Generally, before any work event, I draft up a quick “What to know before you go” document so that those who are attending the function know what to expect. Considering that the first of our wedding guests are already in town it seems I may have been a little late in doing this for my own wedding. But with one week to go (EEK!) I thought I should provide the rest of you – the ones who haven’t hopped on a plane, train or automobile yet – with some basic info.
Attire
This has been the main question I’ve been asked. Apparently GAR’s post on this topic was less than illuminating to many of you. So I’ll break it down for you – the suggested attire for guys is a suit with a concert/band t-shirt underneath (or slacks/jeans with a t-shirt and sports jacket). Sneakers (the more fly the better) are also encouraged. Gals – you should wear whatever you would normally wear to a wedding … but feel free to be as funky as you’d like. Leopard print, wild shoes – whatever you would normally consider too over-the-top for another wedding – is totally okay by us. Basically – have fun with it and don’t fret about your choices.
Arrival
Our wedding venue is in downtown Orlando. Like most downtown locations, that means you’ll have to find a public lot with meters or a paid garage. If choosing a meter, we expect everything to be wrapped up by 10:30 or 11 p.m., so judge your pre-paid amount off of that time. We suggest the lot underneath the interstate – it’s about a 3 minute walk from the wedding. And you’ll want to leave yourself enough time to park and get to the ceremony early because …
Ceremony
Our ceremony is in a bar … and there will be drink service for the ceremony. The bar opens 30 minutes before the ceremony, but shuts down when we walk down the aisle. If you want some pre-party sangria be sure to get to the bar before the show starts.
Dinner
There is food and you will love it. GAR and I are also big fans of food (and not being hungry) so we would like a chance to enjoy it as well. That’s why we’ve instituted a strict “Do Not Disturb” policy during dinner. Don’t worry – we love you all and still want to see you all. We just want to be sure we eat a little of our yummy food first.
Reception
After all that – it’s party time! There will lots of rock music (and absolutely no country music – don’t even try to request it) and, of course, karaoke. Don’t say we didn’t warn you … so warm up your vocal chords now.
Well that’s pretty much it … other than the obvious “don’t drink and drive” closing statement. We look forward to rocking out with you all!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
D.I.WHY?
I’m about to say something I never thought was possible – twice this week I visited a craft supply store. And *gulp* I’ll be going there again at least once this weekend.
In fact, every night this week I’ve been curling up with markers, ribbon, stickers, tape and paper cutters. Oh sure, maybe this would make sense if I had children … or if I was a Kindergarten teacher … or was one of those people who has entire rooms in their home devoted to scrapbooking. But, in fact, I can claim none of these things to be true. And while I appreciate the fact that many people are good at being crafty – heck, homespun goods are totally chic right now – I have to admit that I am not the type of person who you would ever expect to see yielding a glue gun (yes, I do own one now but I have not yet dared to remove it from its packaging – it’s just staring me down … mocking me and my fear to attempt to use it).
You see – I hate this stuff. Just the idea of setting foot in a Michaels gives me hives. All those rows and rows of stencils, stamps, knick knacks, beads and faux flowers make me shudder. And glitter? GAR has long forbidden that vile substance for coming anywhere near our home (he calls it the “herpes of craft supplies” – once you get it on you it ain’t comin’ off). No, my friends, these twisted, tangled, worthlessly un-artistic hands of mine are far too unskilled (and, frankly, uninterested) in completing any sort of DIY type art projects.
And yet, here I am, whiling away my second-to-last Friday night as a single lady assembling crafty table numbers, programs and place cards. What has happened to me?
My wedding – that’s what happened. And, like it or not, if you plan on getting married you’re going to have to get your hands a little dirty (with wayward Sharpie marks, super glue and smudged printer ink). It’s not just the fact that we’re cheap that has caused this last-minute DIY frenzy (though, yes, we are cheap … though we prefer the term “frugal” or “fiscally responsible”). Whenever possible we have purchased things pre-made (even if they were pre-made by someone on Etsy – a website that sells mainly homemade crafts). But with a lot of our rock & roll ideas being things that you don’t generally see at a wedding, it quickly became clear that if we wanted to make our vision into a reality, we were going to have to do it ourselves.
And so here I am – Martha Stewart in training. Now how I do I get the millions of dollars in endorsement money? Can I get my own line of paint? A Topless Christmas Special (if you didn’t get that joke I highly recommend that you catch up on the comedic work of “Saturday Night Live” star Ana Gasteyer)? Because, let me tell you, once I’ve got her amount of fame and fortune I’m never lifting another BeDazzler again!
In fact, every night this week I’ve been curling up with markers, ribbon, stickers, tape and paper cutters. Oh sure, maybe this would make sense if I had children … or if I was a Kindergarten teacher … or was one of those people who has entire rooms in their home devoted to scrapbooking. But, in fact, I can claim none of these things to be true. And while I appreciate the fact that many people are good at being crafty – heck, homespun goods are totally chic right now – I have to admit that I am not the type of person who you would ever expect to see yielding a glue gun (yes, I do own one now but I have not yet dared to remove it from its packaging – it’s just staring me down … mocking me and my fear to attempt to use it).
You see – I hate this stuff. Just the idea of setting foot in a Michaels gives me hives. All those rows and rows of stencils, stamps, knick knacks, beads and faux flowers make me shudder. And glitter? GAR has long forbidden that vile substance for coming anywhere near our home (he calls it the “herpes of craft supplies” – once you get it on you it ain’t comin’ off). No, my friends, these twisted, tangled, worthlessly un-artistic hands of mine are far too unskilled (and, frankly, uninterested) in completing any sort of DIY type art projects.
And yet, here I am, whiling away my second-to-last Friday night as a single lady assembling crafty table numbers, programs and place cards. What has happened to me?
My wedding – that’s what happened. And, like it or not, if you plan on getting married you’re going to have to get your hands a little dirty (with wayward Sharpie marks, super glue and smudged printer ink). It’s not just the fact that we’re cheap that has caused this last-minute DIY frenzy (though, yes, we are cheap … though we prefer the term “frugal” or “fiscally responsible”). Whenever possible we have purchased things pre-made (even if they were pre-made by someone on Etsy – a website that sells mainly homemade crafts). But with a lot of our rock & roll ideas being things that you don’t generally see at a wedding, it quickly became clear that if we wanted to make our vision into a reality, we were going to have to do it ourselves.
And so here I am – Martha Stewart in training. Now how I do I get the millions of dollars in endorsement money? Can I get my own line of paint? A Topless Christmas Special (if you didn’t get that joke I highly recommend that you catch up on the comedic work of “Saturday Night Live” star Ana Gasteyer)? Because, let me tell you, once I’ve got her amount of fame and fortune I’m never lifting another BeDazzler again!
Monday, August 22, 2011
‘Til Death from Cardiac Arrest Do Us Part
Do you, buffalo shrimp, take French fries to be your lawfully wedded fried combo? For richer or poorer, in sickness from too much lard and in health …
Last week I joked that GAR and I had reached that point in the wedding planning process where you wish you had just eloped. In truth, while there have been a few temporarily semi-stressful moments along the way, we’re still laughing through it all (except for that time I told GAR that the centerpiece design he created looks like it belongs at a child’s “Little Mermaid” themed birthday party instead of a wedding and he proceeded to sing “Under the Sea” non-stop for 3 days straight … that part was not nearly as funny for me as it was for him). And now that we are less than 2 weeks away from our nuptials, I really can’t imagine sneaking off and tying the knot secretly.
But we do have our marriage license now … and so, technically, we could elope.
And this weekend we did have that option laid in front of us. While dining at the ever-classy establishment Buffalo Wild Wings (I know – you’d really think I’d be on some sort of bridal diet … or at least sort of watching what I eat … but you’d be wrong), with our wedding officiant/Wizard and he offered up this very option – grab a witness from somewhere in the bar, sign the marriage license and let’s lock down this deal right now.
And we considered it … but only briefly.
