Bridal Realization: Don't Mess with My Friends... They'll Beat You Up.

Hello, friends. Or should I say, “hello, mom and Megan” – aka – my only two fans.

I know, I’ve been MIA. I wish I could treat life like I treat this blog… when I don’t have the time or when I’m not in the mood to pour out my heart, I wish I could just put life on hold and come back to it when I’m ready. But I guess if life truly could work that way I would sadly only have two fans and let’s face it, I need more than just two fans in my life.

But I digress… at the end of the day, my blog has been neglected as wedding plans, mixed with a little bit of work, monopolize my day, my thoughts and my creativity.

However, today my morning cup of Splenda and cream with a splash of coffee and some delicious slices of raspberry kringle inspired me to capitalize on my sugar high and beckon Stejamoe out from her hiding spot.

So with wedding on the mind and artificial sweetner pumping through my veins, I proudly present yet another top ten list: the top ten things I learned about myself while planning my wedding.

10 – My health greatly benefits from my commitment to vanity. Before I got engaged I would ignore a strange looking mole and I would put off going to doctor for some aches and pains. Now I realize that a strange mole is not only dangerous to my health, but detrimental to the wedding pictures it may show up in. The dull pain in my side that I normally can suffer through could impact my ability to suck it my stomach all night in my wedding dress and impede on my bridal hotness. My solution? Go to the doctor and improve my health AND my look for the big day.

9 – I apparently make friends based on their willingness to kill for me. I have a wide variety of friends, with different personalities and from different parts of my life. During this entire planning process, one common thing has surfaced among them all: their willingness and eagerness to cause harm to those who harm me. Okay, would any of my gorgeous, proper, intelligent friends really risk jail time to ensure my happiness? Probably not. But they have given me an insane amount of support as I battle some difficult people who are forgetting that they aren’t the bride, and even my most passive friends respond with a “put em’ up” attitude. I never thought inappropriate aggression would touch my heart.

8 – I believe that the quicker you respond, the more you love me. I can’t help it. I’m organized and somehow believe everyone else should be too. As I wait for my wedding invitation responses I have taken on the mindset that each day you wait to let me know you “accept with pleasure,” you’re really just telling me that you “accept with disdain.” Harsh and irrational, I know, but if you don’t share your immediate excitement with me, I immediately think you don’t care. Love me, people!

7 – I think Chipotle burritos are part of a well balanced diet. I really want to look beautiful on my wedding day and by “beautiful,” I mean, I want people to marvel at how thin and skinny I look. But as I continue my mission to be as thin as I can be, I continue to indulge in my beloved fajita burrito. If you look up “Chipotle” in the thesaurus you’ll find “fat”… I guess I better start doing lunges and butt clenches in the office.

6 – I’m attached to my name. Who cares what your last name is? Apparently I do. Even though my fiancé doesn’t think this, my issue with changing my last name has NOTHING to do with him. It may seem irrational, but I connect my maiden name to everything that I am and I’m having a bit of a hard time knowing that I’ll be officially “someone else” come October. I’ll get over it and I’ll eventually come to terms with the fact that I went from having the easiest last name possible to having a last name that can be mispronounced and misspelled 50 different ways.

5 – I will never stop worrying. I’m sensitive. It’s a fact. I’ve gotten tougher over the years, but I will never be able to “get over” things easily when I’m hurt. And nothing is more personal than a wedding, so the slightest jab turns into a blow. The same issue that surfaced when I got engaged almost a year and a half ago is the same issue that keeps me up at night.

4 – I’m strangely good at “counting down.” Once we hit 100 days until the wedding, I have been able to keep track of the amount of days left before the big day regardless of distractions. A week could go by without anyone asking or me even thinking about the exact amount of time left before I walk down the aisle, but if a colleague randomly inquires, I can tell them the exact amount of time until the hour without skipping a beat. 54 days to go, by the way.

3 – Home improvement projects keep me sane. Unlike other brides, I prefer to have a lot going on outside wedding planning to keep me grounded. For example, while making appointments with wedding vendors, I thought it only made sense to consider replacing our aging windows and get a few at-home estimates sprinkled into our already hectic schedules. The outcome will result in us having all of our windows replaced a month before the wedding and the thought of having a major renovation done is as soothing to me as a day at the spa.

