Pass The 40 ‘Cause My Mother’s Not Looking

What a cool thing to say as a kid. We all thought it. Well maybe not everyone, but if you lived in the glamour of MTV early-nineties hip-hop videos this may have been one thing you at least wished you could say. This of course is part of a verse sung by a child in BlackSheep’s “Pass the 40” from their “A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing” album. You might remember this group more for their hit “This or That” where they sing “engine engine number nine … ” Remember them now (you just sang it in your head, didn’t you)? It’s the song you love to belt out at clubs and bars but really don’t know anything else by this band. You might also recognize them from the TV sitcom “Scrubs.” I believe Turk wore their t-shirt during one episode (I hope that helps). BlackSheep songs were one of my lawn mower anthems. I would pop this tape into my Walkman (and not the kind that fast forwarded to the next song – I had to time that puppy just right) and listen to it continuously as I worked in my parents yard. I did get paid 10 bucks to mow the lawn, but I also got paid in rapping and gangsta lessons (though to be honest, BlackSheep wasn’t that gansta. I needed to pop in my Ice Cube, “The Predator,” tape for that). Anyway, back to “Pass the 40.” That kid was an icon for how we all wanted to feel and be seen – at least on the outside. He was so grown-up and hip by telling his friends to pass the 40, but I bet he didn’t feel cool when that malty beverage coated his taste buds. He probably ran home and washed it out with milk and cookies. The only time my friends and I drank 40’s was in college and that’s because they were cheap, you only had to buy one and it saved you money before you went out. But as a teen I bought into what this kid was saying along with every other teenager. I did want to look cool in front of my friends (it’s one of the reasons why I tried to wear my bright colored jorts ABC style and why I just had to have that pull out radio, when a regular one would’ve been just as good and would have allowed us table-space at Chilli’s). Looking back, I think that’s OK though. I mean what teen or tween didn’t want to look like a Fonzie-esk deity to their friends. But as an adult? Well, that’s a whole other washbasin of marbles.

I feel a need to call out the world (Though I really don’t know that many people, so I could really use your assistance on this one). There’s a lot of fakeness among us adults … I’m sorry, let me rephrase that in a nicer way. There’s a lot of Fonzie wannabes among us and it’s not even wanting to look cool as much as it’s people trying to act how they think they are supposed to. And I’m not talking about self-actualization or personal growth either. This is more about how we think we need to actively project and portray ourselves to others (Let’s call these people “Projectors”). Fonzie wasn’t a projector and he did “cool” perfectly, but he was Fonzie. Henry Winkler is not Fonzie outside of the character, though I’m certain he tried to be and feel into Projector status time-to-time. After all isn’t that what we wanted to see in him? Anyway, here are two general Projector examples that you can deeply examine on your own time (I’m sure you know one person in each category. Try and figure out what they are projecting.): 1) the guy that wants and actively uses the term “Mancave” and 2) the girl that laughs and acts bubbly after swinging and missing a base/softball. So what’s the reason for all this hullabaloo? Well I almost fell into “Projector” status this week myself. I know what you’re thinking … no way this can happen to GAR. Oh, but it almost did.

I was looking for a cool band t-shirt to wear for the engagement pictures our photographer offered to do for us (free too!) and all mine are faded and worn. While in a store I saw a Clash t-shirt with their song/album title “London Calling” on it alongside really cool graphics of the band. Pretty sweet … I know, but here’s the kicker. I don’t listen to the Clash and I’ve never seen them in concert (this album came out when I was 3) or on TV (However, I do have an LP with this song on it. The LP is “Life in the European Theater” and it’s a compilation album with half the proceeds going to a fund that opposes nuclear arms and power. So obviously, I just picked it up because it was weird). Buying that t-shirt would be a projection to the world that I’m a cooler and more sophisticated music fan than you, when I’m just a normal music fan. How fake would that be? I just need to be a great music fan of the bands I can actually pull up on my iPod. I was lucky to catch myself before someone got hurt in this kerfuffle, but a lot of people don’t.

