There is this thing about me that you probably know if you know me.
I have a teensy, tiny, bit of an obsessive personality when it comes to television shows.
Just the good ones. Promise. (we'll forget about my love of "The Nanny", "One Tree Hill", and "Dharma and Greg" momentarily).
I just can't help it.
I become obsessed with the characters, the relationships, the failures. I judge them like they are real people. I get crushes on them like they are real people. I loathe them like they are real people.
And when they are over, I mourn them like real people.
Can't help it. I can't. I get fixed on a show and just watch it obsessively. I prefer to watch them after they have gone off the air so I don't have to deal with hiatuses or summer breaks or waiting a full week to find out what happens next.
My latest obsession is Friday Night Lights. Everyone always told me. They always said, "watch it. it's going to change your life." So about two weeks ago, I started watching it.
I just finished it. Yes. I watched an entire 5-season show in two weeks.
You may wonder if I have a job. I actually do. And I work 9-5 but my television viewing skills are unmatched. If there was an Olympic Sport in viewing television shows, I would receive a gold medal for the U.S. of A.
I am completely in love with FNL (note how I now use the fan lingo). Saracen, QB1. Oh my. Be still my heart. When his father died, I wept on my couch for an hour. When Julie broke his heart, I hated her for the entire next season. And then there is Riggins. You can't even imagine. I never thought I'd like an alcoholic who wore cut-off shirts until Riggins. I was mistaken. And Coach. Those tortured eyes. That good heart...
I could go on. But I won't. I will spare you and attempt to keep any remaining dignity intact.
I finished this show and as always, I now have a void in my life. In an attempt to fill this void, I try and bring up the show casually in conversations. Like so:
Me: "Happy Friday!"
Unsuspecting Coworker: "Happy Friday to you, too!"
Me: "Do you know what I always think of on Fridays?"
Unsuspecting Coworker: "What?"
Me: "That show Friday Night Lights..." (then I look at them hopefully. If they gasp and say, "me too!" We launch into a 45 minute conversation about our favorite story lines, the hottest men, and how awesome Connie Britton is as Tami Taylor. If they stare at me blankly, I mumble, "My blood sugar is low. It's been a long week. I need a cocktail. I found out my identity was stolen. I ate bad sushi last night. Do you ever contemplate the Native Americans and just get really sad? What is your favorite color? How do you think you'll die? I don't think all dogs go to heaven--some of them are real bitches.)
Anything to detract from the obsessive moron that I am.
I sometimes wonder if I'll ever get over this obsession of mine. If I'll ever be one of those people who is like, "eh, I'll watch that show if it's on," instead of being the girl who drinks champagne when t.v. couples get married or wept when Felicity cut her hair or still sort of believes that one of these days, Dr. Carter will see her and he will fall madly in love with her and pick up right where they left off when she was 17, having wild fantasies about him. (Sorry fiance. You never get over your first love.)
Probably. I'll probably always be that girl.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Why!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!
...do people say 'fantabulous.' gross.
...do I have two full time jobs. 1) regular job. 2) wedding planning.
...did the lady at the post office ask me what kind of stamps I wanted if she was just going to give me something else.
...have I consumed 6 glasses of water so far today and still do not have to pee. where is it all going?
...did I walk down a gross and deserted alley in order to avoid interacting with the Greenpeace lady for a second time.
...do people take naked pictures of their kids and put them on facebook/blogs. Gross. Remember the days when pictures like that stayed in private photo albums and they were only shared when a family member was trying to embarrass you? I do. I liked those days. I am not offended by naked babies. In fact, I plan on allowing my children to waddle around in only diapers for as long as possible. But I'll probably clothe them for any pictures I make public.
...do my elbows hurt.
That is all.
P.S. Forgive my lack of question marks. I randomly take issue with certain punctuation and then avoid it if at all possible. Exclamation points, for example, when used sarcastically make me laugh. But when used for real make me break out in hives. Facebook has made me use more exclamation points than I ever thought I would use in my life. You see, I find that if I don't use them on facebook, I come off as bitchy and toneless (one could argue that I am those things in real life, so I should be those things in my virtual life as well. hush.)
Example:
Happy Birthday
vs.
Happy Birthday!! (two, because 1 seems lame and 3+ seems slutty)
Of course, If all I can come up with to write to you on your birthday is "Happy Birthday!!" it's possible that I shouldn't be telling you happy birthday at all because I clearly don't care enough to write something clever or meaningful about our relationship on your day.
