It's Poppin

Last night I found out that my friend, Armando, has passed away. I was in complete shock, but after going through an entire box of tissues and crying on CB’s shoulder, I decided that I was going to remember Armando for all that he was and try to quit my crying already (I’ve been somewhat successful).

You see, Armando was the first friend I ever made in my chosen profession. We started within the same week and instantly clicked over being from the Midwest, laughing at all of the same jokes, and, of course, our love for Beyonce.

We also bonded over our love for making CB feel uncomfortable with our many conversations about boys and pop music and pretty much anything else CB could not care less about.

I sat in between Armando and CB at work and it was the perfect set-up: Armando on one side, who’d pop up and make me stop stressing over whatever project I was doing and go for a walk to check out the cute boys on other floors. We’d scope out who looked good on the internal company webpage, take a casual walk through departments we had no business being in, and would then walk by and gawk like middle-schoolers.

And there was CB on the other side, who hated it every time we told him that we were doing any of this and begged us not to be his friend.

But Armando was more to me than just the guy who had the same taste as me in pretty much everything. He was the person I cried to when a past relationship fell apart; he was the one who distracted me when crying became exhausting; he was the one who got me into running, convincing me that we could “Totally run that Corporate Challenge, Becks. Plus, I bet we could buy cute new running clothes and look good if we suck at it!”; and he was the only person I could dance in an elevator with to “Lip Gloss.”

What?

That’s right. And it was epic.

One day at work, in between obviously working really hard and checking out men, we were in the elevator alone heading down to the cafeteria. We’d just been talking about how we couldn’t get that Lil Mama song, “Lip Gloss” out of our heads – and we were not ashamed. Obviously.

But then, all of a sudden and without any words, Armando stomped his feet twice and I jumped in with the synchronized clapping. And for 5 floors we stomped and clapped and sang, laughing and jumping and somehow not getting walked out by security who most definitely saw us on the elevator cameras.

From that day forward, we’d randomly sing and dance and laugh, always circling back to that song and, years after we’d both moved on to other work places (probably much to the delight of every single person we worked with), would text each other and simply write “Hi! It’s poppin’!” to make the other person laugh in the middle of whatever kind of day they were having.

Armando brought light and laughter and friendship and love to pretty much everyone he met. And only in his death has it become clear to me that he had been fighting demons darker and stronger than most of us could have ever guessed. But true to form, he never let on – instead, choosing to live every single day to its fullest and making sure that whoever he was with was having the time of their lives.

So, to honor Armando in a way I know he’d find funny and fitting, let’s get it poppin’. 

I'm a Madwoman

I'm immersed in a pile of work I have to finish before taking off for the mitten on Thursday. (insert jumping up and down at the thought!)

So in the meantime, I'm sharing a poem that a co-worker wrote for me, which now hangs on my cubicle wall. Even though he'd only known me a few months at the time that he wrote it, apparently it quickly became clear that all things that sparkle are among my most very favorite things. Especially since my go-to fashion accessory in the winter is a scarf that sparkles. 

The merino wool filtered through the loom

amongst the dust of fairies, leaving a debris of sparkles

set to distract the eye from the grinning face of the 

Madwomaan encased in the garment. 

Happy Monday! 

Friday Wrapup

It's Friday and ohmygod Beyonce released an album while I was sleeping and I almost lost my mind when I woke up and was like "THIS IS THE BEST FRIDAY EVER."

Also, I may have gone into the bedroom to a still-waking CB to have this conversation:

Me: "In an unprecedented move, Beyonce released an album overnight without any publicity. I just downloaded it on iTunes for fifteen dollars. I'm so excited."
CB: "Oh yeah, I got an alert on my phone a little after midnight about it."
Me: "What?"
CB: "Yeah, a Twitter alert or something."
Me: "And you didn't wake me up?"
CB: "I thought about it but I figured that's news that could wait until morning, I knew how tired you were."
Me: "I appreciate it, but something to know for our marriage: when it comes to Beyonce, always wake me up."
CB: "Noted."

Anyway, I'm listening to it right now so can't really talk.

***

Getting into the holiday spirit (and how do I always miss this stuff in NYC? Darn it, normal working hours.)

Also, I can't stop laughing when he runs away from the baby named "Arrow."

***

So, this week's book review is actually yet another book I read a while ago, but it's being reviewed now because I'm reading another Chuck Klosterman book currently but I'm too slow of a reader and so I'm not done with it. Hence, I can't blog about it. Hence, I'm blogging about a book I read 10 years ago.

Anyway, this is one that I think most all of you would like if you are around my age or slightly younger/older (i.e. grew up in the 80s/90s).

Click here to check out "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" and browse around for some other reading inspiration as well!

***

So, "Love Actually" was on tv last night. But I was being a b-word to CB and flipping between it (not his favorite movie) and "The Millionnaire Matchmaker" because he's the nicest man on the planet.

Anyway, I was in bed by the time this scene came on, so I'm reliving it here with all of you. Also, I love this movie so much and it makes me happy every Christmas when it comes on. Oh, and I always say "just in cases" instead of "just in case" because sometimes I pretend like I'm in the movie and CB is like "You just said it wrong."

Plus, I want her sparkle outfit in adult size.

Happy Friday, everyone!

Conversations from Cohabitation

Example that CB completely gets me.

CB: “I have good news to brighten your week.”
Me: “Oooh what is it?”
CB: “It’s supposed to snow 3-7 inches tomorrow.”
Me, skeptical: “Wait…like, real snow or that stupid winter-y mix stuff that actually is just really aggressive rain?”
CB: “No! No winter-y mix, complete snow!”
Me: “Oh my God I’m so happy.” And then I high fived him.
CB: “I knew you’d like that. Crazy woman.”

