honeymooners

i'm back, and i'm married

When I started this little blog I named it Oh Laura Darling because I had the dream of one day marrying a man with the last name Darling.  I have a different last name now, but it's not Darling.  And I couldn't be happier about that.

My mom told me I need to write a post about the wedding but I struggle with writing about The Big Things.  My wheelhouse is more stories about something crazy that happened while I was grocery shopping or how I spilled coffee with a significant amount of peppermint mocha creamer all over my desk at work (true story coming soon to a blog near you).

March 8th was the best and most perfect day I could have imagined.  When it was all over that night I was standing in front of the mirror taking off my veil (and removing the fake hair that made my fancy low bun so voluminous) and I started to cry.  I am not typically a crier, so Matt came right in and asked, "Are you okay?" and I sobbed, "YES, I'M FINE.  I'M JUST SO HAPPY." 

Luckily for Matt I've managed to keep my tears and my fake hair in check since March 8th.  But I am still just so happy.  

And just in case anyone was wondering what it looks like when the bride's wedding ring is dropped during the ceremony, allow me to show you...

 

Luckily the ring was located so we were able to get to the important part...

eye yi yi

Well, I woke up this morning and made the unfortunate discovery that my left eye was red and bloodshot and sore.  Over the past week I’ve been getting a lot of mileage out of the joke that “these Olympics have ‘costas’ an eye,” but now I’m regretting every single time I said that.  

I’m getting married three weeks from today, and I can’t afford to have some sort of strange medical malady on March 8th.  It was bad enough that I went to the dentist for a cleaning last week and my jaw popped out of place after my fluoride treatment.  I immediately called the hygienist to inform her that SOMETHING WAS AMISS and she came over, inspected, and calmly said, “Ahh, yes, I see.  The mandible has simply disengaged.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you could re-engage it please because SPEAKING OF ENGAGED, I’M GETTING MARRIED IN A MONTH AND MY MANDIBLE NEEDS TO BE IN TIP TOP CONDITION.”

Actually, my dentist appointment was doomed from the start. I got a phone call, text message, and email confirming the day and time, and I wrote it on my calendar for Tuesday night at 5:45.  I upped my brushing and flossing game in the days leading up the appointment and by Tuesday afternoon I was ready for the big moment. 

I fought rain and rush hour traffic and walked into the extremely crowded dentist office, battle worn and weary, at 5:43.

The receptionist greeted me but then said, “Laura, do we have you on the list for tonight?”

“Sure do,” I said, “5:45.”

She flipped through the appointment book and then sympathetically said, “It’s actually…at 5:45……..tomorrow.”

Well.  Now that’s embarrassing.

I was so ready to show off my freshly flossed teeth that I showed up to the appointment TWENTY FOUR HOURS EARLY.  I suppose it’s better than twenty four hours late, but still not ideal.

Let’s hope that this eye condition doesn’t result in a trip to the doctor’s office because if it does, I will need to write that appointment day in stone.  Until then I’ll just be standing here in solidarity (and in a very dark room) with Mr. Costas. 

Eye’d appreciate good thoughts for the both of us.

 

also notable: these were on a table with the sign "thought provoking books"

I guess you're going to need the second if you spend too much time on the first.

anyone want to give me the basics on navigating via compass?

Well, tonight I am coming to you live from the tundra.  Not really, but I’m looking out the window at the snow falling in what is approximately the 235th winter weather event of the season, so it feels more like Alaska than Pennsylvania.  

Last week my office was closed on Monday for snow, and for ice on Wednesday and Thursday.  Rumor has it that the office hasn’t closed for snow since NINETEEN NINETY SIX, so three days off in one week was unprecedented.  

Our area was hit with a pretty bad ice storm on Wednesday that took down trees and power lines all over.  Hundreds of thousands of home were without electricity and streets were closed due to downed trees. 

I am staying at my parents’ house until the wedding (luckily we didn’t lose power), and Matt is staying in the condo we’ve rented about a half an hour away.  

The condo is in the most beautiful location.  It’s right next to a tiny little lake and nestled amongst tons of old, tall trees.  In fact, I took this picture on the day we moved in (Yes, it snowed.  Yes, it was awful.) because LOOK HOW PRETTY THE SNOW LOOKS ON THOSE OLD, TALL TREES THAT I LOVE SO MUCH.  It is GOING TO BE SO FUN TO LIVE IN THE FOREST.

