this has nothing to do with halloween

Well today began just like every day.  In other words, I rolled out of bed at 7:10 after hitting the snooze button six times, and walked to the shower with my eyes closed while I vowed to go to bed at 8:00 tonight because I WILL NOT SPEND ANOTHER MORNING FEELING THIS TIRED.

After an hour, a huge cup of coffee, and some Good Morning America, I woke up, and proceeded through the day feeling alert and alive.  I spent the morning in court and the afternoon fielding some tough questions.

(I may or may not have agreed to do this.  Since I have neither the desire nor the license to kill hunt, I will not be shooting anything, so it sounds like my job will be scaring pheasants out of the underbrush.  Obviously I will be the best pheasant scarer the Pennsylvania gamelands have ever seen.)

(And the most humble.)

Unfortunately the lovely nature in which my day was progressing came to an abrupt halt upon my return home from work.

But before I explain, I must tell you that last night Michelle and I decided that since the holidays are right around the corner, we should get a jump on our Christmas correspondence.  Last year we sent out a photo card with a witty message that received rave reviews.  In an effort to top that, as well as perhaps FINALLY get an invitation to be on Kathie Lee and Hoda, which is our dream, this year we thought we’d rewrite the lyrics to a popular Christmas tune to summarize the last two years we’ve spent in our apartment.

Do you know the only people who will be interested in that?  Our mothers, that’s who.  But we pressed on despite the limited scope of our audience.  And we came up with the following, sung to the tune of Up On the Housetop:

Here in our town the snow falls,

The dishwasher breaks and the fridge stalls.

The heater only works for one week a year,

Where our rent money goes is not so clear.

Obviously you can see why we fancy ourselves quite the humorists.

We wrote several verses and laughed and laughed because every appliance in our apartment has broken during our residency here and do you know when it’s easy to laugh about broken appliances?

When they’re working.

Anyway, when I got home from work yesterday, I opened the fridge to get a snack, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a completely dark fridge with a foreboding smell.  I didn’t hear any noise to indicate that the fridge was indeed on, so I turned the temperature setting down in hopes that would cause it to kick on.  That didn’t work, so unplugged it, waited ten seconds, and plugged it back in, also known as my ACE IN THE HOLE of all mechanical maladies.  When even that was unsuccessful, I called the emergency maintenance line because S.O.S.!

Ten minutes later I was in the kitchen in a panic, filling bags upon bags with all manner of frozen mozzarella sticks and popsicles (WHY OH WHY DO WE HAVE SO MANY POPSICLES) so that I could take them to my parents’ freezer, when my main(tenance) man Marv (who is at our apartment at least three times a month) knocked.  

The door was open so I yelled for him to let himself in, and he nonchalantly waltzed in, completely unconcerned by the fact that I was packing away bottles of coffee creamer like a madwoman.

“Ah, this is going to be an easy fix,” he said slooooowly, “the inspectors were in all the apartments today making sure things are up to code, so they probably just forgot to turn your breaker back on.”  He walked over to the breaker box in the closet and LIKE MAGIC, ON CAME THE FRIDGE.

“If this ever happens again,” he said, “you can just check the breaker box to make sure all of the switches are flipped before you call maintenance.”

HELLO MARV, HAVE WE MET? 

I am the girl who calls you when our lightbulbs burn out and even flagged you down in the parking lot last winter when my car was flashing a "low brake fluid" warning EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE NOT AN AUTO MECHANIC.

 

In addition, I already have a lot on my plate learning to become a pheasant scarer.  If I am going to become an expert with the electrical breakers, I am going to need some serious time to study that field and perhaps a pamphlet or two with helpful tips and photographic examples.

And some wine.

At least I know that will be perfectly chilled.

the answer to the last question is - yes, he is

Occasionally I write myself little notes on my phone about funny things that happen day to day that I eventually want to write about.  Tonight I pulled up the notes app on my phone to get some inspiration and saw the following list from a few weeks ago:

Sleep cycle story

Mario -- broke his heart.

