Nothing to say.

No really, I’ve got nothing. All day I plodded along in my daily routine thinking “I should really update my blog. My adoring fans must be missing me.”

Then I checked the daily stats. Total clicks today?

Zero

—

Its okay, friends. This shall not deter me. I still spent several moments throughout my day pondering… “Hmm… what shall I write about? What sparkling prose will flow forth from my keyboard to enlighten the world with my wit?”

And still… nothing.

-

The only thing I could come up with was an Ode to The Mister, which would involve gushing over my wonderful husband and how I’d fall to pieces without him.

But that’s pretty much every post.

—

In searching for a topic, I perused last years’ blog posts and found that the past year has been really rather wonderful for me.

I submit for the approval of the jury, the following four pieces of evidence:

1. Almost exactly one year ago, I submitted my thesis and finished my master’s degree.
2. Since then, I lived in Colombia for five months (and left a piece of my heart there in the process).
3. Soon after that, I got married to the love of my life.
4. And somewhere in between, I started a one-year (read: just enough time to muddle through my quarter life crisis and figure out the next steps) research position at a fancy schmancy Ivy League university.

-

It seems, in fact… that I’ve entered Grown-Up Land.

My work here is done.

…but lets not get carried away.

—

Every single one of the above items has had its challenges and frustrations. I don’t regret a single one, but it’d just be foolish to think I’m the kind of person who would just give up on being in a constant state of crisis.

Oh, no. Crisis Mode and I are well-acquainted, and I think we’re going to have a long and frustrated life together.

—

In the end, this post is about how its not the end.

Anyways, here’s a puppy.

Autumn, champagne, and hurricanes

I write this in the midst of chaos.

In case you haven’t heard, the entire East Coast is panicking over the presence of “Frankenstorm”, a hybrid hurricane + nor’easter that’s wreaking havoc all over the place.

If you recall, The Mister and I do not tend to hyperventilate over such events.

And such is the case this time. Even though this one is a touch bigger than last year’s, we’ve spent yesterday and today quietly puttering around the apartment and going about our routine.

…with the exception that we have to work at home, we can’t go outside for the fear of neighborly judgement, and we keep waiting for the power to go out.

—

 So there’s no time like the present to update you all on the happenings of Mr. & Ms. CQC.

Since the honeymoon ended (hah), we’ve largely returned to our routine.

I’ve gotten used to the killer 1.5 hr (one way) commute to work for my new job on a fancy ivy league campus.

Despite bingeing on podcasts and NPR, the drive is not terribly pleasant.

But at least there are pretty things to look at once I get there, especially amidst the autumn leaves.

Including stately grounds

Ornate entrances

Brownstone passageways

Castle-like edifices

And gratuitous archways with no logical function

—

And, of course… it’s namesake:

Ivy

Meticulously manicured ivy.

No, seriously… this ivy is out of control.

I know its a badge of honor to be “Ivy League”, but the above photo is of a parking garage, for Christ’s sake. Get your act together.

—

This beautiful locale has also afforded me an escape from city drudge to enjoy the yearly splendor offered up by deciduous leaves:

The colors.

The glory.

AND the crunchy fun they offer.

—

One weekend we both escaped the city and frolicked out to the countryside in order to see pumpkins and gourds in their natural habitat.

Their natural habitat being “rustic” displays at a garden center.

-

Whatever… it was $15 a pop for entrance to the pumpkin patch.

-

So we decided this would do.

Not bad.

—

Overall we’ve been enjoying autumn as newlyweds in our usual ways:

“Our usual ways” meaning we gorge ourselves on weather-appropriate foods.

Like making pumpkin raviolis, natch.

—

Well, that is… we were enjoying our autumn fun.

Until SOMEONE had to bail for a work-related trip to Belgium.

You’d better be ashamed.

—

So while The Mister tromped off to hang out in 12th century castles and eat chocolate, I dissolved into the sad state of affairs that is Single Living.

-

Perhaps some individuals thrive off of being alone.

But after several years of living solo “just to prove I can”, I found that I am instead prone to depression and lonesomeness when left by myself.

Yes, I am also ashamed of myself.

—

Ever the independent woman, I know that this is not the right state of things. I may feel lonely, but I refuse to act like I’m lonely in an effort to defy my inherent vulnerability.

Thus I spent last week plodding around in a stoic state of denial of my own loneliness.

-

In doing so, I attempted to regain my confidence and grandeur in the kitchen when the Mister is by my side, only to result in failure.

