Longtime paint admirer, first-time painter

Paint, man. Who knew? I mean, I guess I've read other places about the transformative power of enhanced wall shades, but this weekend I LIVED it.

We don't have internet at the new place and I don't have a lot of time at this here local coffee shop, so instead of pontificating I'll let you gaze in awe at the pictoral documentation of my new love affair with Messrs Behr and Valspar.

Bedroom before. (Please note the bomb quilt courtesy of a dear family friend in honor of our nups.)

Bedroom after. (Please note how well the colors of our kebaba work with the quilt.)

Bathroom before. (Please note how this yellow color induces thoughts of vomit and hospitals.)

Bathroom after. (Please note how much more Dude likes doing his hairs when he is not reminded of puke.)

Living room before. (Please note our adorable chimney.)

Living room after. (Please note how perfectly my bouquet fits into the nook in said chimney.)

Another view of the living room.

I'll wait to show you the kitchen/dining room pictures until we've eradicated every last smudge of the color I imagine was marketed "Where Happy Goes to Die."

Well on my way to cube butt

In the past few weeks my eating habits have dramatically changed. When I was unemployed I typically had "brunch" of a fried egg on an English muffin at 10:30 or so, a handful of soynuts in the afternoon, and dinner of spaghetti with tomatoes, basil and olive oil or a bowlful of edamame. I also tried to take a 20-30 minute walk at least once a day.

Since I've started working I've had breakfast at 7 a.m. and am starving by the time 10:00 rolls around. I'm starving again at noon, feel like I'm about to nod off from 2-3:30, starving once more at 3:30, and start grazing as soon as I plop back on my couch at 6:00. It doesn't help that I've been fraternizing in restaurants and bars all over St. Paul, and chowing down on chips and fries like it's my job. I'm tired all the time and I've gone from the low end of my "normal" weight range to its very peak. In two weeks.

Obvi, I'm doing this wrong and need to adjust my habits to my new lifestyle.

Exercise will be a big piece of it, once we move and enroll in the neighborhood gym. My new health insurance gives me a break on gym membership if I go at least three times a week, which is a grand incentive to get ovah there. I'm thinking that increased exercise will also give me the energy I've been missing. One thing I've started this week that seems to work really well is bringing my breakfast to work and eating it here at 9:00 or so, which precludes the need for the morning snack. I've also begun telling my tummy, "You're full of lies! You're just bored!" when it starts to grumble in earnest.

Do you have any other tips to boost energy and sate rabid workday hunger so as to avoid the flattened derriere so popular with today's office workers? 

Non-criminal paint chip use

"At least we know that we can take as many of these as we want," the MIL told me as we browsed Lowe's paint chip selection. We definitely abused that privilege a few months ago when we were stuffing dozens of purple, pink, green and gray selections into our bags for use as escort cards.

But we were actually there for a legit reason this time-- Dude and I are moving into our cozy little abode this week, where everything is adorable but for the putrid yellow gracing the walls. I've never done much, decoration-wise, to anyplace I've ever lived. My apartments are always a jumbled mish-mash of others' cast-offs and it's never really bothered me. But religiously reading my friend Molly's home design blog and hearing of my other friends' Adventures in Home Ownership have convinced me that puke yellow just will not DO.

It's impossible to get an accurate photo of the colors, but we're looking at shades of gray-green for the living room and dining room/kitchen, with a crazy bright red for the bathroom and possibly an accent wall in the bedroom.

We have so much beautiful wall art from the wedding... it needs an equally beautiful backdrop.

Excuse the dust

As with most other transitions in my life, my shift from unemployed bride-to-be to married breadwinner has struck me wordless. (Perhaps you will recall my three-week writer's block drought when I eased from globe-trotting gallivanter to unemployed bride-to-be this May-June.) Once again, my current life bears little resemblance to what it was but a few weeks ago-- the crafting-maniac-emotional-wreck-thin-for-no-good-reason Neenuh of yore is now perpetually-tired-and-slightly-plump-working-gal.

My transitions aren't quite complete; I still need to officially change my name in various places and move into an apartment with the Dude in a week. Once that's all settled my life could be pretty static for awhile... years, even. I don't anticipate many changes until we decide to add to our family.