Rum

Ground turkey

I have no recollection of the stories that go along with the first two items on the list and as far as the last two go, all I can say is that sometimes a girl just needs some turkey chili and a pina colada.  

While I may not be able to remember the details about those four things, what I can remember is the last seventy two hours.

On Friday night Matt and I headed off to church to take a marriage compatibility test.  We're pretty sure we aced it and left there feeling super confident because YEAH, WE'VE ALREADY TALKED ABOUT OUR BUDGET.

(We actually had our first "budget meeting" last week and things were admittedly a little rocky at first because when talking about money, one of us speaks in terms such as "around, about, and approximately" and one of us speak in EXACT DOLLARS AND CENTS.   We met on middle ground and then went out to eat Mexican food because we needed to see how much leeway we should leave in the food budget for burritos and some supremo nachos.  It was really all in the name of research.)

Not only did our Friday night date include a compatibility test, but we also stopped at the sporting goods store because Saturday was opening day for pheasant hunting and Matt needed to buy some bullets (shot/ammunition/I'm not sure of the exact term).

Matt must have picked out a good box because I woke up on Saturday morning to a picture of him grinning eat to ear and holding a pheasant who had flown it's last flight.  Matt said he was going to head back to his dad's house to clean the bird which is when I asked "Do they bleed a lot when you clean them?"  I quickly learned that was a ROOKIE MISTAKE because about a half hour later my phone lit up with an up close photograph of the insides of a pheasant.

The answer is no, they do not bleed a lot.  I can unfortunately say I've seen it with my own eyes.

Matt came to pick me up later that evening and when I answered the door, he was standing there holding the poor pheasant's tail feather.  He wanted me to keep it, but other than having a prop when I sing the classic "Shake Ya Tailfeather" I'm not really sure what one does with the tail of a pheasant.  

On Saturday night we went out with friends to a hayride and haunted house.

It was the scariest haunted house I've ever been to.  It also included a bonus walk through a graveyard where a man SPRUNG UP FROM A COFFIN IN THE GROUND.  However, what was even scarier than the haunted attractions (and the two hour wait) was the poor couple behind us who were on a date.  My investigative skillz tell me it was their first date, because about a half hour into the wait, the gentleman turned to the young lady and, "Wait, so what's your actual name?"

I didn't think it could get much worse, but by the time we got onto the hayride, they had covered their favorite Christmas carols, their Chinese animal signs, a rifts in her extended family stemming from a conflict within a family owned business, and his parents desire for grandchildren.  

They covered A LOT of conversational ground for a first date.  And just when I thought they'd run out of things to say, she asked him, "So, are you like, really into zombies?"

Matt and I have been together a long time and I can honestly say that question is one that has never been asked.

It' just a good thing it wasn't on our compatibility test.

those were the days

I went to my parents' house on Sunday afternoon to clean out my bedroom.  Even though I have been living on my own for two years, there were several things in my old bedroom including but not limited to my American Girl dolls, my high school and college graduation gowns, and my award winning Mary Poppins Halloween costume.

(The costume didn't actually win any official awards.  But it was probably my best costume ever.  I even had a carpet bag just like Mary and a hat with a daisy in it.)

In addition to those items, I left A LOT of books.  I went through them all on Sunday afternoon and it was like taking a stroll down memory lane. 

It appears that I had quite the dramatic taste in literature during my middle school years. 

Exhibit A:

Because really, if you're already dealing with love AND betrayal, the last thing you need to be worried about is mayo. 

Another favorite was this gem.

In addition to your mother never being a kid, Victoria Martin, she was also evidently never completely honest with you because if she was, she would have let you know that having one side of your hair straight and one crimped is not a good look. 

(I tried to crimp my hair one time. Actually, my best friend Bridget did it in preparation for the big seventh/eighth grade dance in the St. Luke's church basement. )

(And let's just say there's a reason it was only crimped one time.  Even when both sides of your part are crimped, it's really not flattering.)