Aside from the fact that a beer and buffalo sauce stained marriage license is not quite the keepsake we want to have on file, it also just felt so wrong. I mean, getting married in a sports bar? Who does that? No, my friends, you will have to wait a few more days to see us get married the “right” way – in a way classier bar. One that, while it does feature televisions tuned to ESPN, keeps the volume down on its sports programming (unless you really bug the bartender to turn it up, in which case there is surround sound … but it’s not like they advertise that or anything). And, sure, there is fried fish on our wedding dinner menu, but at OUR bar it’s called “croquettes” which, obviously, is a much fancier sounding name than the “buffalo shrimp platter” offered at Buffalo Wild Wings. I mean, geesh – what sort of rednecks do you think we are?
So never fear – when I share photos and updates from our big day it will be the real deal, not some 2-for-1 Happy Hour Special knock-off (though I do enjoy a good Happy Hour Special ...)
Last week I joked that GAR and I had reached that point in the wedding planning process where you wish you had just eloped. In truth, while there have been a few temporarily semi-stressful moments along the way, we’re still laughing through it all (except for that time I told GAR that the centerpiece design he created looks like it belongs at a child’s “Little Mermaid” themed birthday party instead of a wedding and he proceeded to sing “Under the Sea” non-stop for 3 days straight … that part was not nearly as funny for me as it was for him). And now that we are less than 2 weeks away from our nuptials, I really can’t imagine sneaking off and tying the knot secretly.
But we do have our marriage license now … and so, technically, we could elope.
And this weekend we did have that option laid in front of us. While dining at the ever-classy establishment Buffalo Wild Wings (I know – you’d really think I’d be on some sort of bridal diet … or at least sort of watching what I eat … but you’d be wrong), with our wedding officiant/Wizard and he offered up this very option – grab a witness from somewhere in the bar, sign the marriage license and let’s lock down this deal right now.
And we considered it … but only briefly.
Aside from the fact that a beer and buffalo sauce stained marriage license is not quite the keepsake we want to have on file, it also just felt so wrong. I mean, getting married in a sports bar? Who does that? No, my friends, you will have to wait a few more days to see us get married the “right” way – in a way classier bar. One that, while it does feature televisions tuned to ESPN, keeps the volume down on its sports programming (unless you really bug the bartender to turn it up, in which case there is surround sound … but it’s not like they advertise that or anything). And, sure, there is fried fish on our wedding dinner menu, but at OUR bar it’s called “croquettes” which, obviously, is a much fancier sounding name than the “buffalo shrimp platter” offered at Buffalo Wild Wings. I mean, geesh – what sort of rednecks do you think we are?
So never fear – when I share photos and updates from our big day it will be the real deal, not some 2-for-1 Happy Hour Special knock-off (though I do enjoy a good Happy Hour Special ...)
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
The Final Countdown
During a recent business meeting I sang a portion of Europe’s “The Final Countdown” (in relation to a major project I’m working on, which launches just days prior to my wedding). Though my musical expedition was inspired, several conference call participants promptly hung up … leaving me to believe that perhaps my musical talents would best be left to amateur karaoke venues (speaking of – I should tell you now that there will be karaoke at our reception. And here’s lesson #1 for our wedding: Warm up your vocal chords and be prepared to bring it).
Nevertheless I have been unable to get that song out of my head for some time now because, work projects aside, it is really is the final countdown to a lot of things … my 34th birthday (and GAR’s 35th – both happening in the next few days), our trip to Oktoberfest, college football season … but really it’s all leading up (or should I say “counting down”) to Sept. 4: Mr. & Mrs. Day.
For a few weeks now people have been asking me how many days it is to go. Until today I didn’t know. I wasn’t really keeping track. But, with us passing the 3 weeks to go milestone last weekend it seems that the time clock in my brain has started counting down days automatically for me … 20 … 19 …
And we are making progress, kind of. Last weekend we finally shot our engagement photos. What? You didn’t shoot yours 3 weeks before your “big day?” Never mind the fact that we’ve been engaged 8 months already, what are the chances our photographer will even have them ready before we’re married? Okay, so we were a little behind on that one, but it was worth it – we needed the trial run. While we have thousands of photos of us that were taken by friends, family and random strangers standing nearby famous landmarks we visited, we totally clammed up when a “pro” pulled out his fancy equipment and put in our faces (you know what I mean – get your mind out of the gutter!) Naturally all we needed to loosen up and work it for the lens Austin Power’s style was some good old fashioned liquor. Which led to lesson #2 for the wedding: Drink heavily. Hey, we’ve got to if we want the photos to look good, right?
I also had my final dress fitting last weekend. And (thanks to some tummy tucking undergarments) it fits! Hooray! I celebrated this major accomplishment by feasting on a platter of fried goodness and a bucket of beer (hey now, it was LIGHT beer) at Ale House. But not before my Groom-A-Saurus Rex lived up to his moniker by pitching a small (though rightly justified) fit at the bridal shop. If you’ve been reading this blog you already know that we’re not exactly “traditional” when it comes to wedding planning – GAR has taken a very active role in the process, including the wedding dress selection process and my subsequent dress fittings. He’s been there through them all, but during the last occasion they tried to kick him out of the store due to some “no boys allowed” rule another woman in the shop demanded. Simply put, GAR refused to leave … and he did put up a fuss about it. My favorite quote from him was “It’s not all about the bride! What about me? What about the groom?” Well put darling – you pave the way for underappreciated grooms everywhere! And listen up everyone for lesson #3 for the wedding: Don’t mess with the groom on his wedding day or else you’re in for a world of hurt!
We’ve also been tending to smaller details, like the seating chart (apparently people think returning those little RSVP cards that come with the wedding invite is optional … I assure you it is not), favors, centerpieces, programs, etc. And this week will be a busy one too – I’ve got my hair “trial run,” a ceremony run-through with our DJ, plus scoping out possible locations for our wedding day photos, picking up the marriage license (oh yeah, that little detail …) and so on. Which really leads me to the point here – the big lesson … the lesson for all of you to come to grips with: You’ll be seeing (err … reading) less of me. Now I know that my blog posts tend to come and go in spurts as it is … so perhaps you were prepared for this. But, yes, I will be posting less often and what I do post will be less lengthy (try not to cry yourself to sleep over that sad news). Still, I’m going to try to keep you up to date. And, of course, when our engagement photos come back in November I’ll be sure to share those as well.
It’s the final countdown …
Nevertheless I have been unable to get that song out of my head for some time now because, work projects aside, it is really is the final countdown to a lot of things … my 34th birthday (and GAR’s 35th – both happening in the next few days), our trip to Oktoberfest, college football season … but really it’s all leading up (or should I say “counting down”) to Sept. 4: Mr. & Mrs. Day.
For a few weeks now people have been asking me how many days it is to go. Until today I didn’t know. I wasn’t really keeping track. But, with us passing the 3 weeks to go milestone last weekend it seems that the time clock in my brain has started counting down days automatically for me … 20 … 19 …
And we are making progress, kind of. Last weekend we finally shot our engagement photos. What? You didn’t shoot yours 3 weeks before your “big day?” Never mind the fact that we’ve been engaged 8 months already, what are the chances our photographer will even have them ready before we’re married? Okay, so we were a little behind on that one, but it was worth it – we needed the trial run. While we have thousands of photos of us that were taken by friends, family and random strangers standing nearby famous landmarks we visited, we totally clammed up when a “pro” pulled out his fancy equipment and put in our faces (you know what I mean – get your mind out of the gutter!) Naturally all we needed to loosen up and work it for the lens Austin Power’s style was some good old fashioned liquor. Which led to lesson #2 for the wedding: Drink heavily. Hey, we’ve got to if we want the photos to look good, right?
I also had my final dress fitting last weekend. And (thanks to some tummy tucking undergarments) it fits! Hooray! I celebrated this major accomplishment by feasting on a platter of fried goodness and a bucket of beer (hey now, it was LIGHT beer) at Ale House. But not before my Groom-A-Saurus Rex lived up to his moniker by pitching a small (though rightly justified) fit at the bridal shop. If you’ve been reading this blog you already know that we’re not exactly “traditional” when it comes to wedding planning – GAR has taken a very active role in the process, including the wedding dress selection process and my subsequent dress fittings. He’s been there through them all, but during the last occasion they tried to kick him out of the store due to some “no boys allowed” rule another woman in the shop demanded. Simply put, GAR refused to leave … and he did put up a fuss about it. My favorite quote from him was “It’s not all about the bride! What about me? What about the groom?” Well put darling – you pave the way for underappreciated grooms everywhere! And listen up everyone for lesson #3 for the wedding: Don’t mess with the groom on his wedding day or else you’re in for a world of hurt!
