Conversations from Cohabitation

Me: "God I love the morning."
CB: "Yes you do."
Me: "But I wish I could stay up later since you're such a night owl."
CB: "It's alright. It's weird that I could be tired all day, but the moment the sun starts to go down I'm wide awake."
Me: "I know, and when the sun starts to go down, I immediately get sleepy no matter how alert I've been all day."
CB: "You're like that book."
Me, looking confused: "What book?"
CB: "'Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Becky.'"

***

So, for more than a year, CB and I have had a shared Google Calendar where I put all of our plans. And, for more than a year, CB has not looked at it once. To be fair, it won't show up on his phone and neither we, nor any of our friends, can figure out why that's happening because all of his settings have it so that he should be able to see it, but Apple hates us, and so that's that. However, it does show up correctly on every other living computer, but somehow, he still hasn't had a chance to take a look.

This is clearly not something that ever comes up or gets discussed by me when I'm frustrated.

So you can imagine my surprise and excitement when I got an alert last week via email that he had cancelled something that was on our calendar (because the plans got postponed). I was so impressed that not only was he looking at our calendar, but updating it, that I responded to the email. I told him all about what I thought we could have for dinner now that our original dinner plans got cancelled and asked if he could pick up some of the ingredients, etc. I also referred to myself as his "pre-wife" and wished him a happy one week work anniversary.

And then I got this response.

Is that a penis?? I was appalled and embarrassed and a little ashamed of him on behalf of his parents who would not approve of his creative use of keys on the keyboard, I'm sure. But I bet he was just jealous that he wasn't having delicious fajitas for dinner that night. And that I wasn't his pre-wife.

Also, perhaps I should've noticed that the person in the picture isn't the man I've lived with for a year? Details.

Happy Monday!

Friday Wrapup

Oh my God there's so much to get to we must immediately get to it!

***

First, I had this text conversation just now with Court and then Jason. I'm not a good friend.

Happy almost birthday, my favorite Godson! I love you more than your Godfather does!

***

This week's book is "The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry" and seems to be one of three I may be bringing with me on my honeymoon. Because that's what people do when they're planning their honeymoon, right? They make a book list? We're such a good time. 

But click here to check out the great review and peruse around for other reading inspiration! There is a TON of stuff to choose from. Thanks, family!

***

Dear CB,

I'm not snorkeling with you on our honeymoon. You can thank my father. 

Love, 

Becky

Um, so last night I was telling my dad how I'm overcoming my fear of the water and going snorkeling with CB on our honeymoon, and he was all like "Oh that'll be great! Just watch out for the venomous sea snakes." 

And then I handed the phone to CB and was like "I'm out."

AND THEN I GOOGLED IT. 

Oh good. Right where we'll be. I can't wait to be paralyzed with their venom that will only be
rivaled by the paralysis I will be feeling from my own fear. 

***

An open letter to anyone marrying me sometime this summer: 

***

And now, our Video of the Week. Simply (pun intended?), I love it. 

Happy Friday, everyone! 

Captain Oblivious Strikes Again

Yesterday morning I walked into work and my boss said “Wow, can you believe what’s happening outside?” and I was like “You mean how humid it is? I know. Look at what it’s doing to my hair!” and she was like “Um, no, the big crane and giant mass of sand that’s outside of our lobby.”

Me: “Wait, really?”
Boss: “Yes….oh, did you come in the other way?”
Me: “Oh yeah, I must’ve, I came in on that side.” (pointing to the side where the giant crane is)
Boss, looking perplexed: “Yeah…that’s where it is. It’s really big, I don’t think you could miss it.”

So I walked over to the window and, lo and behold, there’s a giant a$$ crane right outside the window. That I literally walked next to and under. And I legit didn’t see it, you guys.

Easy to miss. 

To be fair, my nickname of life has been Captain Oblivious and I don’t want to embarrass my friends and family by proving them wrong all the time, and so I just roll with it. But also, I worry for my safety? Because it’s not just like I saw the crane, didn’t think it was a big deal, and kept on walking. I honestly walked for BLOCKS on the street that had the crane and didn’t ever see it in the distance...or 5 feet from my face.  And I have Superman vision, as we all know.

Which made me wonder what else I'm missing as I walk obliviously through life, but then I just pep talked with myself and realized that it’s because I’m too busy paying attention to minutia. Yeah, that's it.

Like when CB leaves his giant man shoes in the middle of the living room and is telling me a story about his great day at work and all I can do is fixate on why his shoes aren’t in the closet. Or when there’s a tiny piece of dried egg from his morning egg sandwich left on the stove and I literally can’t sit down to dinner until I scrub the entire thing. Or when I see that a picture frame is a little off-kilter in someone’s home and actually can’t listen to any fun conversation that’s being had because I HAVE TO FIX THE IMPERFECTION.

And then I wonder if there’s medication for this? Also, I'm a joy to be around.