***

Last night we were sitting in the dark, lit only by the lights on our Christmas tree. We were both looking up at it when I admired the glitter bulbs we have scattered throughout.

Me: “I love our glitter bulbs.”
CB: “Yes you do.”
Me: “Did you ever think you’d have a tree with glitter bulbs on it?”
CB: “Not in a million years. If you’d told me back in college that I’d spend my future Christmases with a tree decorated with glitter bulbs, I’d tell you you were crazy.”
Me: “Yeah, I would imagine 22 year old CB wouldn’t picture this future.”
CB: “I mean, maybe if you also told me that Pamela Anderson was decorating my tree with glitter bulbs I’d be like ‘yeah, ok, that works.’”
Me: “A big Pamela Anderson fan, are you?”
CB: “She had her moment.”
Me: “So basically what you’re saying is that I’m like your real life Pamela Anderson.”
CB: “Something like that.”
Me: “I should’ve worn a red bathing suit and run around the apartment in slow motion while I decorated this weekend.”
CB: “I would’ve videotaped it and put it on my own blog.”
Me: “What would your blog be called?”
CB: “My Sparkle Christmas Tree Decorated by Pamela Anderson.”
Me: “That’s a terrible name for a blog.”
CB: “But it paints a picture.”
Me: “That it does.”

***

So, I texted CB a picture of a store I walked by and said "How have I lived here 12 years and have never seen this place?" He wrote me back and I said that it was my long lost house. 

And then, inexplicably, the entire text chain went blank! 

Happy Wednesday, everyone! 

Everything I Ever Needed to Know About my Relationship I Learned while Decorating for Christmas

This weekend, CB and I went Christmas tree shopping and got into the holiday spirit by allowing glitter and lights and jingle bells to throw up all over our apartment. It was magical.

However, there were several moments throughout the weekend where I realized that, when it really comes down to it, we can all pretty much get an inside look at the health status of the relationship based upon whether or not you break up over decorating your home. I mean, it’s not a completely scientific study or anything, but I’m pretty sure it’d hold up in peer review.

Health Check:

While shopping for our Christmas tree, I got to the lot a few minutes early and had a chance to walk around and check out our options. I immediately gravitated towards a perfectly plump tree towards the back that I just knew would be a perfect fit. I also named him “Plumpy” and then told Carlos, the tree lot manager, that I had to wait to see if my other half was on board. He was like “From the looks of things, you’re bringing this tree home whether he likes it or not. You named it.”

Um, excuse me Carlos¸ but I’m a team player and can totally let Plumpy go if CB finds one he loves. I name everything. (Have you met our toaster, Poppy, and our Pigeon that left three weeks ago, Harold?)

Also, this is why CB should really just not take me to do things like this because I get attached to inanimate objects quite quickly and project feelings onto them that perhaps the dead pine isn’t experiencing. But you don’t know that, so let’s just be on the safe side and assume Plumpy understood me when I promised him I wouldn’t leave him alone in the lot that day.

Anyway, after 30 minutes of CB looking at every tree except Plumpy, he circled back.

CB: “I think it’s a great tree, I’m just not sure if it’s tall enough.”
Me: “He’s perfect.”
CB: “It’s a he?”
Me: “Yes. This is Plumpy. But I mean, if you see something else you like, I’m totally open to that. This is a joint decision.” (or the conversation went something like that)
CB: “Jeez, you already named it….”
Carlos: “Sorry, man, you’re definitely going home with this tree.”
CB: “Yeah, that’s becoming pretty clear.”
Me: “No! I’m totally flexible! Which one do you like?”
CB, looking around: “Well…..”
Me, whispering to Plumpy: “Don’t worry, we’ll be right back.”

Cut to 15 minutes later when Carlos was tying Plumpy to the top of the car.

CB: “You were right. It really is a great tree.”
Me: “Thanks! I’m glad you’re happy with him, too.”
CB: “I’m doing this alone next year.”
Me: “Agreed.”

Health Grade: B+ (we get points knocked off for my mental health clearly not being top notch, but the plus is because at one point I was like “Sure, we can take this other tree I haven’t named.” But then CB realized it wasn’t plump enough and I secretly did a dance of joy over my ability to be compromising AND still winning. If this was a contest, which obviously it’s not.)

***

This is what compromise
looks like, people! 

While Carlos and CB were getting the tree secured on the roof, I started looking at the dozens of wreath options they had on display. As we all know, my affinity for glitter is strong and proud. However, when presented with a wreath that was literally covered in glitter ribbons, glitter fake fruit, and a bird with a glitter bowtie (festive!), I looked around at the other more classic wreaths and said “You know what? This is overkill. Also, I live with a man who puts up with a lot. So let’s go with the wreath that just has a splash of sparkle and make everyone happy.  

Health Grade:  A. This was a growing moment.

***

While getting the tree in place, CB needed my help making sure it was straight. Now, I’m not sure how many of you have done this with just two people, but it’s quite hard to be sure it’s straight when you’re holding the thing up while your partner is screwing it into the tree stand in what appears to be an upright, not-at-all-leaning fashion from the ground position.

But then when you back up you’re like “Ooooh, it’s leaning to the right.” And so he gets back down on the ground, moves it “Just a half an inch or so to the left” and then you stand back again. “Yeah, it’s leaning too far forward now.”

Cut to 25 minutes later when CB started to have an allergic reaction to the pine and was like “Really? Are you sure you’re not just leaning to the left?” and he made the face he makes when I can tell he’s holding in frustration specifically directed at me.

To which I saved our pending marriage by calling our friend Matt, who lives down the hall, to come hold the tree while CB adjusted it and I stood back making sure it was straight. Also, Matt kept agreeing with CB, which makes CB not feel so alone in this world.