Dude says we're not allowed to procreate until we can keep a plant alive for a year, so that could be awhile.

Please excuse the dust as I try to figure out what Neenuh G likes to write about.

I'll be you today tomorrow

The roommate and I have equal but opposite problems with our clothes. My pants are often too long where hers are too short. Sometimes her sleeves don't quite cover her wrists and the tail of the shirt hovers dangerously high on her torso, while I swim in sleeves and have shirts that seem to go on for days (my body goes from shoulders to hips in short order).

We discovered the kismet of our body issues last night while preparing for a clothing swap we're hosting. I discarded a pair of too-long Hudson jeans that I've been trying to make work (unsuccessfully) for years that ended up being the best-fitting pair that have ever graced her booty. She countered with a beautiful navy silk Banana Republic dress that she's worn but a handful of times because it's way too short on her lady long legs, but fit mine like a dream. I pranced around in that thing for a good 20 minutes.

The two of us have been blending our wardrobes all week long. Manders, who rarely dons dresses, has been sporting my frocks (with leggings under them) to the rave reviews and astonishment of her colleagues. "They don't know what to DO with me!" she exclaimed. My new coworkers don't know any better than to think I'm all class with the addition of Manders' skirts, belts and blazers (with the sleeves rolled up).

I keep seeing her glamazon around in my duds and then insist on wearing them the next day. I get a bit disappointed in my un-limby-ness, but it's all good.

Don't get me wrong; I'm over the moon to be living in the same city as the Dude next month, but gee... if only he were my dress size.

Neither here nor there

As I filled out a sheaf of paperwork at my new job today, I realized there's a lot of major details in my life that are fuzzy. What's my name? Where do I live? Am I the head of household? Who do I want to give incentive to off me?

If you ask the first question of different governmental agencies you'll get different answers. The Social Security Administration knows I'm Neenuh G, but according to my driver's license and my bank I'm still Neenuh P-P. I'm waiting to get a new license until I move to my new address, and I'm waiting to tell my bank I've been nupped until I have an ID to prove it.

All my new benefits providers want to know where to find me, so I put down the address of my current abode--the home of my lovely star-crossed roommate-- but had to add a sticky note on each form warning that in three weeks' time that will no longer be chez moi.

There's a whole new set of boxes to check for marrieds. Dude and I didn't really discuss if we're going to be married filed jointly or married filed separately. I suppose in the spirit of joining two hearts into one we should do the same with our tax returns, right? 

Then I went through the icky mental process of deciding who gets to cash in on my big bucks life insurance policy if I get dead. The Dude is the first beneficiary, obvi, but one has to choose secondary beneficiaries just in case the first gets dead as well. Isn't this the basic premise of several murder mysteries? And Glensheen Mansion?

Wedding Vendor Reviews Part 1: The Duds

My Dress: David's Bridal lace cap-sleeved trumpet with keyhole back and sash in ivory.

Photo by Ali Haupt

My Shoes: David's Bridal Maribelle shoes in watermelon

Photo by Ali Haupt

Review: I went to David's Bridal in Oregon a few weeks after getting engaged. I wasn't intending to buy anything; it was just a trip to see what style looked good on my body. Since I knew I didn't want to go strapless, my options were narrowed considerably. This was the third dress I tried on, and it was abundantly clear that it was THE dress. The price was also several thousand dollars less than what Say Yes to the Dress had led me to expect to pay. David's is no Kleinfeld's, but I received pretty good treatment while there. 4 stars.

Alterations: Carole Bruns in Uptown

Review: My alterations (hem, bra cups, taking in the sides, bustle) were about $50 less here than they would have been at David's. I also really liked supporting a local, independent business. You may have to call to check on your dress, but they got mine back to me within two weeks and were very good about letting me try it on as many times as I wanted to. 4.5 stars.

My hairpieces: Birdcage veil borrowed from Molly, feather and fabric flower fascinator fashioned by the MIL and me.

Photo by Ali Haupt

My jewels: My grandmother's pearl necklace, gold and pearl earrings, both borrowed from my aunt Mary Ellen.

Photo by Ali Haupt

Review: I had my eye on an $80 birdcage veil-feather combo at David's, but this was much more economical. The two ended up working perfectly with the style of my dress. Crafting triumphs over all! I also really loved wearing family jewels-- I tried to incorporate elements throughout the wedding that paid tribute to my dearly departed grandparents. 80 stars.