For instance, I started reading Steven Tyler’s (or should I call him Steven Tallarico) autobiography. Now he’s lived a crazy life, but he is an awful writer. I’m actually giving him too much credit here. He dictated his book, so he’s an awful story teller – though with his name on the cover, it appears as if he wrote it. You say you were raised by wolves Steven? Really? And that was just the first chapter. Tyler tries to be overly cool and humorous in every waking part of his life. This was a big downfall for him in his first attempt at being an author. If he was just honest and real, the stories would shock and scintillate on their own merit. Most people just want him to be the face of Aerosmith and do what he does best - hit that high crescendo in “Dream On” and live his rock star status. But he took it too far though. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t try to evolve … you absolutely should, but be yourself as you do it. He tried to be an interesting author like I tried to be a fan of the Clash. It doesn’t work unless you actually put yourself into it. I think the question here is who are you doing this for anyway and why are you trying to fool your world? This happens outside the realm of artists becoming wannabe authors too, but I’ll stick with Steven to finish my thoughts (you can overlay this “lesson” upon any other area you wish). Here’s a novel idea, if your face and name is on some literary scribblings maybe you should’ve written it yourself - otherwise you’re a “Projector” (And if you do put your face on it, at least make it an attractive picture – some of us like to eat while we read). The world isn’t stupid though. Anyone can see Steven’s failed attempt at trying to be cooler through his words/dictation and the intelligent population will have already figured that out in the first couple of chapters (on a side note, I do in fact think he is cool and has lived an interestingly crazy life, but he could have packaged it much better). As for the people he pulls the wool over, well it’s kind of like convincing a baby you’ve disappeared in a peekaboo game. Not too strenuous, but tricking a baby? Plus, do you really want that to be your audience? Come on Mr. Tyler and come on world (“world” includes all adults you’re going to help me call out. Seriously, I don’t know that many people). Shit, I almost tricked a baby myself in the music world, but I can say one thing for myself though Steven. My picture is on scribblings I actually wrote and my name is on this blog, because I penned this blog.

So, what’s so wrong with just being whom and what you are as an adult? There’s no need to sneak the 40 to look cool people. I say, drink it because you like the taste, or because its 94 cents (with tax an even dollar) and that’s your best right now.

Well, now it’s time to pack prior to jetting off to the Galápagos’ Islands where I would love to become a Projector upon my return. The truth is though, on day 5 I’ll probably say, “oh … look … more animals” and that’s how I’ll write it.

Step 1: We Can Have Lots of Fun

Guess what folks – we finally got down to business and planned this wedding! In one weekend we managed to book a florist, hair/make-up “artist” (and I secured a hair accessory that I hope will work with whatever hair style I decide to go with), made cake selections, arranged for a rehearsal and the subsequent dinner to follow, and I even squeezed into my wedding dress during the latest fitting (sitting is still a problem, but I’m sure I can suck in all throughout dinner, right?) Not to mention that we also took care of our stairway problem (okay, so maybe my Dad made those for us, but I’m still marking it on the “done” list – so there).

I think it’s high time we took a break from all this hard (eh, hard-ish) work. That’s right friends – we’re off on a weddingmoon (a pre-wedding honeymoon … you know, a trip to kick-back, relax and get away from the stress and burden of all that planning and whatnot). There’s just one little problem – we’re not exactly the type of people who are good at just relaxing. But we’re going to try. We’re heading down to South Florida for a long weekend (I know you’re not supposed to tell people that … what if they’re burglars? Well listen here burglars – in addition to the two fearsome guard dogs protecting our home, who have a combined weight of nearly 30 pounds, we have house sitters staying over as well. So consider your efforts thwarted) and we’ve booked a nice, laid-back stay at the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino … okay, well, maybe we just need a thing or two to keep us busy in case the endless miles of beaches, resort pools, bars, restaurants and other chill lounge areas aren’t enough to hold our attention.

Maybe we have adult ADD (and I say “we” because neither of us can sit still for very long. Oh look – something shiny!!! Let’s find out what it is). Where was I? Oh, right – we picked an action-packed hotel because we’re action-packed people and we need to be surrounded by, well, activity. Although, yes, we do want to lounge … enjoy the sun and sand … take a dip or two … read a little (“reading” is this new activity my Groom-A-Saurus Rex just discovered) … all that stuff. But we do have something to fear when it comes to planning an outdoor vacation during July (besides the heat and damaging UV rays) because it is, after all, hurricane season. And with all these tropical storms out there right now with menacing named like “Bret” and “Cindy” (don’t you feel like cataclysmic storms capable of destroying cities and murdering thousands should have names that don’t remind you of 4-year-olds who have yuppies for parents?) we are little concerned – not of the threat they pose to the coastline. No, they are too far out for that. But they do bring with them rain – lots of it. And it’s been never ending for a couple weeks now. And in the event it literally rains on our parade, we’d like to have some fun indoor options as well … like gambling … or shopping … or dancing … pretty much anything other than sitting in our hotel room watching “Golden Girls” re-runs (not that I don’t love that program. It’s a timeless classic after all). And, lucky me, I even found a Groupon for one of the restaurants at our hotel!

