Blogging world, please meet and welcome your newest tiny member!
His name is Dylan and he’s perfect.
I’m due today.
Well, actually, you’re due.
To come out.
We really can’t wait to meet you
Even though I feel like I know you already
You dance and hiccup and kick
And squirm your way up under my ribcage on the right side
You test the boundaries of your squishy little world
I can’t wait to show you my world
We’ve had our bags packed for weeks
We pretend to be ready, but we’re really not
Don’t worry, though, cuz we can’t wait to love you
and squish you
and pinch your little fat rolls
and sing you to sleep.
I don’t know what’s going to happen
And that’s pretty scary for me
So if you know, please tell me
Otherwise, we’ll just figure things out
as we go.
So get here soon
If you only knew the joy that is waiting for you
But then again, maybe you do
because how could you not?
So what are you waiting for
Come on out
So I can love you more
Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap
Last Thursday, Brian and I got to have a mini wedding redo, and it was pretty amazing.
But first – a HUGE shout-out and THANK YOU to everyone who read my Freshly Pressed post, new followers (henceforth called Psychos), and especially everyone who left a supportive comment. It really meant a lot to know that I wasn’t alone in my post-wedding grief.
During our wedding, as soon as my photographer realized how sick I was, she told me not to worry, that we would come back and take pictures at some later date, and I am so thankful she told me that right away, because then I could focus on just getting through the wedding knowing we’d (Brian and I) have a bit of a second chance.
I took a few hours off work so that I could get myself all pretty and ready for the photo shoot. Soon after the wedding, I had chopped all my hair off, and it was fun for me to play around with my new ‘do and get all dolled up.
I pinned the same ivory lace that had been in my hair for the wedding up under my curls so that it peeked out. I wore the same pearl earrings my parents gave me for Christmas. I affixed the same fake eyelashes, with some difficulty and perhaps a few swear words.
I was worried about how I would feel once I got my dress back on. First of all, I was a tiny bit worried that my dress wouldn’t zip – it was tight to begin with and I didn’t hold back on those cruise buffets and dessert menus – but mostly I was worried that I would just burst into tears and cry my eyelashes off.
The whole process of getting ready was actually very sweet. Brian and I didn’t see each other on our wedding day until I was actually walking down the aisle, and for this redo we got to be with each other and help each other get ready. Brian had to help me step into my dress and hook me up in the back, and while this was the reverse of what our wedding night should have been, I enjoyed the experience.
And don’t worry, cuz the dress fit just fine, and I didn’t burst into tears. I was actually…excited. I was happy to get to wear my dress again, I was happy to get my picture taken again, and I was so relieved that it was just going to be us. No family, no vendors, no pressure, no distractions.
We drove back out into the country to the wedding venue, and we commented on how much we love those surroundings, and how freaking beautiful our wedding venue is. My dress was stuffed into the car all around me, and we had the AC blasting up my skirt. It was like sitting on a fluffy, scratchy, but beautiful cloud.
We had a lot of fun during the quick photo shoot. We got driven to the hilltop in a red convertible Cadillac and had our picture taken under the oak tree as the sun grazed the top of the surrounding hills. We brought ice cream and sprinkles in a cooler and had the photographer get shots of us feeding each other ice cream. We were just going to dance to our first dance song playing on my iphone when a staff person offered to plug it into their sound system. As soon as “Come Away With Me” by Norah Jones came on, tears filled my eyes. Those few moments we twirled around in circles really meant a lot to me, and to Brian. That song was the first song to which we ever danced, back on our 3rd date 10 years ago.
After the shoot was finished, we decided to continue our mini celebration and we went out for drinks in a local restaurant. Between the car and the restaurant, we heard no fewer than 10 cries of “Congratulations!” yelled from cars, passers by, and other diners. That recognition and joy made me feel so good. It reminded me how captivated I am by weddings in general, that I can’t help but stop and stare when I see two people starting the rest of their lives with such love, joy, and hope for the future. I wonder if these people felt the same way towards us?
We ordered our drinks and sat down outside near the live band that was playing, and we just chatted and took in the scenery, beaming at each other like…two kids in love with alcohol in their systems.
The band was awesome, by the way. They played some current covers, and some originals, and they played all the music to Super Mario Bros on electric guitar. FTW. And then I heard the beginnings of “At Last,” and the lead singer said, “This one’s for you two” looking straight at us. We did what any normal, intoxicated, in-love couple would do and we got up and danced. It was so lovely, I can’t even describe it. I do remember whispering to Brian, “This is what therapists call a corrective experience!” and he laughed because I am a huge nerd…and he’s stuck with me now.