Bridesmaid Dresses: Flutter Boutique in Uptown

Laurel was in Cynthia Rowley "8013" in Bordeaux Duchess Satin

Anna was in Jenny Yoo "Lucy" in Garnet Shantung

Aleta was in Priscilla of Boston "1507" in Watermelon Satin Yoryu

Amanda was in Simple Silhouettes "Buttercup" in Aubergine Shantung

Photo by Ali Haupt

Review: This was another unexpectedly fast trip-- we were in and out of there in about an hour. I had told the ladies I wanted them to choose their own dresses, and at that point I was thinking pomegranate as a color. They each ended up with a dress from a different designer, which meant different color palettes. We ordered two in purple and two in pink and I think the result was gorgeous. The staff was very professional and gave us our own private room to frolic around in as we decided on dresses. Word to the wise: if you're between sizes, go bigger. We learned from experience it's much easier to take in a dress than to let it out. 5 stars.

Maid of Honor dress: My fabulous Aunt Wendy sewed this using a Simplicity pattern

Photo by Ali Haupt

Review: Gorgeous!  10 billion stars!

The Tuxes: Bills Toggery in Shakopee Savvi Formal Wear Grey Kingston with ties and pocket squares in sangria or dark watermelon for the groomsmen and dads, ivory for the groom.

Photo by Ali Haupt

Review: Another great experience with a local company. We got the groom's tux free with the rental of five others, and they brought down their price to match what we would have gotten at a Savvi shop. They had a very fast turn-around when Dude needed his cuffs lengthened a smidge, and they assured us that had we had any wardrobe malfunctions on the day-of they could have swooped in and saved the day (a service which, thankfully, we didn't need). 5 stars. 

Flower Girl Dresses: David's Bridal
Abbie was in a bubble hem crinkle chiffon and charmeuse dress in lapis with a watermelon hair flower
Emma was in a plum satin tea-length ballgown with a watermelon sash
Libby was in a short cotton dress with ruching details in lapis with a watermelon hairband
Ellie was in a short cotton sateen strapless dress (that we added straps to) in lapis with a watermelon hairband

Photo by Ali Haupt

Review: We had a much better experience getting Abbie's dress at the David's in Duluth and Emma's in Richfield than getting Ellie's and Libby's in Roseville. At the latter we had good service trying dresses on, but then my dear aunt stood at the register for what felt like forever trying to get the dresses rung up and the appropriate discounts applied. 3 stars.

Rings: Security Jeweler's in Duluth
My ring is a flat-face white gold band
Matt's is a two-tone yellow and white gold band

Photo by Ali Haupt

Review: Owner Jack Seiler is a family friend and just a lovely man. He offers impeccable service and gives you all the information you need to help you decide. He engraved our rings with our initials and wedding dates for free. Highly, highly recommended. 5 stars.

Coming up in Part 2: Reviews of our dessert, DJ, draping and photography vendors

Five Bridal Tip to Ensure Wedding Bliss

5. It's unlikely to rain inside.

You can control a lot of things, but no matter how much money or clout you have you will not be able to control the weather. Why give yourself an aneurism obsessively checking the weather report? Especially if you live in the Midwest, do yourself a favor and plan to have your ceremony inside, where the hail, thunderstorms, excessive heat indices and tornadoes can't reach you (especially if you get married in a basement). 

4. Question the cake.

There are no rules. Just because a million people have done it one way doesn't mean that you have to. You don't need to send out save-the-dates. You don't need to spend a gazillion dollars on flowers that are just going to make you sneeze and then die (the flowers, that is... hopefully you wouldn't die). You don't need a rabbi and a priest if the priest is awesome and inclusive. You don't need a cathedral-length veil. YOU DON'T NEED A CAKE. All you need is you, your beloved and a selected few fam and friends. The end.

3. Know what you want.

I tried to be the opposite of a bridezilla, to the point where I was sometimes a bridemouse. When it came to things like bridesmaid dresses, I gave almost zero guidance. One of my first 'maid emails said, "Um, I'd be OK with rainbow dresses if you didn't want to wear the same colors! And, uh, choose whatever style you want!" It ended up working out in the end, and each bridesmaid did have her own style and color, but I'm sure it was frustrating for them to have nothing to go on. The key is to have a vision, but be flexible with that vision.

