no life for this wedding?!?

...but i exaggerate...

58 days...

"Oh the adventures we've had," I think to myself as I stare wistfully out the pollen smeared windows of my office. As I sit here amid piles of work yet to be completed, a zucchini bread recipe and a spoon I recount our most recent adventure.

"I can't get these...(almost expletive)....cards to print out right!! They're Not WORKING!!!!" (phone conversation in May--this is just to illustrate my obvious frustration with the whole invitation project)

Now fast forward to last night:

"All of the invitations will be mailed by tomorrow." me - 5:30pm

"Are you going to be able to get them out by tomorrow??" Corey - 7:00pm

"That's what I said." me

"Are you Sure they are going out? This just seems so unorganized to me." Corey - 10:00pm

**click**

"Why'd you hang up??" Corey - 10:15pm

What followed was an onslaught of inaudible shrieks and wailing, chest pains, and pleas to never again speak of invitations.

This morning:

"Hey, I have a question about the invitations..." Corey - 9:45am

"Goodbye." me

I can't make this stuff up.

A letter to our guests

Dear Future Wedding Attendees,

Your invitations are on the way! But before you get your hands on those little jerks that brought on bouts of late night sob-fests I just wanted to explain a few things.

Ten of you are getting the wrong directions. Sorry. I tried to give them all to my friends and family in California who are not likely to make the trip, but Grandma, just in case you do decide to come, when it looks like I'm trying to send you into a tree, I really wanted you to turn the other way. Sorry.

Some of you will have partial paw prints on your envelopes. Yes. My parents have a dog that likes to get up on the furniture when people aren't around. Furniture that I leave empty addressed envelopes on.

Oh, and if you find fragrant little brown flakes in your envelope, they actually are not part of the invitation. They are part of a brownie.

I look forward to seeing everyone! Don't forget to spay and neuter your pets and RSVP on time.

Stacie

62 days...

Today's topic of discussion, my discussion with myself, comes from a recent Facebook conversation: do calories really exist when it is your birthday and you down a whole sheet of chocolate birthday cake with chocolate birthday frosting with multi-colored birthday sprinkles and a little bit of birthday candle wax?

I say no, based on Dr. Hines theory of cake-ativity. His article, with contributing confectionist, Dr. B. Crocker, broke down the barriers in my mind of portion control, milk with chocolate rules, and swimming 30 minutes after eating...actually, that one may still hold true.

To sum up their calorie conclusion:

The calorie is a complex, microscopic, ant-like creature that is in everything you cram in your cram-hole. Yes, despite what you've heard, a calorie is a bug. When you eat these bugs, the acid in your stomach kills them (gruesome but true, it's the circle of life, folks) and the potassium that results from the breakdown of their little bodies gives us our nutrients.

Now, when you sit on your butt all day and still cram junk down your gullet those ant nutrients sit in your stomach like pizza dough, and that dough eventually works its way through your intestines where it actually seeps into your belly button area, then your thighs and rear end.

But, things change when it is your birthday. See, when it is your birthday, it's all about you.

"Look at what the birthday girl is wearing!" (hopefully it's not the birthday suit)

"What does the birthday boy want to eat?"

"Would the birthday girl like a refill on that mango tonic with a kiwi twist?"

Essentially, the world revolves around you, and that brief change in the gravitational pull is what makes calories not calories on your special day. Ever notice how the sun doesn't get fat? Ah hah. Now you're starting to get it.

Wedding Nightmare #4

Pre-nightmare meal: chicken, rice, veggies

Pre-nightmare activity: finished invitations while watching King of the Hill

Pre-nightmare conversation: don't remember, but I think it included hanging up on Corey (sorry)

The nightmare: missing my dress fitting, because for the third time ever in my life, my dad decides to take me fishing that same morning.

Thanks to this and every other "Ohmigosh I forgot _____!!" nightmare I am going to implement a system of reminders that cannot fail. First, my cell phone alarm. Every detail from July 18, dress fitting to August 1, eat breakfast will be entered with a series of alarms according to urgency.

