Before I commence the photo-essay about my sister’s wedding a few thoughts…
The whole weekend–starting with the BBQ party on Thursday night to welcome guests, the bridesmaids’ luncheon and the rehearsal dinner on Friday, and the day of pampering, preparations and wedding merriment on Saturday– was amazing. You have never seen a more beautiful bride (evidence below), a more joyful couple and prouder parents. The band was super-talented and the dance floor was on fire. And the warm chocolate chip cookies and milk, in lieu of a groom’s cake, was a magical touch. A good time was had by all!
(take that, Pippa!)
And here are a few pictures from the Rehearsal Dinner 
And as for my Maid of Honor toast, despite my nerves, I thought it went pretty well. It was easy to write since I absolutely adore my little sister.
I made her laugh: 
And I made her cry:
Mission accomplished.
What a weekend.
((Selfishly Unfortunately, the professional photographers put those tacky copyright marks all over their pictures. Therefore, the photos above were generously taken by our super-talented family friend, Debbie and/or snagged from Facebook.))
And one more thing: I wish I had more photos to share of the amazing flowers. Darryl Wiseman, who also did the flowers for my wedding, totally knocked it out of the park for Molly’s big day. If you are planning a wedding in Atlanta (or just sending your woman a little something to tell her she is your Oneandonly- HINT, HINT, HINT*) do the right thing and hire him and his team to do the flowers. They do not disappoint!
*Something seasonal in autumnal colors would be great. And as you know, I have a penchant for peonies.
As the Maid of Honor, I had the privilege of hosting my sister’s bridesmaids’ luncheon last Friday afternoon. I enthusiastically volunteered to have the gathering at my house way back in July before we moved in. I thought that surely by October things would be coming together on the home-front. Notsomuch. The way things were as of two weeks ago, the ladies were going to be lunching on the floor. I wondered if it was too late to give the party a “picnic” theme. Fortunately, hosting the shower turned out to be great last-minute motivation to see that those two completely empty rooms to the right and left of our front door got some much needed furnishing, albeit temporarily.
There is nothing the Internet loves more than a great new Beyonce video, silly kittens on YouTube, and a good old fashioned before & after. You will have to check out the Beyonce video for yourself, but I can give you a few before & afters.
Dining room before:
Dining room after:
The 72’ round table is actually newly mine, as is the barely visible beige-ish tablecloth (both of which my deal-savvy parents were able to snag for a song). This will stay in the dining room until the far-too-distant-future when we can afford to splurge on a large French antique oval table. The coral overlay was an addition from my mom’s collection to jazz up the celebration and add a little oomph to what she calls “the house of beige.” The adorable chiavari chairs were on overnight loan from the wedding caterer. Understandably, I got pretty attached.
The women over 50 30 sat in here—what one day will be the future cozy-sophisto living room. Here it was before:
And ta-da! After:
I couldn’t help but feel like the Barefoot Contessa when I was setting that table with a burlap tablecloth, linen napkins and pewter silver. But I need more eclectic friends with neat stores in The Hamptons to complete that little fantasy. One step at a time, I suppose.
Who catered the shower, you might ask. Well, I did! I can hardly believe it myself. What to serve, what to serve…?
Raise your hand if you have ever been a bridesmaid.
Keep your hand up if you have ever gone to a bridesmaid’s luncheon.
Now keep your hand high in the air if you were served chicken salad at that luncheon.
I see that every single hand is still in the air.
What is it about a gathering of women that necessitates a menu consisting of mayonnaise -laden chicken salad?
Because I didn’t want to ruffle too many feathers and veer too far off the prescribed course for such an event (by serving something like BBQ or lasagna), I served…wait for it…chicken on a salad. There is a BIG difference between chicken salad and salad with chicken in it. Email me if you have any questions about that.
The entree that the bride requested for her second-to-last-lunch as a single lady is affectionately called “the salad” in my family and officially called “The Cornucopia Salad.” It is always a crowd-pleaser and was easily quadrupled to serve 17.
Cornucopia Salad
(serves 4 and doubles and triples easily)
Ingredients:
- 1/4 cup sliced almonds
- 1 tablespoon white sugar
- 1 large head green leaf lettuce or spring greens, torn
- 2 green onions, chopped
- 1 Granny Smith apple, cored and chopped
- 1 avocado – peeled, pitted, chopped and seasoned with salt and pepper
- 1/2 cup dried cranberries
- 1/4 cup crumbled goat cheese (or blue, or feta, or whatever cheese pleases you)
- 1 8oz can mandarin oranges, drained
- 1 rotisserie chicken, white meat only
- Dressing of your choice: I used Trader Joe’s Cranberry Walnut Gorgonzola Vinaigrette this time. Other recommendations: Balsamic vinaigrette, Trader Joe’s Champagne Pear with Gorgonzola vinaigrette or any basic vinaigrette that you love.