2 – I am obsessed with kitchen gadgets that I’ll never use. It wasn’t until we registered did I discover my love for really unnecessary kitchen tools. Why use your fingers when you can pull toast from a toaster with hand crafted toast tongs? I also can spend hours caressing our new, over priced mix master and there is not one darn thing I can think of that would need mixing any time soon – it DOES make my kitchen counter look legit, like someone actually cooks in there.

1 – I love my fiancé more than I ever thought I could. Of course I love the boy. I’m not the kind of girl who settles just so I can get hitched and I was madly in love with him before we got engaged. But wedding planning drama has brought out a side of my soon-to-be hubby that tells me he’s in to win it. Random cry fests over botched wedding envelopes haven’t scared him away and family drama has resulted in him showing me that at the end of the day, I’m the family that comes first. You can have perfect invitations and cooperative family members, but having a man you love is a lot more important.

I’ve learned a lot about myself during this whole process and I’m more ready than ever to get married. If you’ve learned anything, you would learn to just back off and let me be happy and if you can’t seem to do that, I will be forced to connect you with you one of my friends… trust me, it’s not going to be pretty.

Top Ten Reasons My Mom is the Bomb

Mother’s Day is this weekend so I thought it would only be right to pay homage to my own Mamasita. As you know from past posts, I’m pretty darn lucky when it comes to the parent department. My mom in particular always has my back and as I grow older I’ve decided that the term “mom” should have to be earned. Just because you give birth doesn’t make you a “mother” it should make you a “birther” or something.

Why do I say this? It seems unfair that a mom like mine who puts her children first is put in the same title category of a mom who could less about her offspring. But that’s neither here nor there; time to move on give my mom the credit she deserves in what I like to call, “The Top Ten Reasons My Mom is the Bomb.”

1. She’s real.

My mom is honest and sticks to her guns. She believes what she believes and never waivers. And yes, the truth hurts sometimes, but with my mom you know what you’re getting and she doesn’t play games… how refreshing.

2. She is a master negotiator.

This woman gets what she wants by being informed and fair. She does her research, knows the best deal and gets it by remaining calm. I took her with me to buy my first car and she left the greasy finance guy in pure shock. Once I agreed to buy the car all I heard for the next three hours was “waa waa waa waaaa.” As the finance guy saw an opportunity to take advantage of young girl and who he thought was a naïve mother, I’ll never forget when my mom leaned across the table, smiled politely and said, “I know how all this works, I’ve done this before… now stop offering my daughter crap she doesn’t need and get to the point.” Right then and there I just sat back and let her save me money while the finance guy sat dumbfounded [insert standing ovation].

3. Her parenting mantra has always been, “You don’t need another friend, you need a mom.”

Hospitals should put that statement on a bumper sticker and give it to new moms as part of a “don’t screw this up” welcome basket. Even though when I was growing up and wishing my mom could be “cool” like some of the hip moms that let their kids walk over them, I’m so glad she wasn’t. Yes, my mom is a friend in the sense that I like to hang out with her, but at the same time she was never looking for my approval and could care less if I pouted when she wouldn’t extend my curfew. I knew moms who would not only let their kids break curfew, but were with them when they did and buying them alcohol. Do you know where those kids are now?

Jail.

4. She easily could be a contestant on Top Chef.

Her cooking savvy amazes me. She can take a bottle of mustard and a handful of spices that no one has ever heard of and make a full meal that rivals fine dining cuisine. And the best part is that she garnishes everything with fresh herbs. If she makes rosemary chicken, you better believe she has a sprig of rosemary on the plate. There is no shortage of class at our nightly dinner table.

5. Birthdays are special to her.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that people start to resent their birthdays, but my mom has always embraced them as a day to celebrate YOU. Forget how old you are, you were born on this day and that makes it special. When it’s your birthday in my family, my mom does everything short of dressing up like a clown and riding a unicycle. I think those who can celebrate aging are those people who understand that life is more about numbers and more about memories.

6. “Smart” is her middle name.