2. Use your peeps.

People really want to help you with wedding stuff. Take them up on it. Host crafting nights where you put together a hundred favor boxes in a single bound. Invite your melodious besties to belt out a tune at your ceremony. You are not in this alone.

1. Being a contributing member of society is over-rated.

I was unemployed for approximately 2.5 months before the wedding and two weeks afterward. The pre-wedding time was key for doing all the crafting and organizing and in-person stuff I couldn't readily do whilst abroad. It also meant I was able to have my wedding crazies in a safe, private space rather than the office. I've used the post-wedding time to bang out hundreds of outrageously prompt thank you notes, which gave me practice writing my new name over and over in the return address.

Wedding Cake, Before and After

One of the things I was 100% sure about when it came to wedding planning was that I did NOT want a big frou-frou wedding cake. I don't even like cake that much, and I definitely don't like frosting (I know, I know, I'm a robot, we've been over this).  We were going to have French macarons and everyone was just going to have to deal.

But somehow I got talked into having an 8-inch cake for Dude and me to cut into, because someone convinced me that that was an Important Thing. And our bakery, Sweets Bakeshop, came up with the adorable idea to have red ranunculus climb up it, just like our invitations.

Photo courtesy of Sarah Bauer.

The cake ended up on a table in the corner during the reception, which was just as well because people were going nuts for the macarons. NUTS! Dude and I shoved miniscule chunks of cream cheese-frosted confection around each other's faces while the photogs snapped away (note to future brides: try to do this before the servers remove all the napkins from the tables) and then continued on to other amusing parts of the reception, like learning the Stanky Legg.

The remnants of our gâteau ended up in the back of a car for awhile, and then freezered as-is. We unearthed it today in honor of our one week-aversary (thanks for all the calls, jerks) and decided to give it a real taste. The top layer was salted-caramel flavor and very yum-ful. The bottom appears to be red velvet. We got them contained real nice-like in an ice-cream bucket and sent them to the frigid depths of MIL's freezer, where they'll live for the next year.

The moral of this story is that you should eat your vegetables.

Guest Post: The Dude Describes His Day

Dude requested a picture of his namesake be placed below the headline.
Image from http://adudesguide.com

“Are you getting nervous?” they kept asking me.

“No, no I’m alright,” I responded, again and again. “It’s my job to keep Neenuh calm.” And so it went, a very stereotypical sort of setup, the female sweating bullets in a panic to make everything perfect, reading too much into everything that anybody said while the dude (or should I say, The Dude) kept calm, cool and collected, largely by staying as far as possible from the bulk of the heavy-duty wedding planning work. Personally, I thought it was a pretty good system.

Fast-forward to last Friday night: The Wedding Rehearsal. It’s a pretty casual affair, me in khakis and a polo shirt, just a few dozen friends and family around, with all of us in the wedding party lining up outside the event room at Minnesota Valley Country Club preparing to practice our processional. There I am, watching my Uncle the Priest walk down the aisle, followed by the chuppah holders. Then I step forward, my feet just outside of the room, my eyes directed inside to the assembly in the room looking back at me.

Bump-ump, bump-ump, bump-ump.

“Oh. My. God.” I think to myself, my jackhammer heart placing periods behind every word my mind makes. “I. Am. Getting. Married. Tomorrow. Oh. My. God.” So I put my best foot forward and the rehearsal goes by pretty much without a hitch. Dad reads his letter from Paul to the Corinthians brilliantly. Brother Jake nails “Unchained Melody.” Anna and Tom twee the hell out of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” But there was one thing missing from the rehearsal: the vows.

Which is to be expected. I mean, you don’t want to let your beloved know your vows the night before the wedding. It’s a special thing and should be a surprise, tailor-made for the occasion. “Unchained Melody” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love” are well-established parts of the public consciousness by this point, and Paul’s letters have been around long enough to be public domain. You’re not surprising anybody there, so you might as well let the speakers/singers get some extra rehearsal time in at the rehearsal.