Instructions:
Place the almonds and 1 tablespoon of sugar in a small skillet over medium-low heat, and cook and stir until the sugar melts and the almonds brown. Watch carefully because if you turn away for even just a minute, you will have a burnt mess and there will be no choice but to start over. Remove from heat and allow to cool. (In a pinch, you can also skip this step entirely and buy pre-seasoned walnuts or pecans).
Get a fancy French manicure on your way to Costco to pick up the rotisserie chickens. (Hormones and free-range livin’ be dammed, Costco rotisserie chickens are the very, very best). De-bone, de-skin and remove all that tasty white breast meat from the chickens. Shred it in bite size pieces. Ruin your wedding manicure. Decide it was definitely worth it.
In a large salad bowl, mix the lettuce, green onions, apple, avocado, dried cranberries, mandarin oranges, chicken, goat cheese, and cooked almonds. No need to be exact on the measurements of these ingredients, just add as much or as little as you like
Toss with the dressing of your choosing and serve.
Along with the salad we served these delicious little butter muffins. They were divine warm from the oven. Recipe as follows:
- 2 sticks butter
- 1 8 oz. carton sour cream
- 2 cups self-rising flour
And dessert, oh my heavens dessert.
Vanilla ice cream toped with fresh berries and the most delicious warm toffee sauce you’ve ever had. My Man and I have been reheating the leftovers since the shower, and he insisted I blog the recipe for the benefit of my blog readers. It’s that good! You know, life is tough these days. We might be on the verge of a double-dip recession and we are definitely on the verge of winter and the end of daylight savings time. I also have a newly married sister who may or may not be spending Christmas with our family. I don’t know which is worse. What I do know is that this will help:
Instructions:
Combine first 4 ingredients in saucepan. Stir and allow to come to a boil for 1 minute. Remove from heat, stir in toffee bits and cool. Serve over strawberries (ice cream is optional) topped with dollop of whipped cream. Sauce may be made well ahead and left to stand, or refrigerated and reheated. Stir occasionally when reheating.
It truly was such a joy to host my amazing sister and her sweet friends, many of whom I consider friends of my own. It was a treat to have them all together, at the same table sharing delicious food (thankyouverymuch) and even shedding a spirit tear or two, thanks to my sister, who had us all misty-eyed when she went around and told each of us why we were so special to her.
I’m only sorry I had to miss the 10am Zumba class that took place in my parents’ tented driveway the morning before the luncheon.
Apparently even my dad couldn’t resist getting in on the action.
Wedding pictures coming soon…
Remember when I used to be a blogger?
I consistently kept you on the edge of your seat with my recounts of must-see reality tv, workout DVD reviews, cookie recipes, tales of the old landlord, and the newest condiments you need to consume right now. I feel like I owe you one. Like I need to take one for the team and humble myself before my loyal readers to make amends for my month of silence.
Should I try to say nice things about someone I have lightly bashed? Like Ryan Seacrest or Kelly Killoren Bensimon?
Maybe I should show you my face without makeup like Kathie Lee and Hoda did? (I guess I already did that)
How about I share a mildly embarrassing video of myself dancing? Would that even the score? It is certainly worth a shot to get back on your good side.
A few disclaimers:
- I just found this gem on the computer and it was in no way created for public consumption. But that’s how much I love ya.
- The video was taken in the old house last March. (My Man filmed it to test our FlipCam)
- Yes. The video was taken in March and there are Christmas decorations in the background. I love my artsy manger scene so much I didn’t have the heart to take it down immediately after Christmas, or even in the remote vicinity of Christmas.
- The song, not on the billboard chart for top dance tracks, is called “I Am John” by the band Loney, Dear. I dig the beat.
- Sorry if you wasted two of your precious minutes watching the whole thing.
Now, we’re even.
That brings me to my list of big and little things going on lately that are worth dancing about:
My friend Kristin got married in Highlands, North Carolina. The wedding, in a word: Gorgeous. Delicious. Beautiful. Joyful.
Pumpkin season is upon us, and with that comes a bounty of pumpkin baked goods. Want something healthy-ish and pumpkiny delicious? Make this. Want something unhealthy and pumpkin delicious, make these.
My man has embraced yard work–raking, mowing and mulching. Look (and swoon) at his handy work:
New seasons of some of my favorite shows have started: Parenthood, Modern Family, Parks and Recreation, Happy Endings, Sister Wives, etc.
BUT most importantly, my little sister is getting married in a week! A week!