Now, as much as I'm annoyed with the ! and the ?, I don't mind them so much when used together. I think because when used together, it is an emotion I completely identify with.
!? (Shocked, Disbelief, Are you for realz!?!?!?!?) Uh huhhh. Love that combination.
Example based on a conversation I recently had with a coworker:
Her: Did you know babies are born without kneecaps??
Me: What!?!?! No.
Her: Yeah, no kneecaps. They just aren't there.
Me: Too bad for babies.
I do not know if it is true that people are not born with kneecaps. I did not fact check. But you get the idea. !?
Do you like how my P.S. turned into an entirely different (and longer) post!?!?!
...do I have two full time jobs. 1) regular job. 2) wedding planning.
...did the lady at the post office ask me what kind of stamps I wanted if she was just going to give me something else.
...have I consumed 6 glasses of water so far today and still do not have to pee. where is it all going?
...did I walk down a gross and deserted alley in order to avoid interacting with the Greenpeace lady for a second time.
...do people take naked pictures of their kids and put them on facebook/blogs. Gross. Remember the days when pictures like that stayed in private photo albums and they were only shared when a family member was trying to embarrass you? I do. I liked those days. I am not offended by naked babies. In fact, I plan on allowing my children to waddle around in only diapers for as long as possible. But I'll probably clothe them for any pictures I make public.
...do my elbows hurt.
That is all.
P.S. Forgive my lack of question marks. I randomly take issue with certain punctuation and then avoid it if at all possible. Exclamation points, for example, when used sarcastically make me laugh. But when used for real make me break out in hives. Facebook has made me use more exclamation points than I ever thought I would use in my life. You see, I find that if I don't use them on facebook, I come off as bitchy and toneless (one could argue that I am those things in real life, so I should be those things in my virtual life as well. hush.)
Example:
Happy Birthday
vs.
Happy Birthday!! (two, because 1 seems lame and 3+ seems slutty)
Of course, If all I can come up with to write to you on your birthday is "Happy Birthday!!" it's possible that I shouldn't be telling you happy birthday at all because I clearly don't care enough to write something clever or meaningful about our relationship on your day.
Now, as much as I'm annoyed with the ! and the ?, I don't mind them so much when used together. I think because when used together, it is an emotion I completely identify with.
!? (Shocked, Disbelief, Are you for realz!?!?!?!?) Uh huhhh. Love that combination.
Example based on a conversation I recently had with a coworker:
Her: Did you know babies are born without kneecaps??
Me: What!?!?! No.
Her: Yeah, no kneecaps. They just aren't there.
Me: Too bad for babies.
I do not know if it is true that people are not born with kneecaps. I did not fact check. But you get the idea. !?
Do you like how my P.S. turned into an entirely different (and longer) post!?!?!
Friday, September 23, 2011
Getting Clean
Ummmm, you guys.
I haven't had a diet coke since Tuesday.
Do you know what today is????????
friday.
tgif (remember tgif? awesome.)
Do you know what this means??? 3 full days. 72 hours without a hit.
My body is confused
as is my mind.
10 a.m. is a confusing time of day as that's when I usually cracked open my first one.
2:30 p.m. is also confusing and the hardest time to just say no.
How do I get through the mid-afternoon drudgery without a diet coke? I drink a black coffee. because I read somewhere it lowers your chance for stroke and diabetes. And I don't want either of those things. obviously. Whenever I read health facts, they stick with me for life. regardless of whether or not it is proven wrong later, it stays with me.
I've been drinking multiple diet beverages, daily, for about 8 years. I often wonder if I have any stomach lining left. Maybe not. But, fingers crossed stomach lining grows back. I am too afraid to google the damage I have done to my body with my nearly decade long addiction.
because whenever I google things, I get anxiety. Like the time I thought for almost a full year that I probably had herpes. Even though I had never done anything that could have given me herpes. I don't even think I high-fived anyone that year. And yet, I was convinced I had contracted it. There were no symptoms, no possible way, it was just a feeling.
Where the feeling came from, I am unsure. Hugging someone too close maybe. Or from a restaurant. I'm always afraid what happens in restaurant kitchens. Not everyone is nice and who knows what disgruntled people do in kitchens. Who knows.
I am not a hypochondriac. Or a purel user. I don't trust purel users. I just have...strange fears.