I think all my mom’s good qualities circle back to her being smart. Yes, she’s educated, but I’m talking about the kind of smart that is a result of constant exploration. She reads and absorbs everything, while never fearing the unknown. She’ll try new things and over the years she’s shared her wealth of knowledge with her children, making us smart by association… shhh… don’t tell anyone that I actually have NO idea what I’m talking about…

7. She’s a solution seeker.

There are always options and alternatives with my mom. Just because something seems impossible doesn’t mean you should give up. She has taught me what compromise is and because her attitude has always been, “If something doesn’t work, lets figure out how to make it work,” I’ve gone into life with confidence knowing that “no” isn’t the end of the world because you’ll eventually come up with a way to hear “yes.” She’s the opposite of a “Debbie Downer,” she’s like an “Ursula Upper.”

8. She’s a great partner in crime.

My mom just goes with the flow and if she has time, she’ll join you on whatever adventure you’re embarking on. So many people burn out or selfishly don’t want to invest time in things that don’t directly involve them, but my mom is the best support system and will find ways to make every outing, every errand, every trip… fun. To this day she’ll come with me to not-so-fun doctor’s appointments and then arrange for us to have a great lunch at a local restaurant. She makes a memory out of every experience and I’ll hold onto those memories for the rest of my life.

9. She can’t argue with reason.

Although my mom has strong opinions, she is probably the most rational person I know. If you present a valid argument, she won’t deny it and this helped me hone my own negotiation and presentation skills. When I was growing up and if I wanted the new “it” item, I wouldn’t go whining to my mom like so many kids do. I would sit down and formulate my argument. Sometimes I’d win, sometimes I wouldn’t (to this day she never bought the “a gerbil would make a great pet” argument), but I’d learn something every time.

10. No one ever puts her babies in the corner.

Everyone’s mom is their biggest cheerleader, but I like to think of my mom as my own cheering crowd complete with foam fingers. She doesn’t pretend her kids are something their not, but she never stops supporting them… and based on past experience, I’m pretty sure she’d deck someone for me if they did me wrong.

So that’s why my mom is the bomb. She not only gave birth to her kids, she then followed up and became a great mom. Per list item #10, I’m sure you’re the only person reading this post so, so Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

A Cyst on My Face, A Feather for my Cap

GIRL GETS STRUCK WITH YET ANOTHER MEDICAL MYSTERY.

That’s what my life’s headline read Friday morning. I have been sidetracked by yet another health issue – “issue” in this case means gross flesh eating disease on a bride’s most prized possession… her FACE.

Early last week I noticed a rather odd looking bump pop up on my cheek. I didn’t think it was a blemish… and trust me, this chocolate eating, combination skinned, stressed gal knows a zit when she sees one. This was different.

If you know me, I’m a “doer.” I don’t sit around and wait for something to happen… I get up and MAKE it happen. So naturally I decided to investigate this painful mystery bump, which was unobtrusively flesh toned at this point. A minor poke and prod resulted in a MAJOR problem…

The once camouflaged bump turned black and stood out like a hunter in an orange vest. What’s worse is that a stark white rim started to surround the site and it looked like I went to the carnival and had a bulls eye painted on my cheek by a drunk PTA volunteer.

Absolute panic sunk in. Start crying ……. NOW.

Yes, I cried. If you have read my past medical entries, you know I’m one tough cookie. Lose a finger? Argh. Break a toe? Boo. Maul my face? WAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!! There is just something about my face that you don’t want to mess with… it has been the only part of my body that hasn’t jumped on the “freaky disease” bandwagon with the rest of my body parts.

So here I am. Eyes puffy, mascara running and flesh eating disease flaring. With my strong reaction you would have thought I was walking down the aisle that next day, but even knowing that my big day is 5 months down the road, I couldn’t stop picturing myself in my gorgeous wedding gown accessorized with this massive tumor-like sore on my face. In my dreams, the sore comes with its own neon sign to emphasize its hideousness.

I naturally have all my doctors on speed dial and immediately scored an emergency appointment that following day.

The verdict? A ruptured cyst. But not just any ruptured cyst, an infected, ruptured cyst. [Insert vomiting noises now.]

How does one develop a cyst? Who knows? Who cares? I heard the doctor mumble something about cysts being potentially stressed induced, but I was too worried thinking about the future of my face that I didn’t really hear what she said.