And there will definitely, definitely be dancing.
These days I play a multitude of roles: adoring wife, loving daughter, diligent employee, new neighbor, happy homeowner and MOST IMPORTANTLY, at least according to Emily Post, Maid of Honor.
((Well technically I am the Matron of Honor but in my book, the word ‘matron’ is synonymous to a plus-size nightgown with sleeves.))
Yes, I proudly hold the title of Matron Maid of Honor in my little sister’s upcoming wedding. My job thus far has mostly consisted of engaging two of my passions—giving my opinion and offering advice.
As in: I love those flowers, please ensure that one layer of the cake is carrot with cream cheese frosting, say no to dye-to-match shoes, I would rather not plan or take part in a bridesmaid’s jog the morning of the wedding, I vote for shrimp and grits! And tenderloin! no “electric slide” etc.
Fortunately the bride, the MOH and our wonderful parents (who are funding this grand adventure) all agree on two main things:
Music: SO important. Incite the people dance, I say! How? You play music that gives them no option but to move. And lead by example. We are delighted that a band oozing with soul is making a trip to Atlanta from New Orleans for the big day. Odds are that they will not disappoint. ((It seems I have inordinately strong and perhaps controversial thoughts on the topic of a wedding band’s do not playlist that I’ve thoroughly outlined on a past post.))
Cue my all-time favorite wedding reception dance tune:
Menu: In a word, feed the people! Passed apps and a cheese spread do not a meal make. As a family, we agree that we want wedding guests to know they have eaten dinner. This does not require a sit-down formal dinner, and in fact we prefer that it doesn’t. But it does involve more than taquitos, tuna tartare and Bellini’s. We have officially failed if guests feel the need to swing by the Steak n’ Shake drive thru on their way home from the reception.
With the wedding a mere two months away, the planning of the blessed union and surrounding events is certainly in full swing. Invitations have been mailed, and sample hair dos were tested last weekend. There have been dress fittings and cake tastings and flower picking, oh my!
What has not been done is arguably the single most important task on this Maid of Honor’s list: planning my rehearsal dinner toast. It gives me hives and hot flashes just to think about it. How do you sum up your love for a little sister? To try to tell her how much she means to you? In front of a large audience? While you are trying not to cry so your face isn’t blotchy and puffy on the day of the wedding?
I am officially shaking in my boots Mizuno Wave Elixir 7s.
((remember the Wave Elixir 6 SAGA? They are apparently out to get me)).
Champagne will help but it’s not going to be easy.
When you think Bachelorette party, what first comes to mind?
Limousines? Strippers? Strobe lights?
Well the bachelorette party I attended last weekend for my soul sister, Kristin, was none of those things—but it was ohsomuch better.
We headed to the quaint mountain town of Highlands, North Carolina to stay the weekend at the Bride-To-Be’s family farm. While we lacked access to nightclubs, strippers disguised as park rangers or police men, DJs, and even cell phone service for that matter, we were by no means roughing it.
We had delicious dinners that lasted hours
Cocktails o’ plenty on the beautiful porch
Ice cream
Rope swinging
All-around general merriment and my (unsuccessful) attempts to outshine the maid of honor.
We even made friendship bracelets to commemorate the occasion. Because we are the most popular girls in junior high.
And clearly got carried away vajazziling everything in sight.
The Bride To Be even taught me how to play backgammon one lazy morning. Take that, Las Vegas.
And of course, there was a surprise lingerie shower. Kristin decided to model each piece of negligee as she opened it. How thoughtful!
You wouldn’t have guessed it by looking at her, but the sister of the groom chose the most salacious piece. Just a wool scarf made of the family tartan. Yep, just a scarf. Let that mental image set in for a moment because there will be no picture.
The most special part of the weekend was Saturday night when we each read a letter we had written to Kristin.
None of us knew that we would be reading the letters out loud (the MOH neglected to include that tidbit in her instructions), but that actually made it even better. The letters were filled with sweet and hilarious stories, affirmations of love for the happy couple, and reasons why Kristin is such a special friend, sister and future sister-in-law. Not a dry eye in the place.
And this particular bachelorette weekend was made that much better for this reason—
I knew all of the bridal party already! Kristin’s sisters feel like my sisters and her friends have become my friends through the years. Dorothy, the sister of the groom was the only girl I didn’t know going into the weekend, but she certainly won my good favor with her choice of lingerie. Not to mention that her letter to Kristin tore. the. house. down. Dorothy, you made me laugh, you revealed you have a naughty streak, and you made my eyes misty tears of joy and gratitude. Well done, Dorothy!
Bottom line: Kristin has great taste in friends.