We’ve also been tending to smaller details, like the seating chart (apparently people think returning those little RSVP cards that come with the wedding invite is optional … I assure you it is not), favors, centerpieces, programs, etc. And this week will be a busy one too – I’ve got my hair “trial run,” a ceremony run-through with our DJ, plus scoping out possible locations for our wedding day photos, picking up the marriage license (oh yeah, that little detail …) and so on. Which really leads me to the point here – the big lesson … the lesson for all of you to come to grips with: You’ll be seeing (err … reading) less of me. Now I know that my blog posts tend to come and go in spurts as it is … so perhaps you were prepared for this. But, yes, I will be posting less often and what I do post will be less lengthy (try not to cry yourself to sleep over that sad news). Still, I’m going to try to keep you up to date. And, of course, when our engagement photos come back in November I’ll be sure to share those as well.
It’s the final countdown …
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Drunk Dialing on the Equator
It’s a good thing there’s a counselor in our household because it seems there are some separation anxiety issues to work out. Wait … where is the good doctor? Where’d he go? Where’d he go? Where is he?
Or that’s what I’m assuming the dogs are saying with all the frantic barking they’ve been doing while Groom-A-Saurus Rex (GAR) is gone (yes, even MORE barking than usual). For the past 10 days they’ve been clinging to me like a sock sticks your pants with static cling even after you pull it out of the dryer and wear it to work like that, looking like a fool when you discover it during that big executive presentation. And, from what I can tell from the nuances of their dog language, they are moping. Moping, staring out the front window with desperate hope in their eyes, and generally panicking that he may never again return to tell them they’ve been a “good boy” (though, to be fair, our pups have never been very “good” so they hear that very rarely even when he is around).
But it’s not just the pups who are freaking out about GAR’s absence, I’ve had my own separation issues as well. While GAR is on day 10 of his Ecuador/Galapagos trip I’ve been left at home wondering why it is that he’s off riding giant turtles (actually that’s forbidden, but I’m betting he tried) and swimming with sea lions while I’m stuck home. WHY?
The “why” is that the college he works for apparently just hands out cash for their faculty to just go someplace exotic and “experience other cultures.” They believe that this will make their professors more worldly and cultured … I believe they’ve never met my fiancé – a guy who loves a good time but should not be given such free reign if you actually want him to come back with tangible learnings he should apply to his professing. But I digress … it’s a wonderful opportunity for him, and from the overpriced nightly international calls I get from him (there’s nothing quite like getting a late-night $15 drunk dial from the one you love) it seems that he is really having an amazing time in South America (except for that part where he got robbed at knifepoint. Always a great thing to hear your fiancé tell you from 2,000 miles away … I knew I should have Galapa-gone with him).
And I’m having a fine time back home too. I had a wonderful weekend with my girlfriends and I’ve been getting a lot of personal agenda items crossed off my “to do” list now that GAR isn't here to distract me. But it’s not nearly as much as I wanted to accomplish.
Oh, I will admit that I had planned a long list to things to get done with GAR out of the way. Not that I don’t love his company, but he’s sabotaging me! Or so I was convinced. I try to do laps in the pool – GAR cannonballs into the water with beers in his pocket for us to enjoy. I want to prepare a nice fresh salad for dinner – GAR suggests ordering a pizza. I start organizing my closet – GAR turns on the latest episode of “Project Runway” (he pretends that I’m the only one who likes that program but his constant use of the phrase “Make It Work” lets the truth shine through). Yep, with GAR out of the country for a bit I was convinced I could make up for lost time and do all the “right” things I never really get a chance to do when he’s around.
But here’s where I tell you the part you probably already knew – the real saboteur here is me.
That’s right – I’m just as unproductive as ever. Only now I have to make my own dinner, kill my own spiders (I found 2 giant hairy ones this week alone – proof, I believe, that Hank was really a “she” and has left behind some of her children in my home. *Shudder*) and provide my own sad, one-sided commentary on this week’s fashion disasters without a single witty retort backing me up. Plus, it turns out that doing laps in the pool is ... well ... boring. Where is my cannonball-delivered beer? And let's be honest, while I'm trying to devote my unending attention to all of my pups' needs, I just can't sing the "belly rub song" with as much gusto and passion as GAR. I'm not fooling them - they know my off-key version is a poor dog's substitute for the real deal.
Okay, so maybe I can just admit that the reason I rarely do the "right" things with my time is because I’d rather be spending time with all of my boys – GAR and both the pups – than doing anything else.
And we’re all (yes, I’m speaking for the dogs here as well) ready for the missing piece of our household to get his Ecu-adorable butt back home. We South Ameri-can’t wait any longer! Thankfully our separation anxiety is finally coming to an end – GAR is coming home in a few hours. Maybe I still have time to organize my closet before then? Nah … who am I kidding? I’ve got a date with some fluffy four-legged friends and the other man in my life – Jon Stewart.
Or that’s what I’m assuming the dogs are saying with all the frantic barking they’ve been doing while Groom-A-Saurus Rex (GAR) is gone (yes, even MORE barking than usual). For the past 10 days they’ve been clinging to me like a sock sticks your pants with static cling even after you pull it out of the dryer and wear it to work like that, looking like a fool when you discover it during that big executive presentation. And, from what I can tell from the nuances of their dog language, they are moping. Moping, staring out the front window with desperate hope in their eyes, and generally panicking that he may never again return to tell them they’ve been a “good boy” (though, to be fair, our pups have never been very “good” so they hear that very rarely even when he is around).
But it’s not just the pups who are freaking out about GAR’s absence, I’ve had my own separation issues as well. While GAR is on day 10 of his Ecuador/Galapagos trip I’ve been left at home wondering why it is that he’s off riding giant turtles (actually that’s forbidden, but I’m betting he tried) and swimming with sea lions while I’m stuck home. WHY?
The “why” is that the college he works for apparently just hands out cash for their faculty to just go someplace exotic and “experience other cultures.” They believe that this will make their professors more worldly and cultured … I believe they’ve never met my fiancé – a guy who loves a good time but should not be given such free reign if you actually want him to come back with tangible learnings he should apply to his professing. But I digress … it’s a wonderful opportunity for him, and from the overpriced nightly international calls I get from him (there’s nothing quite like getting a late-night $15 drunk dial from the one you love) it seems that he is really having an amazing time in South America (except for that part where he got robbed at knifepoint. Always a great thing to hear your fiancé tell you from 2,000 miles away … I knew I should have Galapa-gone with him).
And I’m having a fine time back home too. I had a wonderful weekend with my girlfriends and I’ve been getting a lot of personal agenda items crossed off my “to do” list now that GAR isn't here to distract me. But it’s not nearly as much as I wanted to accomplish.
Oh, I will admit that I had planned a long list to things to get done with GAR out of the way. Not that I don’t love his company, but he’s sabotaging me! Or so I was convinced. I try to do laps in the pool – GAR cannonballs into the water with beers in his pocket for us to enjoy. I want to prepare a nice fresh salad for dinner – GAR suggests ordering a pizza. I start organizing my closet – GAR turns on the latest episode of “Project Runway” (he pretends that I’m the only one who likes that program but his constant use of the phrase “Make It Work” lets the truth shine through). Yep, with GAR out of the country for a bit I was convinced I could make up for lost time and do all the “right” things I never really get a chance to do when he’s around.
But here’s where I tell you the part you probably already knew – the real saboteur here is me.
That’s right – I’m just as unproductive as ever. Only now I have to make my own dinner, kill my own spiders (I found 2 giant hairy ones this week alone – proof, I believe, that Hank was really a “she” and has left behind some of her children in my home. *Shudder*) and provide my own sad, one-sided commentary on this week’s fashion disasters without a single witty retort backing me up. Plus, it turns out that doing laps in the pool is ... well ... boring. Where is my cannonball-delivered beer? And let's be honest, while I'm trying to devote my unending attention to all of my pups' needs, I just can't sing the "belly rub song" with as much gusto and passion as GAR. I'm not fooling them - they know my off-key version is a poor dog's substitute for the real deal.