Even though my face looked just as hideous walking out of the doctor’s office as it did on the way in, I felt a sense of relief once I was prescribed medication that will treat me from the inside out. And after a few weeks of major healing, my cyst will fade away and take its neon sign with it.

Moral of the story? There really isn’t one, but let me have a go at it.... when something doesn't seem right, don't try to fix it right away, investigate it first... gently. I often times jump the gun with my "go get 'em" attitude and if I had only thought before I popped, I wouldn't have a gross scab on my face. [Again, insert vomiting noises.]

But alternatively, this little experience has equipped me with yet more knowledge, so I'll just consider this another feather for my medical mystery cap... which looks like a Indian headdress at this point...

Expensive shoes, overpriced lattes and real estate.

What if you bought a pair of heels for $85 in Chicago and then you went on vacation to LA and those SAME shoes were $285… and THEN you went to your cousin’s wedding in Podunk, Indiana and those SAME snazzy kicks that were $85 in Chicago and $285 dollars in LA were only 5 bucks in the state that is considered the “armpit of Illinois?”

This kind of situation would NEVER happen, right? Why would the SAME product differ so drastically in price just based on where you are in the U.S.? Sure, prices fluctuate with taxes and some big cities can get away with charging an extra buck or two for a latte, but no product would have THAT big of a price difference.

However, if you insert a few extra zeros to those shoe prices and replace “shoe” with “house” it is not as surprising. And THAT boggles my mind.

Remember my rants last summer on starting my house hunt? Well, now the soon-to-be hubs and I have had our home for going on eight months and we’ve proudly gone from naïve property virgins to… naïve property owners. Somehow the mysteries of home ownership will never work themselves out in my mind.

So me the man were walking around our neighborhood the other night, two 60 somethings trapped in the bodies of 24 year olds, and decided to pull the flyers attached to the “for sale” signs we passed. First, the language these realtors use cracks me up… “stunning property with spacious patio and beautifully updated kitchen.” Translation? The backyard is pretty small because the previous owners decided to build a deck that was way too big for the property and out of all the rooms in the house, the kitchen is definitely not the worst part. As a PR professional and spin doctor, I tip my hat to you, realtors.

As we perused the listings and squinted at the thumbnail size pictures of the showcased rooms, I became baffled by the range of prices for what is a very small range of houses. We live in a “cookie cutter” neighborhood where all the homes were built by the same builder. Every 10th house you’ll find a home that resembles your own with a different paint color and/or a better car on the driveway. Unless a home has been dramatically upgraded or has a dead body in the basement, the prices should be pretty consistent among similar sized homes.

So what makes one home more valuable than the other? I have become addicted to home renovation shows and one of my favorite shows on HGTV has three realtors come in to put a value on a home after it has been flipped. Without fail you’ll always have one realtor who prices a home $50K to $100K more than their counterparts. That just shows that home value sometimes has nothing to do with the market and everything to do with perception.

Don’t get me wrong, adding upgraded appliances and installing hardwood floors in your home should rack in more money compared to a house that has a fridge from 1972 and shag carpet. But that aside, there is no other consumer product in this country that has such a loose basis for value.

As we begin to put the final touches on our own home, I started to think, what makes OUR home valuable? When we’re ready to move on from his humble abode why will someone pay more money for our place than the one down the street?

So here is my stab at writing a realtor-inspired description of our house:

Single family home spruced up by multiple family help. High grade paint throughout mixed with sweat and tears for that extra shine. Current owners pride themselves on being anal – male owner specifically licks his finger to pick up loose crumbs after the floors have been washed by hand. Open floor plan designed with an open mind. Although the love put into the home does not come with the purchase of the house, current owners anticipate that they’ll leave some remnants behind.

Now THAT is the kind of home that inspires you to buy expensive shoes and dance around with an overpriced latte - PRICELESS.

Next time, I'm bringing my cousin, Vinny.