For many of us, this weekend was not about meeting new friends, it was about spending time with old ones. Is it terrible of me to confess that that’s my favorite kind?
After a series of exposé articles highlighting the corruption associated with the big-name moving companies in the Atlanta area, I opted to book with a company that boasted higher moral standing. Accredited by both the Better Business Bureau and evangelical Christians in Peachtree City, A Better Way Moving Company had the distinct honor of helping us make the move.
After sitting through “inspirational” hold music and running through payment and logistics over the phone, the polite representative said, “We look forward to helping you on July 9. We will be praying for your move.” The sentiment caught me off guard, but I will never turn down a free prayer.
The moving truck showed up bright and early on Saturday morning. Needless to say, we made quite an impression on the new and old neighborhood.
old house
Sharing verses from Revelation illustrated by fully-armed winged man angels will never be my approach to sharing the Good News. The new neighbors are going to have to get to know us to realize that we subscribe to a different brand of Christianity. I’m pretty sure they are expecting us to start knocking door-to-door handing out hellfire pamphlets any day now…
After we said our goodbyes to the Better Way boys, we assessed the mountain of boxes before us. How we managed to fit so much into our four room rental house remains a mystery.
Remember how the nice man from the moving company told me that he would be praying for our move? Well, his prayers worked! It started pouring down rain right when they drove away.
It was like Christmas morning when my parents pulled up with a car full of wedding presents. They had so kindly stored all of our registry treasures at their house, awaiting the day when we would have a kitchen fit for a Cuisinart and cabinet space for our china.
My parents were work horses and made themselves supremely useful for the better part of Saturday and Sunday. My dad helped with the unpacking and heavy lifting and my mom b-lined to my new closet and made sure that my hangers were coordinated. It is no surprise that the same woman who keeps her Tupperware and “junk” drawers immaculately arranged also has a knack for quickly and chromologically organizing a closet.
They certainly earned their pay, in the form of an all-expenses-paid 10pm dinner at Jalisco’s. Strip-mall Mexican has never tasted so good.
But before we went to bed that first night, My Man and I had to take care of an important detail.
Traditionally, couples share the top of their wedding cake on their first anniversary. Because we enjoyed a delicious four hour brunch on April 18, 2010, we decided that we would save the cake for the first night in our new house. We had just started the house hunt and thought that surely it would only be a month or two until we were happy homeowners. Our second anniversary came and went with plenty of romance but nary a new home.
At long last, on Saturday night we carefully unwrapped the cake. Shockingly, the cream cheese frosting stood the test of time, a move and multiple power outages. It was delicious!
Our first Sunday morning in the new house was spent picking up essentials at Costco, Target, Ikea, Lowes and Best Buys. As if that consummate consumerism isn’t enough to make your head spin, I wouldn’t let myself sit down until I had a few rooms completely unpacked. Not a good idea. By dinnertime, this was the scene:
Yes, a mad case of the spins and violent heaving from a self-induced (and self-diagnosed) exhaustion migraine. Or maybe it was the 2 ½ year-old wedding cake…?
((My Oneandonly has an artist’s eye and insisted on capturing this raw moment on film.))
We have been in the new house a little over a week now, and I can finally, finally say that I have recovered from the move. Moving straight took it out of me. All of it. I am delighted and relieved that we opted for a house that we can grow into because I have no plans to pack up and move anytime in the near or distant future.
Come visit?
The big move happens tomorrow but I couldn’t help but take a small load of the essentials over during my lunch break today. The essentials, loosely translated, are those few items that were not in boxes this morning as I was leaving for work: a winter coat, a few bottles of wine, and these boots.
Today, I put the first thing where it belongs. Grinning ear-to-ear, I walked in the door to the smell of fresh paint and marched my boots right to their new home.
Evvvverything has a place. Do you know how good that feels? ((I’ll tell you who knows how good that feels–All of those type As who live and die by Real Simple, label their clear Ziploc bags and can think of 101 ways to use a coffee filter.))
Tomorrow will feel a lot like this:
Only waaay cooler, because just some, not all, of our stuff is made of plastic.
I am beside myself with glee.
Everything has its place, now I have mine.
We move into The New House exactly two weeks from tomorrow. I am first and foremost supremely elated to be moving into a place of our very own. I am second and secondmost supremely overwhelmed about all of the things that need to happen between now and then.
The packing piece has been hanging over my head a bit. For some reason I can’t buckle down and just do it. I am afraid to put things in taped-up boxes for fear that I might need something in them. The fear is paralyzing and is causing me to spend my packing time clearing out the DVR queue instead—another priority of arguably equal magnitude.
I had a heart-to-heart with myself the other night about packing a certain kitchen item.