Matt: “It looks really straight to me.”
Me: “You don’t think it’s leaning a little to the left?”
Matt, taking it from another angle: “Well maybe a little, but when it falls a bit it’ll even out.”
Me: “I’m not sure……”
CB: “Alright, I’ll move it a little to the right.”

Cut to: 5 minutes later when Matt and I were like “Yeah, it was better the way it was before.”

And then CB tried to take the ring off of my finger but I am quicker than him in the morningtime.

Health Grade: B- (CB is very patient and I have a good eye for design so the time and energy spent making sure was well worth it – and I’m pretty sure that’s a unified position we both mentally took while never having to say it out loud. However, I probably could’ve listened to him about 15 minutes sooner than I did, and so there’s some work to do in the next few decades.)

***

CB was in charge of lights and I was in charge of decorating the rest of the apartment and helping put bulbs on the tree. This went swimmingly and we high fived over our awesomeness as a Christmas-decorating team several times.

Health Grade: A

Happy Monday, everyone! 

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!

***
This was the best thing to happen to me all week.

***

This week's book is in memory of Nelson Mandela, who passed away yesterday at the age of 95. I read his autobiography after taking a course in college that opened my eyes to some of the struggles the people of South Africa had faced, and it's stayed with me all of these years.

Actually, a few weeks ago I was looking through my books and added it to my list to re-read in the coming year. So, what better time to blog about it and share a great story with all of you!

Click here to read the post and feel free to browse around the others for some reading inspiration!

***

To get you into the holiday spirit....

***

And now, the video of the week! It's like one million (ish) videos in one! Best of 2013. Well, best pop of 2013, which is a start. Plus, there are shots of Justin Timberlake looking dapper. You're welcome. 

Happy Friday, everyone!

Underpants Intervention

So I need to thank everyone who commented, emailed, and texted me your thoughts about my underpants situation. This is perfectly normal and not at all weird to share with strangers and future in-laws.

Also, and unrelated, CB sometimes has conversations with me about boundaries and I’m like "not now, I’m busying blogging about my underpants." He’s so sensitive.

Below, a sampling of the last few days since my post:

Conversation with my dad:

Dad: “So, is all of that stuff you’ve been writing about your underpants true, or an exaggeration?”
Me: “Um, totally true. It’s one of my biggest life issues.”
Dad: “That seems….odd.”
Me: “I know! But it’s real.”
Dad: “Good luck with that.”

***

Text between my sister and me yesterday: 

***

Over the weekend, Cousin Nikki had my back as well:

(also, after the underpants intervention, perhaps I need to have a "hahahahaha" intervention as well?)

***

And last night, we went over to a friend's place for dinner and she gave me two pairs of underpants that she's never worn so she wanted me to see if they'd not fall down (they're size small). 

It's nice to be thought of. 

Happy Wednesday, everyone! 

Wait, you didn't talk about your underpants at Thanksgiving dinner?

I love Thanksgiving. It’s the one day a year where you can wear elastic pants in public and people are like “Oooh, good thinking.” It’s also the one day a year where you can continuously eat for 12-48 hours and nobody judges you while you pile carbohydrates and gelatinous berries onto a makeshift trough and eat until your elastic stretches. And then one hour later you get up and are like “I could definitely use more stuffing up in here. And just go ahead and hand me a buttered roll for good measure.”  

However, while it is normally a judgment-free holiday, I did not get so lucky this year. But I sort of brought it upon myself, which I’m guessing will shock no one? And so I will not hold it against Thanksgiving in permanence and will, instead, send apology notes via telepathy to CB that I sometimes don’t know how to act in mixed company of my soon-to-be extended family.

You see, as stated here in the past, I have issues with my underpants. And while the underpants suspenders idea is patent-pending, I need to come up with a different, more timely solution because it’s starting to interfere with my day-to-day activities. Which I think is the first sign in the 5 point steps that you have a problem?  

Anyway, a few hours before Thanksgiving dinner, while thirty-plus people milled around sipping wine and watching football, I was experiencing an undergarment emergency that I couldn’t suffer alone.

So, I grabbed Cousin Nikki and was like “I have to show you something” and walked into the dining room and over to the corner.

CN: “What’s wrong?”
Me: “I need you to feel my underpants.”
CN: “Um, what?”
Me, placing her hand on my side-thigh in a not-at-all-weird way: “Here, feel.”
CN: “What the hell is that?”
Me: “It’s my underpants!”
CN, laughing: “Why are they on your thigh?”
Me: “See??? I’m not making this up! They fall down ALL THE TIME.”

Then Cousin Dana walked over.

CD: “What are you guys doing?”
CN: “Oh my God, you have to feel this.”

And then Cousin Nikki placed Cousin Dana’s hand on my thigh, too.

CD: “What am I feeling?”
Me: “My underpants.”

CD glanced at CN.

CN: “Right? You can’t make this sh*t up.”
CD: “How on earth did that happen?”
Me: “I don’t know, but it happens almost weekly! I mean, this is extreme, but there are certain underpants I can’t wear with dresses in the summertime because of this.”
CN: “Ok, you’re wearing the wrong underwear.”
CD: “And nobody calls them underpants.”
Me: “Focus! What do I do?”
CN: “You have to take them off.”
Me: “What?? I can’t go commando at family Thanksgiving! I’m not even married yet!”

And then CN started laughing too hard to speak.

CD: “Seriously, what kind of underwear are you wearing? Do you wear granny panties or something? How does this happen?”
CN, between laughing: “Poor CB.”
Me: “NO! I swear to God I wear cute underpants!”
CN and CD in unison: “You’re going to have to show us.”

And so, because my shame left the building years ago, I looked around to make sure we didn’t have an audience and pulled the side part of my underpants up above my waistline.