Unnecessary anxiety is my specialty. The way I always cover my face when I turn on the garbage disposal, for example. I have concerns that something is going to shoot out at me and take out my eye. I have never heard of a garbage disposal attacking anyone but I'm sure I will be the first. I think maybe it's the sound a garbage disposal makes. Aggressive. The mind is an interesting thing.
Anyway, all I really wanted to say is I am 3 days clean but as per usual I found several tangents. Really though, no diet coke in 3 days. My leg won't stop bobbing up and down because of all the coffee I am consuming, but, at least I am off the aspertame. Progress.
I haven't had a diet coke since Tuesday.
Do you know what today is????????
friday.
tgif (remember tgif? awesome.)
Do you know what this means??? 3 full days. 72 hours without a hit.
My body is confused
as is my mind.
10 a.m. is a confusing time of day as that's when I usually cracked open my first one.
2:30 p.m. is also confusing and the hardest time to just say no.
How do I get through the mid-afternoon drudgery without a diet coke? I drink a black coffee. because I read somewhere it lowers your chance for stroke and diabetes. And I don't want either of those things. obviously. Whenever I read health facts, they stick with me for life. regardless of whether or not it is proven wrong later, it stays with me.
I've been drinking multiple diet beverages, daily, for about 8 years. I often wonder if I have any stomach lining left. Maybe not. But, fingers crossed stomach lining grows back. I am too afraid to google the damage I have done to my body with my nearly decade long addiction.
because whenever I google things, I get anxiety. Like the time I thought for almost a full year that I probably had herpes. Even though I had never done anything that could have given me herpes. I don't even think I high-fived anyone that year. And yet, I was convinced I had contracted it. There were no symptoms, no possible way, it was just a feeling.
Where the feeling came from, I am unsure. Hugging someone too close maybe. Or from a restaurant. I'm always afraid what happens in restaurant kitchens. Not everyone is nice and who knows what disgruntled people do in kitchens. Who knows.
I am not a hypochondriac. Or a purel user. I don't trust purel users. I just have...strange fears.
Unnecessary anxiety is my specialty. The way I always cover my face when I turn on the garbage disposal, for example. I have concerns that something is going to shoot out at me and take out my eye. I have never heard of a garbage disposal attacking anyone but I'm sure I will be the first. I think maybe it's the sound a garbage disposal makes. Aggressive. The mind is an interesting thing.
Anyway, all I really wanted to say is I am 3 days clean but as per usual I found several tangents. Really though, no diet coke in 3 days. My leg won't stop bobbing up and down because of all the coffee I am consuming, but, at least I am off the aspertame. Progress.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The Last Season of Just Me
I peeked at the weather forecast for this weekend: 67 and clear. All weekend long. (I tend to avoid the weather forecast in the summer because guess what it's going to say? It's hot. Avoid clothing). But 67 and clear. You know what that means. Fall is a-comin.
I can feel it creeping close--coming to see me again like an old friend. Telling me to buy sweaters, dig out my boots, and start baking things. Fall soothes me. The season appeals to every single one of my senses. I mark my entire life by falls. Autumn is my compass. Where I am in the fall, is where I am in life.
And it hit me the other day as I considered the arrival of this fall in particular that this is my last one as Megan Bergkamp. I mean like, Megan B., just Megan B. Next fall I'll be married Megan. And then maybe some fall in the future I'll start having babies and I'll be wifey and mama Megan and I'll be making Halloween costumes for kiddos and dragging them to every local high school sporting event and trying to prevent them from assuming nasty habits like their mother's diet coke addiction.
And it's funny to think of that--how my life has been just so, for so long. It's just been me and that's been good. Really, really good. But this is the last one like that. Come December, I'll belong to others.
This is the big fall. This is the fall that will mark the end of the original me. I know I won't change but everything else will. And I realize as I face this last season that I am about to experience one of those perfect and terrible moments in life when it hits you that nothing will ever be the same again. It's one of the moments when you look at what is in front of you and feel excited and good and happy, but also very much afraid. You are tempted to just plop down in the middle of this path you've chosen and not move because say what you will about the mundane but sometimes, it's nice to feel comfortable and settled.
Basically, it's terrifying to grow up. No matter how happy the event (a marriage, for example), the idea of change and perhaps having to leave pieces of yourself behind, is painful.
