Honeymoon: A Summary of Day One

Monday, September 21, 2009

Corey and Stacie wake up and realize how different their pre-flight rituals are. Corey showers, gels hair, skips breakfast, puts on office attire. Stacie showers, throws hair in a bun, skips make-up, chomps on a muffin, puts on pjs and sneakers.


Arrive at airport on time, leave on time, arrive at destination on time. No vomiting from Stacie.


Stock kitchen with necessities: eggs, milk, cereal, cheese, crackers, fruit, and Doritos.


Stacie makes burritos, they watch football. All. Night. Because, according to Corey, that's what people do on their honeymoons.

It was a beautiful day...

I can see it in your blank comment fields, you're dying to know the details of my wedding. The down and dirty, cat-fight over tossed bouquet, desperate ex-boyfriend interruption, pastor fainting details.

Actually, none of that happened. We had a little rain three hours before and I briefly lost my shoes. That was the extent of our unplanned excitement. But it was far from boring. Oh, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, far...what was I saying, again?

We had high fives, impromptu dance moves, the best Irish band in the world, a father-daughter twist contest a la Pulp Fiction, minor cake smashing, dancing, and more dancing.

If you know anything about Corey and me (which you should since all four loyal followers of this blog are all my relatives...shout out, woop woop!!...never mind) you would know that we do big we don't do boring. Ooo, that will look nice on reunion t-shirts, but I digress.

Favorite part of the day: the ceremony. It was exactly what I had hoped for: ooey gooey music, perfect groom, perfect spot, perfect weather, pastor got our names right, dad held it together, belly full of appetizers.

Out of the office

Hello.

Stacie cannot come to the blog right now. She is on vacation. Chances are she is on the beach at this very moment.

Please save all nasty, jealous remarks for Monday, September 28, 2009 as right now she couldn't give two scoops what you think of her good fortune.

Thank you, and have a nice day.

A very special day for a very special lady...

Happy Birthday Mom!!!

Don't worry, I won't tell anyone how old you are, but I do have to say you make 49 look good.

Welcome back brain

My brain is back. I threw an official welcome home party on Sunday, it was nice. Streamers, cake, a few shots of OJ. Unfortunately, I couldn't invite you. There wasn't much room. My head may look big, but so is my think meat.

Maybe you noticed my complete sentences?

I'm glad to have it back. For one, I remembered to pack underwear for our honeymoon. I was also able to think ahead and plan for breakfast tomorrow. Two very important things.

I think it might still be unpacking toiletries or something, I don't quite have my speech back.

You can call me Mrs. Lucas

So, many of you, my four loyal visitors, might be asking what I've been doing in my first two days of wedded bliss.

De-bachelorizing.

On Saturday I moved into an apartment that reeks of singlemandom. Not literally, of course, as I always seem to find strategically placed candles and those smelly sticks just within reach of my nose.

Weeks ago I was able to realign the furniture, sweep up a pound of dog hair, and organize the Tupperware cabinet. These past two days I dedicated to the one room that will house the majority of both of our possessions, but has the least amount of space in which to store these items: the bedroom.

Not only did I fold two laundry baskets full of DH's clothes (stands for darling husband, but i prefer da hubby, for future reference) I also refolded two drawers of haphazardly placed shirts. After that I organized his dress shirts by color. It now looks like this: blue shirt, blue shirt, blue shirt, blue shirt, lighter blue shirt, light blue shirt, light blue shirt with stripes, light blue shirt with both horizontal and vertical stripes, light blue shirt with bigger stripes, pink shirt, pink shirt, pink shirt, yellow shirt, white shirt.

Then I made sure the hangers were evenly spaced...and all the shirts faced the same way. This is making me sound....ana...uh...organized.

To further the de-bachelorizing process, I stocked the bathroom with every possible lady product and topped the bed with 12 pillows.

Next: lace doilies and stuffed unicorns.

THE DAY

Dah-dum-dee-dummmm, dah-dum-dee-dummmmm....that's actually not the song I'm using. The one I'm using goes like this: laaaa-laaaa-laaaaa-laaa-laaaaa-laaaaa-laaaaa-laaaaa. See? Much better.

Here is the run down on the last week since I was very noticeably absent from my duties (by the way, thanks for the reminder Bonnie and Katie):

• Grandpa cut open his finger. Bandage is unsightly.
• Maid of honor's date broke his hand. Cast is...well, a cast.
• Two blow ups with the stepmother. Not mine, my mom's.
• Shopping. Every. Single. Day.
• My aunt bought me a honeymoon dress.
• Cranberries are, apparently, out of season.
• My seamstress doesn't do zippers.
• Survived rehearsal.
• Barely survived rehearsal dinner. Best friend speech revealed purposely little known facts about me.
• Forgot things.
• Had a lovely ladies tea party.

And now it's time for a shower. Up next on the agenda, make up. Directly followed by hair and snack. Then it's dress time and snack. After that, pictures and snack.

Details to follow.

.857 weeks...

I ran on Thursday. I ran, and I ran, and I ran....then I walked....but then I ran, and ran. Minus the wasabi pea fire in my stomach, it was good.

It was interesting.

