Ho Ho Ho!

Fleeting Joy

Yesterday for five fleeting minutes, I was the proud owner of this seasonal decorative pillow, purchased at K-mart for the low low price of $4.99:




It's hard to get a feel for the scale of this gentleman... he's 18" tall and 13" wide. Much larger than, say, a traditional dog toy. But to Lucas' untrained eye, there was no difference between my new little holiday friend and something he would like to lick every square inch of just moments before tearing out the stuffing. :sob:

RIP Mr. Owl. I wish I would have had the chance to get to know you a little better. You are in a better place now. (That is, if being in the trash smothered in the remains of last night's dinner is considered an upgrade from the shelves of K-mart...)

Christmas Confirmation

Andrew's parents and sister have always made me feel like a part of the family. But this year is different. It's our first Christmas as a married couple. And yesterday, while baking Christmas cookies with his parents, I discovered something I didn't recognize hanging on their mantle... something AMAZING.



My very own stocking!

See, Andrew's family has very good taste in everything. Especially holiday decorations. And I've admired their Christmas stockings for years. Each family member has his/her own unique stocking, all by the same designer (Patience Brewster, Department 56) including Mr. and Mrs. Frog (see below), a Nutcracker, and Ballerina.




Now that I have the Pointsettia Lady stocking, I am OFFICIALLY 100% part of the family. If the marriage license wasn't enough confirmation, this sure is. :D

A twist on the traditional holiday greeting card

Tonight we are taking Luke to the vet to have his thyroid levels checked. They've been checked before (and he was put on meds for a thyroid disorder) but we found out they have not been using the Michigan State Panel, which is the only way to accurately check a greyhound's thyroid levels.

So tonight, Luke's blood will be mailed on ice to Michigan State University for analysis.

In other news, Hillary and I had big plans to kidnap Kyla. See, Kyla basically lives halfway between Pittsburgh and Vancouver, so the idea just came to us naturally one day. The same way most great inventions are conceived of. Like the ab roller, for instance.

Anyhow, Kyla is going to Vancouver this week and thereby thwarting the great kidnapping plan of 2009. I'm very distraught and trying to come up with a way to be a part of their Canadian tomfoolery.

And so far, my best idea is mailing my blood on ice to Vancouver.

Do you think I can arrange that through FedEx?

Sigh.

Subject: Boiled Wool Slipper Boots

I got a surprise in my inbox yesterday from a Garnet Hill representative...


click to bigify

Dear Megan,

If you need any adults to test these out... I'm your lady! (Mermaid, size 7, please!)

Love,
Mermanda

Your Dreams (and mine)

I'm often boasting of my latest crazy dreams. My subconscious' ability to conjure up the most ridiculous situations is something I'm quite proud of, actually.

Everyone probably has strange dreams at some point or another. But what is special about mine is that I can usually recall them quite vividly... even hours or days after waking from them.

Sometimes I share my brain's latest creations with Twitter. Perhaps you recall these gems?

"Last night I had a dream that I worked with Demetri Martin, who was trapped inside the body of Andy Samberg."

"I had a dream Ben Rothlisberger made me a corned beef sandwich at a deli. I wished him luck on the game. He looked confused."

"@katiehappens I had a dream you mailed me a Christmas stocking full of chocolate bunnies. my dreams are pretty much amazing."

The first dream I can vividly remember happened when I was between one and three-years-old. In this dream, my "nostrils" fell out. Except, they looked just like slices of hot dogs, not nostrils. They fell right out of my nose. (I don't think I learned what nostrils really were until many years later.) Toddler Mermanda just thought they were some things jammed way up inside your nose. And if they fell out? You were in big trouble. Which is why I awoke from the nostril dream in a panic. When I realized it was just a dream and that my "nostrils" were still probably intact, I was quite relieved!

What is your earliest memory of a dream/nightmare? I would love to know!

Modern Day Cinderella

Do you think I could squish my feet into these kid slippers?


mermaid

unicorn

do you see that shark? it's awesome.

Dear Garnet Hill,

Please make these boiled wool slipper boots in big people sizes.