But yours truly thinks himself something of a writer. A musician, too. And I wanted to put those talents to use letting my little Neenuh know how very much I love her. But I could barely breathe during the rehearsal and, as we’ve already seen, my brain couldn’t even get its punctuation right, my heart was beating blood so hard.  And this was during the wedding practice, with only a few dozen people there. How in the hell was I going to sing and play harmonica and guitar in front of more than 200 people while wearing a hot tuxedo on a humid summer’s eve, when I was not practicing but doing it for keeps?

Another problem? My vows weren’t finished. Oh, I’d had the song finished for well over a month and knew it pretty well. But suddenly I begin rethinking the lyrics in my head. Also, perhaps the chords should be changed? There was also to be a spoken word part of the vows. While I had been telling Neenuh for months that the vows were finished, that was only partly true. There was a prose poem I wrote when the two of us were in Berlin, recounting our earlier trip to Florence, which I realized upon completion would be perfect for my wedding vows. It needed something more to be more than an exercise in writing memories down in rhythm, buffers before and after to make them, you know, vows.

So it was very hard to relax after at the rehearsal dinner that night. There I was, talking to friends, aunts and uncles, eating a roast beef sandwich, only paying half attention to their speech as I juggle my own around in my head, remembering the whole time the nerves I felt at the rehearsal. At the rehearsal! “My. God! What. Am. I. Going. To. Do. At. The. Real. Wedding?

The muses (or at least my muse) must’ve been smiling on me later that night, because I wrote the rest of the vows with no problem. The next day, while we were taking wedding pictures, the vows were all I could think about. “When. Will. The . Wedding. Get. Here?” one part of me thought, sick of the nerves there in the waiting, while the other part of me said, “No. I. Hope. The. Wedding. Never. Comes. I. Will. Totally. Forget. The. Words. To. The. Song. As. Well. As. How. To. Make. A. D. Chord.”

At this point, not only had I lost control of my mental punctuation, but I had become two people. Why oh why did I decide to sing a song? It’s not like a wedding isn’t stressful enough without adding to it one of the single most nerve-wracking things a person can do: public performance.

The wedding itself was a blur. I’m pretty sure I walked down the aisle. At any rate, I at some point found myself at the front of the room looking back at a woman wearing a white dress standing in the back, framed by two other people. “She’s. Beautiful. Hey. Wait. Those. Are. Neenuh’s. Parents. Waitaminute! Is. That. Neenuh?” And let me tell you reader, it was, it surely was. It’s hard to describe what I was feeling as she walked down the aisle and took her place next to me. I kept looking over at her, trying to determine if it was all real. Then, at some point during her aunt’s reading of a poem, my heart opened up. Not even metaphorically. It was like a big warm ball bloomed in my heart, and suddenly my nerves were gone. Neenuh read her vows, written with that famous sense of humor so well known to readers of this blog, and I actually laughed! “That’s so funny! I love her so much!” passed through my mind, followed by “Holy crap! My punctuation’s back!”

I read my vows and, not only did I not place a period behind every word, I didn’t even stammer once. Not too bad, considering I never bothered to read the vows aloud after writing them the night before. And when I picked up the guitar I remembered how to do a D chord, as well as a C, F, G and even the E 9b5. Also, I didn’t forget a single word, and even sung them with a full, relaxed throat. It capped off a unique (if I do say so myself) wedding that led into a truly rocking and awesome (in my humble, unbiased opinion) reception.

The lesson, as always, is that true love conquers all, even a ridiculous stress level. Either that, or it’s truly best to be ridiculously stressed out before you do anything important, a lesson I almost missed out on with my zen-like nonchalance in the weeks leading up to the ceremony. One or the other. Or maybe something else altogether. Or maybe this need to find lessons in everything is an artificial convention of narrative that I’m grafting onto a real life even to make a more compelling blog post out of it. And maybe that’s the real moral of the story here.

I don’t know. Take your pick. This is my first ever blog post and I’m nervous as hell about it. You can’t expect me to make these kinds of decisions.

Reader, I Married Him

It was all worth it. All the stress. All the breakdowns. All the little green bows. I won't compare my nups to those of anyone else, but I can say that this was my most perfect day. I was farting happiness bombs and shooting joy beams out of my eyeballs.