It’s official. I’m a criminal. Although I won’t be making a cameo on Locked Up, I was forced to plead guilty to speeding to be granted court supervision and to have the FAULTY ticket wiped from my record. My other option was to speak the truth, plead not guilty and have to somehow convince the judge that a law enforcement official was wrong. I didn’t technically have real evidence, every one BUT me seemed to have some kind of legal representation speaking on their behalf and the judge reminded me of the “Judy’ variety, so I swallowed my pride, took the guilty verdict and ran…

Well, actually, I was forced to run and then stand in a line for an hour to pay for my court costs. Hopefully that money will be put towards a green initiative so at least this horrid experience contributed to the planting of a tree. And if I ever find out what tree that is, I’m going to saw it down and spit on it… the innocent never rest!

So to ensure that this traumatic experience wasn’t a TOTAL waste of my time, I thought I would outline a few interesting observations about the Cook County court system for your reading pleasure:

-- Apparently only men have to take off their belts in a security line, not women… I would think that everyone should just keep their belts on to avoid gang whippings and pants droppings.

-- They have bars of soap in the bathroom… bars. Nothing says cesspool like a used piece of soap that has been manhandled by criminals… after seeing the dingy bar of soap lying on the counter, I decided that I rather get a bladder infection than use the restroom.

-- Alleged criminals also come in all shapes and sizes… AND outfits. I saw everything from ripped jeans to hooded sweatshirts to pleather. I was probably the best dressed “civilian” and could have passed for a lawyer... if only I thought to approach the bench as “Stejamoe’s Legal Counsel.” Hindsight is always 20/20.

-- The court system takes cash, check AND credit – I charged my court fees… I wonder if the Discover Network will ever have a “criminal month” where they give you extra cash back for all legal-related purchases.

-- Vinny Gambini's character is based solely on FACT.

I hope to never step foot in that court house again and I plan on going 2 mph UNDER the speed limit moving forward. After this experience, I’m now completely okay with people passing me as I inch towards my destination. I’m willing to do anything to avoid another unjust confrontation with Officer Nasty, but if I’m ever forced to fight for my innocence again, I’m calling Joe Pesci to see if he's available to represent me.

Stejamoe Locked Up

I have to admit that I’m a little weird when it comes to what kind of TV shows I like to watch. I’m definitely not the kind of gal who gets into series or sitcoms. I don’t watch the Hills religiously like so many other 20 something females do nor do I set aside time every week for Gossip Girl. I don’t even have a “regular” show I watch every week and am perfectly happy to catch up on the Real World during a weekend marathon.

However, the one show that I do try to catch is MSNBC’s Locked Up. For those of you not well versed in cable news shows, Locked Up is a documentary series that profiles different state prisons and prisoners.

Before we go any further, yes, I HATE scary movies, I close my eyes during the Sarah McLaughlin’s “save the animals” commercial because the images are too painful and I also jump at any and all loud noises. But there is something about Locked Up that I love. I find it fascinating. Maybe it’s because the show is more about the human mind than violence. You’ll rarely see anything graphic; it’s all about getting to know what goes through the mind of a sociopathic killer or how prison guards learn to deal with complex workings of gang rituals. You can’t make this kind of stuff up, people!

Perhaps I feel protected by the barrier of my TV screen as I get reeled in by an interview with a crazy convict who burned off his left hand during a meth lab debacle and can’t be confined by traditional handcuffs anymore… I know, disgusting, but for some reason I rather watch one hand Willy talk about his motivation to sell drugs than hear the constant whining of Meredith on Grey’s Anatomy.

But now the distant stories of Locked Up aren’t so distant. I find myself facing the law and will be going to court tomorrow. In less than 24 hours, I could very likely be on the other side of the TV screen being interviewed by MSNBC, wearing an orange jump suit, black colored pencil for eyeliner and coffee grounds mixed with toothpaste for mascara (women do that in prison, you know… at least the knowledge I’ve garnered from Locked Up will make me look like I have some street cred).

No, I didn’t murder my mom’s ex-husband’s girlfriend. I didn’t get caught cookin’ up meth in the basement of my grandma’s house. I also didn’t shank anyone in my office, although the confines of this cubicle could get to me one day. I was allegedly caught speeding and received my FIRST citation. Take that, one handed meth man!!!

I use the word “allegedly” because like all good criminals, you never confess to your charges… however, this criminal was actually NOT speeding and was the unlucky car to get plucked away from a group of speeding SUVs late at night.