After a while, we got up to leave – it was a school night, after all – and after we made our way between all the tables, applause broke out amongst most of the restaurant-goers. I broke into a smile and gave a curtsy before we left and headed to the car.
I am very, very thankful we got to have that little redo. It did wonders for my mood and how I feel about the wedding overall. It gave me some closure and now we get to move on to much more important and happier things.
Ten years ago today, I was nervous. I was excited. I didn’t know what was going to happen.
Ten years ago today, it was a Saturday. I had just asked you out the day before and today was the day – our first date.
Ten years ago today, we had ice cream together. We walked and talked and I didn’t want the night to end, and neither did you, so I guess it really never did.
I can’t believe how fast these ten years have flown by. We’ve grown up together, and I can’t imagine my life without you. It’s like that lyric from that one Jewel song: you make the world make sense.
One week from today, we’re going to get married!
One week from today, we’re going to pledge to keep walking and talking because we don’t want this awesomeness to end…ever.
One week from today, I’m probably going to be nervous. I’ll be excited! And I don’t know what’s going to happen.
But whatever happens, I wanna be there with you. Eating ice cream.
The day has come, Psychos, and I just had to change my pants because I am so excited!
Thank you, THANK YOU to everyone who expressed interest in becoming a part of Shirtless Ryan Gosling’s and my special online day! Y’all make me feel special and loved…even more so than Ryan does, which is pretty hard to beat because his photoshopped abs are out of this world.
Now, I’m sure you’re all changing your pants as you read this because you’re dying to know who made the cut.
Well, I’m in the business of making people feel better, and so there’s no way I’d deny anyone the pleasure of taking part in two sexy souls becoming one unstoppable love factory.
Which means…all of you beautiful people who sent me applications in the form of prose, pictures, and babies covered in bacon…y’all win!
The following are everyone’s entries for roles in the wedding party…when the word party is used as loosely as possible.
Matron of Honor - Emily from The Waiting
If you missed her post from yesterday, I highly recommend you go back and read it. Because of her, my inhibitions have been dangerously lowered by cardboard flavored wine and I am armed with copious amounts of mace. Look out, Rachel McAdams! (only I love you and kinda want to be you…so just be nice to me and pretend to rub your eyes while you roll around the ground in agony.)
Officiant - Jen and Tonic
Bouquet Toss Maniac - Quirky Chrissy
Not only did Chrissy write her own post about joining the Shirtless family, but she also sent me photographic evidence as to why she’s a maniac, maniac…on the floor.
Bouquet Toss Girl - mysweatyshirt
Sweaty, you’ll have to duke it out with Chrissy. May the best crazy person win!
Crazy Bridesmaid - Amb from Words Become Superfluous
Combination Florist/Flower Girl - Katie from Words for Worms
If you missed Katie’s post desperately vying to heal childhood trauma by becoming my florist slash flower girl, better go take a looksee.
Plus, she’s adorable:
Can’t wait to see you coming down the aisle!
Wedding Planner - Speaker7
Okay–get ready for your socks to be knocked off and flung into the stratosphere. This is why I am the only wedding planner you should have.
First look at this cake I scored:
Then I found the perfect bride/groom outfit combo:
That’s all you need, yes?
Your wedding planner,
Indeed, you nailed it. I want that cake in my mouth. And it’s like those leotards were…meant to fit together.
Photographer - Sara from Laments and Lullabies
I want to take pictures at your wedding because I have an excuse to get drunk in heels. That’s right, I’ll get myself fancy for your wedding time with RG.
It would please me greatly to snap pictures of drunk babies.
It would please me greatly to snap pics of you being hilarious and sexy at the same time.
I want to touch Shirtless RG on the pecs.
Sorry about that last bit. Just slipped out.
I can make gifs. No wedding is complete without gifs.
Will work for beer and the opportunity to touch pecs.
Saradraws of Laments and lullabies.
Touch him and die. Waiting for some gifs!
The B-list friend - The Cutter
I’d like to be the B-List friend who you didn’t want to invite, but also didn’t want to offend, and you figured I “wouldn’t show up anyway.” And so I get placed at the oddball table in the back corner.
The Narrator - El Guapo
I’d like the role of narrator (or soundman) for the crew fiming this as an episode of the reality show “Don’t you wish you were having this much fun???”