Me: “See?”
CD: “Oh, those are cute.  I feel better for CB now.”
CN: “But you’re still clearly buying the wrong kind.”
CD: “Yeah, you need to invest in thongs or boy shorts.”
CN: “Get both.”
Me: “What?! I don’t think I can wear thongs.”
CN: “It’ll change your life.”
CD: “Yeah, and we won’t have to have this conversation in a month when your underpants fall down on New Year’s Eve.”
Me: “That would be nice.”
CN: “Please do it soon. And maybe go to the bathroom and pull up your underpants now before they’re around your ankles.”
Me: “Done and done. Thanks!”

And then I walked away to fix my underpants in peace while I’m guessing CD and CN immediately walked over to CB, begging him to reconsider.

While in the bathroom, I took a poll of two via text message to figure out if I was missing out on an obvious solution to this situation:

Text 1:

Me: “Happy Thanksgiving! Question: do you wear thongs?”
Friend #1: “Happy Thanksgiving! And I’d say that was a weird segue if it was coming from anyone but you. So, to answer your question, yes, sometimes. Why?”
Me: “Because I need to figure out if this is the solution to my underpants dilemma.”
F1: “Actually, it’ll probably help. Though, to be fair to you, I think you just need to get a smaller size. We’ve discussed this.”
Me: “I know! And I’ve tried. The ones I’m wearing now are a 6! I’m not a 6. But the 8’s fell down, and so did the 10’s.”
F1: “You seriously have issues like no one else in my life.”
Me: “Which is why we’re friends.”
F1: “Obviously. Anyway, go buy some thongs. Either way it’s win/win – your underpants won’t fall down and you’ll become a member of the 21^st century.”

Text 2:

Me: “Happy Thanksgiving! Question: do you wear thongs?”
F2: “You too! Yep. And that’s not a weird holiday question at all, btw.”
Me: “Hmmm….so do you think that would solve my underpants dilemma?”
F2: “To be honest, I’m not sure I want that problem solved. It makes me laugh every time we talk about it.”
Me: “But they’re around my thighs and it’s Thanksgiving!”
F2: “Please tell me you showed CB.”
Me: “No, but I did show it to a few of his cousins.”
F2: “That’s perfectly normal.”
Me: “So thumbs up or thumbs down on the thong?”
F2: “Thumbs up because I feel like that will open up a whole new box of worms that will delight me to no end.”
Me: “Deal. You’re a good friend.”
F2: “I do what I can.”

And there you have it, folks. Cyber Monday, here I come! 

Thanksgiving Eve!

I'll be back in full force (finally!) on Monday, but I just wanted to say that I'm thankful for all of you! Thankful that you stop by to read each week, thankful that you tell your friends, and thankful that you share your crazy stories with me.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family! See you Monday!

Monday Funday?

So, I let you all down on Friday by not blogging a wrapup. But I had a very good reason! I was busy doing other things and the first time I had a chance it was, like, 4pm and I was like "Nobody is reading this blog on Friday at 4." So I went home and ordered pizza and watched DVR with CB instead and you guys were like "She's a terrible blogger."

I'm sorry!

Well, I'm making it up to you now - better late than never, right? So let's get to it!

***

In a shocking move seen coming by no one, I didn't mention my birthday here on the blog at all, which was very strange and unlike me and I even surprised myself. But, lucky for me (and, let's get real, him), CB still understood that birthdays are A BIG DEAL, PEOPLE and bought everything in the pink aisle of Party City.

I'm a terrible photographer who knows nothing about lighting.
But I was so excited that there was no time to turn on lights!
There was a birthday banner! And pink flower puffs!
And pink lantern streamers! 

And then I walked into the bedroom and was like "It'll be like
sleeping on clouds!"
And CB was like "Or it'll be terrifying when we pop them in our
sleep."

Best.

Even Oliver got in on the celebration!

CB is simply the best there is. Sorry, rest of the world.

***

This week's Book of the Week is a throwback to 2010. Some of you may have read "World War Z" or seen the movie earlier this year...but in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I thought I'd throw in some zombies (obviously).

But seriously - zombies aren't really my thing and also, they're not even that scary because they're un-dead and can't move that fast! If you can't out-run a zombie, worry less about the Zombie Apocalypse and more about your overall physical fitness.

I'm just saying.

Anyway, click here to check out the short and sweet review - and take special note of the Tori Spelling reference. My family just can't help themselves.

***

So, a friend of mine is trying to spread the word about her Kickstarter campaign to fund an awesome mobile app called CurrantNOW. It is designed to help people, utility companies, and government municipalities communicate efficiently during times of disaster and crisis, like what was experienced during Super Storm Sandy.

My friend Denise is the founder of Currant Inc., a socially minded tech start-up and the goal of the campaign is to raise $15,000 in 30 days so people everywhere can document the stunning events they witness during natural disasters and other emergencies.

If you're interested in learning more or helping the campaign, please click here for more information. And thanks!

***

And now, the Video of the Week.

This song was playing as I walked through the door on Friday afternoon because, as previously mentioned, CB is the best there is. Also, you can't not start your weekend off right (or your week, for that matter!) when it is playing! So........enjoy! And Happy Monday-slash-Thanksgiving Week everyone!

Baby (doesn't got) back. So I'm becoming an entrepreneur

So, other than getting peed on by a dog while trying to avoid getting peed on by a woman on the sidewalk in New Orleans, nothing very blog-worthy happened while I was away on business.

However, yesterday CB and I were out running errands on my lunch break and I kept trying to subtly pull my underpants up while keeping my outerpants where they were. Which prompted CB to pretend like he didn’t know me and I was like “But there’s something seriously wrong with all of my underpants!”

And then he proceeded to tell me that maybe it was time to buy new ones because we have this conversation ALL OF THE TIME, but then we forgot because I got sidetracked by trying to convince him that we “really really need” glitter holiday candles from HomeGoods (apparently, as it turns out, we do not).