But basically, the pep talk reassured me that I’m a detail gal and leave the big picture stuff to the rest of the world. And also maybe I should seriously consider CB's repeated, strongly worded suggestions that I start wearing protective head and/or body gear while walking through my day. Just in case.

Happy Wednesday, everyone! (look up!)  

And then I became Miss America and Wore an Adult Onesie

So basically this weekend was the best because: 1, I got to wear a sash the whole time, 2, people essentially followed me around pouring wine and champagne and shoving chocolate covered strawberries upon me, and 3, my friends are the best and I got to hang out with them. While wearing the aforementioned sash.

But when I started thinking about how on earth I was going to write about all of the craziness and bliss, I got intense writers block and was like "Someone bring me strawberries and champagne immediately so I can think properly!" And then my empty apartment didn't answer back and I realized that being spoiled for two days makes you kind of a monster.

So in no particular order, I'm laying it out for you.

We had a driver. 

First of all, his name was Juan, he wore a bowtie, and I actually just got stomach pains with the realization that we never got his picture! That was a bachelorette fail. However, Juan was pretty much the best and took us from winery to winery so we could appreciate all the magic that Connecticut had to offer us while keeping to a well-designed schedule. Well done, Juan.

Juan doubled as staff photographer and basically nailed it. 

I compared wine to hot sauce and didn't get kicked out of Connecticut. 

So it's possible that even though I was wearing a sash, my lack of sophistication wasn't completely hidden to the naked eye. 

Erica, the sommelier: "blah blah blah this wine is a one ounce pour."
Me to Beth and NK: "What's a one ounce pour?"
Beth: "Um....it's one ounce?"
NK: "Oh good, I didn't know how to answer that because I thought it was obvious."
Me: "I know that it's one ounce. I meant...well, is there another kind of pour?"

And then it was explained to me that there is a little pourer thingy (official wine term) that they use to make sure it's an even one ounce pour so that some drunken sommelier doesn't give you, like, the whole bottle. Which would be both tremendous and awful business all at the same time. 

Me: "Oh, so it's like hot sauce!"

And then Erica and the rest of the table just sort of sat there quietly hoping that I hadn't just compared wine to hot sauce and that maybe I'd just stop saying words. 

Get in line.  

I was mistaken for Miss America.

Obviously. And I really think it had very little to do with the sash I was wearing. 

Drunk woman at winery: "Excuse me, are you Miss America?"
Me, immediately : "Yes!" 

And then I stepped back so she could see my sash and also ask me for an autograph. But I think she became too shy to ask for my autograph and also probably respected that I was just trying to blend in and really can't be "on" all the time. I just want my privacy, America! 

NK: "Oh no, I have to text CB right now to let him know that he's so screwed."
Me: "I'm about to become unbearable."

I didn't get arrested but we tried really hard.

So, my future sister-in-law is basically the best around and makes me feel bad for everyone else who doesn't have her as a sister-in-law. However, she upped the ante for every bachelorette party for the future of marriage when she unveiled everyone's weekend survival kit filled with tums, Advil, mouthwash, mini bottles of champagne, treats, and other goodies that you may or may not need when you get back from a night out with Miss America. 

And she made us all do before and after mugshots with the tops of our boxes. Obviously. 

I have chosen to keep the after photograph
to myself because even I have boundaries.

(stay tuned below for more information on how to stay on the right side of the law.)

I wore an adult onesie.

So there's this thing called a romper, which essentially is a onesie for adult women. Or a fancier version of those old timey men's bathing suits, except mine wasn't water-proof (sadly). 

Anyway, they're adorable. And I decided that maybe the only opportunity in my life to get away with wearing a ruffle onesie was my bachelorette party, so I threw on a sash, zipped up my romper, and headed out the door. And THEN I got super excited when we got to the first club and there was a girl in the EXACT SAME ROMPER on the dance floor, so I obviously gravitated right on over to her. 

However, she was slightly less excited that we were both wearing adult-sized baby outfits and kind of wanted me to stop pointing at our clothing choice. 

NK: "I thought maybe you knew her or she was also a bachelorette or something and you just so happened to be wearing the same thing."
Me: "Yeah, she didn't seem as excited as I was about it."
NK: "She really didn't. She seemed like maybe she just wanted you to stop talking to her."
Me: "That's a pretty astute observation. That's exactly what she wanted me to do." 

But man, I really wish I would've run back into her about 4 hours later when I'd had to go to the bathroom twice and literally stood in the women's room stall of a casino with my romper around my ankles. Maybe she would've had some removal tips to speed up the process. 

Beth: "Why is it taking you so long to go to the bathroom?"
Me: "Because I have to take my entire outfit off! I'm zipped in!"
Tami: "Oh my God, that never occurred to me that you have to zip yourself out of it!"
Me: "Seriously. It needs, like, a zipper for the easy bathroom access. I think I should design one."
Future SIL: "It does not need that, oh my God. Then it really would be a onesie."

The police tried to bring us pizza.