I remember falls past: I think about being 11 years old and playing volleyball over our brick sidewalk with my sister every day. Going to high school football games on Friday nights and holding hands with a boy in the bleachers. I think of college and moving back to school and homecoming and Thanksgiving breaks. Of tailgating and hours and hours of sitting with friends in coffee shops, thinking that we'd always be together like that--talking about what we would do if we ever, ever, ever actually graduated. I think of my first fall in DC--that was when I met him and I think I knew then who he would one day become to me.
And here I am, after 25 falls of being just me. This is the last one and it's the best thing and the saddest thing all at once. I've spent so much time in my life thinking about how nothing ever changes and feeling claustrophobic about where I am and now suddenly it hits me how much has already changed and how much more will.
The real fear for me is not that I am about to get married. That, I am prepared and thrilled to do. The real fear, the fear that keeps me up at night, is the way time passes.
One day you’re 11 and at your best friend’s house and her father, who is a minister, is pretending to marry you to whoever you have a crush on that week. You’ve fashioned yourself a veil out of a dish towel and you’ve stolen your mother’s mascara for the event…
…And then you start dating for real. Or sort of for real—you have ‘boyfriends’ anyway. You imagine what your married name will sound like with these boys. You are passionately in love with each of them for 2 weeks at a time until you get your next issue of Seventeen Magazine and find a celebrity who consumes your emotions. It seems completely normal to fall out of love with a real person for a face in a magazine. You daydream, you fantasize, you doodle baby names in your notebook…
…And then a few years later you swear you will never get married. You swear it. Because marriage means giving up everything, it means giving up yourself. You’ve seen it happen. You’ve seen identities and dreams disappear. You are in your early 20s and determined to break the mold, to avoid becoming a casualty. You will not be that person. Ever…
…And then one day you meet him. And you love him so much it hurts. And then he asks you the question. You say yes because nothing, nothing, nothing would make you happier and you buy yourself a real veil, but still consider stealing your mother’s mascara, because she always has the best kind.
You've grown up and no one questions it, but you.
This fall, I find myself reflecting over the first quarter of my life. I suppose this is normal, to look back when you are on the brink of a big change. I can connect the dots perfectly. I can see clearly the 8 or 9 decisions that brought me to this point. If someone drew a map of my life they would include these points. Looking back, it is all so clear and concise, so neat. A yes here, a no there, and suddenly, these are the decisions that have defined my life thus far. And now I am to the point when my line is no longer singular. It combines now, with another, and the lines are woven together forever. Every fall from here on out, it will be like that.
Where I am in the fall is where I am in life. This is the last autumn and next year will be the first.
I can feel it creeping close--coming to see me again like an old friend. Telling me to buy sweaters, dig out my boots, and start baking things. Fall soothes me. The season appeals to every single one of my senses. I mark my entire life by falls. Autumn is my compass. Where I am in the fall, is where I am in life.
And it hit me the other day as I considered the arrival of this fall in particular that this is my last one as Megan Bergkamp. I mean like, Megan B., just Megan B. Next fall I'll be married Megan. And then maybe some fall in the future I'll start having babies and I'll be wifey and mama Megan and I'll be making Halloween costumes for kiddos and dragging them to every local high school sporting event and trying to prevent them from assuming nasty habits like their mother's diet coke addiction.
And it's funny to think of that--how my life has been just so, for so long. It's just been me and that's been good. Really, really good. But this is the last one like that. Come December, I'll belong to others.
This is the big fall. This is the fall that will mark the end of the original me. I know I won't change but everything else will. And I realize as I face this last season that I am about to experience one of those perfect and terrible moments in life when it hits you that nothing will ever be the same again. It's one of the moments when you look at what is in front of you and feel excited and good and happy, but also very much afraid. You are tempted to just plop down in the middle of this path you've chosen and not move because say what you will about the mundane but sometimes, it's nice to feel comfortable and settled.
Basically, it's terrifying to grow up. No matter how happy the event (a marriage, for example), the idea of change and perhaps having to leave pieces of yourself behind, is painful.
I remember falls past: I think about being 11 years old and playing volleyball over our brick sidewalk with my sister every day. Going to high school football games on Friday nights and holding hands with a boy in the bleachers. I think of college and moving back to school and homecoming and Thanksgiving breaks. Of tailgating and hours and hours of sitting with friends in coffee shops, thinking that we'd always be together like that--talking about what we would do if we ever, ever, ever actually graduated. I think of my first fall in DC--that was when I met him and I think I knew then who he would one day become to me.
And here I am, after 25 falls of being just me. This is the last one and it's the best thing and the saddest thing all at once. I've spent so much time in my life thinking about how nothing ever changes and feeling claustrophobic about where I am and now suddenly it hits me how much has already changed and how much more will.