Another crack at pumpkin raviolis somehow ended up a mushy mess resembling sad scrambled eggs.

And then more failure…

My first-ever attempt at a layer-cake… this was before I tried cutting it.

I don’t even know what happened there.

-

On top of it all, these sad things occurred while living in squalor:

It was only like this for a few days… (or six or seven…)

And under the harsh glare of the only other living specimens who could testify to my deplorable state.

Don’t judge me, cat.

—

So about halfway through The Mister’s business trip, I finally tried to get my act together and act like a Certified Independent Woman.

Which involves putting Destiny’s Child on repeat, obv.

Which didn’t really work…

But the triad of harmonies Bey & Co. offered made me realize that I didn’t have to go through this misery alone.

—

So I invited over the inspired mind behind this fabulous blog to whip me into shape.

First order of business: get outside.

If only on your rooftop.

Step two:

Serve mimosas even after the sun sets.

Step three:

Keep going until your supplies are depleted.

Turns out after three bottle of champagne, you won’t feel so lonely anymore.

—

Luckily, The Mister came back from Europe a few days ago and is ready to resume his duties as my right hand man.

-

Just in time for this:

Good timing.

If you need us, we’ll be huddled under blankets with our cats and flashlights.

And maybe some more champagne.

My Maine Man

After the wedding blitz in the last post, there was obviously one thing left to do:

Road Trip!

The Mister and I retreated to Maine. Excited that Wedding Mania was over, we were looking forward to a Northeast adventure of bike riding, kayaking, and hiking.

Unfortunately, a little mishap had occurred during the wedding…

OMG What?!
Photo credit (if she wants it): Brae Howard Photography

Somewhere between Twist ‘n’ Shout and the Cha Cha Slide, I started feeling a little stiff in the knee.

By the end of the night, my left knee was the size of a basketball.

—

Turns out my rockin’ dance moves are a little too much, even for me.

Meet my new friend, Meniscal Tear.

The Mister drove the entire way from Philly to Maine, while I kept my leg propped up on the dashboard with a never-ending stream of ice packs at my side.

And I got to rock this super sexy knee brace the whole time.

No really, I was thrilled.

And it made for awesome tan lines.

—

So while our plans for biking and hiking were thrown out the window along with my melted ice packs (Not really. Don’t litter kids), we still managed to have a good time.

—

In reality, there was only one thing we went to Maine for:

Steamy goodness.

—

So we made sure to tackle that priority ASAP.

Ready….

…Set…

FEAST!

—

Glad we got that out of the way.

—

Unceremoniously cleaning up among the spoils of our kill.

—

There were a few other highlights to our trip.

Rocky shoreline walks

Misty beaches

Spectacular sunsets

—

In addition to enjoying the scenery, we also spent a lot of time in our lovely room at a boutique bed & breakfast.

It wasn’t cold, but we used the fireplace on principle.

And we opened a very special bottle of wine.

—

The above bottle of 2004 Syrah was purchased at a vineyard in Mendoza when the Mister and I visited Argentina a few years ago.

FLASHBACK!

The Argentina/Uruguay trip was our first backpacking experience together, born out of a desire to be adventurous and enjoy our last few weeks together before I moved 1000 miles, away from the love of my life, to Missouri.

The byproduct of this adventure solidified two things: The Mister and I never get sick of each other, and we can totally tackle anything together. It made the move for grad school both easier and more painful in one fell swoop.

To be honest, we’ve held on to that bottle for too long, waiting for an appropriate special occasion. We had no idea what it’d taste like if we continued to keep it in the cellar. (Our cellar being a cardboard box in our hall closet).

We finally found the right occasion. And luckily, it was still tasty.

—

So despite the injury and the post-wedding exhaustion, we had a lovely week away.

As husband and wife.

Welcome to Wedding Wonderland

Guess what?

I’m a married lady!

In the grand tradition of passing off women like a property transfer from a landowning man to his adopted heir (okay, maybe I’ve been spending too much time on Jezebel), I was officially united in marriage to the Mister on September 2, 2012 at approximately 4:38pm.

So I can check that off my life’s to-do list.

—

It was perhaps slightly more emotional than described.

By “officially”, I mean in the eyes of our most beloved family and friends, many of whom traveled great lengths to be with us.

Hey, guys. 

It was supposed to be an outdoor ceremony, but the remnants of Hurricane Isaac forced us inside. Too bad Plan B was such an architectural eyesore (see above).