Except do you know when it isn’t fun to reside below hundreds of tall, old trees?

During an ice storm.

Matt lost power at the condo on Wednesday, but by Friday afternoon the electricity was back on and things were looking up weather-wise, so I headed there after work.

Unfortunately when I got off the highway and attempted to turn down the one and only road I know to get to the condo, I discovered that it was closed because of downed trees and wires.

HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM.

The condo is in an area I’m not at all familiar with yet and on top of that, I am not exactly what you’d call a navigational genius, so I decided to just keep driving straight on the road I was on.  Because eventually I had to hit an intersection with a main road.  Right?

As it turns out the roads in the area are twisty and hilly and extremely dark and evidently, intersections with main roads are FEW AND BAR BETWEEN.  And, OH YEAH, MY PHONE HAD SHUT OFF so I was unable to call for help and/or directions.  

After several minutes of driving on windy dark roads, the song “Compass” by Lady Antebellum came on the radio and while I love that sing, what I didn’t want to hear at that moment was THE RADIO MOCKING ME AND MY DIRECTIONAL SHORTCOMINGS.  

That set me over the edge and before the tears forming in my eyes could blur my vision too much, I pressed the power button on my phone and against all odds, it turned on.  The timing was perfect because I was coming up to a red light and saw a sign that said “Route 320, turn left.”

I called Matt to ask him if route 320 was the road I wanted because he knows things like route numbers whereas I am more of a “LET’S CALL THIS BUTTERCUP LANE OR SOMETHING EQUALLY AS MEMORABLE” kind of girl.  

The phone connected except here’s the part where I need to tell you that CELL PHONE SERVICE AT OUR NEW PLACE IS AWFUL.  I'm really rethinking the initial glamor and novelty of living set back in the hills and trees. 

Catching every fifth syllable during a conversation a real precious thing, especially when you’re trying to get time sensitive clarification on whether or not you should turn on a road that’s approximately 300 feet away.

By the time Matt understood my question and I understood his answer, I had passed the intersection and also the opportunity to turn left onto Route 320.

As luck would have it the very next intersection was one that I recognized, and I navigated the remainder of the trip with no problem.  As long as you don’t count the fact that I drove right past our driveway.  

I'm hopeful that when I drive there tomorrow the roads I know will be open to traffic again.  If not, it may be time to invest in an actual compass.

and now we're pretty much all caught up

Last night Michelle asked if I’d like to join her and some friends for drinks after work, and I said yes because I’m not one to turn down a glass of chard on a Friday night.  The only caveat was that I was hesitant to drive because we got a few inches of snow yesterday morning and I have not had the best luck with snowy roads this winter.  

The short explanation is that a few weeks ago, it started snowing as I was getting ready to leave for work.  Because I apparently operate like the US postal service and neither rain nor snow nor dark of night will keep me from my duties, I decided to brave my four mile commute anyway.  

I ended up sliding most of the way, and when I was just a few blocks from my office I got stuck at the bottom of a hill and had to abandon ship and walk the rest of the way to work.   Uphill.  In the snow.  In patent leather high heels because I still have not learned to wear boots on snowy days.  

There may or may not have been tears involved.  

I’m still recovering from the whole experience, and when yesterday’s snow threatened the morning commute, I called about six people to get their takes on the road conditions and polling them about whether (or should I say, weather)  or not I should drive to work.

Spoiler alert.  I drove and everything was totally fine.  

Long story not short at all, Michelle was game to drive last night.  She piloted us with confidence and didn’t even flinch when her anti-lock brakes slid us through an intersection or when a deer darted into our path on the highway. 

This morning I woke up at the crack of 9:00 ready to take on the day.  However, a check of the weather reflected that it was in the single digits outside.   So I showered and then promptly got right back into my pajamas and set up shop on the sofa and spent the next I’m-embarrassed-to-admit-how-many hours reading and eating and watching eight episodes of The Pioneer Woman.  

Around 3:00 Matt called and asked if I’d like to go out to dinner and I said yes because I’m no fool.  And then he said, “Ok, I’m leaving now.”

RED.  ALERT.  

I knew that there was no way I could change my clothes, put on makeup, fix my hair, and clean up the blankets/books/pillows/snack setup I had going on in the living room in the fifteen minutes it would take Matt to get to my apartment.  So instead I sent him a message that said, “Ok, but don’t judge me when you get here,” and hoped for the best.