Of course, before we can get to all that relaxing (or whatever) we just have a few small stops to make on our way to the Hard Rock. First up, the NKOTBSB concert* (this one GAR is not joining me for – instead I am attending with Sapphire and Jeep … friends who were both born in the 80s … leading me to believe that I’ll be the only one Hangin’ Tough at the show as they were both going through potty training when I was learning about The Right Stuff the first time around). Then, of course, there is the drive to West Palm Beach where GAR will golf with his BFF, I have a wedding shower to attend in Fort Lauderdale, then there is dinner with friends, a potential beach party … See, just a few, little, teeny things to do along the way. But then it’s straight onto the Hard Rock for some sweet, sweet relaxation. Ahhhh … sweet, sweet slot machine, dance club, bar hopping relaxation.

See you when we get back!

* At some point in the early 90s it became horribly “lame” to admit that you had ever liked NKOTB … but, come on, we all did. While I was smart enough to promptly stop liking them at that point I never denied my former fandom. But, most of my classmates – those who only a week earlier had a life-size poster of Jordan hung on their bedroom wall and had been fervently declaring themselves the “biggest fan ever” – refused to admit that they had ever thought NKOTB was cool. Now, thanks to facebook, I see all these very same ladies once again getting jazzed about seeing them in concert. HA! I knew it! And I’m call you – yes YOU – out about it. I guess this just proves what I always knew all along – I really AM the biggest fan ever.

Love Thy Neighbor (Or At Least Recognize Them In Your Waiting Room)

I’ve never been that neighborly. In the past I’ve mainly just referred to my neighbors in the most basic ways – i.e. “the crazy Christmas decorations people” or simply “yellow shutters.” I am cordial to those who live around me but I don’t stop for a long chat. Plus, since I’m sure we’re known as “the neighbors with the barky dogs” a conversation is often difficult to carry on.

However, when we moved into our current house it became clear that we were going to have channel our inner Mister Rogers a little more (shouldn’t be too hard – Señor Rogers attended college at the very institution at which my own Groom-A-Saurus Rex now teaches). The inhabitants of the 5 houses in our cul-de-sac seemed to all be a fairly tight knit group (with the exception of the old people next door with the blind poodle – they don’t hang around much and have despised us ever since we constructed a literal wall between our properties). Pulling into our little court you see all the children from the cul-de-sac playing together … all 6 of them, with the parents chatting and several dogs and cats running all about (including my own pups – the children like to take them out for “walks,” which really just amounts to frantic dogs dragging these poor children around the neighborhood). When “deaf neighbor” put up a sign in the middle of the street (so I wouldn’t miss it) instructing us to “please slow down, children at play,” we got the picture – make nice, talk to these people and be the type of neighbor they want you to be.

And we have. We talk to Trina across the street about the many blessings God has bestowed upon her (I’m pretty sure she’s talking about the aforementioned children who run wild and dig in our yard). I’ve made friends with the neighbor next door to her, who I call Ginger George because, well, he’s a ginger (you know … red hair, fair skin) who oddly enough I’ve never – not once – seen wear a shirt. Not that he can’t pull off that look (because he can … he really can), but seeing as he’s an investment banker I do find it odd that by the time he comes home from work he is already sans shirt … as if the fabric rubbing against his chest for a full 8 hours each day is more than he can bare and he must liberate himself from its confines at once. And I’ve stayed cordial and remembered him name despite the fact that no matter how much I hint, he never offers to take me out on his boat (“Gee, that’s a nice boat George! I sure wish I could go boating. But, sadly, I don’t have a boat. When are you taking it out again? Saturday? Hmm … I’m wide open Saturday. Yep, no plans AT ALL.”) And all of the kids, dogs and assorted bikes, trykes, scooters and skates have been allowed to roll up onto our lawn as much as desired – no questions asked.