In any case, The Mister and I couldn’t have cared less. We were getting married, and we were surrounded by love and happiness.

Despite a few snafus, it was perfect in every way.

—

But first, in the strange tradition of professional photography, we got to act like we were supermodels for a few hours.

I’m not even going to pretend this stream of photos has anything to do with the wedding other than to show off how awesome we looked.

—

Feast your eyes on our self-indulgent beauty:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, we had a costume change for the reception. Don’t judge.

 

Sorry about that… its just… we looked so damn good.

Now that I’m back to jeans and confused hairdos, I wanted to relive that sexy-and-I-know-it moment.

Ahem… now that my egomania is satisfied, back to our regularly scheduled blogging.

—

As for the wedding itself, after the many months of watercoloring, hot gluing, and music-selecting, we finally got to see it all put together:

 

We painted some old boards and made all the signage.

Our predecessors in marriage on all sides of our family.                                                                                          

The Mister hand-stamped our booze menu.                  

The Mister also made the table numbers…

And picked up bouquets from Trader Joes…                                      

Jam favors made by Mama CQC.                                                                

So basically The Mister made everything cool at the wedding, with the help of our parents. But I was in charge of invitations, harassing people, and making timelines and to-do lists.

—

We’d crafted every piece of our wedding by hand, and were so excited to get to the good part – actually getting married and smooching all our friends and relatives.

 

Never in our lives have we received so many compliments.

People fawned over how good we looked, how beautiful the ceremony was, how heartfelt our vows were… the decorations, the food, the drinks, the dancing…

It was a night filled with nothing but positive words and loving embraces.

 

 

 

And according to the catering staff, they had never seen so many people stay on the dance floor for so long.

Yep, we know how to party.

—

Despite all the planning, all the stress (I accidentally dropped 10 lbs in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and we spent our honeymoon sleeping 12 hours each night to recover), and all the build-up; it was totally awesome.

We’ve never felt so popular in all our lives, nor so grateful for every single person with us.

Our wedding party were champs at letting us boss them around, and we miraculously didn’t hear a single negative comment or complaint the entire night.

—

We had this wedding only partially for us; the bigger reason was because we wanted to bring all our loved ones together and show them a great time.

And luckily, it worked.

—

Thank you to those who were with us, and thank you to those who sent good vibes from afar. We love each and every one of you dearly, and are so glad we got to share our wedding day with you, either in person or through this recap.

(All photos in this post credited to Brae Howard Photography)

—

Stay tuned for future posts detailing the marriage saga of Mr. & Ms. CQC.

The drama! The pitfalls! The glory!

(the laundry, the board games, the snugglefests).

Oh, by the way…

I got married.

And it was perfect.

…and we’re so happy.

 

(Right now I’m busy with marital bliss. Full updates eventually.)

Down to the (wedding) wire…

Greetings, friends, from the Most Stressed Out Place on Earth.

Disneyland, this is not.

—

Before I dive into my current inhabitance in Stressyland™ , a recap of my activities as of late:

Despite my last post’s focus on the crisis of having accomplished nothing by age 25, I’ve actually been accomplishing quite a bit the past few weeks. 25 may be a good year after all.

Much of it has revolved around my impending wedding.

This glorious occasion brings not just love and overloads of white fabric, but a multitude of other events that lead up to it.

So a few weeks ago, I was thrown a wedding shower by my sister and mother. It was at my favorite Mexican restaurant, and included free-flowing margaritas and plenty of hearty chuckles.

…such as with the Toilet Paper Wedding Dress contest…

…and for that horrible moment when I realized my mother’s old college roommate bought me lingerie as a gift…

But lucky me, I also had three of my best friends haul themselves beyond the Hudson River to support me in this trying time.

Yay friends!

—

Then, last weekend, my bridesmaid and matron of honor threw me a ca-razay Bachelorette party.

Not pictured: belly-dancing, Indian food, and copious amounts of alcohol.

Despite my better judgement, I even donned the fake veil and glittery sash as we tromped through downtown Philadelphia and I tried to pretend that I didn’t care if strangers noticed I was carrying a penis-shaped water bottle.

It was a riot, but the next day was not so much fun.

Which, according to reliable sources, means it was a success.

—

But now on to the big things in my life:

#1) I’m getting married in ONE WEEK.

#2) I started a new job! It involves 2-3 hours of commuting a day, but its at a very reputable university.

Its been total crazytown trying to learn a new job while finishing up some freelance work, guest blogging, and planning a wedding, so I will certainly detail this job thing more in a future post, after the insanity of #1 is over.

