That it is impossible to show everyone how much it means to you.
A piece of my heart lives here.
❤
More Than Just a Chai Tea Latte
Isn’t it funny how sometimes you will be doing something completely normal, and suddenly, out of the blue a smell, a taste, a sound will take you back somewhere you never expected?
This weekend I am a slave to a grad school project and, at the moment, simultaneously battling a headache of a serious magnitude. Naps, water, Advil, and bribery of the universe have had exactly zero effect on said headache so far, so I just decided to resort to the mother of all cures: caffeine. (This will also have a fantastic effect on the percentage completion of my project achieved in subsequent hours.)
It wasn’t long before I found myself in front of my Keurig coffee-maker with a box of Cafe Escapes Chai Tea Latte K-Cups (a Black Friday steal thanks to Bed Bath & Beyond). What followed looked like this:
Insert K-Cup, select mug size, press button, engage in spontaneous calisthenics, retrieve steaming mug of heaven-sent goodness, slam into thoughts of… JJ? Weekday mornings. Sleepovers. Dinner dates, late night Bravo and E! marathons, saying goodbye for the day as we leave for work.
This may all sound like the sappy reminiscing of an ex-boyfriend. But really, it’s about JJ, my Matron of Honor, who I used have dinner dates and sleepovers with while her husband traveled and Bill worked late. Great, but where does the chai latte come in? Well, she would wake me up with one from exactly the same brand every morning, and I would make her a bagel while she got ready for work. This routine quickly led to the exclusive substitution of the term “wifeys” instead of “friends”. We don’t do that anymore now that Bill and I live together, but I miss it. I actually hadn’t thought about those nights/mornings in a long time.
Sometimes a chai tea latte is more than just a chai tea latte, but also a wonderful reminder that sometimes friends are more than just friends. And no matter what you call them – your besties, BFFs, wifeys, whatever – hold on to those sweet memories as long as you can. They just might cure life’s little headaches.
Love you, Wifey. My headache is gone, and I’m so glad you’re in my life. ❤
Experimentation
Just how much shattering does occur when an extra large Pyrex bowl is dropped on a tile floor? Well, quite a bit actually!
Luckily, if you are having guests over for homemade pizza and salad, and they perchance happen to be very gracious, the clean-up time is greatly reduced.
Tip: With broken glass, you can never be too thorough. A broom and a vacuum may not pick up the tiny invisible shards that can get stuck in feet or paws. If this is the case, dampen a paper towel and slowly wipe down the floor. As you pass over the smallest of pieces, you may not be able to see them, but you will hear and feel them, allowing you to avoid stepping on them later.
Start with 15
http://girlsguideto.com/article/15-ways-stay-married-15-years
Stumbled across this last night. As far as I can tell, this is amazing advice for the first 15 years of marriage, not to mention a great humbling reminder of what is really important during a time when the stresses of wedding planning can lead to petty arguments and tension.
Speaking of, Bill and I have been arguing a bit, and about cake of all things. Sounds ridiculous, right? Well, it doesn’t feel ridiculous at this moment in time. I know, I know – first world problems and all that. But just because it sounds trivial doesn’t mean there weren’t two nights this week that I went to bed beyond irritated. Livid even. And while most say doing so is not a good idea, I have to agree with Lydia Netzer’s #1 tip for keeping marriage alive: go to bed mad. Sure, it took awhile to fall asleep. Yes, I left for work in the morning without speaking to him. (Okay, so Bill wasn’t even awake yet, but just the principle of leaving without a word made me feel better.) And by lunchtime the day after our fight, I was able to compose this:
“So as I was sprinting from my 10 am meeting at Career Services to my 11 am presentation for Study Abroad this morning, I realized something… I am exhausted. Like want-to-curl-up-in-my-cozies, shut-out-the-world-and-cry, I’m-never-coming-out-of-my-hole exhausted. That’s probably where all the tears of last weekend are coming from – small frustrations building on top of each other and amplified into overwhelming issues. I’m not discounting any of the points I’ve been making, and I think some of my feelings are valid, but I do want to thank you for being supportive and patient enough to sit down and talk about things. Reason #3487 I can’t wait to marry you.
(Reason #3486 is so we can finally stop arguing about cake.)”
We both felt better for the rest of the day. And even though we just stupid argued over stupid cake all over again when I got home, and I went to bed mad yet again, neither of us said anything hurtful or regrettable. Not such a bad alternative.
So maybe it’s not such terrible advice. And in case you didn’t catch it the first time…
‘“’Let not the sun go down upon your wrath’ is prefaced in the Bible by the phrase ‘Be angry and sin not.’ So, who’s to say it doesn’t mean ‘Stay angry, bitches. Don’t let the sun go down on that awesome fierce wrath of yours.’ Seriously.”
SERIOUSLY.
P.S.
This
+
This
=
Dream Cake.
Shhhh…
Change of Heart
I was dead set on a beautiful five-tiered wedding cake… but then I met these lovelies.
Cooking Update
I have officially moved to a new level in the Learning-To-Cook quest, and that is:
Tastes GOOD. Looks AWFUL.
(But it tastes good.)
(And Bill ate it.)
Obsession
Fall makes me feel, well, tingly.
We found each other. I have special plans for this cutie.