Okay, so maybe I can just admit that the reason I rarely do the "right" things with my time is because I’d rather be spending time with all of my boys – GAR and both the pups – than doing anything else.
And we’re all (yes, I’m speaking for the dogs here as well) ready for the missing piece of our household to get his Ecu-adorable butt back home. We South Ameri-can’t wait any longer! Thankfully our separation anxiety is finally coming to an end – GAR is coming home in a few hours. Maybe I still have time to organize my closet before then? Nah … who am I kidding? I’ve got a date with some fluffy four-legged friends and the other man in my life – Jon Stewart.
Monday, August 8, 2011
How To Get Away With Murder
How I managed to murder 2 people this weekend without even knowing it is beyond me. But, when they carted me off in those handcuffs, it became clear that I certainly must have been the culprit. And so, here is my mock confession – a la OJ Simpson “If I did It” style (he also claims to have killed two people and, yet, have no memory of it at all). Keep in mind this is all hypothetical, of course.
First I recalibrated the headphones belonging to my rock star boyfriend, Poison, so that it would shock him to death the next time he used them (a little trick I learned from my many years working with sound equipment as a singing diva myself). Unfortunately it wasn’t Poison who used the headphones – it was his (and MY) manager. Bummer. I killed the wrong guy. Which meant my lying, cheating boyfriend got to live. But, I did manage to stab the floozy he was cheating on me with to death with a spork. And I was thankful for the small victory, but not for long. Soon I was caught – found out – exposed. And I could have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid … and those dogs too. Ultimately I was brought down by the evidence presented by a 4-year-old girl. Oh the shame! But, thankfully (like all the famous killers in the media), I got off easy … maybe all they had on me was circumstantial evidence? Perhaps there was some reasonable doubt in the jury’s mind? In either case, I only had to spend a few minutes in cuffs before being whisked away to a night of partying Casey Anthony style.
What’s this all about? I’m talking about my 1980s themed Murder Mystery Bridal Shower of course. And it was, like, totally rad.
Over the years I have attended many a bridal shower and have, lovingly, pretended to go along with all the cheesetastic games that come along with them. And while I do see how having activities at an event is crucial, especially when you’re bringing together people who may or may not know each other so well, I’m so glad that my amazing bridesmaids decided to do something a little more “out of the box” for my shower. And since it was my big day I got to be the killer … and apparently thanked my sister for this honor by ramming plastic utensils into her chest. But of course it was all pretend – a fitting flashback to the “real” 1980s, when sis and I used to perform in all sorts of corny hometown plays featuring similar content. In fact, it was my sister’s love of acting that allowed her to make friends with the owner of The Murder Mystery Company, who carefully crafted the plot and outlined the roles each of my friends would play in the mystery we were asked to solve – roles that ranged from a kleptomaniac to a doctor, hippie, supermodel, photojournalist and more … and each came with a ridiculous outfit (though, to be fair, with our teased hair, jelly bracelets and loud neon 80s clothing it was hard to make us look MORE ridiculous). But everyone was a good sport about it – even those who would have preferred that we stuck to traditional fare like bridal bingo and making a wedding dress out of toilet paper (games which, to my pleasure, were left off the agenda).
We did, however, stick to tradition for the “bachelorette party” portion of the evening – heading out to the bars for a ladies night out. We had dinner at the Hard Rock Café, naturally, where they really did treat us like actual 80s rock stars, showing us up to the VIP room full of rare Beatles paraphernalia and a grand piano autographed by 52 musicians. Then we partied like it was 1999 … or, errr … 1989 at a variety of clubs, played a rousing drinking game that, oddly enough, involved a bingo card, took attitude from a surly waiter at a dueling piano bar and made friends with some guys who just happened to find the sunglasses we lost earlier that evening. Oh and, of course, what sort of 80s party would it be if I didn’t make like Debbie Gibson (or perhaps a band just a smidge more hard core than Electric Youth) and sing my own version (and I can assure you it sounded very little like the original so it really was my own version) of a rock song – karaoke style. And, naturally, I got the full rock star treatment with backup singers, live guitarists and a drummer to give me a little oomph up on stage while I croaked out Kiss’ “Rock n’ Roll All Night.” And, yeah, I even worked out some sweet dance moves as well (which really just means I jumped up and down while screaming “You keep on shouting! You keep on shouting!!”) Let me tell you, this is how I should always roll – with a full rock band backing me up. But mostly because if they can play/sing louder than me it would really help me to sound less terrible.
Sadly, try as they might, they couldn’t top the high decibels at which I massacred that song. But I did have one poor fella fist pumping up at the stage the whole time. I can only assume he was deaf … but I appreciated his support nonetheless. Of course, I got lots of encouragement from my own “entourage” of friends as well. And that was really the point of it all.
That said, it took a bit of liquid courage to get me up there in the first place … and Sunday morning was not my friend. Binging like a 80s rock star does have its downside. But, hey, I wanted to rock and roll all night – it’s just that my body disagreed that I should also be able to party every day. I wouldn’t trade a minute of it though – it was truly a blast and I am so lucky to have such wonderful friends to go along with all of this nonsense for me. Here a just a few photos of the fantastic ladies I’m lucky enough to have in my life.
First I recalibrated the headphones belonging to my rock star boyfriend, Poison, so that it would shock him to death the next time he used them (a little trick I learned from my many years working with sound equipment as a singing diva myself). Unfortunately it wasn’t Poison who used the headphones – it was his (and MY) manager. Bummer. I killed the wrong guy. Which meant my lying, cheating boyfriend got to live. But, I did manage to stab the floozy he was cheating on me with to death with a spork. And I was thankful for the small victory, but not for long. Soon I was caught – found out – exposed. And I could have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid … and those dogs too. Ultimately I was brought down by the evidence presented by a 4-year-old girl. Oh the shame! But, thankfully (like all the famous killers in the media), I got off easy … maybe all they had on me was circumstantial evidence? Perhaps there was some reasonable doubt in the jury’s mind? In either case, I only had to spend a few minutes in cuffs before being whisked away to a night of partying Casey Anthony style.
What’s this all about? I’m talking about my 1980s themed Murder Mystery Bridal Shower of course. And it was, like, totally rad.
Over the years I have attended many a bridal shower and have, lovingly, pretended to go along with all the cheesetastic games that come along with them. And while I do see how having activities at an event is crucial, especially when you’re bringing together people who may or may not know each other so well, I’m so glad that my amazing bridesmaids decided to do something a little more “out of the box” for my shower. And since it was my big day I got to be the killer … and apparently thanked my sister for this honor by ramming plastic utensils into her chest. But of course it was all pretend – a fitting flashback to the “real” 1980s, when sis and I used to perform in all sorts of corny hometown plays featuring similar content. In fact, it was my sister’s love of acting that allowed her to make friends with the owner of The Murder Mystery Company, who carefully crafted the plot and outlined the roles each of my friends would play in the mystery we were asked to solve – roles that ranged from a kleptomaniac to a doctor, hippie, supermodel, photojournalist and more … and each came with a ridiculous outfit (though, to be fair, with our teased hair, jelly bracelets and loud neon 80s clothing it was hard to make us look MORE ridiculous). But everyone was a good sport about it – even those who would have preferred that we stuck to traditional fare like bridal bingo and making a wedding dress out of toilet paper (games which, to my pleasure, were left off the agenda).
We did, however, stick to tradition for the “bachelorette party” portion of the evening – heading out to the bars for a ladies night out. We had dinner at the Hard Rock Café, naturally, where they really did treat us like actual 80s rock stars, showing us up to the VIP room full of rare Beatles paraphernalia and a grand piano autographed by 52 musicians. Then we partied like it was 1999 … or, errr … 1989 at a variety of clubs, played a rousing drinking game that, oddly enough, involved a bingo card, took attitude from a surly waiter at a dueling piano bar and made friends with some guys who just happened to find the sunglasses we lost earlier that evening. Oh and, of course, what sort of 80s party would it be if I didn’t make like Debbie Gibson (or perhaps a band just a smidge more hard core than Electric Youth) and sing my own version (and I can assure you it sounded very little like the original so it really was my own version) of a rock song – karaoke style. And, naturally, I got the full rock star treatment with backup singers, live guitarists and a drummer to give me a little oomph up on stage while I croaked out Kiss’ “Rock n’ Roll All Night.” And, yeah, I even worked out some sweet dance moves as well (which really just means I jumped up and down while screaming “You keep on shouting! You keep on shouting!!”) Let me tell you, this is how I should always roll – with a full rock band backing me up. But mostly because if they can play/sing louder than me it would really help me to sound less terrible.