Second, a reminder tree. Kind of like a phone tree, except it works in the opposite direction. Those four people call those three people who call these 7 people who all call me to tell me to pay the florist on Tuesday.

Third, notes on my hands. And arms. And feet. This is an old school method that has always worked well for me. When I don't bathe. Or wear shoes.

Fourth, sticky notes. Another reliable method, but in order to be effective they will need to be placed directly in my line of vision (otherwise, i won't see them). That means on the back of the doors in my house, rear view mirror and windshield in my car, computer screen and Zack Morris magnet in my office.

And fifth, hire an intern looking for college credit in personal assistantry. He or she will be on hand 8am to 6pm with a 30 minute lunch break and two 15 minute breaks to keep me on schedule.

So, I think that might help me feel prepared and cut back on the dreams where I panic and cry and wake up mid-anxiety attack.

64 days...

There's something else significant about today....what is it.

Hmmmm....what could it be.

I just can't seem to rememb.....oh yeah, it's my birthday.

Duh.

I think, in honor of me, I should have a Get Out Of Jail Free card for the day because I plan on running all the red lights in town.

I should also be presented with a chocolate milkshake every two hours.

A pedicure at my desk would be nice, but if you tickle my feet I will kick you...mainly because it's a reflex, but partly because I can do whatever I want on my day.

Gifts may be presented after 2pm. By then I'm super bored and could use a distraction. And new stuff.

I will need at least a loaf of bread to soak up all the milkshake in my belly, but be creative with it. Maybe a bread pudding sans raisins, fried egg sandwich, a lunch parfait, whatever.

Traditional birthday dinner festivities will commence at 6pm. At that time I will be stuffing my face with sausage and peppers, macaroni salad, and chocolate cake.

I think this is a good, yet mildly unorganized, start. Feel free to throw in an impromptu brownie or $50 bill as you see fit.

I. Heart. Dogs.

I really do. I might also be a dog whisperer.

I pet mean dogs, and I've never been bit.

I kiss strangers' dogs, and I've never been pepper sprayed!

I pick up all little dogs, and I've never been peed on!!

If that doesn't make me an anomaly, I don't know what would...besides being Big Foot, an alien, or a 68 hot dogs in 10 minutes eater.

Wait, do I have that definition right? I'm trying to use my words-I've-heard-once-in-what-I-thought-was-the-right-context bank.

But I digress.

People (my future husband and his entire family) don't understand my dedication to the domestic dog.

I've ingested at least a pound of dog hair.

I've been kissed In My Mouth by random dogs.

And I've actually contemplated "expressing" my own dogs anal glands.

None of this bothers me.

I think I can attribute my love of dogs to my first Golden Retriever, Lucy. It was a long time ago, so I don't remember much of what made her special. I do know I cried for three years after she died of cancer at only four years old.

Now, I am the proud dog-mom of my third Golden, the most handsome dog in the world. (that is actually a fact, it's on wikipedia)

And I'm the future mom of this dog:

It's a Golden Doodle. His name will be Franklin. Corey...um...doesn't know about this yet.

66 days...

I am so far ahead of myself in this wedding planning, I've stopped having dreams about it.



Now I dream about babies.



My co-worker's babies, to be exact, but in my dreams they're mine.



Let's first address the gorilla in the room: no, I am NOT pregnant. Now the elephant in the room: I am not secretly plotting to "forcibly adopt" my co-worker's 4 week old twins. And finally, the '66 Chevy 3/4 ton dually in the room: I really don't know a thing about babies.



How did all these things get in this room??



I love the smell of babies, holding onto their little fingers and toes, watching them make all kinds of faces and noises, but when I get my hands on one I'm like one of those monkeys trying to figure out what the heck you do with a wiffle ball.



"Wait, where do I put this hand?"



"Is her arm supposed to bend like that?!"



"Why is he making that face??"

Yes. I, too, am a little concerned for my future children*. But then I says to myself, I says, "hang on just two shakes of a turkey gobbler. You have two younger sisters. You used to change their diapers. You used to hold them and feed them. You were fluent in baby talk." Then I says back, "You are right. I've got past experience, now I just need to dig up some maternal instinct and those babies might have a chance!"