Me: You should probably go ahead and pack the mini muffin pan.
Me: I don’t know. What if I need to make mini muffins between now and the move?
Me: You haven’t made mini muffins in the three years you have owned the mini muffin pan. Pack it.
Me: But what if I am craving mini muffins over the next few weeks? Then what?
Me: PACK THE DAMN PAN!
One thing is for sure. In the new house, I’m going to be the kind of woman who bakes mini muffins. I’ll be known for my mini muffins. I am going to wear that damn pan out.
Although I may not have done much packing, I have done two very important things:
1. I have changed over all (# censored so you don’t judge me for frivolous spending and superficial reading habits) of my magazine subscriptions to the new address. It was the first move-related thing I did after we signed the papers at the closing. Priorities, people. Priorities. My friends at Vanity Fair and New York Magazine, among others, now know exactly where to find me.
2. I have selected, purchased and scheduled delivery for two—yes two—matching sofas for our new living room. Having two parallel sofas has been a dream of mine since I saw Father of the Bride Part II.
Now if we could juuuust figure out a way to convince my mom to have another baby. At the same time time as me…
Here are a couple of designer examples of the two sofa scenario. I think the setup is ideal for conversations and entertaining.
Source: Urban Grace Interiors
Source: Nathan Egan Interiors
Source: Somewhere on the WWW.
So come on over anytime! We can read magazines while we lounge parallel on the sofas. I’ll make you mini muffins.
So far on the blog, I have officially and publicly endorsed:
- Vacation
- Condiments
- The lottery
- My Man
- American Express
- Jason Hoppy and Tim Riggins
- Jillian Michaels
- Seabands (the cure for motion-sickness)
- Christmas
- Magazines
- Mizuno Wave Elixir running shoes
- A lot of other wonderful and/or delicious things
I have officially and publicly ridiculed and scorned:
- The tumultuous relationship between our former basement tenant and his girlfriend
- Heart-shaped engagement rings
- Our Landlord (who now lives in the basement)
I am delighted that the first list is far longer than the second. After all, Dear Reader, you come here to be uplifted, informed, and complimented for your good looks and good taste—not to hear me gripe and complain about things that get me down. Ammaright?
To that end, I figured today would be a great day to share a list of things that I have been loving lately, in hopes that you will love them too. I therefore bestow my highly coveted stamp of absolute approval on the following:
The TV show “Happy Endings.”
It is ridiculously clever. It’s so clever, in fact, that you can’t multi-task (like you are doing now) and you actually have to listen closely to catch the subtleties in the dialogue. The cast…
My Man and I were worried that we were the only ones in the continental US watching this gem but good news! Someone else (besides my friend Allie who blogs at Baxter Barks Twice) must be watching too because ABC just picked it up for another season. Catch up on season one re-runs on Hulu or Abc.com and let’s meet back here for season two.
The phrase” What’s the best price you can give me?”
(Most effective when spoken with a combination of southern sweetness and I’m not here-to-be-jerked-around-ness.) If you learn nothing else from me, please remember this: everything, I mean (mostly) EVERYTHING, is negotiable. Use this phrase anywhere from the Jiffy Lube to the high-end furniture store or fashion boutique. Try saying it in front of the mirror first, then take your new line on the road.
I guarantee 91% success in getting a better price than marked. Sometimes they will cut you a deal on the spot. Other times they may let you know of a future sale to hold out for, an available coupon, or a special price for a pair or a floor sample. Saving money sure feels good because then you have more to spend.
ESPN 30 for 30.
I know, right? You’re thinking Jennifer, you usually only reference shows on channels like E!, Bravo and HGTV—how can you possibly be into any of that sports propaganda on ESPN? Well ladies, because of quality programming like 30 for 30, (and because I live with a boy) I now know that HD ESPN is channel 846. And I have even been known to check out what’s on said channel even when not lovingly coerced by My Oneandonly.
30 for 30 is a series of 30 documentaries by different filmmakers that capture some of the biggest issues, events and stories that have happened in the past 30 years in sports. If you like Ken Burns’ documentaries, Behind the Music, or chocolate-covered raisins from Trader Joe’s, you will like 30 for 30. I have not seen all 30 (because clearly I devote most of my TV time to the channels mentioned above) but the ones I have seen are amazing. The first one I saw was called “The Two Escobars,” about the interesting connection between coke-lord Pablo Escobar and soccer legend Andres Escobar. It was incredible.
These documentary films each stand alone and are really well done and well directed. And the DVD set would be an amazing gift for the man (or men—no judgment) in your world.
The band, “Noah and the Whale.”