Long story short, I was given a ticket that wasn’t meant for me and my once perfectly clean driving record was put at risk and still remains in limbo. I have never even been pulled over before and my right leg is still trembling with fear from the experience that happened more than a month and a half ago.

The officer who issued me a ticket was a bitter female and until this experience I actually gave credit to those who serve our streets, but this lady has forever made me skeptical of the law. She was out for blood that night and she preyed of me and my adorable SUV stuffed with my adorable fiancé and adorable best friend on way to get pizza for a night in… how adorable. I have a feeling this adorable factor only made the officer angrier as she was plagued with a mild case of acne and wearing a not so cute uniform that did nothing for her figure.

Knowing for a fact that I was NOT speeding, I couldn’t help but to fight for my freedom and now will face the court tomorrow. I will have evidence, witnesses and my cunning to guide me through the process and only hope I come out to see the light of day. If not, I will use my Locked Up know how to survive the slammer.

And yes, while I may not be guilty of speeding, I AM guilty of being dramatic. But that’s why you love me.

I have a "fat" personality.

So I’m feeling pretty good since my last “Richard Simmons” post and hoping that as I begin to see friends and family for wedding related activities, they’ll notice my svelte new figure.

However, I’m reminded that people always remember me as “fat” so no matter how much weight I lose, I’ll always look thinner to those who don’t see me often. And when I say “those who don’t see me often” I’m not referring to my great aunt in Arizona who last saw me when I was 12 and definitely an unfortunately chubby pre-teen. I’m talking about those friends that you maybe don’t see for a month at a time… hardly a time lapse and hardly enough time to lose or gain so much weight that’s its immediately noticeable unless you greet your friends naked every time you see them.

So I’m convinced that I have a “fat personality.” And when I say “fat” I’m not referring to the 900 pound man who regularly gets featured on TLC specials. In this case, “fat” simply refers to any size larger than I actually am.

This whole phenomenon started with I returned from freshman year of college for Thanksgiving break. First, I’m shocked that I did NOT gain weight that first year of college… I sat on my butt almost all day eating Teddy Grahams and watching daytime TV. Neither my brain nor my body got much exercise that year.

Anywho, when I saw my old high school buddies for the first time in a few months everyone commented on how “great” I looked and that I must have lost weight. Knowing that I truly didn’t lose a pound, I figured I must have looked so good because so many other people looked so bad. Apparently Teddy Grahams and daytime TV took a toll on some.

But then I would come back to college after a week long break and my college mates would comment that I looked thinner. Hmmm… these are the same people I practically drank ranch dressing with on daily basis, so they were far more familiar with my size and body, but without fail, they said I looked “better” when I came back from long breaks.

This cycle continued all four years of my college experience and it follows me to this day. If someone doesn’t see me for a few weeks, I guess I shouldn’t question why they say I look thinner because what girl doesn’t like to be told she looks slim?! I’ll take what I can get.

But flattery aside, this is truly a confusing phenomenon. Then I finally figured it out – I have a “fat personality.” I’m constantly smiling, joking and laughing… I’m jovial, if you will. Santa is also jovial. The Pillsbury Dough Boy also tends to giggle a lot. Ironic? I think not.

I think I just happen to possess certain traits that leave a “hefty” memory of me in peoples’ minds. There is no other explanation. And if I had to choose what size people remember me being, I guess I’d go with a chubbier version of myself because I equate a few extra pounds to the robustness of my personality. People don’t want to mess with the strength of a full bodied woman that they remember me being even when they are reminded later in-person that I’m actually a half-full bodied woman.

So as I prepare to meet and greet people for all my upcoming wedding shenanigans, I guess I’ll have to be prepared to accept my “fat personality” and instead of saying, “no, I haven’t really lost any weight” in response to the “you look thinner” remark, I’m going to say, “why yes, I’ve been training with Romanian body builders and climbing mountains in my spare time – thanks for noticing.”

At the end of the day, it is all about how you act, not how you look. I’m going to strive to keep putting quality pounds onto my personality and embrace my larger self because that version of me is who people love to remember and who they love to see regardless of what the scale says.

What size does your personality leave on someone’s mind?