Love,
Mermanda

P.S. The "horse" slippers look more like giraffes. Get your act together.

General Advice

If you aren't absolutely sure you should get another pet, don't "browse" available pet profiles at the local shelters. This will only end in fits of "WE HAVE TO SAVE HER!" This isn't fun for anyone. Especially your husband.

When playing Scrabble, don't pass seven turns, waiting for the chance to play your bingo. Learn from my mistake. This is not a good strategic move.

Water your plants.

Don't leave your slippers laying around. Especially if you have a weasel of a dog.

Drink V-8 juice. (2 full servings of vegetables per can!)

Bake your pumpkin pie the night before. (courtesy of my grandma)

Don't ask the store clerk which boxed red wine is best. (Really? Franzia? Really??)

Eat pancakes.



What else do you need to know?

Andrew has a flavor: Episode 3

Things got a little intense around here yesterday, so let's lighten the mood with a much overdue installment of a Cusp of Normal favorite, Andrew Has a Flavor.

Rae, the talented makeup/beauty enthusiast at The Notice recently posted a photo her friend took in Switzerland of a frightful bird at the zoo. (Rae, if you need me to take this photo down, I totally understand. Just say the word.)



Hmmm. Yeah. That bird is a total creep, am I right?

The following is a conversation that took place after I shared this creepy bird photo with the husband:

Andrew: that bird sucks. it looks reeeeeeeal mean

me: like it's waiting to mess you up

Andrew: so bad

me: like, "oh hi, can i tell you about a great opportunity to save money on your car insuran.....”*BAM*

me: YOU'RE DEAD

Andrew: dead. yep. sounds about right… “Hi can I see your baby for a magic trick for just like a second or two. . . “

OH HOLY JESUS THAT THING ATE MY BABY! TONY TONY THAT &%$#@# ATE OUR BABY

Tony: WHAT THE #@$! HOW DID THAT HAPPEN!?! I LEAVE YOU WITH THE BABY FOR ONE SECOND, DANIELLE!

me: wow. yeah.

Andrew: ONE $#@%&$! SECOND AND YOU GIVE IT TO SOME SCARY @#%&!@# BIRD FOR A MAGIC SHOW???? WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!?

me: That's pretty believable

Andrew: and. . . scene


But do you know what is the most disturbing part of this conversation? He wasn’t really that far from the truth...



And in case you are wondering, this thing is called an African Shoebill Stork. NEVER entrust your baby to one of these things. Promise me.

What they should know

I have these friends...

Friends that are now little more than strangers. But still, I call them friends.

See, growing up, we were inseparable. We practically lived at each others' houses. We had most of the same classes with the same teachers. We were the kind of friends who could laugh and cry together. The kinds of friends who supported each other in our happiest and saddest of times. We were sisters. Each others' strengths complimented each others' weaknesses. Where one was shy, another was outgoing. Where one was falling behind, another was pulling us forward. Not everyone is so lucky to have had friends like these.

And you might ask, with friendships like those--how did you ever lose touch? Aren't those the makings of friendship for life?

I think so. But some things got in between the friendship. And with college separating us physically while we were already divided, I guess we didn't stand a chance.

It has been seven and a half years since I called them my best friends. And to say a lot has happened in seven and a half years would be a grotesque understatement. Between the four of us we hold six degrees. We have one husband and two fiances--one deployed overseas. We have promising futures and jobs that drive us crazy (for different reasons). We have families with their own unique problems. And we have our history.

But do we still have anything in common? Do the ties that drew us together in high school still remain? I'm not sure. *NSync is no longer my favorite band and I don't cry over boys. I have no curfew and don't fight with my parents. My happiness doesn't entirely depend upon whether or not my crush makes small talk with me in biology class. I no longer order the caramel macchiato at Starbucks. And if I stay in on the weekend, it doesn't utterly depress me. I actually kind of enjoy it.

I'm not the person who I was in high school. But you know what? Neither are they. Could it be possible that we've all grown up--together--yet apart?