Rapping Granny - calahan
I want to be the rapping granny that entertains at the reception party.
(in response) The Waiting – You will be paid in meatballs. That OK?
Not those Swedish ones, though. As an elderly person, I am slightly racist and the Swedes are scum.
Drunk Ex-Girlfriend - Pixie Girl
Love the idea but I wanted to marry Ryan Gosling! Is there another non-shirtless option available, and also so that I can still stay married to my husband?
Also, I would make an awesome therapist, but I fear I’d lead to your divorce so I can get my paws on Ryan. So perhaps I’d be better as a drunk ex-girlfriend-turned-co-worker who would use the mike-plus-knife opportunity to keep everyone hostage until they hear her drunken story?
Under no circumstances can you have Ryan, with or without his shirt. If I suspect foul play, you’re out.
Sexy Maid - renxkyoko
I want to cosplay and be the sexy maid in uniform at the wedding reception.
I hope you plan to bus the tables! I plan to drop my fork…a lot.
Body Painter - TGVA
I would like to be the fashionista dictator and painter of the bride. Seeing how the man to be is shirtless, the bride will also be shirtless. Please don’t get all upset or offended as the bride to be will sport body paint!!! Some lovely lines on the lovely lines with an artistic flair thanks to ME! . hmmmm????
Mega points for creativity. My boobs really need to be made into fine art.
Drunk Wedding-hater - nevercontrary
I dislike being in weddings so I would like to get drunk on my favorite drink crown and attend this wedding. I will be sitting in the back wearing black and throwing popcorn.
Only if I can catch some popcorn in my mouth.
Baker - Melissa
I see you don’t have a baker… so I nominate myself as your official online-wedding-baker. Will and Kate cake ain’t got nothin’ on this shiz… because it’s cupcakes frosted in dreams, wishes, and baby tears. Too much? Fine, chocolate is good too.
Let me know if I can link to you…because I want this cake in my mouth yesterday.
Wedding Favors - Last, but oh so not least…Le Clown has offered up some extremely sexy wedding favors for y’all.
I am offering my candidacy as the official virtual party favors for Ryan and Lyssa’s wedding. Why?
1. Ryan is Canadian—so is Le Clown;
2. Ryan is magnificently™ hot—so is Le Clown;
3. Ryan has a six pack—so does Le Clown’s naked figurine (not to be confused with the real Le Clown who sports the one-ab™);
4. Le Clown has a crush on Ryan—but that is a whole other story;
5. Le Clown is French Canadian—therefore the ambassador of love;
6. [Insert something about Lyssa];
7. Le Clown believes in self-promotion—please follow my blog.
8. Le Clown is eco-sensitive—you don’t have to print this e-party favor if you care about mother Earth.
9. Fuck you, Eva Mendes.
6. Fuck you.
9. I couldn’t agree more.
And that, my Psychos, is the wedding party!
This is better than eloping!
Hello my wedding-enthused Psychos!
Neither do I.
Now that I have sobered up, keep your glassy, dilated-in-the-presence-of-true-love eyeballs peeled for the big reveal of which esteemed bloggers earned coveted roles in the online wedding to end all online weddings….coming tomorrow!
But first, here’s a word (or 698) from my online Matron of Honor, Emily from The Waiting.
Dearly Beloved and Psychos,
We are gathered here today to get through this little thing called life.
Wait. I am not Prince. Dammit. I am always thinking that I am Prince. I blame it on the raspberry beret I found at a second hand store. And the pills.
I was honored when Lyssa invited me to be her online matron of honor, and by “invited” I mean patted me on my head as I strong-armed my way into her wedding and insisted I AM THE MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL THE PEOPLE. I knew immediately that she was a real friend because she humored me in my ill attempts to make her wedding all about me. Me me me me MEEEEE.
But today, I suppose I have to actually do something for her as she prepares for her walk down the aisle. Come with me as I take a trip to Target – AKA the Mothership – to buy all the very necessary items both a bride and a matron of honor need to make it through the big day.
1. Boxed Wine
Because we are classy gals who live it up in the classiest ways available, I will be bypassing Milwaukee’s Finest and purchasing the choicest box of Chardonnay available for Lyssa. We’ll shoot it back with Dixie Cups right before the ceremony. What is a wedding without inebriation? That was not a rhetorical question. Put your best punchline in the comments.