I have been into this band for a while now, but until last night, I had never had the opportunity to see them live. All I can say is damn. And wish I could see them again tomorrow. ((CLICK HERE for the setlist from last night with links to listen to the tunes. Three cheers for the world wide web.))
Their studio albums are pretty good but their live show positively floored me. See them live in concert, I say!
Here’s another one for your enjoyment.
Oh! And another. (Certainly worth waiting out the 10 second commercial)
Check them out if they are playing in your city. You will not regret it.
Edy’s Triple Cookie Fudge Sundae Ice Cream
Three different delicious flavors in one handy container! Great idea or great idea?
And I bet the Triple Chocolate Peanut butter Sundae is really good too.
So that is just the tip of the iceberg of things I have been loving of late. What’s on your list?? Please share!
The day after we closed on the house(!) we packed up and headed down to Florida for a week at the beach. The timing of it all was almost too good to be true.
Last year I recapped the annual trip with a photo-essay staring my feet.
Although it was riveting, this year I wanted to give you a broader picture of our trip. It really was pure bliss.
One of the things I love most about being down at Watercolor is looking at all of the beautiful houses. Not a musty old beach cottage in the bunch.
There is something soothing about being in a community where even the sewage hoods and the lampposts are thoughtfully and uniformly designed.
Just going for a walk around the neighborhood is like thumbing through the pages of a glossy magazine. Add a podcast of All Songs Considered to the mix and there you have five of my favorite things all happening AT THE SAME TIME: walking, looking at pretty houses, listening to music, listening to smart people talk about music, and vacation. It was almost too much.
We intentionally chose to plan our spring vacation for a week that is still in the academic calendar. This meant that
- The beach was way less crowded
- I could get my snoop on and look in lots of windows at the interior décor without being arrested
After a delicious dinner at Fish Out of Water, we hung out by a neat fire pit by the beach-side pool.
Here I am sitting by the fire and practicing my Guliana Rancic pose: looking down and to the side. (The up-to-something smirk was my addition.)
And is there anything, anything better than going for a sunset beach cruise with The One You Love?
Well, maybe sharing a chocolate soufflé with warm flur de sel caramel sauce with him. Two nights in a row.
Ah, vacation!
Take me back.
We are homeowners!
Or are we home owners? Not sure. But either way, we entered a leather chaired conference room, signed abizzilion documents, transferred a large amount of our hard-earned of money, exchanged firm handshakes and emerged homeowners/home owners.
The House is now Our House!! Like I said before, from the first time we saw it I was smitten. I would show you a picture of the adorable exterior, but since there are so many creepers on the internet (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE), I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Instead, I’ll offer an artistic rendering:
That’s the new house made entirely of chocolate covered raisins.
And let’s revisit the list I made ohsolongago, about what we wanted in the future house and see how it stacks up:
Deal makers:
- an open floor plan where the kitchen flows into the living room (YES!)
- a yard for a future (hopefully non-shedding) dog (YES!)
- a quiet street in a walkable neighborhood (super hilly neighborhood, but YES! and better yet, it is in walking distance from some of our very best friends!)
- at least 3 bedrooms, so yall can come visit (YES! 4!)
- a value. a deal. a big bang for the hard-earned buck. (We found a rare gem)
Deal breakers:
- located on a flood plain (No! no flood insurance necessary)
- on a busy street with double yellow lines (Not even a single dotted yellow line)
- choppy floor plan (No! It’s very open with a great flow)
- an on-site seller’s agent who talks to My Man throughout the entire home tour, and only talks to me when pointing out the features of the laundry room (No seller’s agent to speak of, in fact, the house was never officially on the market and we are actually friends with the builder/former owner )
- a master bathroom that makes me feel like I would get an STD from taking a bath in the black marble tub (I’m talking to you, house on Martin Court) (I am SO excited about the bathrooms in the new house. Baths will no longer be reserved for hotel stays!)
- the lot backs up to an interstate or is in hearing distance from one (nope!)
- really low ceilings (high ceilings!)
BONUS gifts that weren’t even on the list:
- Two closets in the master bedroom
- Dark hardwoods
- A front porch
- Speakers throughout the house
- Wainscoting in the dining room
To say that I am all-caps SUPER EXCITED doesn’t even cover it.
Moving day is currently scheduled for July 9, but there is a chance that we might be able to move that date forward a bit. 58 days and counting…
((And almost, almost, as exciting as closing on Our House was sending The Landlord (who currently lives in the basement apartment) a notice that we will be moving out. Sigh. Of. Relief. With a dash of take that you unhygienic, penny-pinching cable thief))
I’d be willing to bet that Kate (err Catherine) Middleton and I had very similar nights last Thursday:
- Crest Whitestrips
- Pushups
- Eyebrow tweezing
- Liberal Proactiv application
- Toenail touch-up
- Beauty rest
No, last Thursday wasn’t the night before my internationally televised and vastly attended royal wedding, but it was eve of my TEN YEAR high school reunion.