There were so many gorgeous moments, and so as not to bore you with a play-by-play, I'll share a few of them here:

• Receiving a scrapbook my wonderful 'maids put together with pages designed by some of my nearest and dearest. They were all immensely lovely, especially the page my illustrator buddy Jo drew of me flying to my ceremony on the wings of a unicorn, with a golden litter waiting for me below. 

Drawing by Johanna Kim

• Watching the weather go from an awful thunderstorm to a beautiful, perfect sunny day. Every time I fretted about the darkening sky or gale force winds my maids reassured me that it would all pass. When the sun peeked through Lo told me it was proof the Big Guy loved me. 
• Seeing my father for the first time and DEMANDING he not cry... several times.
• Teaching my flower girls how to wave like beauty queens for their trip down the aisle.

(Photo courtesy of Anna Weggel)

• Hiding in the country club's women's locker room with my personal attendant Missita pre-ceremony and accepting the congratulations of random sweaty golfer ladies. Trying to calm the nervous churning in my stomach. 

Picture courtesy of Missy Rococo Guillermo

• Walking down the aisle and focusing on the Dude like a laser beam, then begging him to stop looking at me when I got there so I wouldn't cry, then pulling myself together and sharing several sweet glances. 
• My maid Anna exchanging my soggy tissues for fresh, dry ones every time I gave her the Look (that's love). 
• Hearing the beautiful readings from Dude's dad and my Aunt Wendy, and the beautiful music from my brother Jake (Unchained Melody on guitar), Anna and Tom (Can't Help Falling in Love on the uke), and my own dear Dude, who after reading his vows sang me some more for good measure. (Pun!)

Photo Courtesy of Missy Rococo Guillermo

• Having a few moments alone with the Dude between the ceremony and receiving line, marveling how weird it was to be husband and wife. Telling him to stop playing with his ring.
• The toasts! My pa reading a poem, my maids Leah, Laurel and Aleta and the dudes Nathan and Chris reading touching speeches, and Anna, Amanda and Tom acting out our different versions of how we met from our wedding website (with the help of my now-famous Kitchen Aid standing mixer). 
• Munching on our delicious macarons: salted caramel, lemon raspberry and mocha. 

Photo Courtesy of Sarah Bauer

• The dance floor being nearly full all night long. Not dying when I was lifted in a chair during a very bizarre techno rendering of Hava Nagilah. My French guests taking the microphone to tell people that what their countrymen think of us is wrong-- Americans are quite welcoming and sending everyone 'ugs from Frahnce.

Photo Courtesy of Missy Rococo Guillermo

• My sissy-poo catching the bouquet.
• A cousin telling me he liked the drawing I made on the "kebaba" (he meant my ketubah, which I def. did not draw). Another cousin pawing through my Macy's box full of wedding night lingerie at the hotel because he thought the box said, "Muffins".
• Recapping the night with the Dude in our bridal suite and being so, so, so, so SO happy.

I know I've been telling everyone to elope for the past few months, but I take that back now. 

It's go time

The rules of engagement were DKM (Don't Kill Matt) and DDB (Don't Disfigure the Bride). Dude rolled in at 4:30 a.m. this morning after a night of tomfoolery with his buddies, and for awhile I was worried because he wasn't making a peep. But now he's sawing logs like you wouldn't believe. Rule #1=success. I have evaded weird tan lines and breakouts, and despite burning the top of my foot with a runaway crouton I was toasting, I remain whole, with all my limbs and facial features accounted for. So long as I manage not to walk into anything tonight, I'd say Rule #2=success.

My guests have been slowly trickling in from such exotic locales as Digoin, Tucson and Seattle, and today marks the arrival of folks from Cincinnati, Louisville, DC, Rochester, NYC, Portland and several cities of our neighbor to the south (Iowa). It's going to be like my bat mitzvah on steroids.

Packin' up...

After our last marathon Git 'Er Done sesh yesterday, all I have left to do is revise my vows and... show up. My feet are quite warm at the moment so I'd say this is doable.

I'll have a few more nuppy posts after The Big Day: a recap; a rundown of everything we did so you can steal/borrow ideas; and some advice to future brides, and then we can move on to bigger and better things. Like all the fun things I'm going to do with my new sewing machine and standing mixer.


Merci, Francey Pantsers, for nupping with me. It's been an honor and a privilege.