2. A Sewing Kit
Here in Irony World, we spend three month’s salaries on a dress we will only wear once. Said dress was fashioned out of tissue paper and that gauzey spiderweb netting you see around Halloween at Dollar Tree. So I’ll be bringing along a little sewing kit to remedy any snafus that may occur prior to the ceremony. My girl Lyssa needs to look good. She will not walk down the aisle to an awaiting Shirtless Ryan Gosling with a missing sleeve.
Murphy’s Law is the prevailing law of wedding days. On my own wedding night, I sliced my toe open on a broken bottle of champagne and had to phone my own maid of honor to deliver us a giant box of bandages and Neosporin. I think the word you’re looking for is “sexy.” Screw something borrowed; I’ll be setting Mrs. Shirtless Gosling up with a fully-stocked first aid kit to remedy any paper cuts she may incur from rogue wedding invitations.
I am anticipating a lot of jilted ex-lovers of Shirtless Ryan Gosling showing up on the day of the wedding. Therefore, I will be arming myself with a giant can of mace to show them who’s boss. Lyssa will likely already have a katana sword with her on the big day, because, y’know, LYSSA. Mace will also come in handy in case the chicken being served at the reception is a bit underseasoned. Two years in fine dining taught me how to spruce up an entree in a pinch. Lyssa is so lucky to have me.
5. Beef Jerky
The one thing they don’t tell you before you get married is that it’s really hard to get food in your facehole on the big day. You are too busy posing for pictures, gettin’ your hair did, and pretending to care about makeup to actually eat something. So by the time the day is over and it’s time to get your groove on with your hubs (AND celebrate the fact that you can now use the term “hubs” to refer to him because we all know what a winner that term of endearment is, amiright?), your blood sugar levels have dipped so low that you barely have enough energy to extrapolate yourself out of your dress, much less make sexy time. So what better way to ensure that Lyssa will have the energy to make a man out of SRG than to fill her up with dehydrated meat throughout the day? That’s as filthy as it sounds.
May Lyssa and Shirtless Ryan Gosling have a wonderful day and lifetime filled with love and shirtlessness.
Forever and ever, Amen.
Turns out that a lot of the aspects of planning a wedding are really awkward. I already wrote about how awkward it was trying on wedding dresses. Now I am going to write about getting your lovey-dovey picture taken.
I am one of those people who actually loves getting my picture taken. Ever since I was little, I’ve been a ham (hard to believe, I know). I actually have very few pictures of me taken where I am smiling like a normal person, because whenever I see a camera I tend to do the over-the-top imsoexcitedtobehereanditookmymethtoday pose. I think I’ve got that one down.
Let it be known that the above three pictures were not hard to find. Quite the opposite – I had to choose my three faves amongst the ample caffine-induced euphoria (or irritability as the case may be).
Since we decided it would’ve been too much work to have our wedding at the summer camp where we met and fell in love – cue fireworks and rainbows – we were very happy that our photog agreed to make the drive down to the Bay Area so we could have our engagement session be shot at camp. Huzzah!
The weather was amazing for the middle of January – sunny and not very cold at all. Couldn’t have asked for better circumstances. White Baby Jesus was looking down on us that day.
Our photographer told us to bring a lot of stuff. Makeup, lotion, hairbrush, and different changes of clothes. Never having had a real strike-a-pose onsite photo shoot before, Brian and I filled our car with the contents of about half our closets. Oh, and we brought our bikes, since biking is one of our favorite past times and our photog thought that would make for some great shots.
So picture a little Civic filled to the brim with clothes, shoes, and makeup bags, complete with two bikes on the back. It looked like we were moving out.
Best part – we used maybe 5% of the crap we brought.
It was kind of ridiculous.
But we’re totally in love, so it’s ok.
Let’s just get right to it – posing for engagement photographs in front of a stranger and in public is weird.
Our first stop was in the ice cream shop where Brian and I had our first date – cue fireworks and rainbows. We were told to “snuggle” and “cuddle” and “make lovey-eyes” at each other. And then the photographer stood on the table to get a better angle (because bird’s eye view is apparently where it’s at these days).
We ran out of there before the owners could ask us to leave.
We got to camp and started posing with soakem balls (I’ll refrain from making a ball joke here – soakem is the exact same game they play in the movie Dodgeball). This is more like it, I thought as I pelted Brian with brightly colored, enflamed clown testicles (zing!).