I mean, if the police don't make a surprise appearance at your bachelorette party at some point in the weekend, I feel like maybe it's considered a failure and the state doesn't have to legally marry you until you right that wrong. 

So, we made sure that it'd be smooth sailing from here on out and got back to the room at what I think maybe was the middle of the night? And then decided that we should immediately consume pizza.

So one of the girls called, placed the order, and then we patiently waited and ate cupcakes in bed until we finally heard a knock at the door. 

Friend, opening the door: "Yes?"
The police: "Someone called 9-1-1."
Friend: "What?"
The Police: "Someone called 9-1-1. Are you ladies alright?"

And then our friend went into fix-it mode and explained that someone pushed the 9-1-1 button on the hotel phone by accident and we really just wanted some pizza. The police totally took it well and didn't arrest us but did give us a stern talking to and left. Which seemed pretty rehearsed, so I'm sure this wasn't their first time at the rodeo.

Future sister-in-law: "Wait, we called the police to order a pizza?"
Me: "I think it was an accident."
Future sister-in-law: "Ok...but then did we not order the pizza?"
Me: "I honestly have no idea. But the police were really mad!"
Future sister-in-law: "Oh they're fine. So really, though, I could use some pizza. I hope we called someone other than the police."
Me: "Uh, so do they."

(and yes, the pizza eventually arrived. And we didn't get arrested over it. Weekend Complete.)

***

There was a lot more that I couldn't properly explain - both because I have respect for myself and mainly because I'm still sleepy. But what I know for sure is this: I'll never be a good enough writer to properly express the level of extreme happiness and bliss I felt throughout the entire weekend. The planning, execution, thoughtfulness, and good company was more than any one person deserves or could ever expect, and so I basically hit the jackpot (even though I refused to gamble at the casino because that's just too much risk for too little a reward. I may wear a onesie, but I know my limits.) And for those who couldn't be there in person but sent bottles of champagne and chocolate covered strawberries and their love from miles away - it didn't go unnoticed. I'm a lucky girl.

Happy Monday everyone! 

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!

***

First, I want to thank you guys for sticking it out with me these last few weeks when I've been a lazy blogger. Things at work - and in life - have been a bit crazy lately and my blogging abilities are not what they should be. BUT, I'm working on a few (hopefully good?) posts for next week, so stay tuned for that - PLUS, this weekend is my bachelorette party, so...........I'm guessing there might be one or two stories? So check back on Monday!

***

This week's book is called "The Goldfinch" by Donna Tartt. Basically, I'm the only person in my family who's yet to read it and so I'm posting this as a way to shame myself into getting my act together and reading a bunch of books on my list!

So, check out the post here and maybe we can read it together? Virtual Book Club!

***

This is more or less what I do basically when I'm getting ready in the morning. Reciting Beyonce lyrics is a known past-time in my home, and while I feel like I sing it exactly like her, sometimes I just talk-sing because it's easier not to be ashamed by my lack of talent that way.

So, obviously I'm posting this.

***

This is appropriate as we celebrate the first day of summer tomorrow. Also, in this video you can replace guinea pigs with me and you've basically got what it's like to sit next to me at a summer picnic. Or the dinner table.

I just keep watching this on repeat because I'm either incredibly tired or really hungry. OR I LOVE ADORABLE THINGS AND THE WORLD NEEDS MORE BEAUTY LIKE THIS. One of those things. Watermelon is delicious, guinea pigs, you are correct.

***

And now, the Video of the Week. As I mentioned, this weekend is my bachelorette party and I'm kind of INCREDIBLY excited. Also, I feel like I've grown as a person during the planning process of the party because I've been surprisingly calm and non-anxious over not knowing at all what we're doing (which I think is sometimes referred to as a "surprise.") But I fully trust my girlfriends and soon-to-be family members to not make me wear penis tiara's (unless you give me tequila first) and do make me have fun. Those are two pretty simple requirements, I believe.

And so, this is a fitting tribute to what I imagine is going to be a tamer version of CB's bachelor party last weekend (which he literally just fully recovered from on Wednesday.) Happy Friday, everyone! See you Monday!

Throwback! My cat diary.

So we're coming up on the anniversary of The Merge. Which sounds much more daunting than "CB and I moved in together," which is why I said it. Likely because of my "flare for the dramatic" as my mother likes to say.

Throwing back to a year ago almost to the day. And cat diary's. You're welcome.

***

After weeks of slowly going from room to room and throwing things away, giving things away, and packing things away, I think I’m done packing my apartment. And if I’m not, it’s just staying there. Good luck, next tenants.

However, one of the wonderfully surprising side-effects of packing up 12 years of my life into about 15 boxes was that I came across pictures and letters and cards and memories that I’d either forgotten about accidentally or on purpose. There is a lot of life packed into that 500 sq foot, lopsided Brownstone, and yesterday I spent a great deal of time reminiscing.