Then earlier this month (as part of the “Summer of Me” celebration) I visited an aesthetician, Joanna, to discuss various facial treatments that might help give me a more youthful glow to my complexion. As I spoke with Joanna about chemical peels and the benefits of proper skin treatment routines I couldn’t help but think she looked really familiar. I’ve seen her before. But how do I know her? HOW? And then it clicked – she’s my neighbor. In fact she is Ginger George’s wife. We’ve talked lots of times. Just last week we discussed abandoned kitties her son found and how she was nursing them back to health. We’ve corralled her dog when he escapes and brought him back to the house for her. And here we were, in her office, looking at each other face to (not yet rejuvenated) face not recognizing each other. Had I been so blinded by Shirtless George’s perfect 6-pack abs that I never paid attention to what his wife actually looked like? And did she not recognize me either? What’s going to happen when I bump into her on Pine Street afterwards? What do I say then?

So maybe I’m not THAT bad of a neighbor … I’m just as apathetic as everyone else on the block. Walking around, pretending we’re all so neighborly – it’s a scam … a ruse we put on for the benefit of looking like we’re all regular June Cleavers. Deep down none of us really care enough to remember each other’s names (or faces apparently). And that’s not all – oh no – a recent chat with the neighborhood representative told us all about their dark little secrets too. The old couple with the blind poodle – they’ve got an RV parked on their property, which is against code … and Trina and her gaggle of God-fearing children across the street, they have 2 forbidden RVs. And Ginger George and his aesthetician wife? Well they’re not allowed to park that fancy pants boat that they never share on their lot either. Oh yes, perhaps it’s not such a wonderful day in the neighborhood after all, is it Mister Rogers?

Now I can stop feeling bad about still not finishing the paint job on our house after all these months. It can wait a little longer, right? Whatcha gonna do neighbors – tell on us? I dare you.

In the end I did mention to the aesthetician that I am her neighbor ... and she gave me a free chemical peel as a result. So I do, in fact, love my neighbor. And clearly I will not be forgetting her so quickly in the future ... though now that my face is completely flaking off as a result of the procedure it is quite possible she'll fail to recognize me (again).

SEX! Explosions! Witches’ Cauldron! Pizza? Foolish Escapade? Helicopter Jump!

I thought that title might grab you. And again … here are some words on a computer screen. It’s the best I can promise. Sincerely and somewhat respectfully, GAR

This whole blog thing got me thinking. Now I’m no blogger/writer per say, but I have written the occasional thingy (though those were purely academic in nature – sans any creativity). I am however completely fascinated by the world, people, interactions and society in the general sense AND a blog is all of the above. Your very own Hard Hat Bride and I were reviewing the blog’s statistics (Can you believe that she’s reached Malta, Algeria and Korea of all places? HHB rocks!). Anyway, each blog post has its very own stats on page viewings. I noticed that ones with fluffy names (e.g. Puppy Love) had the least amount of hits, whereas others (e.g. Hus-Banned) with more negative or arousing parts of the title had more hits … makes sense right? Of course it does. It’s the key words of destruction, taboo, excitement, dismay, craziness, infatuation, jealously and fear that are the impetus for our voyeuristic nature. That’s also the very same reason you clicked on this blog post. Surely there was one word in that nonsensical title that grabbed you and says a bit about who you are. Which one was it? I promise not to tell.

We are not a very difficult race to figure out or that sporadic … us humans that is (after all we are just animals and Pavlov proved that behavior could be conditioned with a dog treat and a ding). We all follow some loose form of cycles based off learned behavior, past experiences, good/poor/indifferent parenting, environments, peers, etc. I think that most people don’t want to be predictable, but if we weren’t would this post be skyrocketing in views over all our other posts? You , yeah you, are absolutely without a doubt terribly predictable and if you click the upper right-hand “X” in disgust of what you just read about yourself your blog view still counts (Win-Win-Win as Michael Scott would say – but mostly for me). This is all assumption on my part of course. I actually have no clue how many of you are reading this blog post due to the title, but I do know that “Witches’ Cauldron” sparked someone’s curiosity. Still think we are not that predictable? We all are – including me. However being predictable is not a bad thing and of course there’s a continuum.

