A little bird told me...

Okay, I already mentioned our wedding registry once this week and I feel like it is a potentially sleep-inducing topic for most of my audience. So let's just skip to the chase. How insanely sweet is this China pattern? Chirp by Lenox Swoon. P.S. You probably won't be hearing much from me today... we're (fingers crossed!) closing on our house today! There will be much celebrating--hopefully the kind that involves sushi.

Like father like son

Our greyhound's collar and leash are going to match his daddy's guitar strap. How freaking adorable is that?


Samantha Jones Martingale Collar by The Mod Dog on Etsy
(comes in many different color combos)

All of you pet lovers out there must check out Kyra's shop. She has collars for dogs and cats of all breeds and sizes. And I can assure you that you will not find such stylish accessories at your local pet store.

Meeee-oowww!

(Fanny Pack) Model Citizen

On a recent trip to Target, I found myself face to face with a very tough decision. To buy a fanny pack or not to buy a fanny pack? "I neeeeeeeed this!" I proclaimed loudly to no one in particular. (Does anyone really need a fanny pack? Yes.) Andrew caught on to my shenanigans and swiftly launched his anti-fanny pack campaign. "You aren't a hipster," he said firmly. "But how good would this look at karaoke tonight? I could be like Starr!" "No one should want to be like Starr," Andrew continued his fanny pack hatin'. By this time the fanny pack was firmly secured to my waist and I was meandering through the store contemplating if I should purchase the $12.99 beauty. "I just can't see myself paying money for a fanny pack..." I said with palpable disappointment. [LIGHT BULB] "Wait, maybe I could just walk out of here with this thing around my waist and no one would be the wiser? I've never stolen anything in my life, but this might be a good time to start," I said only half-jokingly. It was then that some faceless vigilante must have overheard my evil plot, because not more than a minute later, an official Target security guard was hot on my trail. Realizing my brilliant plan was crumbling beneath my feet, I turned to the security guard and pointed to the fanny pack, still securely around my waist. "Should I buy this? I'm torn," I asked him--as though he had been my best friend since fourth grade. He raised his eyebrows and said with much authority, "You absolutely should not buy that." That gave me a laugh--and I unclasped it from my waist. I then whispered to Andrew, "Does that mean I should steal it?" Epilogue: I did not steal the fanny pack--damn me and my integrity. I did, however, just add said fanny pack to our Target wedding registry. Yesssssssssssssss. (Special thanks to my new bloggy bud Mel for inspiring this post.)

Tiny Dancer

At our staff retreat last Wednesday, my entire department had to take time management surveys. One question was aimed at our health.

Fill in the blank:

I exercise when ______________.

My answer: I'm being graded in gym class.

Seriously, that's very accurate considering I can't even tell you the last time I broke a sweat on purpose. That is, until last Thursday.

Raise your hand if you've heard of Zumba.

Okay, well remind me never to use the old "raise your hand" device on my blog again, because it really isn't as effective as I had hoped.

Anyhow, Zumba is an aerobic workout inspired by Latin dance. If I knew any Latin dance moves, I'd probably have not sucked so incredibly badly at my first Zumba experience last Thursday. Okay, that's not true. It probably wouldn't have made a difference.

My friend Jess and I decided to crash a Zumba class at a local church--despite the fact that we both claim to hold the title for "most uncoordinated person ever."

As expected, hilarity ensued when we were the only first-timers there. When we were instructed to spin, I'd inevitably be the only one in the class spinning counter-clockwise. Every. Time. Jess' jaw dropped when she realized that there is in fact a living person more uncoordinated than she--and that person is me.

I think more humiliating than my performance was my appearance. What is it about work out clothes that make me revert back to my insecure flat-chested junior-high self? I felt about 14 years old in my purple tee and pink shorts. (Changing up the color palette at tonight's class, thankyouverymuch.)

Surrounded by beautiful, fit, young women, I felt more clumsy than ever. Why do they look so natural and seductive shaking and shimmying--and I look--epileptic?

