Thursday, September 19, 2013
I had a big week last week. I left Tuesday morning for a work conference several hours away, stayed there until Friday morning when I went to a few meetings, packed my car, made the three and a half hour drive home, ate a lunch of nacho cheese Doritos and a pumpkin spice latte at a turnpike rest stop, arrived at my apartment for the quickest transformation from sweatpants into a wedding outfit in the history of the world, and spent the night at a family wedding.
I collapsed into my bed late on Friday night and stayed there until 11:30 on Saturday morning. I managed to pull myself out of bed and shower before noon, but that's where all motivation was lost and I just put my bathrobe back on, climbed into bed, and read a book.
Please imagine my surprise when I heard a knock at my front door a few hours later and peeked out the window to see Matt. Surprise visits are a lot more adorable when I'm wearing a cute outfit and some lip gloss as opposed to the state I was in at that very moment, but what can ya do? FOR BETTER OR FOR BATHROBES AND DAMP, UNCOMBED HAIR.
I opened the door and told Matt to hang out real quick in the living room while I changed, but I ended up taking my grand old time changing because I figured that poor Matt might need a while to process the fact that he's marrying a girl who stays in her bathrobe until mid afternoon.
Saturday's weather was beautiful, so once I was properly dressed and lip glossed and ready to re-enter the land of the living we went over to a state park to walk on the trail for a few hours. It was such a pretty day.
Then a friend called and invited us over for a last minute pizza/wine/bonfire night, an invitation which we accepted because that is like the perfect Saturday night trifecta.
Unfortunately that's when things started to go downhill.
As soon as we pulled up to their house and Matt put the car into park, tons of white smoke began pouring out from the hood of his car.
We certainly know how to make an entrance!!
(Matt is going to read this and say that I am exaggerating and that it wasn't tons of smoke and it most certainly was not pouring out of the hood. To which I say any amount of smoke coming from the hood of a car is not a good thing but yes, I may be exaggerating a bit.)
Strangely, Matt didn't act surprised by this alarming sight, and after popping the hood and poking around for a few minutes, he nonchalantly mentioned that he had been working on his car that morning and evidently, something had gone wrong. I won't pretend that I understand the technicalities of his explanation but I know it had something to do with antifreeze.
Luckily our gracious host drove Matt to Auto Zone to purchase something to rectify the problem. The two of them came inside a while later and assured me that the car was GREAT, NEVER BETTER, A COMPLETELY SAFE VEHICLE IN WHICH TO BE TRANSPORTED HOME, but unfortunately that wasn't true because about three minutes into our return journey, the car kindly alerted us that it was overheating.
WELL HELLO THERE, WHITE SMOKE. SO NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN.
The good news is that Matt was able to turn the car off before the engine burst into flames. The bad news is that we were on the teeny tiny shoulder of a highway in the pitch black.
Matt is usually a pretty even keeled kind of guy, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him scared. Actually maybe more like one finger. And that would be Saturday night.
He turned the flashers on but we were in sort of a precarious position on the roadway and I don't think I helped to set his mind at ease when I got out of the car and held my cell phone up. Because sure, the motorists who are barreling towards us at upwards of sixty miles per hour will certainly be able to see a small four inch LED screen and steer away from danger.
Matt said it would be safer to stay in the car so I got back in and tried to tell jokes because apparently that is what I do when I am nervous.
You know what I'm thankful for? Friends who will meet you at night on the side of the road with a gallon of water to hold you over until you can get to the store.
You know what else I am thankful for? Fiances who go into Wal Mart to buy anti-freeze when a fun Saturday night ends badly, and come out with s'mores.
If we got stranded again, at least we wouldn't have to worry about going hungry.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Matt currently shares a house with a few of his buddies, and last week this bad boy became a part of their dining room decor.
It's an old, gigantic, fully functional jukebox complete with boxes of records and an unlimited supply of tokens.
And it's awesome.
Since its arrival in the dining room, we've spent hours playing "Guess That Tune." I've learned that Matt's go-to songs are typically by either Elvis or Led Zeppelin, whereas I am partial to selection A-8, Highway to the Danger Zone by Kenny Loggins.
Can't put us in a box.