Let’s take a stroll down memory lane, shall we…
Junior Prom, 2000
And here is a close-up of me and my High School Romance.
Ah, first love. xoxo.
Ten years later, and clearly back and better than ever, I was too caught up in the excitement of the reunion to take any photos myself. But fortunately a few of us jumped in the smilebooth at the end of the evening:
It was a great night.
Go Wildcats,
Jennifer #22
Anyone giving advice to prospective home-buyers likely includes this pearl of wisdom: “Don’t get emotionally attached to a house. Until it’s official and everything is signed, there are no guarantees.”
Translation: Be cool, you ninny. It’s not yours yet and it probably never will be. So spare yourself the potential disappointment and stay cool. STAY COOL.
Easier said than done.
From the first time we saw The House, I was smitten. I went to sleep dreaming of the dark hardwoods and the open floorplan. A few days later I was completely mentally and emotionally packed and already visualizing the place where we would put the Christmas tree. I knew I was in deep.
We have been house hunting for almost a year and this was the first time anything remotely excited us. So despite words of warning and my better judgment, I willingly dove in headfirst. While My Man kept his poker face, I was just excited to be excited.
I imagined what my life would be like in the beautiful master bathroom. You know, to have somewhere where you really feel squeaky clean? I dream of it! Since I left the nest (my parent’s house) I’ve never lived anywhere where I have even been tempted to take a bath. It should be noted that I LOVE baths, but the bathroom at our current digs is far from spa-like. And there is always the possibility of an unwelcome surprise visit from the landlord…
When I drew a picture of The House in white icing on My Man’s Toaster Strudel, I knew things had gotten pretty bad. But I willingly let myself go there.
The thing is, I had no idea if buying The House was even a possibility. Among other issues, The House technically wasn’t on the market yet. The important questions were swirling around my head: Can we afford it? Is it a good investment? What will our interest rate be? Will we like the neighborhood? Where will we put the Christmas Tree? When can we move in?
Over the past few weeks I have been drinking a tasty cocktail. Recipe as follows:
1 part anxiety + 1 part excitement + 1 part longing + 1 part fear of disappointment + 2 parts red wine
It goes down pretty smooth.
Well, after three weeks of conversations and negotiations, I am delighted to report that we are officially under contract. I couldn’t be more excited! I suppose I’m still supposed to be protecting myself from getting too attached, but clearly I stopped doing that a long time ago. Sure, something could still fall through. There is always the chance of termites or tornadoes. And we still have to do an inspection and the appraisal and all of that, but I am hopeful everything will work out.
Not a done deal, but pretty dang close.
Conversation topics that bore me and/or that I tune out:
- Travel horror stories about plane delays and missed connections exceeding 4 minutes
- Silly stories about your cat
- Certain minor “medical conditions” (i.e. rashes, chronic fingernail fungus and attempted remedies; foot pain and the like)
- Detailed accounts of dreams exceeding 3 minutes. (I like hearing about your dream, especially if I am in it, but please keep the recount snappy)
- Car talk beyond what kind (including but not limited to traffic patterns, engine issues, etc.)
So since it has been a few weeks since I have blogged, I thought, what better way to reengage my readers than with an in-depth discussion of #3! Specifically, the medical issues I have with my feet.
My foot problems don’t have to do with odor (well, at least not my biggest problem). I have what the experts on the internet call plantar fasciitis. Basically extreme pain in my heels and my arches.
You have already stopped reading. For the two of you who are still with me, you get gold stars and the secret password to the clubhouse.
Anyway, about five years ago I went to one of those fancy shoe stores that videotape you when you run and diagnose excess pronation issues and whatnot. Blah, blah, blah, they hooked me up with these Mizuno Wave Elixir shoes and that were apparently the right ones for me and my “special” feet. They certainly weren’t my favorite looking shoes, but I put my vanity aside and bought them.
Five years later, I haven’t looked back. My feet don’t hurt anymore and I feel like amillion bucks. They come in one color each season so every time I go to the shoe store I get the current color in my size and hit the streets. I don’t even bother trying them on or looking at the other options. Sometimes they are white and red, other times white and silver—nothing offensive or notable. So whatever this season’s style is, I suck it up and buy the shoe.
Here was my most recent pair. Unremarkable but comfortable.
On Sunday I popped in WestStride for a new pair of the old faithfuls to kick off the walking season. “Another pair of these” I said, pointing down at my feet dressed in the blasé Wave Elixir 5s.