The real fear for me is not that I am about to get married. That, I am prepared and thrilled to do. The real fear, the fear that keeps me up at night, is the way time passes.
One day you’re 11 and at your best friend’s house and her father, who is a minister, is pretending to marry you to whoever you have a crush on that week. You’ve fashioned yourself a veil out of a dish towel and you’ve stolen your mother’s mascara for the event…
…And then you start dating for real. Or sort of for real—you have ‘boyfriends’ anyway. You imagine what your married name will sound like with these boys. You are passionately in love with each of them for 2 weeks at a time until you get your next issue of Seventeen Magazine and find a celebrity who consumes your emotions. It seems completely normal to fall out of love with a real person for a face in a magazine. You daydream, you fantasize, you doodle baby names in your notebook…
…And then a few years later you swear you will never get married. You swear it. Because marriage means giving up everything, it means giving up yourself. You’ve seen it happen. You’ve seen identities and dreams disappear. You are in your early 20s and determined to break the mold, to avoid becoming a casualty. You will not be that person. Ever…
…And then one day you meet him. And you love him so much it hurts. And then he asks you the question. You say yes because nothing, nothing, nothing would make you happier and you buy yourself a real veil, but still consider stealing your mother’s mascara, because she always has the best kind.
You've grown up and no one questions it, but you.
This fall, I find myself reflecting over the first quarter of my life. I suppose this is normal, to look back when you are on the brink of a big change. I can connect the dots perfectly. I can see clearly the 8 or 9 decisions that brought me to this point. If someone drew a map of my life they would include these points. Looking back, it is all so clear and concise, so neat. A yes here, a no there, and suddenly, these are the decisions that have defined my life thus far. And now I am to the point when my line is no longer singular. It combines now, with another, and the lines are woven together forever. Every fall from here on out, it will be like that.
Where I am in the fall is where I am in life. This is the last autumn and next year will be the first.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
wednesdays are hard
because....
of emails.
and the clock remaining at 4:48 p.m. for about 10 HOURS.
and the fact that my undergarment choice today is...questionable...and uncomfortable...and inserting itself in places it shouldn't.
and the fact that it's wednesday and there's nothing good on t.v. on wednesday all year long.
and the fact that I'm hungry for the 9 millionth time today.
and the fact that it was Mediterranean weather outside all day long--crystal blue skies, dry air--and I'm tied to my desk as per usual.
and the fact that I'm still bitter at myself for watching old episodes of The Hills via instant play netflix last night. waste of a perfectly wonderful Tuesday night.
and the fact that i want a boxer puppy. P-L-E-A-S-E.
and the fact that i have had a zit on my chin for a full month now. A FULL MONTH. It is like I am 14. Except I didn't have zits when I was 14. No. My face decided to start breaking out when I turned 25. naturally.
and, I don't know. It's called hump day. annoying.
and I had a voicemail from someone today that said, "I have a question for you, but I'll just send you an email." THEN SEND ME THE EMAIL AND FORGET ABOUT THE VOICEMAIL.
In other news. Try this recipe. It is good and not as terrible for you as a bowl of pasta. I would know, I would live in a bowl of pasta if I could.
http://www.hungry-girl.com/show/pasta-la-vista-slaw-and-order-recipe
of emails.
and the clock remaining at 4:48 p.m. for about 10 HOURS.
and the fact that my undergarment choice today is...questionable...and uncomfortable...and inserting itself in places it shouldn't.
and the fact that it's wednesday and there's nothing good on t.v. on wednesday all year long.
and the fact that I'm hungry for the 9 millionth time today.
and the fact that it was Mediterranean weather outside all day long--crystal blue skies, dry air--and I'm tied to my desk as per usual.
and the fact that I'm still bitter at myself for watching old episodes of The Hills via instant play netflix last night. waste of a perfectly wonderful Tuesday night.
and the fact that i want a boxer puppy. P-L-E-A-S-E.
and the fact that i have had a zit on my chin for a full month now. A FULL MONTH. It is like I am 14. Except I didn't have zits when I was 14. No. My face decided to start breaking out when I turned 25. naturally.
and, I don't know. It's called hump day. annoying.
and I had a voicemail from someone today that said, "I have a question for you, but I'll just send you an email." THEN SEND ME THE EMAIL AND FORGET ABOUT THE VOICEMAIL.