And then I was stopped dead in my tracks when I happened upon my diary from 1990, when I was 12 years old. Shockingly to no one, it had a picture of a cat on the cover, and so I had this exchange with CB.

Anyway, as I opened up the thick binding and saw pages and pages of pre-teen emotions spelled out in bubble letters, I couldn’t help but laugh. So, I took a few snapshots to share with you. Please note that I have not, apparently, changed since I was 12, which is both comforting and completely terrifying. 

Enjoy.

First of all, did I think I was European? Why is the date backwards?
Secondly, I'm pretty sure I didn't have to beg people in pink pen not to read my cat diary.
They could likely tell just by looking at it that there was nothing there to see. 

I love that I added artwork via the "You're Special" sticker.
Also, I'm glad I included the cats in there so their feelings wouldn't be hurt. 

My love for Whitney Houston has been there for more than 20 years.
Also, I think it's important that I made note of my love for Leonardo DiCaprio and crossed OUT those
who I no longer loved. Helped me keep track better. 

*I have some crazy deadlines at work this week, so please forgive me if these are shorter posts than normal. 

In which I talk about a "hotbox" and private parts within the first paragraph.

*Editor’s Note: This post contains the word “hotbox” twice, “vulva” a bunch of times, and discusses the love lives of the Kardashians. Now you’ve been warned.

Ok seriously, you guys, what are earth are you looking for on Google? Because I was looking at the stats for this blog yesterday, and while I’m flattered that I came up when you searched for “mommy sexy hotbox,” I’m quite sure that the FOUR PEOPLE who searched that and came to this site were sorely disappointed. However, I would like to thank said four individuals for naming my future mommy blog. Something to check off of my to-do list.

Anyway, in the midst of judging other people who come to this blog looking for my hotbox, I realized that maybe I should put the gavel down and immediately delete my browser history.

It was a busy weekend. 

To be fair, CB was out of town and I got bored. Also, vulva lightening IS a thing and my mind was blown.  Which is why I sent Beth a text about it:

Me: “…something called ‘vulva lightening’ where – and I quote – ‘bleach is applied to the opening of the vagina.’ So, my vagina just closed up.”
Beth: “Pop culture? Guy married to Kourtney Kardashian is ‘going through something really big?’”
Me: “Well, Kourtney filed for divorce from Lamar Odom because he’s a drug addict.”
Beth: “Oh no the douchey guy that married the other sister…”
Me: “Oh wait, yeah, Kourtney is with douchey guy and Khloe was married to Lamar. Hmm, I know that Kourtney just announced she’s pregnant again.”

Me, googling.

Me: “Scott Disick? Jesus I should use my brain for good.”
Beth: “Can’t use brain…I’m actually watching the show.”
Me: “Oh man.”

Also, can we all take a step back to notice that she never commented on the vulva lightening? This is why our friendship has lasted 20 years.

Happy Monday, everyone! Clear your browser history! 

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!

***
My sister has a new shop on Etsy, you guys! And she's all kinds of talented and is doing a bunch of stuff for us for our wedding because she's the best. And also because she was like 'Please don't make me do things like throw you a bridal shower. But I'll totally make you fan programs!'

Done and done.

Click here to check out her shop - it just went up a few days ago so it's a work in progress, but keep an eye out and spread the word! (thank you!)

***

Something called the Honey Moon is happening tonight? Click here if you also didn't know what that was.

Oh, and would anyone like to place bets on whether I'll be awake to see it? Anyone? Anyone?

BONUS QUESTION: Would you like to place bets on whether CB and his drunken bachelor party mates will see it?

TRICK QUESTION: yes, they will be awake to see it. No, they will not be outdoors unless Jameson flows from the Honey Moon.

***

It's Father's Day on Sunday! 

***

This week's book is in honor of two friends of ours who got married last weekend and had a reading by Calvin Trillin during the ceremony. Which was quite appropriately for them, incredibly cool. 

Plus, this is one of my favorite reads because you really can't help but laugh out loud. I'll sometimes pick it up and read a short story just to smile before diving into, like, "Guns, Germs, and Steel" or something. 

This is the perfect beach read, lazy read, or plain old read-read. Click here for the review and peruse the site for more inspiration! 

***
And now, the Video of the Week.

So one of my loyal blog readers, Jaime, emailed me on Sunday and said:

Hi Becky,
Thanks for writing such an awesome and always entertaining blog!  My sister's friend made this and I thought you'd really enjoy it for the video of the wk :-) 

I took a look and responded that I'd most certainly make it the Video of the Week and thanked her for sending it. I love getting feedback and suggestions from you guys and encourage you all to keep sending things my way!

BUT, you guys, I was totally trumped by "Good Morning America" yesterday and was like "But I was going to make that the video of the week and now everyone will have already seen it!"

However, once I stopped yelling at the TV, I realized that perhaps that's a stretch. SO, staying true to my word (thanks again, Jaime!).....the Video of the Week. Happy Friday, everyone!