People ask me all the time, “Are you analyzing me?” For those that don’t know me, I’m a therapist and professor in the same area. I also have a beer mug hanging at a tavern with my credentials engraved on the side. Hey, I “drank” the 100 beers to earn it, so stop judging me. Anyway, ever since I’ve taken my first undergraduate psychology class I’ve been probed with that same question. It’s usually from a different person every time and he or she always believes that they’re the first to pose that and that it’s hilarious (I’m assuming that it was funny the first time it was ever used. Actually, it would be nice if I had a time machine. I would like to see that – “Are thou analyzing me-eth?”). Usually it just comes off as Robin Williams/Dane Cook-ish (you know more awkward than funny and takes you nowhere). The truth is that I never analyze people. I don’t throw on my Freudian slippers and steal all your secrets – though I could and I think that’s off-putting for some. If you ask me that question there’s a high probability that there are things within that you don’t want people to know – predictability. To the same point, if you make a cliché witticism (like my oxymoron?) about having a slew of family members that could use my therapy skills, then you probably have a slew of family members that need my therapy skills – again, predictability. And since the rutabaga doesn’t fall far from the vine, this may be a device to distract from what you really want to say – “You’re not going to analyze me are you?” There’s no therapy trick to seeing any of this. It’s the reason that I can see your passive aggressiveness from a mile away and in the same light the reason I can see your selflessness and deep compassion for others. It is absolutely the reason I could see the wonderful compassionate, honest and loving person in my beautiful hard hat bride on our first date … and on our second date and third and so on. Ah … didn’t see this blog post going there did ya? So let’s talk about love and psychoanalysis. Just joking, But I will add brief commentary about love, relationships and “predictability.” People say, “You know when you know” which is horrible advice (I would need a whole other blog post to explain this to you, so just trust me), but this platitude is also very true. But how does one get there? The answer is simple – Stop being predictable. But wait, GAR just said that there’s no way to elude this trait (and trying to not be predictable is predictable, so you’re basically screwed). So how does one change the unchangeable? In short, there are a million reasons why we become predictable (even if it’s as small and unconscious as always eating the same side item with your burger), but few that combat it. I would like to offer one: openness and acceptance (OK that was two). Accept who you are at this very moment and that will allow you to be open to what comes to you. This will destroy any predictability that gets in your way. Love is like golf, if you get out of your head, you will fully experience and enjoy the round ... I mean the love that’s in front of you.

Wow, who knew this post was going to go from a Helicopter Jump to opening yourself up to love? I guess I did, but it’s an important point for all. We can never stop being predictable, nor should we. I’m always going to duck when someone yells, “duck!” And I’m always going to be open, loving and compassionate toward my HHB and there for her when she needs me. I guess I could have just made that simple point rather than than take you down a long road going nowhere, but … wouldn’t that be too predictable?

What’s In A Name?

Everything.

Really, I mean it – everything. Your parents took great care in selecting your birth name and, regardless of your personal opinions on the degree to which you like or dislike it, it has – over the many years you’ve owned that name – come to be a pretty major part of your identity.

Now, I’m not saying that your name bears any meaning at all over how you will act as a person or what you will achieve in life – I recently saw a documentary that listed my first name as among the top 5 girl names in terms of intelligence … and it also ranked among the top 5 in terms of illiteracy … which really just proves that my name is a popular one. So clearly, name aside, you are who you are – and, yes, (sorry Shakespeare) a rose by any other name would probably smell just as sweet – but I think we can all agree that if tomorrow everyone just started calling you “Carl” you’d probably take issue with it (unless your name actually is “Carl,” in which case I shall now call you “Bob” – you get my point).

Your surname is probably even more important. It is a piece of your ancestry handed down through the ages – given only to those privileged enough to be born into your specific family (you lucky devil you). And yet, the discarding of one’s last name and replacing it with someone else’s is a common practice in today’s society. So common, in fact, that nearly all women gleefully toss away their old, given to them by birthright, surname like a used up tube of toothpaste shortly after saying “I do.”