Anyway, a few hours later we both decided that it would be beneficial to all parties involved if I invested in underpants suspenders, which I think is a genius idea. So I googled it, and one of the first things that came up was an ebay ad for Dog Pants Suspenders.

Obviously I clicked to see more and then was both entertained and saddened that they have dog pants suspenders but no underpants suspenders for humans who lack the back to hold up their undergarments.

This seems entirely necessary. 

And so now I’m going to start a new business venture and apply for a patent because there’s nothing that could possibly go wrong with this idea.

Happy Wednesday, everyone! 

Friday Wrapup

It's Friday! Let's get to it.

***

First of all, brace yourselves: I'll be traveling tomorrow through Monday evening, so there won't be a Monday post.

I KNOW! How will you survive?

But don't fret, I'm pretty sure that spending a weekend in New Orleans working will lead to some colorful stories for next week, so stay tuned! Although, most of the color will likely come from me sitting in my hotel room after 8 hours of work, wearing a bathrobe, and watching "Catfish." But that's something, right?

***
Obviously I'm stealing this idea. Get ready, CB.

***

There's no book blog this week because we're all slackers. So, you tell me - what are you reading? Something that should make its way to the blog sometime soon? Let me know!

***

I don't know why, but I can't stop watching this and laughing.

***
So, CB's last day of work is today after some restructuring at his company and them obviously not knowing what's good for 'em. And so last night there was a great send-off in his honor, which obviously included shots in the shape of his first initial. But of course.

Spoiler Alert! His real name isn't CB.

He has worked there for 8 years and has made some lifelong friends - and even got a soon-to-be wife out of the deal! Not too shabby.

But I'd be remiss not to mention it here because this place has been such a big part of both of our lives for such a long time, and really it's the people that make it what it is. The friends and co-workers who showed up last night - plus some family! - is a testament both to the caliber of people we're lucky enough to be surrounded by, but also who CB is and how much he's loved. It was really humbling to be a part of and made me happy for our future and what is in store for his next career move!

Stay tuned because it's gonna' be a fun ride!

***

So, without further ado - and though it's been a Video of the Week before - here you go, CB. We got this!

Happy Friday! Have a great weekend, everyone!

Becoming Olivia Pope: a step-by-step guide.

Ok, so I know I didn’t post yesterday and I’m sorry about that. But I’m very busy and important, people. OR, I didn’t know what day it was because they’ve all been blurring together this week. But more likely, it’s just that I’m very busy and important.

Speaking of which, I’m pretty sure an air-tight alibi for that statement is in the following story:

So, a few weeks ago, I was dutifully watching my DVR’d “Scandal” on a Saturday morning prior to CB waking up so that I could covet Olivia Pope’s wine glasses and her cozy apartment sweaters on my own time. It’s called relaxing, people.

Anyway, there was a scene in which the first lady (on the show) had some stellar hand close-ups and I was like “Wow, even though I don’t like her, I adore her choice in nail polish.” Also, I’m not entirely sure what happened next in that scene because then I started googling “First Lady on Scandal’s nail polish.”

As people who are busy and important do.

Shockingly – and maybe kind of sadly? – there were, like, one billion options to choose from! And so, after confirming that it was, indeed, Spaghetti Strap by Essie that I had to call my own, I hopped on over to Amazon and placed my order. Then I un-paused the show so I could see if there was anything else I needed to purchase in order to get closer to maybe ever meeting Noel from “Felicity” whose name on “Scandal” I can never remember because he distracts me by taking his shirt off and doing push-ups.

Do we even need to start listing all of the
potential ways in which this is immensely cool? 

 Oh, also, if you don’t watch “Scandal,” I apologize that you read this entire post.

Happy Thursday, everyone! 

Great, now I'm stressed.

So last night I was like “I’m having anxiety about working for the next 12 days straight and so let’s not watch ‘Homeland’ and, instead, just go read and relax so I can bank some sleep/relaxing time before the next two weeks. Hurry! Let’s go relax!” And CB was like “I live with a crazy person.”

Which is fair because I do also open the windows in the winter and then turn the heat on. But that’s more just being a poor conservationist and really has nothing to do with being crazy.

Underneath this cool exterior is
just a growing anxiety that my glasses are
too big for my face.

However, when I settled in to do my reading so I could sleep for 10 hours, I started realizing that I pre-panic about events that haven’t happened yet so that my hyper-vigilance can stop any potential drowsiness or un-planned anxiety. Basically, I panic so I don’t have to panic later. Which just leads to panicking later about whatever upcoming events I’d like to pre-panic about.

And then I realized that I basically live my life in a perpetual state of low-to-mid-level anxiety about big and small things, which is oddly comforting because I’m all about consistency.  

For example, and in no particular order, I will feel anxious about any of the following things on a given day:

The bed getting made

We’ve gone over this before, you guys. If I die, I don’t want people to think I wasn’t a good housekeeper and/or was too lazy to make my own bed. So basically, we never leave the house without first making the bed because now CB just wants the bed made so that when he kills me for being crazy, people won’t judge him for also living with a slob. Obviously.

Sleeping

I sometimes (always) feel anxious about sleeping too late. Which is why my body wakes me up every day, weekend or not, at 6:50 every morning. I then lay there on said weekends and think “I’m going to be breezy and just roll over to sleep some more.” And so I roll over and immediately start thinking of all of the relaxing I could be doing on the couch, catching up on the DVR’d shows CB doesn’t like to watch, and drinking my coffee in my cozy pj’s. I basically spend ten minutes envisioning a Folgers commercial so awesome that I contemplate filming myself being so laid back and cozy.