Around mile 14 (i exaggerate) I encountered a man who gave me some very helpful advice. As he approached me on his bike, hacking and coughing up a lung, I stopped to let him pass. He pedaled by, lifted up a piece of cloth tied around his neck and pressed a button that let him say through the air hole in his throat, "(gargle) don't overdo it (gargle)."

I could take this statement one of several ways:

He could have simply meant, "Hey, you're working hard, and that's good, but don't go so far that you eventually cause yourself emotional and physical strain."

Or the deeper, "Enjoy yourself, but don't overindulge yourself with the pleasures of this world and spend your life completely fixated on the things that create a superficial happiness...like smoking enough cigarettes to burn a hole in your trachea." I don't think he would have said trachea, maybe air tube.

I, however, chose to look at those three words as they apply to my current situation, "Young, smart, beautiful, lady, you have done a fantastic job coordinating every aspect of this wedding. It is going to be the wedding of the decade, however, you must not put too much of yourself into it or else you risk not enjoying the day, which can ultimately cause you to carry bitterness into your marriage." Wow.

Running may be hard on your joints, but it's good for your soul.

1 week...

The score card for yesterday:

• One panic attack
• Two bean burritos
• Four major memory lapses
• Two cold sweats
• Five surprisingly coherent support letters
• One almost sob-session
• Three Oreos
• One hour of what I wanted to watch on TV
• Three weird wedding dreams
• One crazy old man dance

1.14 weeks....

Ohmigosh must clean room, finish frying skin to look the 1/4 Italian that my father claims I am, make appointment for massage, make appointment for nails, French manicure or color? Should probably stop picking at lip out of nervousness, anxiousness, frustration with groom. Finish favors, bridesmaid gifts, contact photographer, florist, band leader, coordinator, Liz, when is she going to do my hair? Is my make up appointment too early? When am I going to eat between 8am and 6pm? Run several miles today, work off cookies, pizza, sunrise sampler at Fitzgerald's, 3lbs of Thai rice, nerves. Don't kill Corey. Must find gallon of red wine. Grandpa and Bea are here, Aunt comes Friday, no more sleep. Finish last three letters. Must find more cookies, stay away from bean burritos, grease, cashews. Stop picking lip. Can I put my foot behind my head? No, bad idea in a skirt. Good thing mom isn't here. Oops, she can read my thoughts. Um..., just kidding. Is she getting a massage? That lady looks familiar. Roll up favors tonight, recruit family to help tie ribbons. Recruit family to feed me. Do I look like I feel: half ton pregnant lumberjack with crazy eyes and unkempt hair? Sleepy, must drink water. Must leave watering directions with co-workers. Should probably be working now. Corey needs a schedule. Corey needs to make up his mind. Babysitter? Still shorts weather, shorts and a sweater. Shorts weather next Friday? Two more letters. Five cranky constituents. Should I get highlights?

10 days...

Here's a little advice for future brides.....



...um, guys you don't want to stick around for this...really, it's not pretty.



When you get near the one month mark,



for real, what are you still doing here?



Stop eating broccoli. Seriously, you are going to be anxious. Your stomach will be gurgly all on its own. It does not need added fuel to fire up the toot factory...if you know what I mean.



Oh, you don't?



Um, your stomach doesn't need any more air for the air horn.



More stink for the stink bomb.



A sharper knife to cut the cheese.



I hope that helps. Because that's as far as I can go without actually writing the f-a-r-t word and totally embarrassing myself.



So, um, back to my point: don't eat broccoli and stay downwind from your friends and family...especially if you are going to need them to roll 135 paper scrolls.

14 days...

I really like the paint function on my computer. I think it helps illustrate my points. Although I am especially proud of my ice cream to quesadilla comparison, I think my brain function diagram will knock your socks off.

The drawing is, duh, my brain. And the different colors represent what my command center is currently working on.

Use the key below:

Pretty good with the mouse-crayon if I do say so ma'self.

The point of this illustration: I forget things sometimes.

I'm fired.

Yes. I would like to fire myself from all duties that require thought and responsibility. I've pretty much resigned from everything, anyway, but those last few tasks I would just like to be officially fired from.

The art museum: I know I am just a two-hour-a-week volunteer, but have you noticed I sneak out after one? And I make copies for goodness sake.

Real job: Does me saying, "Don't give me thinky things to do," mean anything? Would tattooing EMPTY on my forehead make it any clearer that I am not capable of using my brain to solve problems beyond what to eat for lunch?

there is a plate of chicken parmesan in the fridge calling my name...

Wedding: Do I need to write anything here? I think I've done enough spontaneous public sobbing.

Chores: This is one area I need not be fired from! I thank my parents for graciously accepting my resignation letter...soaked in sweat and tears for added effect.

Let's just make this effective immediately. There is a book I've been waiting to tackle and a bottle of tequila that is dying to become a margarita.

17 days...

Happy September!!

My 10th grade History teacher would always exclaim, "Whoooo dogs!"


Well, whooo dogs is right, Mr. Farrer. This sucker is so close I could almost spit on it.


To my loyal three followers, thank you for sharing in my meltdowns and freak-out sessions. I can almost feel your support through the plasma and copper cords.

No, you're right, I don't know computers. But I could tell you were there, somewhere, crying right along with me each and every time someone asked how I was doing. I exaggerate, it only made me cry today.

So thank you for the kind thoughts I'm sure were there, somewhere. Thank you.