But then – Brian, I want you to chase Melissa, catch her, and then swing her around! the photographer said. Long story short, we couldn’t get through that part of the shoot without drawing blood. My blood. If Brian had been a sparkly vampire, our love palace would have come crashing down. In other words, I think this photo shoot was making us question the status of our relationship.
As if we weren’t being tested with hot enough coals, we were then asked to ride our bikes up a hill, slowly, and as closely together as possible, all while smiling at a camera, and looking gloriously in love…without falling off. Capturing love on camera was harder than I thought! Cary Elwes and Robin Wright made it look so easy! …maybe it would’ve been a whole lot easier to put Brian in a black mask and then shove him down a hill. Mental note for next time.
I think the best part of the whole day was watching our photographer – after she stressed to us that she was an “indoor girl” – roll around on the ground and get leaves all up in her hair just so she could get that perfect shot of the flappy skin under our chins. That’s true dedication to a craft, my friends.
Here’s a little peek at how we looked when told to “dear nuzzle” and “stop grabbing Brian’s ass.”
I think the day was quite successful (minus the blood loss).
I look over at the kitchen table, which has become Wedding Central over the past several months, piled high with brochures, copies of contracts, and color swatches.
Me to Brian: Hey, what is this stuff?
(I am pointing to a book and a hat that doesn’t belong in Wedding Central.)
Brian: That’s my Lance Armstrong stuff that I want to get rid of, but can’t decide exactly what to do with it.
Me: Well, it’s tainting our wedding stuff. Move it.
Brian: By “tainting” do you mean getting ridiculously buff, winning, and then lying about it?
Me: ….no. TAINTING. Like, making it dirty.
Brian: Don’t talk about dirty taints.
Me: If we end up getting divorced, I’m blaming Lance. Also, this goes on the blog.
Brian: Fair enough.
In other news, I was adding the tags to this post, and I actually had to ask Brian, “since this post talks about taint so much, does that qualify as a poop joke?”
His answer: “close enough.”
The Bachelor and Bachelorette are two shows that make up the putrid, pink-goo-filled meat in my steady diet of crap from the boob tube.
I have a wonderfully unbalanced relationship with these shows: I yell at the contestants exactly how I can’t and don’t want to yell at work or at family, and they can’t yell back. Or rip out my hair. Or talk about me behind my back to the cameras. Or rip out my hair.
In my careful scrutiny of these shows, I have made some very important observations. First, these are some pretty spoiled bitches. The hardest part for me is watching these squawking chickens get to travel to amazing places while I’m still sitting on my ass in my living room, covered in sticky cheesyblaster residue. Second, unlike said bitches, I have trouble forcing myself to be attracted to this season’s bachelor, who I’ve decided is a poor woman’s version of Josh Groban (Look him up. This Ben guy either needs to wash and cut his hair or learn to sing like an angel sent from heaven to even begin to compare.). Third, they sure do repeat a lot of the same mindless phrases on these shows. In fact, it’s almost like they are acting out some type of script…fulfilling some bimbo destiny set out for them in the bachelor world of fakey fake fakeness.
Now, following all this fakeness can get really tricky. Especially if you watch it with a
glass bottle of wine after a long day of listening to other people’s problems. But never fear, I am here to demystify all the cray-cray language for you. Read on.
“Looking for love”
Apparently people go on The Bachelor to find love in a similar way people might embark on a mission to find their missing car keys. I want to find love, for I have misplaced it! Could it be between the couch cushions, by chance?
“Here for the right reasons”
The reasons implied here refer to the first quote of looking for love. If you do anything except a good job pretending to look for love on this show, then you’ll get called out by fellow contestants. Cat fight ensues. Might I suggest widening this rather narrow definition of right reasons for going on national television to speed date, makeout on camera, and reveal all your personal dating history that no one gives a shit about? How about – 1. get to see the world on ABC’s dime, 2. stay in posh digs, and 3. all the booze you can drink (as there is rarely a scene on this show without it). Hells yeah. Bring on that cat fight. Remind me to pack the brass knuckles.
The Bachelor is constantly asking the ladies to ‘open up’ and tell every detail of their lives and to be vulnerable about it. I imagine that about once a week the contestants get pulled into a room with the producers and hear the following: spill your guts, and quickly! You’re not doing it fast enough! Not gutsy enough! Must have better ratings, juicier details! Cry me a river, damnit! My advice: handle with care. I’m not sure these desperate, attention-seeking ladies can turn off the crazy once the flood gates have been opened. Whoosh.
“Will you accept this rose?”
Only if you’ll accept my methamphetamine addiction.