On Saturday, I had the pleasure of reuniting with these ladies after seven and a half years of nearly complete silence. They've all kept in touch, but not with me. And that is a burden that we all share. But that is history, and today is the present. And before I keep talking like a Hallmark card or some weird inspirational office poster, let me cut to the chase.

I looked forward to our dinner for weeks, with butterflies in my stomach--wondering how it would all unfold. Would we pick up where we left off? Or would we find that we no longer have anything in common--eager for the check to come and return to our current lives?

Instead of awkward silence, laughter filled the air. Instead of uncomfortably counting down the minutes until we could make our respective escapes, we lingered at the table until we received death glares from the waitstaff, long after our plates were cleared. It was everything my 17-year-old self would have wanted it to be. And the nearly 26-year-old current self? She had fun too.

There's no way we could have made up for seven and a half years of lost time in one evening. So I wonder, what do I want these ladies to know about me? The grown up me? Well, in a perfect world, I guess I would want them to know everything there is to know... just like they did in high school. That's probably not possible. So in the meantime, here's a good start:

• Unlike the high school version of myself, I can't stomach top 40 music. (You kids call that "music"?!) Music is a huge part of my life and I love recommending artists to friends. I've seen more than 60 bands/artists live, and yes, that does include *Nsync. (3 times. Thankyouverymuch.)
  
  
• I don't go out on school nights. In order to be a functioning adult, I like to be in bed by 11 p.m. And as I did in concert chorale in high school, I still like to belt it out. On the weekends, I can sometimes be found at a local watering hole, singing karaoke along side some of the city's finest hipsters. (I do not consider myself to be a hipster, though I do have a quite fancy fanny pack.) And you know what I said about hating top 40 music, earlier? Yeah, that definitely DOES NOT apply at karaoke. Bring on the Britney Spears, baby!
  
  
• I still do not have one athletic bone in my body... and have given up trying. Though, I am in a bowling league. And I'm not THE worst player in the league. But pretty damn close. Pretty damn close.
  
  
• I like to put my inner most thoughts on this thing called a blog. (Ohai!) Some people think that's weird. But at least it's moderately more entertaining than what I used to write in my diary. And through blogging I have met (yes, some in the flesh) some of the most wonderful, thoughtful, entertaining, and quirky people across the globe. It is what I declare to be my one and only hobby. And I can't imagine a better use of my free time...
  
  
• Except maybe for getting back into volunteering. I was with Children's Hospital for more than a year, and it was something I loved. But when I started feeling like the volunteers outnumbered the children (a good problem!) I hung up my red smock. I am holding out for my next opportunity to make a difference. I would love to have our greyhound Lucas certified to become a therapy dog and visit senior care homes together. Everyone loves Lucas. I would be honored to share him with anyone and everyone in need of a little cuddle.
  
  
• Oh, yeah. And I married someone who makes me laugh more than I ever thought possible. On our first date, he made hot chocolate shoot out of my nose. No one else has ever been able to do that. So yeah, he's a keeper.
  

You ladies have kept your places in my heart for seven and a half years. It's been a source of sadness for seven and a half years, no longer being part of your lives. I'm not sure if what we started on Saturday is the beginning of a new friendship, a continuation of the old, or maybe just closure. But I'll tell you one thing, I'm not going to let another seven and a half years of silence go by again.

Thanks, I've had enough Thursday... can we please move on?

You know those tiny little things that happen to you now and then that make you momentarily frowny? Like when you have to pee all morning, finally have a chance to run to the office bathroom when the second you sit on the toilet the janitor begins violently knocking on the door? WHY ARE YOU INTERRUPTING ME? CAN A PERSON PLEASE PEE IN PEACE?!

Or when you are beyond ready for lunch and go to the office kitchen only to find that the microwave hog is microwaving his frozen dinner on the setting that takes 15 minutes? How is the universe so precise that no matter what time I want to eat my lunch, this guy is monkeying around with the microwave? Hungry at noon? Hello, microwave hog. 12:30 sound good? MICROWAVE HOG. Holding out for 1:00? It doesn't matter. He knows. And he's in ur microwaves delayin' ur noms.