In other news. Try this recipe. It is good and not as terrible for you as a bowl of pasta. I would know, I would live in a bowl of pasta if I could.
http://www.hungry-girl.com/show/pasta-la-vista-slaw-and-order-recipe
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
I Dos
The day I got engaged was one of my happiest. It probably is for most people. And then you start telling people and it becomes real and you get happier.
And then.
OH and then.
Then you have to plan a wedding.
Oh, I heard that--"but you don't HAVE to plan a wedding if you don't want to." YES, you do. If you have three sisters and a mother who love love love weddings, you have to. You'll beg for City Hall. You'll get on your hands and knees and BEG. But alas. They'll look at you with their weepy blue eyes and tell you how horribly sad they would be if they weren't with you on your wedding day.
And you'll bend. Because you love your sisters so much you'd do anything for them. And really if you're being honest, you can't imagine your wedding day without them either.
So you decide to have a wedding. A real wedding.
And you suddenly have a million things you have to plan.
You'll casually hint one day that you are considering having a beef jerky bar instead of a cake table. You're only half-joking because there's nothing you love more than beef jerky and there's nothing you HATE more than the tradition of smashing cake in your new husband or wife's face. "Think of it," you say, "Instead of the cake, you'd just eat a slim jim and wash it down with some champagne. It would be the best of everything!!" You'll notice the very distinct reaction here. Confused giggles and head tilts--eyes glazing over as they consider whether or not you even DESERVE to be married. and then you'll suddenly feel self conscious and you'll question the amount of estrogen your body contains and you'll respond, "Just kidding! I love cake! You know what would be even better? Cupcakes!" Even though there is nothing you despise more than an effing cupcake.
You'll try really hard not to have a hot flash when you are trying on wedding dresses and the lady in the dressing room repeatedly sticks her hand up the acres of fabric covering your ass. You won't mention how much you despise being exposed in any way in front of strangers. When you are forced to walk out of the dressing room, you'll pretend it's just your mother and sisters in front of you. Just the woman who birthed you and just the girls you used to take baths with at the age of three. You'll ignore the women who have brought their boyfriends or fiances (WHY!?!??!?!?!?) and you'll pretend it's just your comfort zone. You'll ignore the shade of red that has taken over your face and you'll pretend there is nothing you'd like more than a cathedral length veil and a tiara. You'll humor the saleswoman because she tells you this is only her part time job. She only does this because she loves weddings so much. When you find the dress, you'll hug her and tell her you only found it because of her.
Most days, you'll want to die. The hoops, the hurdles, the centerpieces!! You'll have to tell yourself over and over and over and over again that you're doing this for the people you love and you'll slowly but surely realize that isn't such a bad way to live your life.
You'll pretend to care about flowers. People will say words to you that you have never encountered before and you'll pretend to understand. Many of them will be french. You will nod and say, "yes, I LOVE fondant. More fondant, s'il vous plait!"
Slowly, you will catch a mild version of the fever, though you won't ever admit it to anyone. Once you get over the embarrassment of trying on dresses in front of people, you'll look in the mirror and realize you've found the dress you will be wearing when you marry the man you love. And everything will hit you all of a sudden and you'll be happy, really happy.
The idea of a wedding shower will still make you nauseous. When your dearest sister and maid of honor asks you about it, you'll finally give in but only on the condition that there will be no games. zero. bridal. games. ZERO. And you'd like it plainly stated that the number of broken bows in no way corresponds to the number of children you are likely to have. You'd also like to make sure that alcohol is involved. When they tell you it's in the morning you say, "that's what the blood mary was invented for."
You come to terms with the fact that you will be uncomfortable, anxious and downright sick for a good chunk of your engagement. But as you progress toward your wedding, the unimportant things sort of begin to blur into the background and the important things become sharper around you. You see family. You see loved ones. You see a day that is only about love and faith and promises. You see this one day when everyone stops to celebrate a good thing. You see the man you're going to marry and stick with through it all. You realize that it isn't about a wedding at all. It's about love. You realize it might not be such a bad thing to have photographic evidence of that day. It might be a day worth having after all. You realize that marriage just happens to come with a party.
And even though you dream of city hall frequently. Even though you've actually created multiple spreadsheets calculating how much money and time and effort could have been saved, you finally admit that planning a wedding is not the terrible thing you once thought it was. And you're grateful you have people who love you so much, they want to help you plan and share it with you.
And then.
OH and then.