A Throwback Parenting Post

Work is trying to kill me, you guys. So...here's a throwback! Enjoy.

***

So, CB and I spent the weekend on a lake in the middle of New York state with some friends and their kids. And every time we are around parents and their children for longer than about an hour, we are struck by two competing emotions. The first is OH MY GOD THESE KIDS ARE SO CUTE AND THEY LOVE US SO MUCH WE’RE GOING TO KILL IT AS PARENTS. And the second is OH MY GOD HOW WILL WE EVER BE PARENTS.

And I gotta tell you, the second one yells really loud!

Don’t get me wrong, you guys, I love some kids and like a few more. But the overall kid population at best, entertains me until I want some quiet time, and at worst, terrifies me to my very core.

A clear role model.

First of all, every time we spend a significant amount of time around kids, we come back to our apartment, look at each other, and start tired-laughing about how quiet it is and how exhausted we are. Also, it should be noted that we are never in charge of anything like changing diapers, food patrol, or any sort of actual parenting. We are basically in charge of running the kids ragged so they’ll sleep on the car ride home and giving the parents a few hours of uninterrupted conversation with other people their height.

However, while CB is a natural and children gravitate towards him as a playmate and someone to literally and figuratively look up to, they tend to gravitate towards me as a peer. Which, to be fair to them, makes a lot of sense since I do possess the same sparkle shoes and find yelling randomly and pretending to be scared of monsters a legit pastime. 

Also, my default when around kids isn’t necessarily to parent them – hopefully because they’re not mine and so I don’t struggle with whether to abduct my friend’s kids and raise them as my own. That’d likely be worse than just sort of letting kids talk with their mouths full when their moms aren’t looking and sometimes letting them put their elbows on the table. But I’m not a parent, so maybe I’m wrong.

I mean, I’m sure if CB and I are lucky enough to be parents to kids that are actually from our gene pool someday, things like looking out for their safety, making sure they’re fed, and knowing when to lay down a strongly worded monologue about not hitting your brother will start to just come naturally.

Plus, I think we’re both driven by a strong urge to not raise adults who are giant a-holes. And if we’re being honest, there are worse motivating factors, right?

Nonetheless, there are a few things about parenting that I’ve picked up on over the years that really stick out. Which include, but in no way are limited to, the following:

Repeating yourself is completely exhausting. Correct me if I’m wrong, parents, but half the battle – at least from ages 0-18? – is repeating yourself ad nauseam about what you just told that damn kid three minutes ago. “Don’t hit,” “Get your elbows off the table,” “No jumping on the bed,” “Don’t run with scissors” and other very obvious things that kids would know better if they were just paying attention the first million times you said it.

However, something impressive about parenting is that you just keep doing it. Like, if CB told me not to run with scissors, and then I ran with scissors and he told me not to again, yet this time, he explained why it’s logical not to run with scissors? I’d totally catch on.

But you know what a kid would do? Run with scissors five minutes later, fall, trip, and potentially stab a part of their body. Then, they’d come crying to the person who JUST WARNED THEM NOT TO DO THAT so that you can fix it and make it all better. I mean, it’s like kids are mini psychopaths just waiting to see how much you can take.

Wait, not something a person wanting to be a parent should say? Moving on.

You can never finish a sentence. Ok, so apparently this only happens between the ages of 0-8? 9? I’m not sure. But I do know that at some point your kids stop wanting to be anywhere near you, and it’s kind of amazing because then you can finish having that conversation about “The Mindy Project” you started seven years ago. But while they’re still growing and learning and depending on you for life in all ways, you definitely can’t ever finish a sentence.

Or you can, but it’s in the form of yelling at the other person you’re talking to so that you’re talking over the child who’s asking you a question you answered for them eleven seconds ago (see #1 above). And then it just makes the person you’re talking to feel bad and be like “Please don’t yell-talk at me and just let him know why he has to finish his sandwich before eating the chocolate bar. I’ll wait.”

Kids don’t listen EXCEPT FOR WHEN THEY DO. Guess what? You tell a kid not to play with scissors and he’ll be running with said scissors and a 10-inch blade in the other hand before the hour is up. But you accidentally say the f-word or call something or someone stupid under your breath while driving, and the kid will pick it up with his/her supersonic hearing before it’s even crossed the sound barrier.

You’re not allowed to laugh. Oh my God, this one is for sure the hardest. Because those mini psychopaths are FUNNY, you guys, especially when they’re doing something they’re not supposed to do. Which I’m pretty sure is why we have so many unhinged reality tv stars today - they were simply raised by parents who not only didn’t tell them not to run with scissors, but laughed and encouraged them while they did it.

Which is totally my fear! Because I find most things in life at least slightly amusing. And when those things are coming out of a three year old's mouth, it’s downright Second City-worthy. However, when you’re a parent, from what I can tell, you have to not only train yourself not to laugh at or with them when they’re being naughty, but you have to remind your friends not to totally blow your cover, too! It’s a lot of stress as a parent.