Or when you are driving down an otherwise vacant street, when a pedestrian decides to step on to the road RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR CAR without even so much as thinking about looking before crossing the street. You ever kill a guy on your way to work? It's not a good way to start the morning. (Just kidding, he's fine. For now. Survival of the fittest says he is living on borrowed time.)

That is just a taste of my Thursday. And I wish to spit it out. And get the bad taste out of my mouth with some chocolate. And gold. And ponies. (Kidding. I hate ponies.)

Remember...

Happy Birthday, Maddie. You would have been two-years-old today.

The world misses your sunny smile.

I also want to acknowledge Veterans Day. Thank you to the soldiers who have fought and continued to fight for the country. Though I do not always support the war, I continue to support the troops.

The good, the bad, and the beautiful

Andrew and I adore our greyhound Lucas to a sickening degree. He is definitely beyond spoiled. But sometimes we harbor some seriously mixed feelings towards our boy.

Don't get me wrong. He can be a total sweetheart--patient and kind. He's not at all a kissy dog, but he is more than willing to accept any love you throw his way.


Luke accepting my drunken hugs as I return home from my bachelorette party.
Just this weekend, we were at the vet when we met Charlie, a small three-legged dog with a big personality. I walked Luke over to Charlie to say hi, and that's when Charlie was shot by Cupid's arrow. Charlie was smitten. Even though he was missing a leg, he jumped all over Luke, slathering him in big wet doggy kisses. What did Luke do? He stood there like a perfect gentleman--accepting this brilliant display of affection--though I don't think he returned Charlie's strong feelings. I thought it was adorable that Luke let this tiny eccentric thing jump all over him--never batting an eye.

His patience is abundant. He is accepting of all mild forms of torture inflicted upon him...


A not amused Luke wearing my bachelorette sash and bow.
But he's not always so angelic. No, sir. See, Luke is battling an addiction of sorts. A filthy addiction. Phew... this is hard to say. I'll just blurt it out and get it over with. Luke eats trash. If it's in his presence, he's eating it. It doesn't matter what it is. Old towels, coffee grounds, styrofoam, animal fat (yum!), empty bottles of drain cleaner (yikes!)--his palate is quite undiscerning.

There's no photo of this--but believe me, we have had plenty of opportunities to capture the scene of the trash can on its side, days' worth of garbage trailed through the house. We just aren't in a very photogenic mood when we return home from work to find this disgusting surprise awaiting us. Usually, instead of running for the camera, we simply curse for a few minutes. We eventually realize that swearing does not make the mess magically go away. So we move on to the final phase--acceptance--and call on the arsenal of cleaning machines at our disposal--the mighty Dyson, the Bissel Spot-Bot, and the Bissel Steam Mop. Because there's really nothing I'd rather do after a full day of work than come home and give my house a deep clean. LIES! I JUST WANT TO RELAX, DAMMIT! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME, LUKE? WHYYYYYYYY?!

I'd like to mention that we even bought a supposedly pet-proof trash can with a lock to prevent curious snouts from exploring discarded food stuffs. Either that lock is a piece of junk, or Luke is Doggy MacGuyver. (Fun Fact: Richard Dean Anderson, MacGuyver himself, went to my alma mater, Ohio University.) I have a hard time opening that blasted trash can lock, so let's just go with the Doggy MacGuyver theory, shall we?

But as annoying as cleaning up the trash is, it's very hard to stay mad at him. I mean, just look at this face...


I tried to fix his flash-induced demon blue eyes, but they still look rather creepy, no? Oh, well. He's still a very pretty princess.

Honeymoon Riviera Maya Style

Instead of captioning each photo, let me provide a quick summary of what you are about to see. Andrew and I spent our honeymoon in the Riviera Maya, Mexico. Our week was spent relaxing in the pool and on the beautiful beach, visiting Mayan ruins, and snorkeling in the reef (not pictured).