There was more to the conversation. My self and I went on to talk about the fat content of a bean burrito, but it didn't pertain to this baby stuff so I left it out.

*yes, children. as in more than one. as in 7**

** i say 7, but i really mean 4, don't tell corey, though, i'm using an old sales technique on him.

I'm getting too old for this

Today is Monday.

I am still on the road to recovery from my Six Flags all-day excursion Saturday.

I plan to be fully back on track by August.

I went on two rides.

On this day, three days before I turn 27, I am addressing the pathetic old lady I have become by writing out a list of things I can no longer do in my old age:

1. I cannot stay up late, 10:30pm is late.
2. I cannot sleep in. Internal alarm set to 6:30am.
3. I cannot eat all junk, all the time without tummy grumblies.
4. I cannot swim anytime, anywhere. The water is always too cold.
5. I cannot crawl through the tubes at Chuck E. Cheese or McDonald's. This I'm actually really bummed about.
6. I cannot sit cross-legged on the floor for any length of time.
7. I cannot sit on the floor. Period.

And now a list of things old people and I have in common:

1. Drinking tea.
2. Sitting on a bench, watching people.
3. Watching foreign films.
4. Listening to boring art lectures.
5. Movie night with parents.
6. Pants that come up to my belly button.
7. PBS. History Channel. All things educational.
8. Crafts.
9. Hording.

I don't know what is worse, the fact that I am 26 going on 65, or that I'm ok with it!

Oliver: half dog, half monster, half goldfish

You'd never guess our big 'ol Oliver was, at one time, afraid to go in the water. It took weeks of gentle...and then not so gentle coaxing to get him into the water up to his armpits. Then he finally took that last step that found him without any footing.

It was all over from there.

If the gate is open in the backyard, Oliver is doing laps in the pool.

If it rained last night, Oliver is rolling in the puddles.

If there is a decorative pond, Oliver is standing in it.

This is our new weekend routine at the lake. And it doesn't end until he has collapsed...which takes about eight hours.

A brief biology lesson

The horsefly. Considered the lazy, outcast of the fly family. Second cousin by marriage, thrice removed, to that beautiful mosquito predator, the dragonfly. Half brother to the ambitious, microscopic black fly.

Horsefly and I first made acquaintance over the weekend. Up until then, my Southern California skin had never been kissed by the snarling jaws of this flesh eating vampire.

I write this post now to warn all of the other city folk: when you see one of these sitting on you in the time it takes to say, “ohmigosh, look at how BIG it is!!” that horsefly has chewed open your skin, licked up your blood, and then put a piece of that skin in a little fanny pack to be enjoyed at its own leisure…maybe with friends.

Me and my delicate, angel food skin were like an open buffet to these persistent pests, and they were particularly fond of my feet meat. The result?

Itchy red bumps. These are the kind of bumps that make you search out rough wool fabrics to roll all over.

76 days...

If you were wondering, soap does irritate eyes, and I am a walking bad luck charm. I happen to be a charter member of the Black Cat, Broken Mirror Society of Albany, Alpha Chapter.



I will illustrate just a few instances that I am using as my platform while I campaign for the Society Presidency:



I purchased a gently used car in the fall of 2007 after practically running a 1998 Ford Escort into the ground without incidence. That winter a four inch thick sheet of ice slides right off the roof of my house and into the side of my car. Repairs: $3,000.



The summer of 2008 I am driving down the highway and pull in behind a truck hauling a motorcycle on a trailer. We hit a slight bump in the road and the motorcycle's spare tire jimmies loose and bounces off the trailer into the road. Bounce one on pavement, bounce two square on the hood of my car, bounce three over my car into careening RVs. Damage: skid mark and dent.



Again with the car, I back into the trash can. Everyone has done it, but when I do it I knock loose my tail light so it hangs like an eyeball out of its socket. Repairs: $260.



Just recently, my sister and I had several errands to run, putting us in the car for a solid 45 minutes one way. Of course, it is natural for clothing that has been...sat on for awhile to shift in the direction where it will find...the most room. And it is natural to want to...adjust that clothing and put it in its proper position. I found myself in this situation in a crowded Walmart parking lot. So I follow the normal course of action, except I do it in full view of a truck load of pointing and hysterically laughing adults.