But oh, baby… is this a dilemma.

Work. Wedding. Work. Wedding. Working at home. Working on wedding at home. Wedding is work. Work is work. Driving.

Oh god, I need a Xanax.

Just kidding, I don’t condone prescription drug abuse.

But fo’ reals. This shit is stressful.

The Mister has been a dream in dealing with my meltdowns, high-pitched rants, and sudden whims of insistence that we need MORE DECORATIONS, DAMMIT.

—

But truth be told, he’s just as stressed out over this as I am. Almost daily we trade off on whose going to be the emotional maniac, and whose going to be the therapist.

Everyone knows that wedding planning is stressful, but I don’t think anybody really knows unless they’ve done it.

—

True story: I never wanted to plan a wedding.

When I was a kid; sure, I dreamed about my future wedding. But I never wanted to plan it. Part of that dream was that my mom would just plan everything for me, and I wouldn’t have to do anything but show up.

Unfortunately, my mom apparently has better things to do with her time… like work… and weed the garden.

—

Also, it turns out that there’s this awful phenomenon called one-lowmanship, where each person thinks they’re better than the next guy for having a “simpler” and cheaper wedding.

People love to air their opinions on how ridiculous the wedding industry is, and how it shouldn’t be that difficult, or how easy their wedding was.

This big-ass pile of boxes have been inhabiting our hallway for weeks. And its all is solely for the wedding.

Well, fine. If your wedding planning was stress-free, I’ve determined you had at least one of these things working in your favor:

1. You had less than 120 people on the guest list/ in attendance, or you outright eloped.
2. The stars aligned and not a single family member gave you their opinion during the entire planning process.
3. You don’t live in the Northeast, or one of the top five most expensive places to have a wedding (double whammy).
4. You’re a psycho.

We have 90 people with just family. And its the type of family we see at LEAST once a year. No second-cousins or randomly assigned plus one’s here.

 We’ve done our best to keep the guest count low, but even just adding in a minor handful of friends and our parents’ friends, and suddenly it feels like we’re feeding and entertaining an entire football stadium.

—

The Mister and I started this whole thing knowing we’d have to do the whole wedding thing rather than eloping. We’re both so close to our extended families, it was just unthinkable to do it without them.

No big, we went into it thinking “Okay… we’re just going to throw a low-key party in the backyard. Its not a wedding. Its a party.”

So naive.

—

After reading through some wedding blogs, I’ve found that we’re not the only people who think this way. Few people actually want the $20,000 wedding. But that’s what everyone ends up with, despite their best efforts.

This article is particularly accurate. An excerpt:

“There are no ‘good deals’ in wedding planning. There are only ways of spending less obscene amounts of money. …I had this strange, naive notion that wedding planning only makes you want to yell and scream at people if you take it too seriously. HAHAHAHa. I also thought that I could ‘save money’ by not ‘caring so much’ about having a ‘big deal wedding.’ HAhahaha. Silly me.”

“…the more I’ve interacted with the wedding industrial complex, the more I’m realizing that the strange things that weddings do to females are often rational reactions to the irrational choices they’re presented with.”

Being a bridezilla is an affliction, not a choice. Expect protests outside the WE channel to start any day now.

And as a no-nonsense über-feminist, I now am seriously offended by the whole Bridezilla franchise.

Demonizing women for being stressed out? Not fair.

But what the above quote said regarding “irrational choices” is true: I would never give a shit about ordering 100 mini candles off Amazon, or making escort cards and place cards, or the exact timeline of songs being played…

…but I’m forced to. 

The venue charges $1 per votive candle (oh hell no; that’s just stupid). I’m required to provide the caterer with both escort cards and place cards for each guest, along with a list of table numbers and their entrees a week ahead of time. And the DJ is contacting us months in advance for us to provide him with timelines and song titles.

—

And then there are the guests… a carefully crafted list of only a very select bunch of people we love dearly…

…who apparently can’t send back an RSVP card.

Seriously – even some of my closest friends never responded. One member of the wedding party even said they’d bring a date, and then re-decided only when pressed for their date’s name.

Any logical person would think: “Well, if I decide not to come at the last minute, they don’t have to pay for me.”

Not true.

We have to give the caterer a list of people four weeks in advance, after which point we cannot subtract any guests without still having to pay for them.

Then we send a final list two weeks before the wedding – again, no subtractions, but this time any additions may garner us an extra 10% penalty charge.