And then I entered eighth grade and my Victoria Martin books were tossed to the wayside because I discovered Lurlene McDaniel.  I have vivid memories of lying in bed WAY AFTER lights out, with a flashlight, under the covers, just reading and reading and waiting to see if Katie's heart transplant would take successfully, or if Michael would be able to participate in the Special Olympics despite his juvenile diabetes and pesky case of hemophilia. 

TALK ABOUT DRAMATIC.

I was practically the subject of one of these dramatic medical books myself earlier tonight after an unfortunate run in with an electrical socket.  

I was plugging my my hair crimper.

Just kidding. 

That has been retired.

And I hope Victoria Martin's has too.

 

my young face and old feet average out to my current age

After I ate dinner tonight I thought to myself, "Self, you should really write some sort of post," but nothing popped into my mind.  Instead I switched from my summer purse to my winter purse and then painted my nails.  However, things in the excitement department really picked up when Michelle got home and called the police due to some suspicious parking lot activity.

SPOILER ALERT.  EVERYTHING IS FINE.

A few minutes after her call, a police officer responded to our apartment and we talked to him for a few minutes about the situation.  Little did we know the best part was yet to come.  After he took down our information he looked at us and said, "So, are you girls going to college around here?"

Listen, it made me so happy when we had to tell him that NO, WE HAVE ACTUALLY BEEN OUT OF COLLEGE FOR THREE YEARS AND HAVE REAL, GROWN UP JOBS, BUT WE ARE EXTREMELY FLATTERED BY YOUR QUESTION.

His question came at the perfect time, because just the other night I went shopping for new shoes and ended up buying a pair of flats made by the brand Life Stride.  They have more orthotic support than any shoes I've ever owned and while I think I'm a decade or five under the target audience for Life Stride footwear, I can already tell that I will be a lifelong fan.

I did some clothes shopping after I bought my shoes, but was largely unsuccessful.  I spent several hours combing through rack after rack and came home with nothing but two plain tops that I found for $2.58 each in the clearance section.  

My shopping experience was quite unlike one that I'd had earlier in the week with Matt.  He needed a few new items for his wardrobe and asked me to join him at the store to provide fashion advice and humorous commentary, which happens to be my specialty.

He chose a few items and headed to the dressing room, while I waited just outside in case he asked for my opinion.  Well, a few minutes later I heard him WHISTLE AT HIMSELF.  In the dressing room.  At his reflection.  

Needless to say he was very impressed with how he looked in his new outfit.

We're just going to have to work on building up that self confidence.

Something tells me that won't be any trouble at all.

the case of the misplaced hyphen

the short version is that we made it home safe and sound

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.

 

although 'highway to the danger zone' probably isn't wedding day appropriate

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.

Oops.

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.

it can only go uphill from here

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.

one of these things is not like the other

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.

eye've been better

Well, I've been 25 years old for ten days now, and while I could say that embracing my new age has been a breeze, that would be a lie. 

For starters, I've noticed an alarming new development.  Each morning when I wake up, my eyes are puffy.  Not in a "something is wrong, I need to call the doctor" way, but more of an "evidently these twenty five year old eyes could have used another hour or so of sleep" way.

So, I have begrudgingly started a new morning ritual that includes a cup of coffee and a cold compress on my eyes.

My life is very glamorous.

As if the puffy eye situation wasn't bad enough, I have misplaced my toaster.

I can't even explain how that happened, all I know is that I discovered it was missing when I tried to toast a bagel the other morning.  A lengthy search turned up nothing.  To make matters worse, my tiny apartment kitchen only has approximately two square feet of counter space and six cabinets.  There aren't many places that it could have gone.

This past weekend Matt and I left my toaster troubles behind and drove to the beach.  On the way down we daydreamed about where we will live after we get married.  Well, one of us daydreamed and one of us talked seriously because the reality is we need a place to live in seven months and we will never get one if we just say WOULDN'T IT BE SUPER FUN TO HAVE A SPIRAL STAIRCASE AND A WRAPAROUND PORCH AND A YARD WITH A WEEPING WILLOW TREE SOMEDAY?