Then you have to plan a wedding.
Oh, I heard that--"but you don't HAVE to plan a wedding if you don't want to." YES, you do. If you have three sisters and a mother who love love love weddings, you have to. You'll beg for City Hall. You'll get on your hands and knees and BEG. But alas. They'll look at you with their weepy blue eyes and tell you how horribly sad they would be if they weren't with you on your wedding day.
And you'll bend. Because you love your sisters so much you'd do anything for them. And really if you're being honest, you can't imagine your wedding day without them either.
So you decide to have a wedding. A real wedding.
And you suddenly have a million things you have to plan.
You'll casually hint one day that you are considering having a beef jerky bar instead of a cake table. You're only half-joking because there's nothing you love more than beef jerky and there's nothing you HATE more than the tradition of smashing cake in your new husband or wife's face. "Think of it," you say, "Instead of the cake, you'd just eat a slim jim and wash it down with some champagne. It would be the best of everything!!" You'll notice the very distinct reaction here. Confused giggles and head tilts--eyes glazing over as they consider whether or not you even DESERVE to be married. and then you'll suddenly feel self conscious and you'll question the amount of estrogen your body contains and you'll respond, "Just kidding! I love cake! You know what would be even better? Cupcakes!" Even though there is nothing you despise more than an effing cupcake.
You'll try really hard not to have a hot flash when you are trying on wedding dresses and the lady in the dressing room repeatedly sticks her hand up the acres of fabric covering your ass. You won't mention how much you despise being exposed in any way in front of strangers. When you are forced to walk out of the dressing room, you'll pretend it's just your mother and sisters in front of you. Just the woman who birthed you and just the girls you used to take baths with at the age of three. You'll ignore the women who have brought their boyfriends or fiances (WHY!?!??!?!?!?) and you'll pretend it's just your comfort zone. You'll ignore the shade of red that has taken over your face and you'll pretend there is nothing you'd like more than a cathedral length veil and a tiara. You'll humor the saleswoman because she tells you this is only her part time job. She only does this because she loves weddings so much. When you find the dress, you'll hug her and tell her you only found it because of her.
Most days, you'll want to die. The hoops, the hurdles, the centerpieces!! You'll have to tell yourself over and over and over and over again that you're doing this for the people you love and you'll slowly but surely realize that isn't such a bad way to live your life.
You'll pretend to care about flowers. People will say words to you that you have never encountered before and you'll pretend to understand. Many of them will be french. You will nod and say, "yes, I LOVE fondant. More fondant, s'il vous plait!"
Slowly, you will catch a mild version of the fever, though you won't ever admit it to anyone. Once you get over the embarrassment of trying on dresses in front of people, you'll look in the mirror and realize you've found the dress you will be wearing when you marry the man you love. And everything will hit you all of a sudden and you'll be happy, really happy.
The idea of a wedding shower will still make you nauseous. When your dearest sister and maid of honor asks you about it, you'll finally give in but only on the condition that there will be no games. zero. bridal. games. ZERO. And you'd like it plainly stated that the number of broken bows in no way corresponds to the number of children you are likely to have. You'd also like to make sure that alcohol is involved. When they tell you it's in the morning you say, "that's what the blood mary was invented for."
You come to terms with the fact that you will be uncomfortable, anxious and downright sick for a good chunk of your engagement. But as you progress toward your wedding, the unimportant things sort of begin to blur into the background and the important things become sharper around you. You see family. You see loved ones. You see a day that is only about love and faith and promises. You see this one day when everyone stops to celebrate a good thing. You see the man you're going to marry and stick with through it all. You realize that it isn't about a wedding at all. It's about love. You realize it might not be such a bad thing to have photographic evidence of that day. It might be a day worth having after all. You realize that marriage just happens to come with a party.
And even though you dream of city hall frequently. Even though you've actually created multiple spreadsheets calculating how much money and time and effort could have been saved, you finally admit that planning a wedding is not the terrible thing you once thought it was. And you're grateful you have people who love you so much, they want to help you plan and share it with you.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Fakeness, Flaws, and Furloughs
Three Things:
FIRST:
In the last two weeks, I have encountered a slew of "Fake Patty Day" pictures on facebook. Apparently, it's a big deal. Though why, I do not know.
Perhaps it is due to any of the following reasons:
1) You enjoy being photographed when your mouth is tinted green due to beer that's been tampered with by food coloring.