The jukebox is filled with classics and has given me tons of thoughts for our wedding. One of those thoughts is that we probably shouldn't dance to Cheap Trick because we did so in Matt's dining room and my hip is still slightly sore from a particularly enthusiastic twirl right into the buffet table.
My other thoughts include songs that I'd like to play, and this is really all perfect timing because the item on the to-do list getting the most attention right now is music.
I've emailed several DJs, and last week I got a phone call from a company that I had contacted. The woman I spoke with asked about our wedding and OF COURSE I told her (all) about it. She asked what we were looking for music-wise, so I told her we're pretty simple, but we like country, classics, and wouldn't hate the occasional eighties ballad/rock song/Broadway show tune peppered in.
As far as what we don't want, I told her that while one or two Flo Rida songs is okay because I do love me some Flo, other than that we're not really into rap and hip hop. I then may have gone onto a little bit of a tangent about how I want wedding music that is romantic and wedding-ish and that everyone knows and not a bunch of hip hop songs.
She "mmm-hmmmed" and "okayed" very politely and then she said, "Can I take a few minutes to tell you a little bit about our company?"
I said yes because I love a good sales pitch and that's when she told me "Well, we were founded by Jam-Master Jay of Run-DMC..."
Wow. Wish I had known that you were founded by the DJ of one of the most famous hip hop groups of all time before I climbed up onto the old hip hop soapbox.
So needless to say we're still on the search for a DJ. I'm sure we will be able to find someone who can play exactly what we're looking for, but if that's not possible, we can just haul the jukebox over.
You can always count on Elvis and Kenny Loggins.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
I have a weekly routine of going to the bank and the gas station every Saturday morning. Sometimes I will swing by the car wash or the grocery store or the post office depending on the week, but the bank and the gas station are non-negotiable items on my Saturday morning agenda.
And I usually stop at Dunkin' Donuts first and treat myself to a pre-errand caramel coffee.
This morning was no different, and as I pulled into the drive through line at Dunkin' Donuts, I was greeted with no less than twenty eight signs informing me that PUMPKIN FEST IS HERE, we have PUMPKIN MUFFINS and PUMPKIN COFFEE and WHITE CHOCOLATE PUMPKIN MOCHAS and PUMPKIN, PUMPKIN, PUMPKIN.
Because I am a marketing company's dream, it took me .3 seconds to decide to hope on the pumpkin bandwagon and when I pulled around to order, I said "Good morning, I'd like a medium pumpkin coffee with cream and sugar, please."
And then the lady said, "I'm sorry, we don't have pumpkin flavors."
Well that's odd, because the entire perimeter of your property here is filled with signs claiming the opposite.
I settled for an iced caramel almond coffee and I'll admit, 'twas delicious.
Next on my list was the gas station, and it was EMPTY which made my morning since I have lots of issues surrounding maneuvering at crowded gas stations. I parked my car, slid my debit card, and started to fill up.
Or so I thought.
I was washing my windows when I glanced at the screen to check the gas progress and saw that the screen said, "PUMP STOPPED, SEE CASHIER."
Here is the part where it's important to note that I HAVE NEVER paid for my gas inside. Not ever. I ALWAYS pay at the pump. But I put on my big girl pants and walked inside and told the gentleman behind the counter about the message on the screen at pump 6.
The man had a thick accent, but he told me that they'd been having trouble with the card reader at that particular pump, so he could try to swipe my card at his register and see if it worked. "But first," he said, "you will need to tell me the amount that you would like."
"Okay," I said, "Well, I have a Ford Focus which I think is a twelve gallon tank, and I'm almost on E, so I'd say about ten gallons, please."
Listen, one thing that surpasses any language barrier is laughter. And he laughed. OH, DID HE LAUGH. Because by "amount," he meant DOLLAR AMOUNT, NOT GALLON AMOUNT.
I wanted to just melt into the floor and disappear.
This was not my morning.
Here's looking at you, Sunday.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
When I checked the mail today, I discovered an Ikea catalog, some Yankee Candle coupons, and this...
I guess word is out to retailers nationwide that I'm engaged to a hunter.
At least I know who to call if we decide to feature some personalized camo accents on our wedding day attire.