14 days til the wedding. It’s Thursday and I’d been on Slimquick for 4 days, trying the best I can to follow their meal recommendation of 1 raisin for breakfast, 1 piece of lettuce dipped in balsamic vinegar for lunch, 2 almonds for a snack, and as much steamed broccoli as you want (as MUCH AS YOU WANT!!) for dinner. I got off work at nine, stopping by my mom’s on the way home to drop off some more invitations for people that I don’t know (maybe when they show up to the wedding and shake my hand, I’ll say “hi, stranger!” but I’ll just be kidding – kind of) and try on my dress again. I’ve made progress so I guess the Slimquick easy diet is working. On my way home, I hit traffic. TRAFFIC. It’s 10:30 at night! Dear Sandy City, what is so wrong with 9000 South at the freeway entrance that you have to KEEP FIXING IT?? Well, anyway, whatever it is, thank you, because that’s the exit everyone will have to take to get to the wedding (all 12 of my friends and the 50 strangers). I think I was just grumpy because I was tired and probably a little hungry, too. Ok, a LOT hungry. My stomach started talking to me and I really didn’t feel like sitting in traffic, so I turned left, landing right in the Arby’s drive-thru. Crap – what am I doing? Be good, Kristy. HUUUUNNNGGRYY. I asked the speaker for a minute to decide and just stared at the menu. Curly fries, maybe? A wrap would be healthier, but they’re almost $5. Then I saw their newest menu item: Mac n Cheezers, fried macaroni and cheese. I ordered the 5-piece and deliberated making an escape until my stomach forced me to the window to pay. They were fresh out of the grease when they arrived. I know because I watched her shake them from the basket into the fry box. I didn’t care though. I carefully pulled one out of the box and bit into it, at the same time breathing on it to cool it. I swallowed the first piece, which was pretty much just a piece of crunchiness, then breathed inside, onto the cheese and macaroni on the inside. I really wanted to enjoy these, so it was important that I not sear my tongue or the roof of my mouth in the process. Interjection: I’ve had fried m & c before at a restaurant. It was ok, but not terribly flavorful. This one, though, OH EM GEE! It was like heaven. Outside crunchiness and inside, creamy, dreamy mac n cheese! I ate the rest of them as slowly as I ate the first (my mouth is watering as I write this) as I drove in the opposite direction from my home just to get to a freeway exit without construction. I didn’t even care anymore. I was so happy and satiated. So, thank you, Arby’s for making a starving girls’ evening and for having one more thing on your menu that DOESN’T give me diarrhea (i.e. anything with the words ‘roast beef’ in it). I got home, slept well, despite my guilty conscience and then started yet another day with a warm cup of water with the juice of ½ a lemon and one brown rice cake, plain.
Sometimes on Sundays, we go to my mom’s for dinner. Last night, I got there early, so we caught a couple of shows on tv. The first one was called The Spiral Staircase. It’s an old movie about a mute maid-servant and a killer on the loose. The other one was so creepy, it made my mom’s husband physically ill. Enjoy.
The worst part of planning a wedding, for me at least, is the mom. Mine is so beaming proud that her 36-year-old daughter isn’t a lesbian and as proof, is getting married, that she needs to let her entire ward (that’s a congregation for those of you who don’t speak Mormon) know. She also needs to invite them to the reception. At first, I was adamantly (put on a little makeup makeup, make sure they get your good side good side) against it. I asked her to narrow it down to maybe 5 invitations – you know, just people she was close to. A barter ensued and we were able to NARROW IT DOWN to 50. Not 50 people, 50 invitations, 50 families/couples. 50+ strangers. Why would I want all these strangers at my wedding?? Why in the world does she think this is ok? I’ve never met any of these people. Did I confuse her when I said “I’d just like family, close friends, and, oh, hell, let’s just DOUBLE the guest list and invite a bunch of people I’ve never met, too?” Maybe I should go stand in the middle of the mall and hand any extra invitations to passersby. She has tried to plead her case by saying “they might even throw you a shower.” Yay. A party with a bunch of strangers giving me free stuff. I can’t think of anything more comfortable. Except maybe selling a wheelbarrow full of crap to a feeble elderly woman on social security. However, I guess when you’re paying for your daughter’s wedding, that means you get to make all the decisions. Like what time things will begin and end, where the rehearsal dinner will be, who caters it, whose names go on the invitations, what color linens to put on the tables, which of daughter’s ideas are poo (all of them), etc. etc. Wait a minute, no it doesn’t! I think when you hang something over someone’s head like “you’re broke and I’m paying,” in order to have things the way you want them, it’s called manipulation. And, folks, that just ain’t right. So, even though the 250 invitations are printed and the photos that go with them are on their way, Chouaib and I just might go have a bonfire up the canyon with them (we’ll pay you back, mom), go to the county court house when my dad and brother come into town (immediate family only), and then have a nice reception when we can afford to do it our (my) way. How does that sound? Love ya, mom.
Why does some of the music they play at my work remind me of a seventies made-for-tv love story?
Why does some of it have roosters crowing in it? Are roosters really that relaxing? Don’t they make you wanna wake up instead of relax?