My amazing Bridesmaids, who were wonderful enough to throw this party for me (Note: No, the pup is not in the wedding party and yes, he is bitter about it)
My killer costume included a sweet old school NKOTB hat.
Stace is calling me out as the killer.
The Doctor and the 4-year-old girl who presented the evidence that did me in.
Love the dreds ;)
My "boyfriend" and the floozy I had to murder (who just also happens to be my sister)
The Supermodel (don't they all wear hats like this?) and largest glasses I have ever seen!
No darling, I wasn't "punking" you - everyone really did show up wearing 80s clothing
Extra points for legwarmers!
Group shot at Hard Rock
That's right - we're in the VIP suite
The VIP area also offered this balcony with a fantastic view of CityWalk
I believe we are dancing ... kinda
Lose your glasses, never fear - you'll find this guy wearing them a few hours later!
I think this drink was really the turning point over to the dark side
I'm so glad Sis recovered to that spork to the chest
The glasses were really a key theme of the evening
These photos are clearly out of order because, let me assure you, we shut this place down (no daylight as we were leaving)!
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Madame Trousseau
trous·seau, n. [French, from Old French, diminutive of trousse, bundle. See truss.] The possessions, such as clothing and linens, that a bride assembles for her marriage.
Last weekend I went shopping. “So what” you say? Well, let me assure you that this is not a common practice for yours truly. Shopping for lumber at Home Depot, purchasing groceries at Publix, selecting paint at Sherwin Williams – these things are common occurrences in my life. But, hitting up the mall to purchase items for me to wear? Unheard of! Even if I had the time and the inclination to do so, I have very little money for such frivolities (See: Home Repairs, Wedding, Honeymoon, New Car).
It’s not that I never purchase new garments. Why just look at me today, sporting an outfit that I “carefully” selected from an easily accessible sales rack at Target while picking up a birthday card and some fresh squash during a hectic lunch break swing-by a few months back. If that’s not dedication to fashion, I don’t know what is. No really, I don’t know what dedication to fashion is. Of course I like to look nice, who doesn’t? But I’ve never been fashion forward, I don’t have a clue what color is “in” this season, and I think that if it still fits (and looks somewhat decent on my ever fluctuating waistline) then it’s good enough to still wear for years into the future. It’s this refusal to purge clothing on a regular basis that causes my Dad to declare that I have “tons of clothing” crammed into my only semi-organized closet (as he less-than-gingerly pulls all of the items out to build me a new shelf in there), and yet causes any other astute observer to notice that I really only own, at max, 3 pairs of pants that are cleverly paired with any rotating combination of half a dozen shirts/sweaters to give the optical illusion that I am not, in fact, just wearing the same thing every single day.
But my recent trip to the mall (which, incidentally, was to pick up items for a trip that GAR is taking to South America – not for me to shop for my own needs) really left me craving more – more pants, more shoes, more sassy tops, more shirts, skirts, dresses, tees, tanks, makeup, undergarments, jeans, pjs, accessories … more more more! And that’s what got me thinking – I need a bridal trousseau!
Yes, in the olden days (you know, way back yonder. I dunno – Victorian times?) single young women all over the world prepared for their change in marital status by accumulating a whole new wardrobe -- jewelry, lingerie, toiletries, hand-stitched clothing for all sorts of formal occasions (well, pretty much everything was a formal occasion back then). Why did this tradition ever stop? Why can’t I do the same?
Maybe it’s because the modern bride is, most likely, not setting off on a whole new life when she enters marriage. I mean, it’s not like I’m still living at home and I need to prepare myself for life outside my parental cocoon. I simply don’t need a whole new anything – I’ve been living on my own, purchasing my own prêt-à-porter (another pretty French term that is much nicer than saying “off-the-rack, mass-produced in China, discounted non-designer clothing”) for years now. If I don’t already own nice things, that’s my own doing. And really it does come down to priorities – would I rather have adorable sets of matching bra and panty combinations or be able to drive around during a steamy Florida August in a car with functioning air conditioning? Can I live without this season’s “must have” nude-colored pumps* in exchange for my dream honeymoon in Bavaria? While I envy the women who always look so fresh and stylish, and I covet their perfectly ironed “this just in” blouses and pencil skirts (are those still popular? I’m taking a leap of faith that they are), I covet the opportunity to see the world, feast on crepes in France (or schnitzel in Germany) and not pass out when I see my credit card bill each month even more.
And so, Target bargain bin, you’ll be seeing more of me in the future (as I quickly zoom by on my way to pick up a new plunger and some toothpaste). But, I will be compromising a little by purchasing a few new items (as budget allows), because every woman should own at least a few fabulous, feel good, knock-their-socks-off ensembles (though I’d settle for owning a pair of jeans with a working zipper that aren’t faded so badly that they look like I’ve been holding onto them since the stone washed jean phenomenon was “in”). And look, I’ve already gone ahead and purchased one gorgeous new get-up – my wedding dress. And once that behemoth garment is added to my closet rack, I’m not even sure I’ll have room in there for new hot pants and bedazzled mini-dresses anyway … not unless I get rid of that oversized Abercrombie sweatshirt I bought off the men’s department clearance rack back in 1997 … and I don’t think I’m ready to part with that just yet. What if there’s a freak cold spell?
Okay, okay, I’ll try to do a little purging while I’m binging on some new wardrobe items. And I’ll even try to pay attention to what’s in style – sort of … right after I put away this new flannel shirt I bought to go with the Nirvana tee that GAR gave me.
* I know that nude pumps are in style this season because, in my effort to find out what items I should have in my modern trousseau, I purchased a magazine that I have rarely, if ever, looked at before – Cosmo. First let me say that the fact that this magazine is able to stay in print in a world where paper is becoming a thing of the past is beyond me. Aside from terrible sex advice, quizzes aimed at deciphering whether or not a boy really likes you (I believe I once took a similar quiz in Seventeen magazine … back when I was young enough to aspire to someday actually be 17) and the fact that ads make up about 75% of the publication’s content, I found no real suitable fashion ideas within its pages. $790 t-shirts? Who are they pretending is the reader of this magazine? Sequined shorts that let your butt cheeks peek out? Yes, I have seen people dressed that way … but I am not considering joining them. It did, however, provide a scintillating article on Kim Kardashian where she reveals that she’s never “passed gas or gone #2.” Fascinating. I’ll be sure to read the rest of that story as soon as I decode the “secrets behind your man’s mysterious facebook status.”
Last weekend I went shopping. “So what” you say? Well, let me assure you that this is not a common practice for yours truly. Shopping for lumber at Home Depot, purchasing groceries at Publix, selecting paint at Sherwin Williams – these things are common occurrences in my life. But, hitting up the mall to purchase items for me to wear? Unheard of! Even if I had the time and the inclination to do so, I have very little money for such frivolities (See: Home Repairs, Wedding, Honeymoon, New Car).
It’s not that I never purchase new garments. Why just look at me today, sporting an outfit that I “carefully” selected from an easily accessible sales rack at Target while picking up a birthday card and some fresh squash during a hectic lunch break swing-by a few months back. If that’s not dedication to fashion, I don’t know what is. No really, I don’t know what dedication to fashion is. Of course I like to look nice, who doesn’t? But I’ve never been fashion forward, I don’t have a clue what color is “in” this season, and I think that if it still fits (and looks somewhat decent on my ever fluctuating waistline) then it’s good enough to still wear for years into the future. It’s this refusal to purge clothing on a regular basis that causes my Dad to declare that I have “tons of clothing” crammed into my only semi-organized closet (as he less-than-gingerly pulls all of the items out to build me a new shelf in there), and yet causes any other astute observer to notice that I really only own, at max, 3 pairs of pants that are cleverly paired with any rotating combination of half a dozen shirts/sweaters to give the optical illusion that I am not, in fact, just wearing the same thing every single day.