While on our adventure, we became acquainted with several creatures that made a home for themselves on the resort. One was a peacock, and I'm sure you know how much this pleased me. And the others were long-snouted long-tailed furballs called coatis. Much of our trip was spent seeking out these critters and trying to touch them, to their dismay. I did finally get to scratch a few of their ears. That was pretty much the best day ever. Oh, and don't you think the coatis seriously resemble Luke? Snouts galore!

P.S. Don't mind the giant Star Wars Storm Trooper. That was from the resort's nightclub, Galaxy. We never stayed up late enough to make it to the club (that sun really tuckers you out!) but we snuck in once before it opened for a photo session.

Now what? The afterlife of a wedding gown...

Ladies and Gents, I need your advice. My wedding gown has been hanging in our bedroom since the wedding night, and it's getting kind of sad. It has fulfilled its purpose and now I'm not quite sure what to do with the little guy. There are some purple spots on it from the flowers in my bouquet, so no matter what it will need to be cleaned. But then what?

Do I have it preserved in the off chance that I one day have a tiny daughter with the same taste as her momma? Or do I donate it to a good cause? Or try to sell it in a consignment shop or Craigslist?



My dress by Essense of Australia
I love my dress but I know I will never wear it again. What is the best way for this sentimental packrat to give my gown an afterlife? To my married ladies out there, what did you do with your wedding dress after your wedding?

Happy Halloween!

We went to our good friends' annual Halloween party last weekend. Here's our costumes.

Link from The Legend of Zelda


Max from Where the Wild Things Are

What are you going to be this year?

Validation

We've discussed our most bizarre fears here before. My number one fear being that someone will jump to their death from a tall building, landing on passerby me, swiftly killing us both. It's an elaborate fear. And also a plausible fear. Which is why my pulse goes up a notch when I walk past buildings with more than five floors. There's another fear I have held close since childhood. A fear of walking on grates in parking lots and on sidewalks. When I was a kid, it was because I believed Cookie Monster lived down there. (What kid is afraid of a Sesame Street character?) But as an adult, it's because I'm afraid that the grate will crumble beneath me, plunging me to my smelly sewery death. Ridiculous? I don't think so. And neither does this Baltimore man who plunged about 15 feet underground after the metal grate he was walking over collapsed. Validation is a satisfying, yet terrifying thing, people. Watch out for those grates. And for Cookie Monster. He'll cut you for a snickerdoodle. He really will.

Repeating Myself: 12 Steps

The following post originally appeared on my blog in May 2008, when my readership was practically nonexistent. I think the amusement factor is high enough to warrant a little rerun. And that's not at all pompous of me to say because the funny belongs to Andrew.

I think every young woman goes through a stage where she is extremely hung up on someone who is completely wrong for her. Whether he* breaks her heart one too many times or just doesn't treat her like the gem she truly is, for some reason she is unable to see this. She pines for him. She cries for him. And then one day, she meets the man who is everything she has ever dreamed of and so much more. The man who gives her pink unicorn piñatas and writes her love songs about being a panda from the sea. The man who makes her laugh so hard, she shoots hot chocolate out her nose on their first real date. The man who makes her forget about all former heart aches. The best thing to ever happen to her... her soul mate.

Today I am looking through old e-mails from when boyfriend and I began dating. He waited for me when I was hung up on someone else and when I said I wasn't ready for a serious relationship. He waited and waited... and then one day... I came to my senses. I count my blessings every day that he stuck around! Below is an excerpt from one of his many hilarious and wonderfully adorable e-mails:

12/21/06

...Railing tequila shots with my parents and watching fireworks by the ocean, pretty spectacular stuff. Plus we saw this really weird animal down there that I became obsessed with. It's sort of like a groundhog with a weirder tail and stripes I think, but it can jump 7 feet straight up in the air, which, just admit it, is (expletive) terrifying. We called it the dik-dik, after another weird animal I saw in a zoo somewhere one time, but the Mexican thing was actually an agouti. Anyway, I'm rambling now. You know why? Because I miss you. And I have a huge little crush on you. 2007 is the year we take over the city, Ryan and I have already decided. Pittsburgh is ripe for a brat pack type of 20 somethings to knock the city on its ass, and really show it a good time. That sounded more aggressive than I meant it to, and I'm sorry. I'm going through the 12 stages of Amanda withdrawal.