And now we come to Thursday's incident: the 'ol soap in the eye trick. I walk into the shower after swimming nine whole laps in the YMCA's pool to start up a nice lather when I drop the shampoo bottle right on its butt. The resulting force sends a glob (glob=1 tsp.) of shampoo directly into my left eyeball.



Now it's safe to assume an eyeball has the diameter of a quarter, so what are the stinkin' odds that glob would smack me like a bulls eye right in the iris? Good enough to land me in that cushy President's seat at our bi-monthly meetings.



Vote for Stacie!!

Happy Fourth of July!!

Fireworks, parades, red white and blue cupcakes lightly seasoned with dog hair made by yours truly, and my favorite: naps by the lake.

Corey, Oliver and I are spending the weekend with his family up north, and this time we are really camping. Ok, so we are still going to technically be in a house, but the shower is tin, we have to use a big 'ol rock as the door stop, and we will be in sleeping bags...on a futon.

I expect to do plenty of reading, eat until it becomes absolutely necessary to wear stretchy pants, throw a ball/rock/frisbee/Austin for Oliver, watch fireworks, fall asleep to the sound of waves on the shore, and then wake up minutes later by the neighbors who just realized they ran out of beer and tequila.

Ahhhh, this is called building memories, folks.

77 days...

Here's a fun little game:


What does not belong in this picture of our invitation?

Look closely.....

...and I'm not talking about spelling or grammatical errors, thanksomuch...

Give up?

Are you suuuuure??

Ok!

Ohmigosh how did those get there?!

See, on Valentine's Day, what better a gift to give college students than a handful of condoms? And what is the best way to use those condoms? Why, hiding them all over your sister's room, of course!

What a joy it was finding one in my jacket, two in my purse, one in my jewelry box, another in my robe and the last in my unmentionables drawer.

I had very good intentions to return the favor, but before I did I thought I should take a picture of a wedding invitation to send to my future mother-in-law. Luckily, for both of us, I noticed the little treasures before I sent it on its way. She got the cropped version.

Just a side note

Getting sick of my vivid, bizarro dreams?

(I wasn't actually looking for an answer. George Carlin already told me what people really think of my dreams, except he said it with a string of expletives)

Too bad. This one has direct implications to you, loyal three followers of this blog.

I dreamed one of you left a comment on one of my posts. I don't remember what the comment was, I doubt it was anything more than a two line response, but my reaction was tantamount to winning $20 on a $2 scratch off ticket (actually a big deal since i never win anything...i take that back, i did just win $2 on a $1 ticket...carry on).

Why would I dream this? Perhaps in my sub-subconscious I yearn for tangible acknowledgement of my efforts to entertain while I risk scorn and embarassment to bring you into the hilarious, and oftentimes ridiculous, world of Corey and Stacie.

But we are talking about the same brain that brought me the neck pillow dream, so....(shoulder shrug)

The moral of this story is: show me a little love people, and I don't mean write a rebuttal, Corey.

Wedding on hold

Happy July!!

This is the most special month of the year. This is the month where we all can celebrate my existence and I don't have to do a single thing...like pick up dog poo, wash the dishes, plan a wedding, do actual work in my office, etc.

July 16th is my birthday!! And as it is tradition to announce my birthday wishes, I will publish them here:

1. Golden Doodle puppy
2. Muscles
3. Armoire
4. Rubber stamps
5. A year supply of lunch money
6. Breaking Bad Season One
7. Anything Vera Bradley
8. Anything Coach
9. Anything chocolate
10. Talent
11. A tan
12. Golf clubs
13. Golfing ability
14. 30 hour days
15. Picture frames in all shapes and sizes
16. Candles
17. Chocolate cake with chocolate icing and sprinkles

As past recipients of the list already know, I do make additions periodically. Like right now, I'm thinking a tree fort would be pretty sweet.

18. Tree fort with a sage green carpet and leaf print window treatments