I pulled myself together and we had a great dinner and then a romantic date to Lowe’s where we spent serious time in the lumber department because Matt has some grand plans to make himself an Adirondack chair.

And now it’s time for my pink leopard broom and I to go sleep.  Yes, I’ve started taking my broom into my room at night, not to ward off any would-be intruders but rather because the people who have recently moved into the apartment above us are apparently also housing an elephant or nine.  Additionally, all evidence points to them being nocturnal, because they don’t make a sound all day long and then suddenly between the hours of midnight and 6 a.m. they vacuum (OH, THE VACUUMING), play musical instruments (I’ve heard a clarinet and a drum set), drop bowling balls onto the floor repeatedly, scream, cry, run, and jump.

I have been awoken from a deep sleep many a night to one or more of the above sounds.  And when that happens I hit the ceiling with my pink leopard broom and even though it doesn’t seem to do much good as far as noise goes, it makes me feel like a very big deal.

Maybe I should bring it along in my car the next time it snows.

Couldn't hurt.

maybe i should have pursued a career in proofreading instead of paralegal-ing

Michelle and I have this thing where we take pictures of grammatical mistakes that we come across during the course of our days and then text them to each other, because apparently we feel that we are superior in the grammar department.

(Except every single time I mix up "I" and "me" in a blog post my mom has to email me to tell me to fix it.  It is my one grammatical downfall.)

((Evidently I am not perfect.))

 

Two of my favorites that I unfortunately do not have pictures of are:

Take it for granite.

I feel so sick, and even my limp noids are swollen.

The other night while I was watching TV, I spotted the description below.   

(Side note: I am currently enthralled with ALL THINGS ALASKA.)

Apparently the current TV Guide proofreader HAS SOME FEELINGS about the liberal use of semicolons, but doesn't have a very tight grip on homophones.  Exhibit A: breaks and brakes.

TV Guide, if you're looking for a proofreader, I AM YOUR GIRL.

even i didn't know if i could tie together jail, lizards, and candles

A few days ago when I logged into my Facebook account, I saw a status from a guy that I knew in college.  It said something along the lines of, “I was unsure if I should share this information or not, but in the event that anyone has been wondering where I’ve been the last seven days, I’ve been in prison, and it was the most humbling experience of my life.”

WELL, A HEARTY WELCOME BACK TO THE FREE WORLD TO YOU, SIR.

Apparently if you spend several years ignoring numerous parking tickets and a noise violation, the long arm of the law will reach out and incarcerate you.  

Note to self: Look into that old noise violation.

Oh, I kid.  I never got a noise violation in college myself, but I did spend sophomore year living in an apartment complex across the street from a pizza shop that sold $1.00 slices and banged a gong for every slice sold after midnight.

I know what you’re thinking.

That is some SOLID GOLD real estate.

That was also the same apartment that had Murphy beds and if I’m being honest, I do miss saying, “well, I guess it’s time to go pull my tiny bed out of the wall.” 

 So while I haven’t exactly spent the last seven days in incarceration like Mr. Noise Violator, I have spent them on the phone with my doctor’s office and a medical device company and earlier this afternoon STEAM ACTUALLY CAME OUT OF MY EARS.  After being transferred from one person to another and sitting on hold for the better part of an hour, the woman who was helping me said, “Let me transfer you to customer service and they can take it from here.”

As soon as I was transferred I launched into my well rehearsed “Hi, this is Laura and INSERT MEDICAL SAGA HERE,” and the woman on the other line said, “I’m so sorry but I think you have the wrong number, this a commercial trucking company.”

WELL OF COURSE IT IS.

After I was sufficiently frustrated, Matt and I went out to dinner.  I chose Friendly’s because my culinary palate is very sophisticated.  As we were standing in line at the hostess station, Matt gave the ice cream freezer the once over and then with a sparkle in his eye said, “Do you want to just skip the dinner part, and instead buy an ice cream cake and go back to your apartment and eat the whole thing?”
 

I’ve never loved him more.

But I had a hankering for a munchie mania platter and so we soldiered on in the name of build your own burgers and mozzarella sticks.  