Jess whispered to me, "How old do you think these girls are?"

I said, "undergrads, probably... but I'm sure they all think I'm in junior high."

"Probably," Jess giggled.

Clowns, Socks, and Chicken Pox

Recent conversation with my mom and sister:

Sister: Remember you put socks on my hands when I had the Chicken Pox--so I couldn't scratch?

Mom: Yes! Mandy, do you remember what I had to put socks on for you when you were little?

Me: My clown lamp.

Mom: Hahaha! Yes!



Okay, so what? I was terrified of this little thing. I made my mom put a sock over that horrible little clown so he couldn't taunt me with his dumb face.



I can't recall whether his dog upset me too... but probably. Just look at it. ::shudder::

You'll be sorry

If you skimmed or skipped Wednesday's post, you're dead to me. Just saying.

Now, for something completely different.

The church where I am to wed to a merman:





I love the exposed brick and wooden beams. I couldn't have imagined a better place for the wedding!

Have a great weekend, peeps. XO

Psychic Nudists And Much More

This evening my landlord showed our place to several potential renters--as we're moving out mid-June. The first person showed up fifteen minutes early so we decided to show her around while we waited for our landlord to arrive.

At the conclusion of our tour, we chatted in the living room like old friends.

Her: (Realizing why this part of the neighborhood is familar) Oh, I was at a psychic across the street!

Me: (Pointing) There? On the first or second floor?

Her: Second.

Me: THE FLOOFS!? (Side note: There are neighbors across the street from us who circle their living room for hours. It is a very weird scene. Through the old windows, the old man has what appears to be a GIGANTIC head. The first night we lived here I stood on my bed in the dark, watching him pace around his living room, with that huge head full of fluffy gray hair. I was laughing so hard, barely able to answer Andrew when he asked what I was doing. "HIS HEAD IS SO BIG! IT'S THE BIGGEST HEAD I'VE EVER SEEN! THIS CAN'T BE REAL! IS THIS A DREAM!? HAHAHAHAHAHHA!" Andrew asked if I was on drugs, to which I likely replied, "DO YOU SEE HIS HEAD!? IT'S ENORMOUS! I'M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO SLEEP. I NEED TO WATCH HIM AND HIS BIG FLUFFY HEAD FOREVER. THIS CAN'T BE REAL!" Sadly, my plan when was foiled when "The Floof" seemed to sense me watching him in the night. He turned off his living room light and disappeared into the darkness--leaving me wondering if it had all been a dream come morning.)

Her: (Blank stare)

Me: The Floofs are the people who live in that apartment. Through the windows it looks like they have gigantic heads, but what's really disappointing is that when we see them on the street, their heads are normal-sized. But they're real weird.

Her: They ARE really weird! They used to have a psychic reading place down the street but now they do it out of their house.

Me: Psychic? NO WONDER HE ALWAYS KNOWS WHEN I'M WATCHING HIM! This explains so much!

Later in the conversation, I had the good sense to start talking at length about the Craigslist killer when she mentioned she found out about our available apartment on CL. If that wasn't a bad enough small talk choice, I decided to follow up my Craigslist killer portion of the conversation by asking her where she lives. Hah! Glad to know I have a special gift when it comes to making strangers feel at ease in my home. She was probably shocked when we didn't tie her up in the basement...

SPEAKING OF THE BASEMENT!

Andrew just dropped a bomb on me during dinner. While we were discussing my smooth small talk, he brought up this exchange they had as he showed her the basement:

Him: This is basically a good place to drink and play drums.

Her: Oh, okay... I guess this is a good place to drink and clean guns.

Yeah, he didn't bother correcting her.

P.S. She also told us The Floofs used to live in a nudist colony. You really can't make this stuff up.

My Teef

I was told two weeks ago that one of my front teeth may be dying. Being one of those people who dream about their teeth falling out on a nightly basis, it's an understatement to say I am a little concerned.