Bridal Apathy Has Struck

Yesterday my brother told me he planned to bring five random friends from Corvallis, OR to the wedding.

"As long as they don't eat any food," I replied.

Five pregnant friends, he clarified. They'd each be eating for two.

"Oh. Whatever."

I don't care anymore. Want to ditch the ceremony and reception and only come to the cocktail hour so you can catch your favorite Saturday night TV programming? Go for it. Care to completely scrap our centerpiece plan and replace it with macrame jugs filled with radioactive fluid? Be my guest. The glow will be lovely after sunset. How about five...20...57 more flower girls? I'm so game. I've always wanted an army.

The mushy state of my brain leaves me in no condition to make any further decisions, so I hereby crown my Future-Step-Father-In-Law (FSFIL) the Master of Ceremony. You hear that, Pat? You're in charge. Go wild.

My Phallus-Free Bachelorette Party

I had one rule for my bachelorette party: I didn't want anything in the shape of male anatomy to rear its ugly head (pun intended). No straws. No stickers. No pin the junk on the hunk. I mentioned my desire for a tea party and for a viewing of the just-released Harry Potter film, and then I let my 'maid Lo run wild.

My friends, she did not disappoint. This shower/bach could not have been more tailor-made and approp for yours truly. SHE MADE BUTTERBEER, FOR DUMBLEDORE'S SAKE!

OK. I'm getting ahead of myself. First, gaze upon the antique teacups that went to my guests as favors and were filled with Marie Antoinette tea from my Happy Place, Ladurée:

Now, feast your eyes upon such treats as tea sandwiches with the crusts cut off, macarons from Cocoa & Fig, fruit and caprese skewers, and cupcakes decorated by Hogwarts house (which I had to restrain myself from accio-ing):

Post-munching, we were sorted into houses with the help of Lo's beach-ready Sorting Hat, after which we received our wands decorated with house colors. I received an extra-floofy Ravenclaw number, lumber, core of unicorn feather, springy.

Here are my Hufflepuffs being riddikulus! (Check out Kat's (second from the left) recap of events here.)

We played a few shower games, including one wherein the houses each gave me wedding and marriage advice, and another where I tried to guess correctly how the Dude had answered certain questions. There was a Boone's Farm Fuzzy Navel House Cup for the victor, but in true HP spirit we were all winners.

After opening the prezzies we moved on to a high-class movie theater in St. Louis Park for a viewing of HP7P2-3D in the VIP seats. I laughed, I cried, I brandished my wand in moments of intense terror and glory.

This shower/bach party cast a lumos for all present into the way quests could be if we were a little more courageous and willing to try every flavor of the Bertie Bott's Beans of life. 

Mischief managed.

In honor of France's birthday

It's Bastille Day! Run amok in the streets! Storm the prisons! Behead the nobility! Tie tri-color balloons to your nether regions!

The star-crossed roomie and I are celebrating tonight wiz zuh steenky cheez and zuh wahn zat ees compleecated lahk a womun ov zee certayne ahj. But we can celebrate right this moment here in cyberspace with a selection of Frenchy blog posts I've freelanced for my friends at Go Green Travel Green. 

Your guide to mealtime in France: You know I was something of a gourmande last year. This post describes all my favorite dishes and desserts, with a special section on les apéros.

How to use the French train system (SNCF): We Americans who live in Fly-Over Land sadly have little occasion to discover what rail travel is all about.  I compiled an exhaustive list of tips on how to ride the French rails for choo choo novices, from how to get your ticket to where to put your luggage.

Paris museums off the beaten track: I ended up going to Paris eight times last year to meet up with various visitors, and I got real sick, real fast of going to the same durn places all the time. These museums are the ones to check out once you're all art-ed out.

Paris in a day: If you're only going to be in Gay Paree for a couple of days but want to stuff as much of it into your eyeballs as possible, read this guide (based on a real-life 25-hour visit).

In other news, I now officially have only three weeks left of funemployment before I rejoin Society as one of its Productive Members. I've learned to keep work and blogging separate so I won't publish the name of my soon-to-be employer here, but if you're curious you can send me an email.


I'm looking for ways to make a little extra dough betwixt now and then (gotta keep up that fromage habit somehow), so if you think you might like to pay me to freelance a bit for your site, let me know in the comments below.