On the way home we drove by Petsmart and in a fit of spontanaeity decided to stop in.  We just wanted to look at the animals but before we went in we agreed that we are NOT currently in the market for any sort of pet.  We browsed the fish aisle for a few minutes and then I wandered over to the rodent department.  I was examining a chinchilla when I looked up to see Matt a few aisles over, ARMS OVERFLOWING with a glass tank and various supplies and equipment.  

 “Whatcha got going on down there?” I asked.

“Oh,” Matt said thoughtfully, “Well...I thought I might get a lizard.”

I will spare you the cliff hanger and tell you that we left the store lizard-less mainly because GROSS.  Although I am not above the impulse pet purchase, as in, during my senior year of college I bought a guinea pig and named her Winnie.

Winnie the Guinea.

OH I WAS SO CLEVER. 

Winnie lasted about a week in our apartment before my roommates and I cut some airholes in a shoebox, packed Winnie inside, called a cab to take us to Petco, and returned Winnie to the establishment from whence she came.

Because a guinea pig at any price isn't a bargain.

Do you know what is a bargain?  The 2 for $22 candles at Bath and Body Works.  Last night Michelle and I went to the mall and stocked up on some Christmas scents, and then celebrated our purchases with dinner at Plaza Azteca because Feliz Navidad!

We are currently burning fresh balsam and evergreen candles, and our apartment smells like a woodland forest.

Which is a lot better than smelling like a lizard.  

Or a guinea pig.

Or, I'd imagine, a jail. 

if anyone has the answer to the titanic question, i'm all ears

A few weeks Emily and I went to a Switchfoot concert.  

Emily is a serious Switchfoot fan.  In contrast, the only Switchfoot songs I know are the ones from the movie A Walk To Remember.  My knowledge includes, but is not limited to, the following verse in their song "Someday We'll Know" which ends with what is quite possibly the most thought provoking lyric OF ALL TIME:

Whatever happened to Amelia Earhart?
Who holds the stars up in the sky?
Is true love just once in a lifetime?
Did the captain of the Titanic cry?

Deep.

I am quite certain I spent no less than 100 hours between the ages of 12 and 14 pondering that last question.

Things started off on a less than perfect note the night of the concert because there was absolutely no parking near the theater.  It was dark and raining outside, and the streets were all one-way and very crowded and HELLO, MY NAME IS LAURA AND I CANNOT PARALLEL PARK.

Eventually I found a nice, big spot on a residential street approximately 4.7 miles from the theater.  It was perfect really because who doesn't love a brisk walk on a dark, cold, rainy night?

Emily, that's who.  She was not thrilled with the trek that we faced but things started to look up when we  finally (and I do mean finally) made it inside the theater and discovered that our seats were in the second row like we were some sort of VIPs.  The theater is very old and was evidently constructed during a time when people were itty bitty little things because WOW, WHAT SMALL SEATS YOU HAVE.

Things were tight and I had a feeling we were going to become very familiar with our neighbors.

The first half of the show was a documentary about the band, who hails from California.  The woman seated next to Emily felt it necessary to scream SAN DIEGO at every point during the movie when California was mentioned.  Meanwhile, the gentleman who was sitting next to me was, as my dad likes to say, taking his half out of the middle in the armrest department.

However, he was not yelling LOS ANGELES so, WIN.

The movie portion ended and after a quick intermission, the band took the stage for the show.

Everyone got on their feet for the first song and that's when it began.

The clapping.

The man next to me start clapping with more vigor than I can even put into words.  And he didn't just clap with his hands.  He clapped with his entire body.  I didn't know it was possible to clap with your knees but oh, he did it.  I've never seen anything like it.  

A few minutes into song numero uno, I kind of crouched down in an effort to avoid his elbows, and that's when I realized that he was wearing basketball shorts and a button down shirt in the pattern of the American.  It was very appropriate considering his wingspan was probably comparable to that of the national bird of the Unites States of America. 

I stayed in the strategic crouch position during a particularly upbeat song when the clapping was in FULL FORCE, and that's when I saw that Mr. Clapper was not wearing shoes.  

BARE. FEET.

Lest you think Emily was having an easier go of it next to me, her neighbor screamed SAN DIEGOOOO an average of one to three times.

Per song.

Between my bare foot, enthusiastically clapping neighbor, and SAN DIEGOOOOO, the concert was one to remember and it certainly gave us a LOT to laugh about, which worked out because that is my favorite thing to do.

And Emily looked like this the entire time.

So it was worth sitting in the line of fire.