This morning, after suffering through one of the weirdest dreams in the history of weird dreams, I called my dental insurance to check on my coverage of seeing a specialist and what it would cost to get a root canal if deemed necessary. Guess what, dudes? I'm covered 100%. Let's do this.

I'm going to see the endodontist Thursday morning. They scheduled me for a long enough appointment to do the procedure if needed.

Now I'm a little scared, but the prospect of losing my front tooth scares me a whole heck of a lot more than a silly little root canal. Help me mentally prepare! Tell me your root canal stories.

"Look how close I've come"

Saturday was one of the best nights of my life.

Waiting outside the club for the doors to open for the Ben Lee concert, I heard a man behind me say, "Excuse me," as he unloaded gear from a nearby van into the club. Behind the van I spotted a certain curly-haired male Aussie exiting a car. I left my place by the door and walked towards him--unsure of my plan.

"Hi Ben!"

"Hello," he said in his adorable accent.

[Awkward silence.]

"I'm really excited for the show tonight!"

"Oh cool. Thanks for coming."

[Awkward silence.]

"I LIKE YOUR NEW ALBUM!"

"Aw, cool. Thanks."

[More awkwardness...]

End scene.

Wow, not my best work.

Anywhoodle. Andrew met up with me after the embarrassing small talk with one of my favorite musicians, and we claimed the best seats in the house for ourselves and some friends who were about 20 people behind us in line. I sipped on a drink that tasted like a melted blue popsicle while I enjoyed the opening act, Low Vs. Diamond.



Immediately following the band's last song, Ben Lee took the stage. He paid special attention to our table... making lots of eye contact and telling us, "Just flip the tables over. It's cool. I own the place."



We refrained from trashing the place, which is a little more than I can say about Ben. (Kidding.) He was way more animated than the last time I saw him perform four years ago. At one point he climbed on top of our table and somehow managed to avoid spilling everyone's drinks... though he was less than an inch away from dancing on top of Bri's pizza...

Throughout the show, people shouted various song requests, but he ignored them all. At one point he said, "Sorry. I love you guys. But I'm playing whatever I want."


Paying homage to his punk rock days, Ben played a song from within the audience.

I don't really understand why performers are so weird about song requests in general, but I can understand wanting to stick to a set list that you thoughtfully crafted. So party on, Ben. Even if you didn't play one of my favorite songs in the entire world, "Gamble Everything For Love." I still love you.

"Hey, I just want to let you guys know--I don't really do encores. If you want to get the full rock show experience, maybe I can turn around for a minute and you guys can clap or something? Or I can just do a stage dive?"

Okay, when I'm standing two feet from anyone who declares their intention to dive off the stage on top of me, I get a little nervous. Thank God he spared my life and jumped off our table on to the people behind us. Phew. I could be writing this post from a full body cast if he wasn't so kind. (I mean, the dude's tiny... but maybe you've heard... so am I.)

After the show, the club emptied quickly. Bri and I asked Ben if he would mind getting a picture with us. Grunting a little bit, I hoisted myself up on the bar next to him.


BFFs

While we are on the subject...

I shared this little gem on Twitter a few weeks ago, but it's back on Craigslist. I feel as though not sharing this on my blog would be a crime. Enjoy.

Vintage Mahogany OB/GYN Exam Table w stirrups - $625

We will be OPEN on Mother's day! Unusual mahogany wood OB/GYN doctor exam table. The back rest raises up for your upper body (bracket is missing), there is the wood shelf to stand on to get up on the table, also includes the original wood stirrups for other exams. The drawers slide out on either side of the table (missing knobs on one side). Would this make a great buffet for the doctor in your life, OR maybe you want to play doctor! Come see it in our shop: Red Chimney Antiques and curious goods, 525 Wallace Rd., Wexford, Pa., 15090. 724-934-1295 hours: Wed.-Sat. 10am-5pm, Sunday noon-5pm. redchimneyantiques@zoominternet.net... Why buy particle board when you can buy real wood?