2) You enjoy being photographed after you have spilled beer (or some liquid) on your shirt. Seriously, more wet spots on shirts than a wet t-shirt contest.
3) You are Irish?? Oh wait, the Irish do not care about this "holiday".
4) You love green beads. This same love could be satisfied on Fat Tuesday.
5) Your favorite cereal is Lucky Charms.
6) You enjoy wearing group t-shirts that cleverly indicate how drunk you are going to get.
7) You like throwing up.
If I've missed anything, please do let me know.
SECOND:
Personality Flaw #982:
Yesterday I was grocery shopping and I stopped at the bakery. I wanted a loaf of rye bread and I wanted them to slice the loaf for me. Two simple requests. I waited in line patiently for my turn. When the man turned and asked me what I wanted, I boldly said,
"I would like a loaf of rye bread. please."
He smiled and obliged. And how proud was I--participating in a successful social interaction!?
But then the man turned around and asked me how I wanted it sliced.
Well.
Usually.
I mean USUALLY, there is a little piece of paper stuck to the glass with the different widths you can choose for your sliced bread.
Usually.
I don't have it memorized people.
I don't.
So I looked.
And it wasn't there.
And there was a line behind me.
And I started sweating and I got flustered.
So I said, "I don't care, whatever you pick."
He turned around. i breathed a sigh of relief and spaced out, waiting for my bread.
And then. He turned around and handed me a beautiful loaf of rye bread.
Beautiful, beautiful, bread.
Unsliced.
And I opened my mouth to ask for a do-over.
But he had already twisty-tied the bag shut.
And twisty-tied my hopes shut.
And there was a line.
And I was sweaty and flustered.
So I said,
"thank you." And put my head down and walked away.
And then I went home and I tried to slice my loaf of bread with a steak knife. And then I swept the floor for 20 minutes because it was covered with bread crumbs.
Life Lesson #982: Grow a pair.
THIRD:
Forgive the lapse in posting. List of things that have happened and kept me busy: holidays, engagement, new job, surviving the misery of winter, dominating Donkey Kong Returns via the wii. missed ya'll.
FIRST:
In the last two weeks, I have encountered a slew of "Fake Patty Day" pictures on facebook. Apparently, it's a big deal. Though why, I do not know.
Perhaps it is due to any of the following reasons:
1) You enjoy being photographed when your mouth is tinted green due to beer that's been tampered with by food coloring.
2) You enjoy being photographed after you have spilled beer (or some liquid) on your shirt. Seriously, more wet spots on shirts than a wet t-shirt contest.
3) You are Irish?? Oh wait, the Irish do not care about this "holiday".
4) You love green beads. This same love could be satisfied on Fat Tuesday.
5) Your favorite cereal is Lucky Charms.
6) You enjoy wearing group t-shirts that cleverly indicate how drunk you are going to get.
7) You like throwing up.
If I've missed anything, please do let me know.
SECOND:
Personality Flaw #982:
Yesterday I was grocery shopping and I stopped at the bakery. I wanted a loaf of rye bread and I wanted them to slice the loaf for me. Two simple requests. I waited in line patiently for my turn. When the man turned and asked me what I wanted, I boldly said,
"I would like a loaf of rye bread. please."
He smiled and obliged. And how proud was I--participating in a successful social interaction!?
But then the man turned around and asked me how I wanted it sliced.
Well.
Usually.
I mean USUALLY, there is a little piece of paper stuck to the glass with the different widths you can choose for your sliced bread.
Usually.
I don't have it memorized people.
I don't.
So I looked.
And it wasn't there.
And there was a line behind me.
And I started sweating and I got flustered.
So I said, "I don't care, whatever you pick."
He turned around. i breathed a sigh of relief and spaced out, waiting for my bread.
And then. He turned around and handed me a beautiful loaf of rye bread.
Beautiful, beautiful, bread.
Unsliced.
And I opened my mouth to ask for a do-over.
But he had already twisty-tied the bag shut.
And twisty-tied my hopes shut.
And there was a line.
And I was sweaty and flustered.
So I said,
"thank you." And put my head down and walked away.
And then I went home and I tried to slice my loaf of bread with a steak knife. And then I swept the floor for 20 minutes because it was covered with bread crumbs.
Life Lesson #982: Grow a pair.
THIRD:
Forgive the lapse in posting. List of things that have happened and kept me busy: holidays, engagement, new job, surviving the misery of winter, dominating Donkey Kong Returns via the wii. missed ya'll.
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