But my recent trip to the mall (which, incidentally, was to pick up items for a trip that GAR is taking to South America – not for me to shop for my own needs) really left me craving more – more pants, more shoes, more sassy tops, more shirts, skirts, dresses, tees, tanks, makeup, undergarments, jeans, pjs, accessories … more more more! And that’s what got me thinking – I need a bridal trousseau!
Yes, in the olden days (you know, way back yonder. I dunno – Victorian times?) single young women all over the world prepared for their change in marital status by accumulating a whole new wardrobe -- jewelry, lingerie, toiletries, hand-stitched clothing for all sorts of formal occasions (well, pretty much everything was a formal occasion back then). Why did this tradition ever stop? Why can’t I do the same?
Maybe it’s because the modern bride is, most likely, not setting off on a whole new life when she enters marriage. I mean, it’s not like I’m still living at home and I need to prepare myself for life outside my parental cocoon. I simply don’t need a whole new anything – I’ve been living on my own, purchasing my own prêt-à-porter (another pretty French term that is much nicer than saying “off-the-rack, mass-produced in China, discounted non-designer clothing”) for years now. If I don’t already own nice things, that’s my own doing. And really it does come down to priorities – would I rather have adorable sets of matching bra and panty combinations or be able to drive around during a steamy Florida August in a car with functioning air conditioning? Can I live without this season’s “must have” nude-colored pumps* in exchange for my dream honeymoon in Bavaria? While I envy the women who always look so fresh and stylish, and I covet their perfectly ironed “this just in” blouses and pencil skirts (are those still popular? I’m taking a leap of faith that they are), I covet the opportunity to see the world, feast on crepes in France (or schnitzel in Germany) and not pass out when I see my credit card bill each month even more.
And so, Target bargain bin, you’ll be seeing more of me in the future (as I quickly zoom by on my way to pick up a new plunger and some toothpaste). But, I will be compromising a little by purchasing a few new items (as budget allows), because every woman should own at least a few fabulous, feel good, knock-their-socks-off ensembles (though I’d settle for owning a pair of jeans with a working zipper that aren’t faded so badly that they look like I’ve been holding onto them since the stone washed jean phenomenon was “in”). And look, I’ve already gone ahead and purchased one gorgeous new get-up – my wedding dress. And once that behemoth garment is added to my closet rack, I’m not even sure I’ll have room in there for new hot pants and bedazzled mini-dresses anyway … not unless I get rid of that oversized Abercrombie sweatshirt I bought off the men’s department clearance rack back in 1997 … and I don’t think I’m ready to part with that just yet. What if there’s a freak cold spell?
Okay, okay, I’ll try to do a little purging while I’m binging on some new wardrobe items. And I’ll even try to pay attention to what’s in style – sort of … right after I put away this new flannel shirt I bought to go with the Nirvana tee that GAR gave me.
* I know that nude pumps are in style this season because, in my effort to find out what items I should have in my modern trousseau, I purchased a magazine that I have rarely, if ever, looked at before – Cosmo. First let me say that the fact that this magazine is able to stay in print in a world where paper is becoming a thing of the past is beyond me. Aside from terrible sex advice, quizzes aimed at deciphering whether or not a boy really likes you (I believe I once took a similar quiz in Seventeen magazine … back when I was young enough to aspire to someday actually be 17) and the fact that ads make up about 75% of the publication’s content, I found no real suitable fashion ideas within its pages. $790 t-shirts? Who are they pretending is the reader of this magazine? Sequined shorts that let your butt cheeks peek out? Yes, I have seen people dressed that way … but I am not considering joining them. It did, however, provide a scintillating article on Kim Kardashian where she reveals that she’s never “passed gas or gone #2.” Fascinating. I’ll be sure to read the rest of that story as soon as I decode the “secrets behind your man’s mysterious facebook status.”
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Schadenfreude and German Spam
If you’ve ever seen the musical “Avenue Q” then you already know what “schadenfreude” is (and if you haven’t seen it, go buy the soundtrack now. Seriously, I’ll wait … you’re welcome). Put succinctly it is a German term for “taking pleasure in the misfortune of others.” (See – NOW do you understand why Germany is such an awesome place that I just can’t wait to visit on my honeymoon? How delightfully twisted!)
We all do it - laugh when someone falls down, gets hit in the groin, eats something spicy and smoke comes out their ears (wait, that one might be something I saw in a cartoon) … Heck, our love of schadenfreude is what has kept “America’s Funniest Home Videos” on the air for the past 20-some odd years. But it can be much more sinister as well. Oh sure, we all know that half the reason people love facebook so much is because they can look up the people who were mean to them in junior high and laugh at how fat they are now (though, of course, I would never do that … not to you anyway). While I suppose it’s human nature to see someone who is not doing so well in life and feel a little better about yourself and your own accomplishments as a result, where I see it take a dark turn is when you feel angry or threatened when you see that previously downtrodden soul take a turn in an upward direction. You know, your perpetually unemployed friend suddenly gets a fabulous job making more than you do – and you just can’t be happy for them. Of course, there are times where you feel like someone gets something they don’t “deserve” (based on your own perception of what that person has “earned” in life). But what I’m talking about goes beyond this – I’m talking about those who possess a constant need to feel superior to others.
Think you don’t know anyone in your life like that? Just wait until something fabulous happens to you and you may just see them start coming out the woodwork. You get a promotion – they are putting down your place of employment and calling your line of work a cake walk. Buy a fabulous new house – they start droning on about the mortgage crisis and the folly of those stupid enough to make such a purchase when the market is still on a downward slide. Get engaged – they laugh at the less than 50% success rate of such a silly endeavor and the gross commercialization of weddings themselves.
Or they simple twirl their hair Penelope-style and say “Oh yeah? Well, I’ve got six houses, make $7.5 million a year at my job riding unicorns, and have a dozen men competing to the death for my hand in marriage.”
Either way, these people exist … and they’re probably masquerading as your “friend.” I found a few of them hiding out in my friend banks when I got engaged – people who were always there for me in the tough times but who, once things got great again, were not happy for me at all. I had trumped them. Gotten something they didn’t want me to have. Exposed the things they were not happy about in their own lives. It’s sad – and I’ll be feeling sorry for them (but not really thinking about them at all) as I jet off on my fabulous honeymoon that, were I still speaking to these people, they would surely put down by bragging about the dozens of countries they’ve been to, all of which are more exciting and exotic than boring old Deutschland (and, really, isn’t Europe such a pedestrian choice for a honeymoon anyway).
And I figure, hey, at least I’ll know one German term while I’m there (though I’m much more likely to hear Bavarians shouting “bier!” than “schadenfreude”). Actually, I do know a couple more – my father told me the German word for “constipation” is “farfrompoopin,” and that “bra” translates to “keepsthemfromfloppin,” but I can’t seem to confirm these in any language translation dictionaries. But, I really do feel the need to learn a bit more of the language – mostly so I can decipher the spam.
It’s true, I have traveled to dozens of countries before (and I ride 6 unicorns to work, where I make 70 billion dollars a year) and I’ve never bothered to learn more than a few essential words. Actually, I’m your typical nasty American tourist who just walks up to Parisians and demands “Where is Noter Dame?” like a moron. And, hey, it’s worked thus far. Plus, on this trip, GAR and I will have the added benefit of traveling with a tour guide who speaks the language fluently – a luxury we’ve never had before. No, I’m not worried about communicating with others in a foreign land – I’m worried about not being able to read all this fascinating Oktoberfest-related spam that has been flooding into my inbox. A few times a week I get a German-language newsletter that, seemingly, appears to have all sorts of great information about what is happening at the “weizen” this year. What am I missing out on? What fun is going on that I could be a part of if only I understood this language full of words that in no way remind me of those found in other languages I know (which is mainly just English … and, to be fair, “beer” and “bier” are pretty much the same – what else do I need)?