There's so much I can say about this. But I'll leave that up to you.

WANT!

This is where having a tumblr would come in handy I suppose...

Butterfingers

Yay! I won a second chance to get intimate with my gynecologist's speculum this year! How lucky am I that some dope at the lab dropped my specimen? High-five!

Seriously? Does this kind of stuff constantly happen to anyone else? Or am I just really blessed?

A Man and His Towel

Andrew and I both suffer from allergies. The difference is that his allergies are related to furry critters while mine are related to dust, pollen, strawberries, and the sound styrofoam makes when it rubs together. *PUKE*

When we visit my parents, Andrew turns into a miserable sniveling, sneezing, blob of snot. My parents, who own two cats and a VERY NICE LOOKING DOG NAMED RINGO, do everything they can to remove allergens before our visits. They vacuum the entire house, including the furniture, they run an air purifier, and try to keep the cats in the basement. Usually their efforts are in vain. Despite preemptive Claritin attacks and minimal contact with the pets, we usually cut our visits short to spare Andrew the days of misery that follow his exposure.


Ringo is fierce

What does all this have to do with a towel? The towel, my friends, was given to us by our friendly local greyhound adoption volunteer. After learning of Andrew's allergies, she promised to "prepare" an object for us to use to test his reaction to greyhound dander. One of the reasons we are so interested in adopting a greyhound is that they rarely shed and are thought to be very good for allergy sufferers due to their light coats. Andrew's allergies didn't respond to hanging out with the greyhounds at a meet and greet we attended about a month ago--so the towel is just an extra precaution.

What are you supposed to do with a sick towel covered in the fur and dander of multiple greyhounds?



Hang out with it and watch the hockey game, of course!

The things that boy does for me. I love him. :)

A Very Important Question

I need to thank The Bloggess* for reminding me of what I wanted to blog about today. I need to ask you all a Very Important Question: How many pine cones would you eat in an hour if you were paid $50 per pine cone? Because I tested this question out at a party this weekend, I can anticipate some of your questions... 1. You CAN'T use any appliances such as a food processor. 2. You CAN use heat and water to prepare your pine cone meal if you wish. 3. You CAN use condiments to make your pine cones more palatable. 4. The pine cones are average sized and slightly open. And if any of you wiseguys try to pull a Jessica and tell me you can eat 50 of those sonuvabitches, I want you to find a pine cone and just TRY to take a bite of that conifer goodness. You can't do it. *See #7 on her post "25 things about twitter that are pissing me off"

ONE DAY!

I walk the March of Babies tomorrow and I'm still $120 away from my goal. Can you please help nudge me up to $500?

Donate here.

XOXO

Andrew has a Flavor: Episode 2

While discussing whether it's necessary to require our groomsmen to rent shoes with their tuxedos:

Andrew: Nobody will be looking at our feet as long as you're in the room.

Everybody, say it with me, "Awwwwwwwwwwwww."

Name Game

We are meeting with a woman from a Pittsburgh greyhound adoption group on Sunday for our interview. We are pretty certain we will be deemed "fit parents," so we've started to brainstorm for names.

So far we've considered:
Tut (Andrew shut it down--something to do with the Batman TV show from the 60s.)
Gideon (I shut it down, because... well... Because.)
Atticus (Still a contender.)
Gordon Ramsey (Still a contender IF the dog has a wrinkly forehead and penchant for cussing.)

After going back and forth for ten minutes with name suggestions, I suggested we pay homage to my childhood pets by naming our hound either Milk, Gum, or Hat--in honor of my first school of goldfish. Talk about a creative toddler!

Hey now

Andrew and I started assembling our wedding registries this week. So far, it is hella fun.

One thing we won't be registering for?



Double spoon rest.

Really.

Who thought this was a good idea?

Oh, I think I'm blushing.