This shit is ABSURD.

But after a recent trip to City Hall, we are now equipped with a “self-uniting” marriage license. So any day now we can just sign this paper and be done with it.

—

In summary, wedding planning is awful.

But here’s the truth:

It’s not so awful, because I’m doing it with The Mister. He’s a dreamboat, and even being stressed to the point of tears is more fun when its with him.

—

In an effort to maintain some semblance of a normal life amid the chaos, we recently went to (what we think may be) the greatest exhibit of all time.

It was by the graphic designer Stefan Sagmeister, who called it “The Happy Show”.

It was a study on what makes people happy, presented in graphical form, followed by an exploration of his own quest for happiness.

And despite all our stress, and all the disclaimers to the contrary, we both left happy.

—

I’m inherently a negative person.

(Expected audience reaction: “Whaaaat?! Not yooouuuu!!!”).

But to put aside my front of whininess, I should make it known that this upcoming wedding keeps me excited for two main things:

#1) Marrying The Mister, obv.

After over 8 years, it only makes sense to make it legal and make the switch from calling him my “partner” to my “husband”. I’d spend my life with him either way, but now we can enjoy the legal and social perks of marriage (wait, are there any?).

#2) Seeing all my closest friends and family.

People are coming in from all over, and I am PSYCHED. I’ve never felt so popular in my life, and I can’t wait to just want to squeeze everybody SO TIGHT. I don’t care that the venue coordinator says receiving lines take too long; I want to make sure not a single guest gets away without a jumbo hug and smooch from me. So we’re doing it, dammit.

—

This is probably my last post before the wedding.

In a week, I will marry my best friend, my life partner, and the father of my future children. I will be surrounded by the people who mean most to me in the world.

I will be bursting with love and happiness.

Then I’ll ride off into the sunset with my husband in our beat-up Dodge, heading up the coast to Maine to stuff our faces with lobster for a week.

And I can’t wait.

Sagely Ageing

Hello, my friends! How long has it been?

Don’t answer that; I don’t think I could stomach the truth. I could feel you all screaming for your weekly fill of acerbic commentary from a mile away.

Who, me?

—

In any case, plenty has happened since our last encounter… lives have been lost, babies been birthed, and the world continues to turn…

But thank God, I haven’t lost my sardonic sense of prose.

—

But in my own little corner of the world, plenty has occurred as well.

—

Namely: I turned 25.

Oh, shit.

Surprisingly, I handled it very well. The Mister and I celebrated my turning a quarter-century old with delicious dinner at a lovely restaurant in Center City.

I’d like to pretend this was meant to be an artistic shot, but its more that I just couldn’t get over the embarrassment of whipping out a camera in the middle of a classy establishment.

—

But weirdly, our waiter looked familiar… And as he began to tell us the specials, I had an eery feeling that had happened before…

…and we enter the Twilight Zone…

This restaurant had only recently opened, and we are not ones to go out on the town often.

Then suddenly it dawned on me. One quick question about the waiters’ resume confirmed it: He had been our waiter exactly five years earlier, at a different restaurant in Center City, where the Mister and I went to celebrate my 20th birthday.

It was memorable because a) the waiter was a weirdo, and b) it was our first foray into overpriced city dining, where we gawked at the prices and discreetly tried to order a glass of wine before anyone could ask for ID.

But here we are, five years later. Same place. Doing the same thing.

—

Thus, despite our delicious dinner, fabulous conversation, and a legitimately-purchased bottle of Cheval Noir, I later devolved into a mental freak-out zone.

I’m twenty-five. TWENTY. FIVE.

AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

—

But my problem isn’t really a fear of aging. In fact, I look forward to being a silver-haired 60-something, puttering around a garden and wearing socks with sandals because I stopped giving a shit years ago.

No, what really bothered me is that I’m 25, and I’ve got nothing to show for it.

—

For comparison, here’s a brief list of things that other people have accomplished by age 25:

• Tracy Chapman won three Grammies
• Bill Gates cofounded Microsoft
• Mary Shelley wrote “Frankenstein”
• Helen Keller earned a bachelor’s degree (while deaf and blind, obv.)
• Michelangelo carved the Pietà
• Steve Jobs co-founded Apple Computer
• Margaret Mead traveled to Samoa to undertake the most famous anthropological study ever
• Orson Welles wrote, directed, and starred in Citizen Kane
• Jane Austen wrote “Pride and Prejudice”
• James Watson helped to determine that DNA was a double helix
• Felix Mendelssohn composed twelve symphonies, and wrote the overture to “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”
• Ashton Kutcher starred in “Dude, where’s my car?”, capturing the hearts and minds of Americans everywhere, and forever changing the cinematic landscape

That’s a pretty fucking impressive list.