Putting aside the implied meanings behind this patriarchal ownership ritual, the mere thought of waiting in long lines at the Social Security Office to make such a change sends shivers down my spine. Hey man, this is frightening stuff! More lines at the DMV, countless calls to credit card companies, banks, mortgage holders, cable providers, Netflix (though with their new 60% price hike my only call to them will be to cancel my services), car companies, insurance agents, doctor’s offices, frequent flyer mile providers, passport agencies, PayPal accounts, Amazon.com preferences – oh sure, they SAY you can do this stuff online, but the next time you log on it’s all wonky again. And the sending of mass e-mails to everyone, letting them know how to find you now in your company database (I’m sure you’ve forgotten to tell someone along the way) or facebook – how will old friends track you down on facebook? Not to mention those coveted e-mail usernames you’ve been holding onto since the early 90s – do you change your AIM screen name? Must you add a series of numbers to the end of your hotmail log on in order to secure your new name? What if someone who hasn’t written you in 12 years decides that now they want to drop you a line at your old address? Where will this message go? WHERE I ASK YOU???

Honestly, I think you’re all crazy. I mean, I love ya – but you’re nuts.

And, above all, I love my Groom-A-Saurus Rex. But I’m not taking his name. That is his special name and it means a great deal to him … just like my name means a whole heck of a lot to me (for reasons that far exceed my disdain for waiting in line at government bureaus). And we’re both just fine with that. So no need to worry – come Sept. 5 you can all still reach me in the same manner as you’ve always done … call me the same thing you’ve come to know me by over all these years … and (this one is really the key point here) stop being concerned about how I’m bucking thousands of years of protocol – I’m sure our hypothetical future children that you all assume we’ll be having will fare just fine with whatever set of names we choose to bestow upon them – even if it does put him/her in the list of “top 5 names of children who can’t juggle whist riding a bicycle and whistling Dixie.”

I know I’m not the only woman who’s struggled with this decision. The list of hyphenated names in my address book grows larger each year. And, no matter what you chose to henceforth call yourself, I respect your decision (and even memorized the proper spelling and pronunciation – no matter how long or convoluted it is). So breathe a big sigh of relief at how easy I’m making this on all of you – you don’t even have to correct your Outlook Contacts! – and embrace this lack of change. ‘Cause after all these years, I really do love my name … just the way it is. Although, come to think of it, Princess Consuela Banana Hammock really does have a nice ring to it as well …

How Not To Plan A Wedding

At some point during the past 7 months I guess I forgot to plan my wedding.

I’m not sure exactly when it happened. I remember GAR and I talking a lot about it in the beginning … making decisions, doing our research … And, sure, we didn’t completely forget about it. I know I’ve written a few blog posts on the topic along the way. Heck, just a little over a month ago I wrote one such post where I began to panic about the huge list of “to dos” in front of me. Apparently, however, this panic did not implore me to take action (unless you count typing out my frustrations on this keyboard as “action”).

I’m guessing the first step would have been to print off some sort of checklist. You know, a guide of what needs to be done and when I should accomplish it. Yeah, that would have been wise.

To be honest, I don’t even know yet the full extent of what I haven’t planned. But I do have a feeling those “yet to be done” items will creep up on me over the next few weeks. Some things were simple – we picked a photographer before we even picked a location or a date. And we managed to wrangle up someone to marry us, and someone to spin some tunes as well. But, despite my rants about cakes, we still haven’t worked that out. Nor do I have flowers, a rehearsal time or dinner location, a hotel room to stay in, a clue on how I will be getting to/from the wedding, someone to do my hair/make-up, and, while I did snag something blue, when it comes to things old and borrowed I am at a loss. Plus there’s a few other odds and ends to work out. You know – the little things.

But we do have some very rock & roll boutonnieres for GAR and his men to wear – we spent all weekend making them ourselves while watching movies 1-6 in the Harry Potter series.

Ah, and therein lies our real issue – we’re avoiders. Oh sure, we’ll show up for fun wedding activities like menu tastings, but when it comes to drawing up seating charts and mapping out place cards we somehow instead end up painting our house (get off our backs – it’s almost done. It’s only been 4 months now that we’ve been working on it!), or practicing our beer drinking skills at the theme parks, or, you know, watching a certain boy wizard age from 12 to 17 in one weekend (well we have to be prepared for the last movie – it comes out on Friday you know). Okay, yes, I’ll admit it – we’ve been a little lazy about nailing down the finer points of our big event. But did I mention that Home Depot was having a huge sale on paint last weekend? And we couldn’t help but also buy new tile for the guest bath … you know, for when we redo that room. I mean, it was on sale - SALE! How could I resist?