And so then I get up and make breakfast and drink my coffee and watch half a show before I realize that I should probably just be cleaning the apartment and/or grocery shopping and/or working out so I can get it all done before noon so I can relax. Which almost never happens because, by noon, I’ve thought of 12 more things that probably should just go ahead and get done while I have all of this relaxing free time on my hands.

Not sleeping

This gets me pretty much every day, which is why I usually am in bed by 9pm every night so I can stave off the anxiety I will inevitably feel if I stay up past 10:30 and only get 8.5 hours of sleep. Because then I’ll be tired tomorrow and nobody wants to be around me when I’m tired – and not being liked causes me stress - and so I should probably just get to bed by 7:30 to be on the safe side.

Travel

I travel, on average, every other month for my job. Which would lead one to think that maybe I’d get used to it being a part of my life, but literally every single time, in anticipation of such travel, I become the Stress Police, making sure I’m as vigilant as possible about the upcoming travel – flight information, what I’ll be doing on the trip, and how much rest I will or will not be getting. And then I start projecting upon myself the potential lack of rest/normal routine approximately two weeks before the trip, which leads CB to not ever reconsider spending the rest of his life with me and also never look up the phone number to the local high-security psych ward.

Anxiety about anxiety

I definitely stress over stressing too much. I think about how I could “just relax, already” and really enjoy whatever activity I may be doing at any given time. But then if I do that, I’ll likely forget all of the other things I need to get done during this time of fun or relaxation and that will cause added anxiety in the coming days when I’m playing catch up. And so I need to keep a low-level stress machine attached to my brain at every waking moment just so I don’t cause extra stress by not stressing enough in the now.

Which obviously makes sense.

Right?

Oh great, now I’m stressed out that this is weird. Am I alone here, people?

Happy Monday! 

Friday Wrapup

It's that time, people! Let's get to it.

***

First of all, you people rock. I got a number of videos sent to me this week (some from CB and Cousin Nikki!) that absolutely had to go on here. I love it when you guys send me videos or stories to include on here, so keep 'em coming! (oh, and for those of you still having trouble viewing them on your apple devices, I'm working on it!)

Anyway, here's one that made me smile. Sometimes New Yorkers get a bad rap, but this is a great reminder that we're not all that bad. (also, when the newscaster pronounces "yarmulke" incorrectly, I laughed out loud. We've all been there, too.)

***

Now, the book of the week. The moment you've all been waiting for, people! I've reviewed Tori Spelling's new book. Oh my god, click here because you just can't take the suspense! I'll wait.

Welcome back! Anyway, feel free to peruse the rest of the site for some great book recommendations to cozy up with now that the weather is turning cold!

***

Um, if this doesn't make you smile, you have a cold, dead heart.

Deborah Cohan was heading into surgery a few days ago for a double mastectomy. Cohan, an Ob/Gyn and mom of two, held a dance party with her medical team in the operating room of Mt. Zion Hospital in San Francisco.

Dancing along to Beyonce’s hit “Get Me Bodied,” Cohan requested that friends and family make videos of themselves dancing to Beyonce, too, so that she could watch them during her recovery. Um, that would certainly help me recover, Deb - amazing!

You can check out videos of Deborah’s fans shaking their booties in solidarity on her CaringBridge page.

***

And speaking of Beyonce.....here's the awesome mash-up Video of the Week. 

Best best best. Happy Friday, everyone! Enjoy your weekend! 

And then I got judged while buying my wedding dress.

So do you guys remember when I went wedding dress shopping a few months back and had to be naked in front of a stranger? (click here to recapture those memorable moments.) Well, after that experience – and sticker shock that someone would ask me to spend more on a dress I’ll wear for 9 hours than I’d spend on a really fun vacation somewhere not in New Jersey  -    I decided that I needed to regroup.

You see, to put it mildly, I hate shopping - which is odd given my penchant for anything that sparkles. I mean, my aesthetic is somewhere between Vegas Lounge Act and a princess, but I tone it down day-to-day so people think I’m normal when I’m at work.

So you’d assume that wedding dress shopping would be right up my alley. I mean, you can go as poufy and as princess-y as you want and it’s socially acceptable even though it’s not Halloween and/or you’re not five. But there’s something about Group Shopping that has always given me flop sweat, and so after narrowing it down to the style I wanted via Kleinfeld’s - and not being put on tv, inexplicably -  I decided to start doing some reconnaissance of my own at a price I could afford-slash-wouldn’t require a second job.

So, for weeks after my first trip, people would ask how it was going and I’d sort of vaguely respond with something about white dresses and corsets and change the subject. Meanwhile, I’d slip into a boutique here or there on my lunch hour, see what I liked, and then think. I priced things out, took mental pictures of any hint of back fat, and would then mull over my options some more.

But after several weeks of this, I arrived at a moment when I decided TODAY WAS THE DAY. I was going to buy my dress. However, I didn’t mention it to anyone because (a) I didn’t want anyone to come with me and (b) there was really just the one reason.

However, when I got to the store I realized that perhaps my aversion to group shopping was about to backfire. No longer did I look like an independent bride who knew what she wanted. Instead, I looked like a lonely cat lady who didn’t have any friends or family with her for what was supposedly one of the Big Moments in wedding preparation.

But whatever -  my strong sense of self, combined with an even stronger threshold for humiliation, powered me forward. As I went through the racks to find the dresses I wanted, women were fluttering around me talking to each other about lace and taffeta and veils and high heels. They were giddy and wearing Juicy sweatpants and clutching Chanel purses and had their hair done just so. They had clearly been planning this day for months.

I, on the other hand,  hadn’t bothered to shower, or put on makeup, or, you know, bring a friend with me.

But I figured it wasn’t a big deal – it’s like buying a pair of jeans, right? You know what you want, you just want to try them on one more time to make sure you’re sure, and then you can leave.

OR, it’s a process of slow humiliation where you have to walk out in public in a wedding dress and have a stranger take your picture.