The first one was denial, when I thought I could totally deal with it. (wrong) The second stage is having to pee all the time, for some reason, and I had that last night. Although it could have been from the drinking. The third stage, and the one I'm suffering through now is when you wear two unmatched socks to work and feel like a jerk because your mind is too consumed by Amanda-ish thoughts to process whether or not the socks you're holding even match. The fourth stage, which I'll probably hit later tonight, is pretty serious, and that's talking about the things you like about Amanda when she's not even around. Like, telling total strangers. Lunacy, right? The fifth stage, I don't even want to talk about. It's lice. You literally get lice, from out of nowhere. Spontaneous lice. Terrible, I know. And then the sixth stage is equally offensive, but you're halfway home so it's almost easier to deal with. The sixth stage is voting Republican, which fortunately due to the timing, isn't something I need to worry about right now. If this had happened last month though, shit. I don't know if many people have survived the seventh stage because it's really, really hard to deal with. YOU LOSE YOUR SENSE OF TASTE! Okay? Well you don't lose it so much as it gets horribly transformed, so that everything you eat tastes bad and weird. So a few days from now, when I get to this stage and I want to eat Mom's delicious Christmas dinner, it will taste like old newspaper and fleas. I hate that. It's just gross. Stage eight makes it dangerous to drive, because you have to wear sunglasses all the time, even at night. I don't know why, it's just the way it is. Probably so no one can see you crying like a baby. The ninth stage is weird, and probably something you can relate to. Everything smells like maple syrup, all the time. You could stick your snoot right into a delightful spring bouquet of flowers, and instead only smell the blasted syrup. It's nice for like an hour, at breakfast, IF YOU'RE EATING PANCAKES. But it makes the rest of the day unbearable, so horrible that it almost makes you long for the tenth stage, WHICH KILLS YOU! You're dead for a week! And then you wake up to stage eleven, where you find out everyone else is dead too, and the world is now ruled by sentient squid! Oh the horror! Squid are telling you what to do! Squid is the boss of you! And they wear little outfits and telepathically tease you about your two stupid arms and your dumb hair. How dreadful. So you suffer in some savage work camp, doing the squids' nefarious bidding for what seems like an eternity until finally, thank Christ, you hit stage twelve. Which is when Amanda comes home, and makes you better feeling.

So that's that. That's how I feel, wish me luck...

Wow! I just love this guy so much! I am so lucky he survived the squid!



*Masculine pronoun used for convenience. Please substitute with feminine pronouns where necessary!

I just can't hold this in any longer

Nothing to see here...

Move along.

Describes us perfectly...

And in a good way...



From Exploding Dog

What does this say about my blog?

That suddenly all I want to blog about is my dog's poop?

Just a quick update. Luke pooped an earplug yesterday. An orange ear plug. It kind of dyed the rest of poop orange in a swirly pattern. I told Andrew it was like tie-dye.

Thanks for reading! I hope I'm really enriching all of your lives.

Love,
The Dog Poop Blogger

Do you see this face?

Oh, sure he might look all sweet an innocent like he could never do any wrong. But don't trust him, folks! He's a maniac!

Luke was having some ... um... how do I put this delicately... butt licking problems... the week of our wedding. The wonderful woman who previously fostered Luke before we adopted him offered to watch our boy while we were busy getting married, so she took him to the vet for us. They ... oh boy... um... "expressed his glands" (sorry! I really didn't mean for this to be such a graphic post!) and sent him home with a strict order to eat more fiber.

Well, we picked him up after returning from the honeymoon only to find him still very irritated and uncomfortable. We took him to the vet the next morning and they tested him for a bacteria infection. The vet said he must have got into something he shouldn't have. To which I replied, "Oh, I bet it was either that dead animal I had to pull out of his mouth a few weeks ago or all that garbage he ate!"

See people? This is not the face of an angel. This is a dead-animal-garbage-eating- monster.