We briefly discussed the pros and cons of living in the country and then I defined how close I would like to be to a Target and a Macy's.

Lead me no further than three miles from a major shopping mall and a plethora of well respected hospitals in case I come down with a terrible sickness or this puffy eye situation becomes more serious.  But don't lead me close enough to either of those things that we live inside Philadelphia city limits.

A few hours later we were on a fancy boat, cruising around the bay feeling the sunshine and the sea breeze and that's when I looked at Matt and said, "My biggest dream is to one day have a tiny house on the water in a little town and own a boat."

So it's safe to say that only one thing is for sure about our future home, and that is that whether it's in the country or on the water or next door to a Macy's, Matt better plan to keep a very close eye on our toaster.

matt gets all the credit for figuring out the metro

Last weekend Matt and I took a little trip to Washington, D.C.  I was in charge of the itinerary and Matt was in charge of the navigating, which was a combination that worked out perfectly.  Except for the time I took charge of the map in an attempt to lead us to the Air and Space Museum and we ended up at some strange sculpture exhibition and I had to act like it was a totally intentional stop on our tour.

The first thing we did on Thursday was visit Arlington National Cemetery.  Well, technically the first thing we did was eat lunch, which took place at a diner where I ate a fantastic sausage egg and cheese biscuit and Matt ate chocolate chip pancakes because IT'S NEVER TOO LATE FOR BREAKFAST.  Then it was on to Arlington.  Matt had never been there and I hadn't been since I was about ten years old, and it was quite an experience.     

We spent several hours there, and then stopped by the Air Force Memorial on the way to our hotel.  

 When we arrived we went swimming for a little bit because because I LOVE to swim and how often can you have handstand contests with your fiance on rooftop pools in Washington D.C.?

After our swim, Matt and I planned to get ready for dinner and go out for cheeseburgers to continue on our healthy eating kick, but we hit a bit of a road block when I made a tragic discovery.

I had forgotten all of my makeup.  ALL. OF. IT.  I didn't even have so much as a chapstick to my name.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for about ten minutes trying to convince myself it would be okay to go without for a few days, but in the end vanity prevailed and we made a pit stop at a grocery store on the way to dinner so that I could get myself some mascara for goodness sake.

Matt had zero desire to browse the makeup section with me while I picked up the must haves, so he told me he was going to grab a few necessities and then he would come find me when he was finished.  Apparently we both have liberal interpretations of the word necessity because ten minutes later Matt appeared with his: a six pack of Sam Adams' pumpkin ale, Triscuits, and a can of Easy Cheese.

Well happy vacation, indeed.

On Friday Matt and my perfectly made up self spent the morning at the National Zoo and then metro'd it over to the National Mall where we saw the Washington Monument, the Roosevelt Memorial, and then went back to the hotel because MY FEET, DID I MENTION THEY WERE KILLING ME?  

 

 

 

We came back into the city in the early evening and took the last tour of the day at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing because we are fascinated with how money is made.  

After we got our tickets I said to Matt, "So, do you think they'll be giving out any free samples?" because I am so clever and witty.  And then the tour started and the first thing the tour guide said was, "I'll start off by answering the most common question I get.  No, there are no free samples."

Well.  

I guess I'm not as creative and original as I thought.

On Saturday we joined half of the world on the National Mall and saw all of the major monuments and memorials, the White House, the Air and Space Museum, the Museum of American History, the Capitol, the Library of Congress, the American Indian Museum, the National Archives, and the Supreme Court.

Later in the evening we went out in Arlington for my birthday dinner.  We walked up and down the streets and looked at the shops and the high rise apartments and the restaurants, and didn't pick a place to eat until 9:00.  How wild and crazy.  When we sat down I got a fun, fruity drink, and then when the waiter came to take our orders and I got shepherd's pie.  

What can I say? I'm a 95 year old in a 25 year old's body and I like meals that are all in one dish.

I woke up on Sunday morning to Matt singing a dramatic, heartfelt rendition of Happy Birthday, and holding a slice of cheesecake.

Not a bad way to ring in 25.