I plugged some copy from the most recent mailing into Yahoo’s language translator and it came back with this:
“Love Octoberfest fans, in 52 days the famous Trachtenumzug makes itself the way to the Theresienwiese. For 7 years we make possible for our guests to be very close and one of the most beautiful views of the removal enjoy thereby. Also in this year we load at the 1st Wies' N-Sunday to the traditional Trachtenbrunch. Loosely geht´s starting from 9:30 clock in „the spade house at the opera “. Experience the Trachtenumzug with best Bavarian Brunch from the house Kuffler. Whom it then still on the Wies' n pulls, for goes it with the bus into the beetles Wies' n Schänke to the exclusive Wies' N-prelude! We are pleased to be allowed to bergüßen you with the Trachtenbrunch. Menu in the beetles pointed `n-Schänke. Alternatively we can " Spade house to the Oper" without " Beetle Wies' n Schänke" offer."
Something about brunch? I love brunch! But, alas, I guess I will never know … unless one of my fancy-pants former friends counts “German” among the 17 languages they’re fluent in. No? Well, I guess you can’t be better than everyone at everything. I guess I’ll just skip brunch and instead grab a world-famous Bavarian hot chocolate from the restaurant at the Four Seasons (oh, did I not mention we’re staying at the Four Seasons? Yes, well, I’m sure it’s not as great as the place you stayed that one time you helped starving children in a remote area of Timbuktu).
We all do it - laugh when someone falls down, gets hit in the groin, eats something spicy and smoke comes out their ears (wait, that one might be something I saw in a cartoon) … Heck, our love of schadenfreude is what has kept “America’s Funniest Home Videos” on the air for the past 20-some odd years. But it can be much more sinister as well. Oh sure, we all know that half the reason people love facebook so much is because they can look up the people who were mean to them in junior high and laugh at how fat they are now (though, of course, I would never do that … not to you anyway). While I suppose it’s human nature to see someone who is not doing so well in life and feel a little better about yourself and your own accomplishments as a result, where I see it take a dark turn is when you feel angry or threatened when you see that previously downtrodden soul take a turn in an upward direction. You know, your perpetually unemployed friend suddenly gets a fabulous job making more than you do – and you just can’t be happy for them. Of course, there are times where you feel like someone gets something they don’t “deserve” (based on your own perception of what that person has “earned” in life). But what I’m talking about goes beyond this – I’m talking about those who possess a constant need to feel superior to others.
Think you don’t know anyone in your life like that? Just wait until something fabulous happens to you and you may just see them start coming out the woodwork. You get a promotion – they are putting down your place of employment and calling your line of work a cake walk. Buy a fabulous new house – they start droning on about the mortgage crisis and the folly of those stupid enough to make such a purchase when the market is still on a downward slide. Get engaged – they laugh at the less than 50% success rate of such a silly endeavor and the gross commercialization of weddings themselves.
Or they simple twirl their hair Penelope-style and say “Oh yeah? Well, I’ve got six houses, make $7.5 million a year at my job riding unicorns, and have a dozen men competing to the death for my hand in marriage.”
Either way, these people exist … and they’re probably masquerading as your “friend.” I found a few of them hiding out in my friend banks when I got engaged – people who were always there for me in the tough times but who, once things got great again, were not happy for me at all. I had trumped them. Gotten something they didn’t want me to have. Exposed the things they were not happy about in their own lives. It’s sad – and I’ll be feeling sorry for them (but not really thinking about them at all) as I jet off on my fabulous honeymoon that, were I still speaking to these people, they would surely put down by bragging about the dozens of countries they’ve been to, all of which are more exciting and exotic than boring old Deutschland (and, really, isn’t Europe such a pedestrian choice for a honeymoon anyway).
And I figure, hey, at least I’ll know one German term while I’m there (though I’m much more likely to hear Bavarians shouting “bier!” than “schadenfreude”). Actually, I do know a couple more – my father told me the German word for “constipation” is “farfrompoopin,” and that “bra” translates to “keepsthemfromfloppin,” but I can’t seem to confirm these in any language translation dictionaries. But, I really do feel the need to learn a bit more of the language – mostly so I can decipher the spam.
It’s true, I have traveled to dozens of countries before (and I ride 6 unicorns to work, where I make 70 billion dollars a year) and I’ve never bothered to learn more than a few essential words. Actually, I’m your typical nasty American tourist who just walks up to Parisians and demands “Where is Noter Dame?” like a moron. And, hey, it’s worked thus far. Plus, on this trip, GAR and I will have the added benefit of traveling with a tour guide who speaks the language fluently – a luxury we’ve never had before. No, I’m not worried about communicating with others in a foreign land – I’m worried about not being able to read all this fascinating Oktoberfest-related spam that has been flooding into my inbox. A few times a week I get a German-language newsletter that, seemingly, appears to have all sorts of great information about what is happening at the “weizen” this year. What am I missing out on? What fun is going on that I could be a part of if only I understood this language full of words that in no way remind me of those found in other languages I know (which is mainly just English … and, to be fair, “beer” and “bier” are pretty much the same – what else do I need)?
I plugged some copy from the most recent mailing into Yahoo’s language translator and it came back with this:
“Love Octoberfest fans, in 52 days the famous Trachtenumzug makes itself the way to the Theresienwiese. For 7 years we make possible for our guests to be very close and one of the most beautiful views of the removal enjoy thereby. Also in this year we load at the 1st Wies' N-Sunday to the traditional Trachtenbrunch. Loosely geht´s starting from 9:30 clock in „the spade house at the opera “. Experience the Trachtenumzug with best Bavarian Brunch from the house Kuffler. Whom it then still on the Wies' n pulls, for goes it with the bus into the beetles Wies' n Schänke to the exclusive Wies' N-prelude! We are pleased to be allowed to bergüßen you with the Trachtenbrunch. Menu in the beetles pointed `n-Schänke. Alternatively we can " Spade house to the Oper" without " Beetle Wies' n Schänke" offer."
Something about brunch? I love brunch! But, alas, I guess I will never know … unless one of my fancy-pants former friends counts “German” among the 17 languages they’re fluent in. No? Well, I guess you can’t be better than everyone at everything. I guess I’ll just skip brunch and instead grab a world-famous Bavarian hot chocolate from the restaurant at the Four Seasons (oh, did I not mention we’re staying at the Four Seasons? Yes, well, I’m sure it’s not as great as the place you stayed that one time you helped starving children in a remote area of Timbuktu).
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Corporate Crashers and Party Poopers
A weekend away – nothing but sun, sand, swimming pools, waterfalls, poop and corporate party crashing.
This, my friends, is the tale of the weddingmoon that GAR and I recently chose to embark upon. Now, you may recall that, as a couple, my Groom-A-Saurus Rex (GAR) and I suffer from a pretty bad case of ADD. We aren’t the type to allow ourselves a lot of time for “doing nothing.” Though on this trip – this little “getaway” (though I’ve always hated this term – why would I need to “get away” from it all? My life is already awesome – by taking vacation I’m simply making it more awesome. But I digress…) – we really did try to simply relax and enjoy the type of laid-back vacation experience that others seem to enjoy so much.
So we lounged by the pool for hours, sipping cool cocktails and taking the occasional dip into the pool that, according to my friend Mac, won the title of “Best Pool in South Florida” (a title that I would like to dispute. Granted, I have not seen every pool in South Florida, but I’ve seen more impressive ones here in Central Florida and I’m guessing that South Beach has some seriously cool pools that would put the merely “better than average” pool at the Hard Rock to shame). And we were relaxed … and hot ... but mostly relaxed … until some literal party pooper decided to take a dump in the allegedly award-winning water feature. And, well, that kicked the Zen-like vibe right out of that place (to be honest, it wasn’t really that Zen … sure, we were relaxing, but only by blocking out the high-pitched shrills of oversized children crammed into undersized inner tubes running all around. For this type of serenity I could have just spent the day at any of Central Florida’s “award winning” Speedo-infested water parks).