We also had the vet check him for a thyroid disorder, as all his shedding has me worried. Greyhounds are not supposed to shed much at all, but tell that to the tumbleweeds of fur rolling around on our wood floors. The vet was very skeptical, saying he was probably shedding due to stress. (Stress? Um, lady, Luke doesn't exactly live a stressful lifestyle. He eats, poops, and sleeps. That's really about it.)

The thyroid function test came back to reveal that our boy has hypothyroidism and has to take two little blue pills every day for the rest of his life. The low thyroid hormone levels explain his shedding, bald belly, and low energy level. The vet told us to expect a noticeable change in his energy level on the meds.

Oh boy, we notice.

We came home yesterday to find my loofah shredded into a thousand pieces and poop on the rug and (i kid you not) poop smeared on the walls. I really don't know how he managed to do that. It's almost impressive.

What? You pooped in the refrigerator? And you ate the whole... wheel of cheese? How'd you do that? Heck, I'm not even mad; that's amazing. How 'bout we get you in your p.j.'s and we hit the hay.

The Rehearsal Ensemble

There was one slight hiccup the night of the rehearsal. We realized we had no idea where the marriage license had gone. I had it in a box with other things I needed to take to the church with me that evening, but on the way to the dinner, I realized it was not where I had left it.

I panicked and my mood at the rehearsal dinner suffered. Here's a photo of me trying to pretend I was not about to morph into a raging lunatic, with my calm and collected husband to be. Isn't he adorable?

Some wedding photos

Practicing my trek down the aisle with my dad at the rehearsal


Trying to kill time before heading to the church, I ask my MOH, "Am I allowed to unload the dishwasher on my wedding day?"


Putting on the finishing touches as I get ready in the ladies' parlor at the church


Married! Bubbles! Kisses!


First dance as husband and wife (You are the Best Thing by Ray LaMontagne)


Sneaky shot of me and Andrew outside of the reception taken by wedding guest


Me and my lovely maid of honor Brianna


And of course there was much showmanship and dancing

More photos to come.

XOXO

HITCHED!

It's official! We're married!


Photos to come upon our return from our honeymoon in the Riviera Maya!
Be well!

The dresses

Not mine! You can't see that until after the wedding, silly heads.

Here's the color and fabric that all of my attendants will be wearing... in the dress style of their own choosing.



Dress by Jordan.

Ah! They're going to look so pretty!

A favor for the birds

We had initially intended on donating money to either the American Heart Association or the American Cancer Society in lieu of wedding favors. I think of favors as junky clutter that people either leave behind or throw away upon returning home. However, when I stumbled across these favors on Etsy, I changed my tune. Favors for everyone!


You're welcome, little birdies. (Personalized tag included.)

Favors by 2birdsinlove on Etsy.

My Bridal Shower

For day two of our wedding week, I'd like to share some photos from my bridal shower. Andrew's family and my bridal party put together such a beautiful party for me. With yummy food, fun games, great guests, and amazingly generous gifts (*cough* Kitchen Aid Mixer *cough*), I was sad to see the afternoon end.



We played a game where I had to try to guess Andrew's answers to questions such as "What animal would you compare Amanda to?" Some of his answers really had me laughing.



For every question I got wrong, I had to put a piece of gum in my mouth.



Out of 20 questions, I got seven wrong.



The bubble gum was Bubblicious. Each piece is HUGE. So you can imagine how hard it was to get all seven pieces in my mouth... There may have even been some drooling...



The wad... kinda looks like a brain.



My pretty "bowquet" skillfully assembled by my future sister-in-law and bridesmaid, Jessica.



And the cake was legendary. Some guests said they would still be thinking about that cake weeks later. It involved chocolate and cheesecake and some other yummy things I can't remember. It was Very Rich. Even a chocolate lover like myself could only eat a few small bites before entering sugar coma heaven.



And my half of the wedding party. From left to right, future sister-in-law Jessica, me, my sister Lindsey, and my rockstar maid of honor Brianna. Shake your tailfeathers, ladies!