Why does my nose seem to have an infinite supply of boogers? Ten minutes after THOROUGHLY cleaning it out, it’s full of them again. All I have to say is boogers are jerks.
Oh yeah, and why am I so awesome?
First of all, it’s not like I’m in school or anything. Usually work just slows down so it feels kind of vacationy. So I’m just going to write an update of my life since this summer has had more excitement than the past 10 years of my life combined.
I should begin with Memorial Day weekend. My friend Lindi and I decided to go dancing at this place called The Hotel downtown. I was hesitant to go because I’d heard it was kind of a wild place, but some other friends of ours were going and I needed to get out and dance my cares away, so I went. It’s kind of a funny story just how we started talking. There were no cheesy lines, no glancing at each other from across the crowded room. I just walked up to him, on Lindi’s behalf, to ask if he was Colombian. Then he turned and said something to his friend in French, so I figured he wasn’t who Lindi thought he was. Then I answered him back in French. We started talking, and maybe kissed a couple of times, and two weeks later, I finally started pronouncing his name right. By the way it’s Chouaib, pronounced Shwibe for you Anglophones.
After we’d been seeing each other for about four weeks (we agreed the first week to be exclusive), I got on a plane to Prague. The thought of someone actually wanting to be my boyfriend and the fact that I was having a hard time finding something wrong with him (something that would take him out of the marriage material category) was really starting to freak me out. I wish I could say that’s why I left. Although it wasn’t, I was looking forward to the break. Not that I wanted to get away from him, I was completely in L-O-V-E by that point, but I just didn’t expect much more after. I’d given up on the idea of the whole long-term commitment thing. All the guys I had liked weren’t keen on the idea and all those who were interested in one woman only had already found one or were not interested in me as a candidate to fill that position. I had decided that I only attracted non-commitals and maybe it was just my lot in life to be an awesome aunt to my little Sam, Maddi and Lily. The aunt who never got married. Despite his assurances in sugary-sweet text messages and even though he told me I was his “grand amour” (great love), I didn’t believe this one would last any longer than my longest relationship. I only saw it eventually fizzling when he became disinterested or decided that I wasn’t the one for him.
So I went to Europe. It’s so strange. I love Europe so much that I could live in most any European country happily for the rest of my life. It was a dream to finally be in Prague, a dream I’d waited for 10 years to be fulfilled. I was with my dad, who I hadn’t seen for four months and we were traveling through beautiful mountains and countryside, visiting cities with amazing food and museums. But what was strange was how homesick I would get. I had dreams about home almost every night. After the first week, we were on our second day in Ljublana, Slovenia, and I couldn’t believe our trip wasn’t even half-over.
Don’t get me wrong, I had a fabulous time and took advantage of every second. I ran my dad ragged trying to soak up every bit of culture in each city. I didn’t want to miss a thing. But I did. I missed home.
When I got back, Chouaib was still there, waiting for me. He picked me up at the airport and a week later, he started talking about marriage – if he moved out of state next year he wanted me to go with him. Also his lease was going to be up in September and if we got married, we could move in together. I responded that we’d see where we were next year and then we could talk about it. I think he thought that meant that I didn’t want to be with him. So for the next couple of days he sulked around. I tried to reassure him. It’s always been in my head that you date for a year before you get married. My assurances didn’t seem to sink in. Then he left me a note one day saying that I was his last love and that was all he wanted. And it worked. I called him and told him ok, but that I needed a ring. I got one the very next day.
I guess that’s a lot to take in. I’m going to have to write about Europe (with pics), and what else I’ve done (probably boring in comparison to this post) in another blentry (blog entry).
So much has changed. And so much more is about to.
I was at my mom’s today printing off my itinerary and some travel information for my upcoming trip (10 days!!) since I’m po’ and don’t have a printer of my own (but don’t feel sorry for me because I can use my mom’s). We had a nice visit and spoke with my sister-in-law and nephew on the phone for a bit. On a side note, he’s fond of the phrase “one more thing…” though I’m not quite sure he’s grasped the meaning of it. Then as I got into my car, she examined me, as mothers do, and asked, “are you going to get your roots done before you go?” And you wonder where I get my brutal honesty from…
Good – going dancing with friends wearing the new jeans you bought a size too small on purpose that now fit.
Better – having the most random experience of meeting your ex-boyfriend’s ex-wife while out dancing in said new jeans. She knows about you because the kids liked you and tells you you’re way too pretty for him anyway.
Best – leaving for Europe in t-minus one month from today.
Today I was hungry so I cooked up a Lean Cuisine spinach and mushroom pizza and ate it. It was so good, I wanted more, so I threw a Tuscan Chicken Panini in the microwave. It was almost as good as the pizza. Then for dessert I had a Healthy Choice fudge bar. Good thing I go back to work tomorrow. It’s been a while since I’ve had two days off in a row. It’s a little boring. My ass can’t handle it.
The other day I did a facial on a lady who told me she was a pediatric cardiologist. I resisted the overwhelming urge to turn the topic of conversation to bacon. Because I love it. And I really wanted to know if she did, too.