So there you have it. An incomplete list of why parenting is hard and makes me sleepy to watch. Do you agree? What have I missed? I told you it was an incomplete list and it’s because I’m extra tired from two days of kid-play!

Conversations from Cohabitation

So unfortunately for all society, CB happened to be in the room while I watched the cringe-worthy finale of the “True Tori” show the other night.

Me: “Nooooo no no no. Is he going to publicly sing? You know I won’t be able to watch it if he publicly sings.”
CB: “As if this show could get any worse.”
Me: “You know my weirdness around public singing, especially if he’s not good!”
CB: “You know you can turn it off, right?”
Me: “But I kind of have to stick it out until the end.”
CB: “You do not.”

Silence.

Five minutes later.

Me: “Oh God, he’s going to sing! Look!”
CB: “This is going to be terrible.”
Me: “Wait, do they have a guy playing the guitar while he sings about his affair at her? This can’t be happening.”

Singing begins. It is awful.

Me: “No no no no no. I have to turn it off.” (turning off the tv)
CB: “That was truly awful.”
Me: “Even I couldn’t make it through. That’s really bad.”

Silence.

Me: “Please promise me that you’ll never publicly – or privately – sing to me.”
CB: “Becky, I can promise you that the only person more uncomfortable with me singing publicly to you then you, would be me.”
Me: “This is why we work.”

***

Over the weekend, we spent some time on our balcony, which overlooks some other backyards, rooftops, etc. While out there, I noticed two young ladies sunbathing in bikinis on the roof literally right below our balcony.

Me: “Wow, that’s sort of genius. How did they get up there?”
CB: “I think they climbed through the window.”
Me: “Huh. I’ve never seen them before.”
CB: “Yeah, the only other time I saw them was last summer, the day we moved in.”
Me: “Really?”
CB: “Yeah, but I couldn’t tell if they were teenagers or not and then I just felt kind of dirty and old.”
Me: “Oh, they’re definitely teenagers. But they could be 18 or 19.”
CB: “Yeah well....”

Silence.

CB: “Oh God now they’re putting oil on each other!”
Me: “I’m actually witnessing your pain right now. This has to be rough.”
CB: “I mean, how much oil do they need?”
Me: “It’ll be alright.”

Cut to: yesterday afternoon. CB comes out of the bedroom dressed to go to the gym.

Me: “Have fun!”
CB: “Thanks. Also, our neighbors are back.”
Me: “The teenagers?”
CB: “Yep. And one of them appears to be sunbathing topless today.”
Me: “Oh man, I’m sorry. Now they’re just f’ing with you.”

Silence.

Me: “But I do think that they’re probably 18 or 19, so you don’t have to feel too badly.”
CB: “Well, that’s something I guess.”
Me: “Of course, if they’re 18 or 19 that would mean that when they were born, you were going into your freshman year of college.”
CB: “Seriously? Not helpful.”
Me: “I know, but if there are beautiful Latin women sunbathing topless on the roof next door, I have to have some fun, too!”
CB: “Well I’m going to go run 8 miles as fast as I possibly can.”
Me: “Best work-out of your life.”

Happy Monday, everyone! 

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!

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First, the book of the week. Even though the review says it's not a beach read, I think nothing screams "relaxing" like historical fiction! Click here to read the review for "The Daughters Of Mars" by Thomas Keneally, described as "suspenseful, emotional and utterly inspiring." (and suspense goes with our theme as of late - perfect!)

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This kid makes us all look bad.

***

And this is what guys who gave up the recorder in third grade but are still inspired by music and innovation do with their free time.

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Um, these kittens will make your summer. Their names are Tulip and Daisy and they're foster kittens. WE NEED THESE KITTENS IN OUR HOME TO BE OUR BACKUP DANCERS, CB.

***

And now, the Video of the Week.

Ok, so my dad is absolutely not going to like this video, but it's the winner for three reasons: (1) every time I hear this song and I'm on the treadmill, I start running faster because of course you would. You can't not start bopping your head - I dare you to try. (2) Every time I've seen this video I start to laugh because it HAS to be a parody of all rap videos....right? It can't be serious. (3) CB got a job this week and he's the BEST. WIN.

Happy Friday, everyone! See you Monday!

Part II of when I stood naked in front of a stranger.

So as promised in yesterday’s post, I’m here to tell you the tale of how weddings are basically secret inventions by retail companies/people who want to see how many times they can get you to stand naked and let people get weirdly close to you and talk about your body and demand you put it into corsets.

Also, the seamstress altering my wedding gown is basically the reason all life was invented.

You see, last night I had my first dress fitting. Well, sort of. I went one time before and she was like “Your dress is too big for you but you also didn’t make an appointment and so can you come back when you make an appointment?” And because she’s commanding (and Russian), I started flop-sweating, grabbed my dress, and yell-made my next appointment as I ran out of the room.