“Sure thing,” he said and went in the back of the store. When he returned and opened the box containing the Wave Elixir 6. I went blind.
I tried them on. Complained for a minute, ogled at the superfly Nikes, and walked out the door in my new pair of neon prescription shoes.
Holy ridiculousness, you can see me coming from a mile away. Not at all what I was going for.
I walked next door to the hardware store where two different people asked me if I had run the Atlanta marathon that morning. These shoes are that intense. (The answer: definitely not. I was just waking up and contemplating my breakfast options when those go-getters were on mile 26). Yesterday two people commented on the shoes at the gas station and the checkout girl at the grocery store asked me if I had just gone on a run. It’s like people look at my feet and just feel obligated to say something. Anything. People don’t quite know how to respond to the day-glo blindness before them.
On the bright* side, if the kidnappers leave me for dead one fateful night deep in the woods, the search team will be able to find me.
624 words about my new running shoes. *And a pun.
Guess who’s back!
((Life is happening. Stay tuned…))
Part of me has always wanted to be famous—the fashion, the parties, the life of luxury, the (not-always-requisite) talent…but there are parts of being a superstar that must be hard. In your prime you are a talent, a beauty, a world-class something, a living legend who is revered. But unfortunately, time marches on and as youth fades, so do and good looks and youthful talents. The problem is we don’t let these celebrities fade into the sunset. They keep touring, hosting, singing and dancing and we watch their wilting on the national stage. The powers that be leave us no choice but watch their painful collapse. They keep putting them on tour and on TV and it’s impossible to look away.
Case. In. Point. Bob Dylan at the Grammys last week.
Years of hard living inspired some of the greatest lyrical poetry, but unfortunately have caused the poet’s voice to suffer. As much as I love his songs and appreciate his iconography and his living legend status, it is flat-out painful to hear him perform these days. He sounds awful.
Clearly I could post a video here of him sounding like death, but instead I am going to honor him in his prime by listening to my favorite Dylan tunes from the days of yore. I suggest you do the same. “Shelter from the Storm,” “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere,” “Queen Jane Approximately,”With God on Our Side,” “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues,” You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” and “Tangled Up in Blue,” are a few personal favorites.
If I were him I would mysteriously fade out of the spotlight, move to Italy and spend my days counting my money and writing my tell-all autobiography.
Dick Clark is another aging celebrity that continues to bask/flounder in the limelight, even if just once a year. Dick Clark has been hosting the televised NYC ball drop since 72. Quick do the math. That’s almost 40 years of counting down and filling the dead airtime until the clock strikes midnight. Not an easy job, and made exponentially harder after he suffered a stroke a few years ago. Hosting the program doesn’t look easy or fun for him anymore due to his slowed movement and quivering voice.
I have to watch the ball drop on another channel because it is too painful to watch Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve without getting sad and thinking about aging parents…and grandparents…and losing loved ones….and the impermanence of it all… and how health and youth are so fleeting…and…
See? Exactly what you don’t want to be thinking about out at a party in the first moments of a new year.
I’m thinking his reluctance to call it quits on his annual gig is because he must own the rights to the ball drop—or perhaps he coined the phrase New Year’s Eve in the first place. Sorta like like “PUSH: A Novel by Sapphire” or M Night Shyamalan’s resistance to letting a movie title stand without his name attached…
Someone needs to politely tell Mr. Clark to spend next New Year’s (Rockin’) Eve at home, with his family instead of narrating the play-by-play. I’m sure Ryan Seacrest is chomping at the bit to take over. Let him have it.
Not that I am particularly exited about ringing in the New Year with Seacrest either…
Sometimes men need a sports analogy to help them tie it all together, so here you go: It would be like asking the aged Michael Jordan to join in the dunk contest. He would hobble up to the basket and bank a layup. There would be no jumping and certainly no dunking. It would be too sad to watch. They know this about athletes, and they let them play during the prime of their career then they get them jobs at ESPN. At least that’s my observation.
For us non celebs, our wilting won’t play out on the national stage, but it might be just as painful to watch. Years and years from now, it will no longer be age-appropriate or sightly for me to move my stuff to the rhythm of the baseline in public. People will stare and youngsters might grimace and look away. I’m hoping when that day comes, Someone Who Loves Me will gently tap me off the shoulder and lovingly take me off the dance floor.
We all need people in our lives that can tell us when to say when—someone who loves us enough to tell us no. Bob Dylan and Dick Clark’s people need to step up to the plate. Consider this a gentle tap on the shoulder to get off the dance floor.
And Kathy Lee Gifford, consider this your first warning. Your clock is ticking.