Aaaand, I suck.

—

Thus the basis for my freak out.

But then I wondered how the waiter must feel; Five years later. Still a waiter.

So clearly, on occasion I’m aware that there are other people in the world, and I am not alone in my concerns.

So I put off my total lack of accomplishments to enjoy the rest of the month, reserving my bouts of sobbing over mediocrity for the next birthday.

—

To be honest, I probably would have wallowed quite a bit more if I wasn’t so damn busy lately.

And one of the consequences of this busy new lifestyle (I am, afterall, now a working gal) is that it leaves little time for blogging.

But fear not, a series of posts will (hopefully) soon follow, documenting my exciting (read: utterly mundane) life as of lately, but until then, here’s a cat in a basket:

“Hot town, summer in the city…”

The Mister used to think that the follow up to the lyrics in the title of this post were “back of my neck getting burnt and pretty.” Its not.

This is why I find him adorable in everything he does.

—

Summer in the city is, indeed, hot as shit.

With no greenery to absorb the sunlight, it instead bounces off the cement sidewalks and metal buildings, creating a greenhouse effect where each block is a vestibule of stale heat in a never-ending grid of stifling, smelly urbanism.

Am I a fan of summer in the city? Only the song.

And, as I’m sure you all know, this has been a record breaking hot summer in the US.

Not that I’d know.

That is, until I look outside at our rooftop vegetable garden.

So sad and wilty.

—

Even though I’m not a fan of summertime weather, it has been a good summer so far.

Last weekend The Mister and I went to a big family gathering for his side. You know how every family get-together always results in at least a few tense, awkward moments?

There’s always at least one person that’s touchy or highstrung, or someone who drinks too much and embarrasses themselves and everyone around them.

And you collectively wonder why you even bothered coming.

In a family as big as The Mister’s (at last count, 50 people on just his father’s side), its bound to happen.

-

Only… it doesn’t.

These people are some miraculous exception, where each person is an easy-going, well-mannered pleasure to speak with, imbibed with good humor to boot.

Their bi-annual gatherings are always a raucous good time where everyone enjoys themselves and nary a passive-aggressive exchange is to be heard.

What the hell?

-

Needless to say, it was fun. We laughed, we laughed more. We cooed at babies and tossed eggs at each other.

-

But for our part, the big topic of conversation with everyone was the wedding.

How’s the planning? Do you have a dress? Can I see the ring? Are you excited?

Fine. Yes. Sure. Yes.

—

 It’s not that I’m not super stoked about marrying The Mister.

I mean, just look at that face.

I look forward to spending many days together: traveling, raising children, growing old, growing resentful… the usual.

-

 But the details are just not a thrill for me. Everyone (friends, relatives, strangers…) keeps asking me about the planning… its hard to muster up excitement when all I want to do is bitch and moan about how I don’t want to do it.

I really don’t care about linens or cake or dresses or bouquets. Neither does The Mister.

I just want someone else to plan all the details for me, so all I have to do show up, get hitched, hug my relatives, get drunk, and dance.

Maybe not drunk. Let’s say tipsy.

—

Despite the pain of planning, we have been steadily checking things off the to-do list.

After hours days weeks of labor, we finished making the invitations.

Handmade means we’re awesome.

And last week we sent them out.

No turning back now. This thing’s happening for realz.

—

Being that there are always a zillion things to be done when planning a wedding, I should have hopped right back up and continued the bridal blitz.

But I didn’t.

-

Instead, I’ve been chilling out, doing the usual cook-clean-stare at the walls routine.

The job I mentioned last post doesn’t start until August 6th, so I’ve got plenty of time to fill my hours with meaningless busywork.

-

I’ve learned that being a housegirlfriend is horribly boring. There are always things to be done – errands, housework, and cooking feasts, natch.

Mostly from this stack of recipe magazines… I don’t know how this happened guys, we’re not even vegetarian.

But none of it is intellectually stimulating or fulfilling.

So that blows.

—

I’m sure in a few weeks’ time, I’ll be absurdly busy. But until then… boredom reigns.