It’s A Dangerous World In Here
Since Billy put this pretty little ring on my finger, I seem to have lost the ability to not accidentally abuse my hands in any number of ways. I can’t help but think about how when I was little, the only redeeming moment of visiting the dentist’s office would be putting those plastic adjustable birthstone rings from the reward toy box on my hand after my check-up. The rest of the day would be spent shopping with Mom and admiring how gorgeous my hands were and silently bubbling over about the real hardware I would be rocking some day. ( I didn’t care if I’d have to put it there myself. Where you at Bey, Kelly, and Michelle? I depend on ME.)
Well, now I have the most beautiful piece of (real) bling on my left hand, and I can’t seem to keep the surrounding extremities intact. In the last three weeks, I have found myself in normal everyday domestic situations that have lead to blood, sweat (okay, no sweat really), and a few suppressed tears.
Scenario 1: Cutting Up Pineapple. I never liked pineapple. In fact, I always hated it. That is, until the Super Senior Year of College Taste Bud Revolution of 2010, when my senses decided to become preoccupied with every kind of food I had previously despised. Except olives. Gross. But oranges, dark chocolate, pineapple, etc., suddenly became in frequent rotation of my Crazy Intense Random Cravings Cycle. Anyway, fast forward to 10:07pm on a recent Sunday night when, while waiting for Bill to come home from work, I had to have pineapple. I, of course, decide to use the giant chopping knife I am wielding to attempt to scoop pineapple out of the rind, subsequently giving the index finger of my infamous left hand a good hack and leaving a bit of a gash big enough to nauseate myself for a good 5-10 minutes.
Scenario 2: Making My Fiance Dinner. Bill is a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Well, really he’s a “food-in-general” kind of guy, but who cares about logistics. So in an effort to make him dinner on his break after the 6 o’clock news, I have marinated chuck steak hanging out in the 400 degree oven Well, what goes better with steak than roasted red potatoes? Chop ’em up, toss ’em in olive oil, sprinkle ’em with garlic salt and Italian seasoning. Lay ’em out on a baking sheet, insert ’em in the bottom rack of the oven. Slide left pinkie knuckle the entire length of the inside of said 400 degree oven’s glass door before brain registers searing pain. Wait, that last part doesn’t sound right.
Scenario 3: Decorating the Guest Bathroom. I have a guest room! And a guest bathroom! And I’m really excited about it! And while my budget does not include brand new bathroom finery, I have an aged yet passable set of a soap dish, lotion dispenser, and tooth brush made out of broken dark red glass pieces fashioned into a mosaic pattern. Here I am, washing the last few years of storage off of the small collection. First the soap dish, then the lotion dispenser, and finally the tooth brush holder. This tooth brush holder is basically a small clear drinking glass with a mosaic base, and while it looks like the glass could easily come out of the base, this is entirely false. I give the base a twist. It doesn’t budge. I give the base an exponentially greater, uninhibited twist. I end up with a shard of glass stuck in my index finger.
Expert Tip for Navigating Domestication: Keep a steady supply of bandages handy in fashion-forward (read: small child friendly) patterns.
My bandage of choice? Curad’s My Little Ponies.
MLP 4 Life. (Modeling credit to my friend Christian, who I forcefully encouraged to don the MLP with me after his only slightly more traumatizing go-cart flipping accident.)
Apparently This Is How It Works
Little girls have big dreams. We dream of being veterinarians. Or movie stars. Or in my case, marine biologist/ballerina/pop star/soccer players who have big houses and lots of ice cream. We dream of graduating from college, having amazing clothes and big bank accounts. We dream of meeting someone who sweeps us off our feet, makes us complete, and will be our best friend for life.
Well, what the manual doesn’t tell us is that some dreams do come true, but probably not the way we planned. When fairy tales meet real life, it’s messy, frightening, and beautiful. Those dreams come in fast, and whether or not we have our shit together doesn’t matter. You sure as hell better be ready to swing, because life is only pitching fastballs.
This is how it happened to me:
So I’m going about my business, having best friends like these and nights like this.
There were nights that started like this…
…and ended like this.
I graduated from college. I traveled Europe. I had big girl jobs, like teaching kindergarten and working as an advertising account executive. And when those big girl jobs didn’t turn out like I hoped they would, I did what any smart, ambitious, self-preserving young woman would do and voluntarily went back to hell… er, grad school.
Then I met Billy and fell in love.
HARD.
And we’ve just had the time of our lives.
I finished my first year of grad school.
And Bill and I moved in together.
And then he asked really important questions.
And we smile about it. A lot.
But now strange things are happening. I am engaged to my live-in fiance. I cook dinner. I clean my house. I get excited about organizing and wedding planning and grocery shopping, and I squeal when I go into Bed Bath and Beyond.
But also…
I am in grad school. (Read: class, homework, full-time internships, horrible pay, zero sleep, too much coffee, general insanity.)
My house is a disaster.
I am broke.
And I mean BROKE.
And I am happy.
Life is happening. It doesn’t quite look like I expected. BUT – it’s actually better than I ever imagined, and in my heart and in my soul and in my mind, I am so ready for all of this. But do I look like I’m ready on the outside?
Hardly.
But frankly, I prefer life to be a little messy.
Especially if that mess is a hot one.
do(hot mess)ticated 