One or the other.

But let’s get real – I’ve never been one to shy away from a little slow degradation, so again, I powered forward. I picked a handful of dresses, hung them on the rack, and waited for the Wedding Dress Lady (unofficial title) to call my name and quietly lead me into the fitting room.

Which is what happened in my mind. But what happened in real life is that my name got called, I walked over to her and said “My dresses are hanging over there, should I go get them?”, she nodded, and then I realized that I couldn’t carry four giant dresses by myself because they look light and airy but are actually made out of lead.

WDL: “Candace, could you go help that lady? She doesn’t have any help.”
Me, turning red and sweating: “No, no, it’s fine, I can carry them.”
Candace: “You don’t have anyone with you?”
Me: “No, I’m here by myself.”
Candace: “All by yourself?! Girl, I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

Which I call foul on because I cannot be the first person in New York City to buy her wedding dress alone.

Can I?

Whatever. I took Candace’s judge-y help and walked into the fitting room with the WDL.

Me: “So, I’m just going to make your job really easy and tell you right now that I’m walking out of here with one of these dresses.”
WDL: “Oh yeah? You know what you want?”
Me: “I do. I’ve been shopping for weeks now. And the first time I brought my best friend and future sister in law with me, so I’m not a weirdo with no friends.”
WDL, feeling uncomfortable because of my pathetic over-share: “It’s fine, sweetie. Which one would you like to try on first?”

And so we went through two before putting on my dress. The moment it went on, I knew.

I stood there, stared, and said “Great, I’ll take it!”

WDL: “Just like that?”
Me: “Yep! This is it. Can I take a picture since I’m going to buy it?”
WDL: “Why don’t we take you out onto the pedestal where the lighting is better so the picture does the dress justice.”
Me: “No, that’s ok….”

Lady, the pedestal is where the bride’s family and friends sit to wait for you to come out so they can ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh.’ The moment I go out there they’ll be ‘oooh’ing’ and ‘ahh’ing’ and then they’ll be like “wait, where are her friends?”

But WDL insisted. And I just wanted to take the picture, be proud of myself, and get out of there. So I obliged.

I stepped out, people ooh’d, ahh’d, looked for friends and then...

“Maybe she doesn’t have any friends because she never brushes her hair?”

“Yeah, and a little under-eye makeup never killed anybody….”

(these are the mind-conversations I assumed they had. I’m pretty sure I’ve more or less nailed it.)

But because I’d come too far to turn back now, I stood on the pedestal as a stranger arranged the dress just so for the picture.

WDL: “Candace, can you come take a picture for this young lady?”

Oh good, Candace was back.

And so Candace snapped a few photos, I held my breath in anticipation of this moment being over and never having to do it again, and then got to go back into the fitting room, get measured, pay them a lot of money for a piece of clothing, and get on with my day.

However, all was not lost: I not only have the dress I’ve been dreaming about (I mean, I’m not TOTALLY un-bride-like) AND while staring at the pictures over and over, realized that I had someone rooting for me all along.

Who needs friends when you have this woman more happy
than anyone with my dress choice? See? I wasn't alone after all. 

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

Friday Wrapup!

It’s rainy and I’ve got a candy hangover. But hey, at least it’s Friday! Let’s get to it.

***

First of all, I learned a few valuable lessons last night. One, I cannot eat sugar after 6pm. I had two Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (because OBVIOUSLY) around 8 and by 11 I was WIIIIDE awake. Which means that CB was also wide awake even though he tried not to be by not responding to me when I’d talk about how fast my heart was beating and sometimes would just will me to sleep. It did not work.

The second was that if you can talk one kid into giving you candy, they’ll all start handing it to you because little kids are dumb.

JUST KIDDING. Sort of. I mean, dumb is probably a harsh word. More like inexperienced and highly susceptible to suggestion. Which makes kids awesome.

Example: our friends’ kids came over during the trick or treating extravaganza in our building, and since they didn’t want to have seventeen pounds of candy in their own home, they were pawning it off on me. Which I promptly agreed to.

Anyway, her 2.5 year old son walked into our apartment and handed me his Reese’s, and right behind him came a little Thomas the Train guy who thought that I must be the lady he was collecting all of this candy for, and so he walked right in and tried to give me his Skittles.

Man, if I was just a little bit meaner and/or hungry, I would’ve taken it. But instead, I tried to explain to him that it was his candy and he should keep it and that he was the most adorable train I’d ever seen. And then I second-guessed myself but he was already halfway back out of our apartment because his parents realized that he maybe would get kidnapped by the lady taking candy from the little kids. So I didn’t get any Skittles. Lesson learned, self. Lesson learned.

***

This week’s book review is “The Bottoms” by Joe Lansdale and was written when my dad was feeling grumpy about mysteries. Or so he described it to me the other day when talking about the review. And then he proceeded to tell me about how, after grumpily reviewing a mystery about a serial killer (my kinda story!), he read another mystery about a serial killer.

Um, dad, something we need to know?

But apparently it was coincidental and he’s not trying to turn the book blog into a Dexter-friendly haven.

So since it’s that time of year to feel spooked, I recommend you head over to the blog by clicking here and checking it out! Also, DO NOT FEAR – “Spelling it Like It Is” by Tori Spelling showed up the other day via Amazon so you won’t have to wait too much longer for that review! Silver lining to a dreary day.

***

CB and I got a new pet. His name is Howard. He’s a pigeon that has taken refuge on our balcony, and when I first discovered him yesterday I was like “There’s a bird on our balcony. I’ve never seen a bird perch there before.” And then everyone ignored me because that’s a boring conversation.

But I woke up early this morning and looked out the window to see that he was still there! And then this conversation happened while CB was trying to take advantage of the last hour of sleep before his alarm went off.