But I’m sure our big day will come together just fine. That’s why I’ve packed as much of the planning as possible into one solid, action-packed weekend – THIS weekend. Oh yes, I’ve got dress fittings, cake tastings, floral arranging, centerpiece picking outing, wedding program making, hotel arrangement bookings, rehearsal planning and a whole lot of other wedding activities all lined up to do in just my small amount of spare time this week (and perhaps we’ll see the all-grown-up Potter battle He Who Must Not Be Named as well – I mean, come on, did I mention it’s the last in the series?)

Friday night I really should pull all the painting tape off the front of the house though - it's really not supposed to stay on there this long. And, of course, I have to go to SeaWorld on Saturday. I promised my friend Jeep we'd go. But I'm sure I’ll still have plenty of time for all the wedding planning stuff, right?

On Sunday – yeah, Sunday … THAT’s when I’ll get all this other stuff done.

Keeping Up With My Jonesin’

For 14 consecutive months I, at least one time within in that month, boarded a plane, cruise ship or car that took me outside of the state of Florida. And while I enjoyed getting away and seeing the world, trotting off to France, Spain, the Bahamas, Malta, Africa, Italy, Monaco and more – not to mention places on my own continent like New Orleans, New York, Savannah, Kentucky, etc. – my ongoing streak ended on May 31 when I returned home from Vegas. While I was glad to spend my June – all 30 days of it – firmly planted in the Central Florida area (for the first time since March 2010), now that the month of July is upon me I am starting to feel … well … restless. Like any addict I’m jonesing (for a getaway that is).

Now I know how ridiculous this sounds. In all of 2010 I only stayed in my own bed for an entire month twice (and less than that really, if you count in-state weekend trips, which clearly I do not). The year before that was no different, and with several trips planned this upcoming fall, I think it’s safe to say that 2011 is going to be a chart-topper as well. And yet, the fact that I am also not taking flight in July – or in August – has me in quite a quandary. What am I to do with all these months of sleeping on fluffy, familiar pillows, quiet comfort and serenity (you know, other than all that last-minute wedding planning I keep saying I don’t have time to do)? Can I possibly get by 3 whole months without packing a single suitcase or making a day-by-day travel itinerary?

As it turns out, no, I can’t.

My Groom-A-Saurus Rex (GAR) had the excellent idea that we should book a guided trip for our honeymoon to Germany, reasoning (quite logically at the time) that we would be so wiped out from wedding planning that it would be too overwhelming to plan our honeymoon as well. And while I applaud his thinking on this I do believe he may have underestimated my ability to plan vacations despite all obstacles. And now that our honeymoon is booked and all the planning is already done for us by the tour company I have been left with far too much pent up vacation planning energy just waiting to come out.

Of course, it doesn’t help that my job is to write (what soon will be a blog) about vacation destinations spanning the globe. Today I’m writing about tours to Egypt and yesterday it was Hawai’i, and with every word I write about other people and the vacations they are planning and taking the more I yearn to do it all myself. My spirit of adventure, it seems, is limitless, and nothing is ever enough to quench this thirst inside of me.

They need a meeting for people like me. I will stand up and state my name and admit that yes, I am a vacationholic. Admitting that you have a problem is the first step, right?

Since I haven’t found another suitable outlet for all this energy I am doing the only thing I can – planning future vacations. These include real trips that we know we will be taking – heading to Atlanta this fall for a wedding (wouldn’t it be great if we went up into the Carolinas as well for a little white water rafting?), as well as trip to Northern California all the way in March for another one of GAR’s conferences (I’ve already mapped out several trip agenda options for this adventure … which is still nearly 9 months away) – but it doesn’t stop there. Oh no. I also create fantasy trips – you know, potential vacation options that are based on places I’d like to visit and the times I think I might actually be free to take these imaginary trips.

But I need to stop all this nonsense and focus on more immediate needs – the “to do” list for the wedding – and leave all the fantasizing out of it … unless I’m dreaming of all the wonderful experiences we’ll have in Rothenburg, Heidelberg, Munich and all the other amazing places we’ll be seeing on our honeymoon.