Its certainly not a bad thing to have so much time on my hands. I’ve spent some time researching the Great Vaccine Debate for a friend of mine (and subsequently found out that people on both sides of the debate are freaking nuts, supporting their claims with selective research).

But overall, very little of my free time has been well spent.

-

Luckily, Independence Day was an exception.

We went hiking in a nearby park.

And found some wild raspberries.

But the highlight of the day was definitely seeing this guy:

Yes, this happened.

Okay, so maybe summer in the city isn’t all bad.

Midwest Tour, 2012 Edition

Hello, friends!

My apologies for the lengthy absence… I sincerely believed that being back in the United States, I’d have oodles of time to loaf around and write up daily reports on my mundane endeavors.

No dice.

Instead, I’ve been busy with job interviews, wedding planning, and visiting family and friends.

I recently took a massive road-trip to see my nearest and dearest in the Midwest. After 10 days, 8 states, and 50 hours of solo driving, this is my half-assed recap of the 2012 Midwestern Tour:

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First stop: Southern Michigan to see my sister and brother-in-law.

Despite hauling my camera with me, I have no photo evidence of my visit with them. So this picture of me and my sister playing Jenga, circa 2006, will have to stand in:

Like building blocks for adults.

After two days of bridesmaid dress shopping, playing board games, and helping them with yard work (that’s what family is for, right?), I moved on to the next adventure.

—

Oh, Missouri… the state of Mark Twain, Harry S. Truman, and my beer-soaked grad school years.

There I visited my old thesis advisor, revisited the pizza joint that received the entirety of my TA stipend, and shared meals with old friends.

Me with two of the greatest people on the planet.

…who are also about to birth one of the greatest babies on the planet.

In all honesty, the above picture displays the real reason I went all the way to Missouri.

—

This is the first time I’ve been close enough with a pregnant woman to do the things I’ve always wanted to do to a pregnant woman:

Touch her belly like a creeper and ask all kinds of uncomfortable questions.

Seriously, with the amount of questions I was asking, I’m surprised they didn’t think I was some crazy baby snatcher and throw me out.

—

Luckily, they went along with it like total champs, feeding me scones and letting me play with their dog.

If you ask The Mister, he thinks the real reason I went to Missouri was to visit this guy. It wasn’t, but I took pictures just to make him jealous.

—

So I’m obsessing over babies. The Mister is obsessing over dogs.

I wonder who will win first?

Just kidding, we already know what comes next:

And its name is Stevie, a one-eyed dog I saw on Petfinder.

As soon as our landlord agrees.

Which will be never.

Sigh.

—

After a few days in the sunshiney bubble of Pregnant Lady Land, I moved on to the sunshiney gorgeousness of the Iowa-Wisconsin border.

Most of the drive looked like a US politician’s campaign commercial. I listened to country music and had a nagging craving for sweet corn the entire time.

—

But once I neared the Driftless, the landscape was vastly different:

Oh my god! A hill!

My fabulous hostess, Favorite, is a natural-born (and university-trained) naturalist. So naturally, she took me on several nature hikes.

(Natchity-natch-natch-natch)

We spent some time in her natural habitat.

…where we did some walking, hiking, and sightseeing.

…it was just a little pretty.

—

But that was only part of my visit with Favorite.

We also spent some time in MY natural habitat.

…where we did some tasting, sipping, and swilling.

…it was only occasionally trashy.

—

In case you missed it, the above picture showcases a store that sells wine, beer, liquor, and guns.

Oh, and cheese.

THIS, friends, is Wisconsin. And I love it.

—

My time with Favorite was wonderful for several reasons:

First, she’s one of my favorite people (natch).

Second, the landscape was gorgeous and the town downright adorable.

Third, her family were the kindest people. They almost made me want to move into town and pretend I was one of them.

But lastly, and most importantly, I find being with Favorite very therapeutic. Upon first meeting, she seems like the most easy-going, fun-loving person. And she is.

But she’s also incredibly thoughtful, passionate and inspirational. If you want proof, check out her blog. Every time she posts, I feel like I could be reading “Thoreau: The Self-Discovery Years”.

In comparison, I often think my own blog is only comparable to “Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey”.

—

The last stop on my Midwestern adventure was Pittsburgh to visit one of my best friends, who recently moved there.

Whenever I imagined Pittsburgh, I pictured a dirty, run down city like Detroit. Not that I’d ever been there.

Turns out I was dead wrong.

Its a beautiful place, and after only one day of sightseeing, I’m ready to do some job searching in Pittsburgh just so I have an excuse to move there.