Me: “The pigeon is still there.”
CB: “Ok.”

Silence.

Me: “I think I’m going to name him.”
CB: “Oh God.”

Silence.

Me: “I’m going to name him ‘Howard.’”
CB: “Howard? Like Howard the Duck?”
Me: “No, like Howard Hughes. Because he seems like sort of a reclusive pigeon, and Howard Hughes was a recluse.”

Silence.

An hour and a half later we were getting ready for work.

Me: “So I fed Howard.”
CB: “What?! No! Don’t feed a pigeon! Do you know how much disease they carry?”
Me: “That is not true, I Googled it. Their poop carries disease, not the actual bird.”
CB: “And what do you think the bird is going to do all over our balcony if you keep feeding it?”
Me: “We’ll be fine. He’s sweet. And it’s raining! Poor Howard.”
CB: “Oh boy….”

Then I took a picture so you guys could meet the newest member of our brood.

Howard is shy. 

***

And now, the Video of the Week. As most of you probably heard, Lou Reed passed away this week at the age of 71. Now, I must admit that I was never deep into Velvet Underground or any of Lou Reed's stuff, but I respect what he brought to the music world and know there are a lot of people feeling that void this week. 

Note: Some of you have written to tell me that you can't view the videos on your phone or iPads. This is something that I think might be an Apple issue, but I've contacted Blogger to see if I can help remedy it. Stay tuned!

Have a great weekend, everyone! 

Halloween Candy Do's and Don'ts.

Let's get real. I pretty
much nailed it early on.

I think I’ve just about aged out of the period in my life where I’m deciding what I have to be for Halloween and, instead, am deciding how close to Halloween it’s appropriate to start buying candy in bulk “for the kids who might come to our door to trick or treat.”  

Also, the other day some co-workers started laying down bets that I won’t be able to “say no to free food and/or candy” three months or less prior to my wedding, as I said I would.

At first I was offended and then I was quietly proud that I’m known for something so unanimously among my peers.

Anyway, as it’s the Eve of Halloween, and since I’m your candy connoisseur extraordinaire, I will proceed to list the five best and worst Halloween candies to give out tomorrow. Please take careful note and pay no attention to the five foot nine woman-child who may show up at your door dressed as Miley Cyrus’ foam finger tomorrow.

Let’s proceed:

Best:

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. This is a given and people with peanut allergies really miss out. Also, nobody had a peanut allergy when I was a kid and so I call foul on this one. Just eat it. It’s soooo good. Plus, if it’s the last thing you eat before you die, win/win?

Gummy Bears*. These are delicious. Even after my vegetarian/vegan friends remind me that gelatin is the work of the devil, I am impervious to a moral high-ground when gummy sweetness is presented before me. The little bags are a tease as well, but I’d rather have five happy bears staring back at me than none at all. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, people. (*can be replaced and/or complemented by: Gummy Worms, Swedish Fish, or Sour Gummy Bears – though that last one is risky for the more sensitive mouths out there.)

Candy Corn. This is a very controversial statement, I realize, and I’m pretty sure that there isn’t another candy around that elicits such a visceral response. “Oooh, candy corn!” or “Ew, candy corn!” Also, the other day I brought in Halloween cupcakes for my coworkers to enjoy and fashioned them with a side container of candy corn in case they wanted to decorate said cupcake with additional refined sugar.

Then a colleague told me that if you light a piece of candy corn on fire it’ll burn like a candle. And then I contemplated lighting a fire in my workplace before he told me he was just kidding and also questioned my ability to live on my own without professional supervision.

Anyway, candy corn is the best.

M&M’s. Plain, peanut, peanut butter – you cannot go wrong. The plain M&M’s are familiar, safe, and delicious. The peanut and peanut butter ones add a twist to your bag, though, as above, may risk killing a few randoms. It’s a risk I’d be willing to take.

Full Sized Candy Bars of Any Kind. When I was growing up we would always try to go to the “rich subdivisions” where they gave out full sized candy bars. Because honestly, a “fun size” Snickers is really just the opposite. It’s a tease. It’s not fun at all to bite into a candy bar twice and have it be gone, having to savor the nougat and contemplate what nougat is.  

I mean, don’t get me wrong - better a fun size than no size – and I won’t even tell you what kind of candy bars to buy (though Snickers and Three Musketeers are a safe, traditional bet of champions). No child (or adult) in their right mind will scoff at full sized. It’s ambitious, it’s unexpected, and it guarantees respect from 9 year olds dressed as a Promiscuous Princess.

Worst:

Good n’ Plenty’s. Please don’t give these out because it’s the candy that gets left at the bottom of the bag, not even taken by the parents who are “checking your candy for razors” (remember the 80s?), and then gets eaten sometime in April when you’re frantically searching for anything to snack on at 11pm at night. And when you find it in your pantry you’re like ‘ew I don’t like these,’ but then your need for any candy substance wins over and you grudgingly eat it in the dark. Or something.

Pennies. I realize this isn’t candy, but please don’t give out pennies. I remember as a kid there would always be some nice, older lady throwing pennies into my bag and then I was left to wonder if maybe they were penny chocolates. They were not.

Apples. We’ve discussed this several times here on the blog about how fruit is not dessert. Which would immediately disqualify it from being included in a Halloween bag as a treat. I mean, I realize that the childhood obesity rate is skyrocketing – as is the adulthood obesity rate – but this just makes kids think you’re a downer who hates fun. And no matter how cool your decorations are, nobody wants to go to the apple house. It’s just not done.

Raisins. Also not candy. See above.

This candy.  This is the candy that you find at the bottom of your purse that now tastes like keys and you’re like “no seriously, WHERE does one buy this candy?” And then you put it back into your purse for safe-keeping.

What do you think? Have I missed something here? What are YOU giving out this year?