Fast-forward to last night when I had an actual appointment and she was ready to do her thing. Which she did. But first, she needed to feel me up a little bit because apparently it’s a benefit of her job OR the worst part of her day.

Seamstress: “You are going to be gorgeous. Take off your clothes.”

Sidebar: that’s how CB proposed to me.

So obviously I started awkwardly undressing and then she said “Wait, stand up. How big are your breasts?” and before I could start to stutter something about my cup size, she reached over and started feeling-slash-jiggling them? It was like a weird, on-top-of-the-shirt breast exam or first base moment in 9^th grade. But unlike an awkward pubescent boy, she looked me square in the eye and said “You have big breasts. We must lift them up so you have cleavage!”

And so then immediately I started to sweat as she searched for a corset while also thinking “Wow, CB’s going to be so excited!”

Me: “That sounds great. But I don’t want to look weirdly busty on my wedding day.”
Seamstress: “You will look beautiful. Look at you! You have these breasts, we lift them up and your husband say ‘I love you more!’”

Obviously she’s met CB before.

So I get into the corset (“Look at you! Look at you! Look how beautiful the breasts!”) and I slid the dress on and was like “Is there any chance we can stop talking about my breasts now?”

Seamstress: “You see? No slutty, just beautiful and shows your gorgeous body but you shy and modest and it’s ok because it’s perfect. Not too much. Not too much.”

And she was right. I didn’t look like Jessica Rabbit (sorry, CB) but I looked like a bride, you guys! And not half-bad! Basically, I looked way better than the other night when I danced around the bedroom in my wedding dress, holding it up because it kept falling down, and being like “I’m a bride! I’m a bride!”

Also, during all of this there was a television show on in the background that caught my attention because there was an attractive woman on stage singing a song in Russian with some men and women who appeared to be judges looking on.

Me: “Is this some sort of talent competition?”
Seamstress: “No, this marriage show. She sings her song and three men come in and pick her to be his wife. Very beautiful. Lots of people get married this way.”
Me: “Wait, she sings a song and then a man chooses her and they get married? Do they get married on tv?”
Seamstress: “Yes, it all happens this hour. Turn ‘round. Look at breasts. You’re beautiful!”

And they lived happily ever after.

Happy Thursday, everyone! 

I'm about to stand naked in front of a stranger again....

.....and I'll tell you all about it tomorrow after I'd sufficiently made the seamstress uncomfortable by simply being myself.

But in the meantime, let's revisit how this all began...(Throwback Wednesday! It's a thing!)

***

So, as you guys know, I went wedding dress shopping on Friday. And I totally didn’t cry, you guys! Though I did get a little sweaty and “Ingrid,” our helpful wedding consultant, casually was like “would you like me to turn on the fan?”

Um, yes, and I’m sorry for my swamp-like tendencies.

However, there were a few things I definitely didn’t anticipate when walking into the Bridal World. First, some friends were meeting me there so that I had back-up when the going got tough and I ended up in a taffeta tearfest in the corner of the bridal salon.

So when Beth texted that morning about my outfit choices, I got a little nervous that perhaps I hadn’t put as much thought into this as others.

Beth: “What are you wearing?”
Me: “Well, right now I’m wearing work clothes but I brought shorts and a t-shirt to change into.”
Beth: “Really? I’m here jamming on skirts thinking we have to be cute. No?”
Me: “Never even occurred to me.”

So I decided not to change into my shorts and t-shirt and, instead, went in the dress I was wearing for work. But when I walked in with a yellow ShopRite shopping bag full of my backup outfit, Beth was like “You seriously look like a homeless person. Put that in your purse.”

Whatever, brides wear shorts, BETH!

Anyway, CB’s sister was also joining us for the fun, so once we were all properly dressed and seated among the dozens of other brides in the “Bridal Lounge,” I started to get nervous. I mean, I’m someone who gets anxiety walking into Old Navy if there’s a greeter by the door who might try to sell me something, so imagine my Xanax-inducing fears when I found out that I’d not only have one person dedicated just to me, but that I’d also have to show her my boobs!

They totally don’t make you do that at the nicer Old Navy’s, you guys!

Ingrid, pleasant bridal specialist: “What size bra do you wear?”
Me: “36C?”
Ingrid: “I think you’re more like a C+. So, I have some ideas of where to start for you, so take off your clothes and put this robe on and I’ll be right back.”

Closes the door.

Me, to Beth and CB’s sister: “So you guys are gonna have to go ahead and turn around.”
Beth: “There are mirrors everywhere. We’ll still see you. Just take your clothes off, C+.”
CBS: “Yeah, it’s not like we’ve never seen it before.”
Me: “I hate you both.”

Cut to: 15 minutes later and I’m standing there trying on my third wedding dress option, holding my C-pluses in hand.

Beth: “Are you dying right now?”
Me: “I can’t even talk about it.”