Unfortunately, I yet again left the camera stuffed inside my purse, thus have no evidence of my visit.

Instead, here’s a picture of the Mississippi River from my previous destination. No matter how pretty Pittsburgh was, this beats it by a mile.

—

Slowly but surely, I made my way back to Philadelphia.

The poor Mister only had me home from Colombia for a week before I, yet again, left him in the dust for the Midwest.

After I returned from my road trip, I again stayed for only a few days.

Shaking his head at my nomadic tendencies, the Mister let me go for just one more weekend:

It was just a short trip to see my parents, where they roped me into going strawberry picking. …Not that I minded an excuse to eat strawberries all day.

—

But I’m finally back in Philadelphia to stay.

The Mister and I have got some serious wedding planning to do, and I’m ready to resume my house-girlfriend role.

While my time in Philly is no longer limited, my daily cooking and cleaning is. Last week I was offered a job with a research project at a nearby Ivy League university.

(Yay!)

The project only lasts one year, which is perfect for me.

I’m not ready to call Philadelphia home just yet. But it’ll do for another year.

Back in Illadelph

After a lovely week with the ‘rents in CT, it was time to return to my regular life.

This place again. Bummer.

(Look! Its a cat! On a bathroom radiator!) Okay, fine… I take it back. I’m glad to be back with my cats and the Mister.

—

My return to Philadelphia was relatively easy, but still felt a bit other-worldly. Being away for four months is a big deal, but being on a different continent living a completely different lifestyle is an even bigger deal.

In some ways I assimilated nicely: Driving a car? Check. Wearing makeup? Check. Eating peanut butter from the jar? Check.

In others, I needed a gradual re-introduction. Like, for example, not having a job.

—

But after a week of hanging around the apartment, I’m back in the swing of things.

I’m back to whipping up granola like a champ.

I created a little rooftop garden. With luck (and the off chance I remember to water them), we’ll have fresh veggies and herbs all summer long.

The Mister and I made a terrarium at a workshop held in our neighborhood.

The shop that hosted the terrarium workshop took the above picture, put it on their Facebook page and titled it a “super cute couple”. It made us feel all warm and fuzzy.

Or that might have been the moss we used.

—

But the thing that’s really been occupying my time is wedding planning.

I know I haven’t mentioned it since this post, but we’re still getting married. In fact, we’re doing it this year. None of that long engagement crap for us; we celebrated our 8 year anniversary in March (and by “celebrated”, I mean we had a 2-minute international phone conversation), so we’re ready to just get this ‘ish done.

We’ve already secured the venue, DJ, photographer, and a shuttle to get our drunken guests home safely.

The Mister wants to make our invitations ourselves. He made and sent the Save the Date cards while I was gone, no problem. But we’re trying to make our invitations a little fancier, and we’re doing each one by hand.

In doing so, we’re trying to make ourselves into master painters by the end of the month. Expect greatness.

The Mister has been great about taking care of wedding things while I’ve been gone. But now that we’re only three months away, the To-Do list is getting longer and longer.

After spending the entirety of Memorial Day weekend working on wedding crap, the Mister laid back in a chair last night and declared “Wedding planning is a full-time job!”

No kidding.

Soon I will be posting an epic blog post about wedding planning, but until then, I don’t want to hear it.

Just trust me: planning a wedding is ridiculously time consuming.

—

In any case, with all the wedding craziness, I’ve barely noticed that I’m unemployed.

Well… almost.

I’ve been sending out job applications like a fool, and finally got an interview last week. Then they almost immediately asked me for a second interview.

I thought I was all badass and on the road to full-time employment, until the completion of the second interview.

It went well enough, until the interviewer concluded our discussion by saying “I’ve just been so impressed with everybody I’ve talked to. Every person I’ve interviewed has had such a great background and so much experience.”

AKA “You’re alright. But so are the 30 other people I’ve talked to today.”

Bah.

—

I’m not dying to get a job just yet, although my wallet might disagree. The lack of employment leaves me ample time to see friends, wedding plan, and catch up on all my high-quality Hulu addictions.

I’m looking at you, Real Housewives of New Jersey.

Its strange to think that just a few weeks ago, I was in the Amazon Basin with the Nukak. It already seems like a distant memory.

There are only a few relics lying around to remind me that it really happened.

For example, this basket collection hanging out in my living room.

In any case, back to daily life.

The next exciting adventure: this week I’m heading out west to do the annual Midwestern Family & Friends tour, 2012 edition.