Oh, but I couldn’t help myself from planning just one itsy, bitsy, teeny little getaway between now and then. But I’m not even leaving Florida – promise! GAR and I are just making a quick little drive down to South Florida for a long weekend to get away from all the stress that comes with putting off planning key details of your wedding. That doesn’t count, does it?

Wait, are those the Travelocity gnomes by my pool? Maybe they have vacation advice for me ...

Marrying the Mouse

When you wish upon a star, Makes no difference who you are, Anything your heart desires … um, sorry about that, seems I got carried away there. GAR back again and ready to spout out some more ridiculousness. So I guess you’ve heard by now, I’m getting married. I bet you didn’t know that I’m also marrying more than your Hard Hat Bride. That’s right … I’m correspondingly marrying the Mouse. For those of you who don’t know what this means (and I’m sure most of you do), the Mouse is a lovely moniker for Disney World … err, I mean the Walt Disney World Resort. Don’t hit me! It was a mistake!

On one of our earlier dates, your Hard Hat Bride invited me to meet her peeps at Epcot. We had a great time and they were all very inviting and a lot of fun. I learned there was a different level of appreciation for the Disney company as I overheard numerous inside facts about Disney and listened to one of them sing along with every word to the American Adventure song (it was pretty impressive). I thought to myself, “Man, they are really into this stuff. Maybe I shouldn’t mention my love of Universal Studios.” As the night approached, I became excited to watch the fireworks with my lovely Hard Hat Bride. To my surprise, it was suggested that we “get going” before the crowds start leaving. What! We’re skipping fireworks?!? Who does that? I found out who does that. If you’ve seen the fireworks countless times, they are not that big of a deal and walking out of the parks sans bumping into all the rude tourists becomes paramount. And you know what else? I am now that person. That’s right! GAR has been infiltrated by The Mouse. I’ve now seen the fireworks so many times that I’m OK leaving early, I know where all the free parking is, I’ve been on the same ride enough times to know the songs and I’ve been to the parks so many times that waiting in line for more than 15 minutes for an attraction is simply ridiculous.

I am trying to keep it real though. I still don’t know a lot of the abbreviations that my new Disney friends throw around and I’m OK with that. I also don’t understand the Disney culture that dictates ride and attraction creators (sorry … “Imagineers”) as “super famous” and I’m cool with that too. In my world, these Disney Jesus’s (or is it Jesi?) are as well-known as one of my uncles or my upstairs neighbor in North Carolina (He watched my TV because he didn’t have cable, drank my beer and was an aspiring rap artist. I actually have one of his albums and it’s pretty good, but there’s not much of a demand for raps about the Carolinas and sweet tea). I also don’t relate that well to individuals who breathe Disney to the point where they don’t allow any criticism of The Mouse. After seeing the musical “Believe” on a Disney Cruise, I really wanted my face to melt off like that bad guy in Indiana Jones. Now don’t get me wrong, Disney Cruises put on some amazing shows, but this one should have been left on the cutting room floor. I quickly learned that if you even so much as whisper the lameness of your Disney experience, fanatics will label you un-Disney (which is the equivalent to un-American in their world) with a scowl. I got to experience this at breakfast the next morning when I dared to express my honest viewpoint.

In all honesty I do get it though. Walt Disney allowed people to dream when they could not or did not have the means to. And this is significant for many … to a fault maybe, but still significant. (To be honest though, all of those grown adults truly wanting to be a princess is pretty creepy and a bit sad.) Disney will always be fun and lighthearted as it’s intended to be. And no matter how many times I enter the parks, I feel like a kid. Though I may have teased Disney somewhat in this post, I’m a huge fan and do appreciate many of the things they create. I will always choose a Disney Cruise over a lesser competitor, and we are going to Germany for our honeymoon through Disney because they know how to do these things in a 5-Star way (plus the employee discounts are sweet).

Pretty soon I will be married to my beautiful Hard Hat Bride, and with that, The Mouse. Through this union I become one of Walt’s bastard children and get my very own Main Gate Pass and all the free Disney wonders that accompany it. My promise to you is that I will not lose myself in the Mouse. I will still frequent Universal Studios where I can ride the movies, go to City Walk for concerts and try to get one of their “We Will Win” t-shirts just for fun. I will keep it real and follow my dreams because, after all, The Mouse does state, “Anything your heart desires will come to you.”