However, besides not knowing how to appropriately dress for wedding dress shopping - or knowing that I’d be naked in front of strangers, one of my best friends, and poor CB’s sister who never needed to have those scars - I also didn’t know the following things:

We should all be wearing corsets. Call me anti-feminist, but that sh*t WORKS! Why have I been working out all this time when I just needed a 50-something woman pulling my fatty parts and internal organs together to slim my waist? For real, you guys. Comfort is over-rated. As is laughing, sitting, or eating.

High heels are the devil's work. So they give you heels in your size to try on with your dress so that you’ll be able to get a sense of the actual length on your wedding day. However, they clearly didn’t poll the audience before making this selection because if you think I’m about to walk down the aisle in anything other than my sparkle flip flops, you’re sorely mistaken.

DON’T FREAK OUT, all of my girlfriends, I’m only half-serious. I’ll wear adult shoes, I promise. But can we all just get on board with the fact that no heel in America is comfortable? And probably not in Europe, Africa, or any part of Southeast Asia, either.

So it became a constant balancing act for me – I mean, I couldn’t get into these dresses without letting go of at least one of my C-pluses, and at one point just threw caution – and my chest – to the wind and was like “I’m not a contortionist, I need to prioritize!” So I decided boobs out was better than ripping a dress with the heels and then having to pay thousands of dollars for my own modest, Quaker-like ways.

However, what I’ve failed to do my whole life is walk around my apartment in a short silk gown and high heels. Not only do my legs look killer, but I also looked like a 50s movie star getting ready for her close-up. The only thing I was missing was my scotch on the rocks, and I swear to God I bet they had that in the backroom just in case.

Everyone looks better with the lights off. Every time I’d half-like a dress, Ingrid would walk over to the light switch and dim the lighting. Immediately we were all like “Oooooohhhhhh.”

She’s a genius!

And while nobody would let me make dress choices in the dark, I will admit that I’d prefer that someone walk around me at all times with some sort of light-shading device to soften my complexion and make me look all sorts of mysterious and dream-like at all times. Hell, I’ll put the heels and the robe on and CB will be like “What did you do with my fiancé? And whatever it was, keep her there!”

However, in the end, I think I found my dress! Or at least narrowed it down to what looks good on me and what doesn’t so that I can browse online without delusion. And if you ask me, that’s a successful shopping outing!

Conversations from Cohabitation

Coming out of the bathroom after showering:

Me:  “So I accidentally shaved off part of my eyebrow.”
CB: “What?! How does one accidentally shave off their eyebrow?”
Me: “I’m not really sure.”
CB: “You’re not sure? You don’t remember having a razor near your face?”
Me: “Well, I was about to shave and this one hair kept falling into my face and so I went to wipe it away…”
CB: “With a razor in your hand?!?”
Me: “Yeah…it was just an instinct.”
CB: “That’s a terrible instinct.”
Me: “Not instinct. I meant impulse.”
CB: “Well, try not to impulsively do things with a razor in your hand in the future.”
Me: “But then I felt to see if I cut my face and didn’t feel any blood, so I just kept showering. But I just looked in the mirror and part of my eyebrow is gone. Can you see it?” (leaning in to show him my eyebrow)
CB: “Yes of course I can see it. You look like you’re constantly surprised with one eye now.”
Me: “Oh no, really?!”
CB, laughing: “It’s really not that bad. But now that you point it out I can tell.”
Me: “I guess it could’ve been worse. I could’ve, like, shaved off the whole thing. And it could be the day before our wedding. Or I could’ve blinded myself accidentally.”
CB: “How about we just don’t put razors by our face anymore, ok? You could’ve really injured yourself.”
Me: “I know. I’ve learned my lesson by rendering myself perpetually surprised for the next week or so.”
CB: “There’s something not right about you.”

***

Hanging out with a few friends Saturday night, I remembered to tell CB something that happened outside of his earshot earlier that day:

Me: “Oh, by the way, I think I may have accidentally told your college friends that you sometimes wrap me in paper towel in a sexual way.”
CB: “What?!?”
Friend, laughing: “You have to immediately tell us how that happened.”
CB: “Yeah, how does someone accidentally say something like that?”
Me: “Well, you were telling the story about how you guys wrapped Chad in paper towel while he was passed out and I made some side comment and said ‘Yeah, he does that to me sometimes, but for other reasons.’ And then your friends looked at me and were slightly confused and impressed?”
CB: “Jesus Beck, why would you say something like that?”
Friend, still laughing.
Me: “I don’t know, it just seemed like a funny thing to say. But then I realized that they’d just met me and maybe didn’t know I was kidding.”
Friend: “About CB wrapping you somehow seductively in paper towel?”
Me: “Yeah, I mean, how on earth would that be serious? They had to know.”
CB: “Oh God. Some of these people are going to be at our wedding, Beck! And now they think we do freaky things with paper towels!”
Me: “It could’ve been worse.”
CB: “HOW could it be worse?!”
Me: “It could be true!”

Happy Monday everyone!