Not that sitting by the pool all day doesn’t have its charms, but I’m sure that GAR would agree that we had a bit more fun once the sun went down (or, err … the sun sets really late this time of year, so maybe I should instead say “once the pool shut down”). Since lounging poolside was out, our evening started with us doing something that the hip people of South Beach would never do – we went to dinner at 6 p.m. Expecting to see nothing more than a few retirees out way past their bedtime, we hit up a Cuban restaurant at the resort (which, naturally, I had purchased a Groupon for in advance). To our amazement, it was packed! And, even more to our amazement, we sat down and were instantly greeted with lavish appetizers and exotic, bubbling drinks – items we had not ordered. When GAR insisted that we should not be getting these items, the waiter responded that we were special guests and it was all, of course, complimentary. SCORE!! Apparently dining so early in the evening is something that is only done by celebrities and royalty and, whichever one we were mistaken for, we were very grateful.
We got our menus, which listed delicious 3-course meal options and a fixed price - $6.99 ... far below what even the least expensive mini-dessert on the menu would usually cost. We were perplexed but we went with it because, well, why not? All the other tables seemed to be doing the same thing (and, yes, if the other tables jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge I might, momentarily, wonder if perhaps they’re not onto something fabulous that I just haven’t figured out yet). And soon it all became clear – we had accidentally crashed a Hard Rock employee appreciation night … and boy was it delicious!
Once dinner was done and our $14 was paid, the night was still young … very young – in a town where the action doesn’t start until midnight, we walked out of the restaurant at 7 p.m. What to do? Like lemmings we followed the sea of employees (I'd like to say our “fellow” employees, but we weren’t officially on the casino’s payroll yet) into Hard Rock Live. We have attended concerts at this venue in Orlando many times, but this was our first visit to this locale … and it was drastically different … mostly because it was set up for a concert unlike any we’ve ever attended before. Oh yes, it was set up for an event of epic proportions – the Southeast Regional Hard Rock Employee Talent Show! Now hear me out – attending a D-grade “talent show” with people you don’t know, care about or work with may sound lame (and, okay, it is), but I assure you that the good people at Hard Rock corporate had spared no expense in setting up this event – indoor fireworks, lazer light effects, smoke machines, professional back-up musicians, back-up singers, back-up dancers and even a professional (male) bellydancer. Come on now – THIS is entertainment (good enough for 7 p.m. on a Monday night anyway)!
And – whoa! – did I mention that the whole thing was hosted by TV’s Joey Lawrence? Or so says GAR (this "fact" was never confirmed, but I will agree that it looked like him), and I have no reason to doubt he was the real deal. After all, they did have all the “real” American Idol judges – old and new – on set to review the performances. Look everyone, it’s Steven Tyler!
J-Lo ...
And, of course, Paula.
But it was great fun. We cheered on the contestants, shook our light-up maracas (oh yes, they gave us maracas) and rejoiced when “our” top selection won it all! Plus they gave us really cheap beer and popcorn.
Oh sure, we did lots of other exciting things on this trip – enjoyed overpriced cocktails at an exclusive, swanky rooftop bar, accidentally started a dance-off with another couple in a billiards halls, won money playing video roulette, sang along with Journey’s “Separate Ways” during karaoke, strolled along the beach hand-in-hand, hunted down an out-of-business Barnes & Noble, feasted on discounted oversized pretzels, and came back home to find Dad sitting on our couch and telling us that he just bought a house in Florida. But, really, it’s the 7th Annual Casino Appreciation Night that we’ll remember the most – GAR is already planning a trip back for the 2012 showdown. I’ll keep my neon maracas handy!
This, my friends, is the tale of the weddingmoon that GAR and I recently chose to embark upon. Now, you may recall that, as a couple, my Groom-A-Saurus Rex (GAR) and I suffer from a pretty bad case of ADD. We aren’t the type to allow ourselves a lot of time for “doing nothing.” Though on this trip – this little “getaway” (though I’ve always hated this term – why would I need to “get away” from it all? My life is already awesome – by taking vacation I’m simply making it more awesome. But I digress…) – we really did try to simply relax and enjoy the type of laid-back vacation experience that others seem to enjoy so much.
So we lounged by the pool for hours, sipping cool cocktails and taking the occasional dip into the pool that, according to my friend Mac, won the title of “Best Pool in South Florida” (a title that I would like to dispute. Granted, I have not seen every pool in South Florida, but I’ve seen more impressive ones here in Central Florida and I’m guessing that South Beach has some seriously cool pools that would put the merely “better than average” pool at the Hard Rock to shame). And we were relaxed … and hot ... but mostly relaxed … until some literal party pooper decided to take a dump in the allegedly award-winning water feature. And, well, that kicked the Zen-like vibe right out of that place (to be honest, it wasn’t really that Zen … sure, we were relaxing, but only by blocking out the high-pitched shrills of oversized children crammed into undersized inner tubes running all around. For this type of serenity I could have just spent the day at any of Central Florida’s “award winning” Speedo-infested water parks).
Not that sitting by the pool all day doesn’t have its charms, but I’m sure that GAR would agree that we had a bit more fun once the sun went down (or, err … the sun sets really late this time of year, so maybe I should instead say “once the pool shut down”). Since lounging poolside was out, our evening started with us doing something that the hip people of South Beach would never do – we went to dinner at 6 p.m. Expecting to see nothing more than a few retirees out way past their bedtime, we hit up a Cuban restaurant at the resort (which, naturally, I had purchased a Groupon for in advance). To our amazement, it was packed! And, even more to our amazement, we sat down and were instantly greeted with lavish appetizers and exotic, bubbling drinks – items we had not ordered. When GAR insisted that we should not be getting these items, the waiter responded that we were special guests and it was all, of course, complimentary. SCORE!! Apparently dining so early in the evening is something that is only done by celebrities and royalty and, whichever one we were mistaken for, we were very grateful.
We got our menus, which listed delicious 3-course meal options and a fixed price - $6.99 ... far below what even the least expensive mini-dessert on the menu would usually cost. We were perplexed but we went with it because, well, why not? All the other tables seemed to be doing the same thing (and, yes, if the other tables jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge I might, momentarily, wonder if perhaps they’re not onto something fabulous that I just haven’t figured out yet). And soon it all became clear – we had accidentally crashed a Hard Rock employee appreciation night … and boy was it delicious!
Once dinner was done and our $14 was paid, the night was still young … very young – in a town where the action doesn’t start until midnight, we walked out of the restaurant at 7 p.m. What to do? Like lemmings we followed the sea of employees (I'd like to say our “fellow” employees, but we weren’t officially on the casino’s payroll yet) into Hard Rock Live. We have attended concerts at this venue in Orlando many times, but this was our first visit to this locale … and it was drastically different … mostly because it was set up for a concert unlike any we’ve ever attended before. Oh yes, it was set up for an event of epic proportions – the Southeast Regional Hard Rock Employee Talent Show! Now hear me out – attending a D-grade “talent show” with people you don’t know, care about or work with may sound lame (and, okay, it is), but I assure you that the good people at Hard Rock corporate had spared no expense in setting up this event – indoor fireworks, lazer light effects, smoke machines, professional back-up musicians, back-up singers, back-up dancers and even a professional (male) bellydancer. Come on now – THIS is entertainment (good enough for 7 p.m. on a Monday night anyway)!
And – whoa! – did I mention that the whole thing was hosted by TV’s Joey Lawrence? Or so says GAR (this "fact" was never confirmed, but I will agree that it looked like him), and I have no reason to doubt he was the real deal. After all, they did have all the “real” American Idol judges – old and new – on set to review the performances. Look everyone, it’s Steven Tyler!
But it was great fun. We cheered on the contestants, shook our light-up maracas (oh yes, they gave us maracas) and rejoiced when “our” top selection won it all! Plus they gave us really cheap beer and popcorn.
Oh sure, we did lots of other exciting things on this trip – enjoyed overpriced cocktails at an exclusive, swanky rooftop bar, accidentally started a dance-off with another couple in a billiards halls, won money playing video roulette, sang along with Journey’s “Separate Ways” during karaoke, strolled along the beach hand-in-hand, hunted down an out-of-business Barnes & Noble, feasted on discounted oversized pretzels, and came back home to find Dad sitting on our couch and telling us that he just bought a house in Florida. But, really, it’s the 7th Annual Casino Appreciation Night that we’ll remember the most – GAR is already planning a trip back for the 2012 showdown. I’ll keep my neon maracas handy!
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