Operation Pink Herring

Dude, where's my UPS box?

I had my first wedding-related nightmare last night.  (I say "first" because I'm sure there will be more... worrying, it's what I do.  Even in my sleep.) 

In the dream, we were apparently having our wedding in some sort of island destination.  My family and friends all went out to this island about a week before the wedding and we were having a great time until I suddenly realized that the wedding was the next day and holy shit, I'd forgotten to do everything that I was supposed to do during that week. 

First, I realized that I'd never ordered any wedding bands, and I sent Joel off to find something we could use for the ceremony in a one of the local shops.  Then I started running around the island looking for florists and photographers when my mom reminded me that the dress was still way too long - I'd never had it hemmed.  I ran and found a tailor who said she'd happily fix it that same day... for $1,000.  The flower ladies were spouting on about some island rock (yes, rock) had made traditional bouquets impossible BUT they could do this weird thing with rope instead when my two friends came back with long faces on.  The local butcher had no idea how to cut up the wild hog I'd brought for the wedding feast (I finished Omnivore's Dilemma, in case you couldn't tell), they said.  We'd have to find a caterer instead.  Joel came back, saying he couldn't find anything but a pair of gold hoop earrings for us to use for the ceremony, and at that moment I realize that I had never found an officiant.

This whole time someone (who shall remain nameless because I know she would never do this in real life) was laughing.  Just as I was screaming "this isn't funny, STOP LAUGHING AND HELP ME!" I woke up and realized that I was mega-late for work.

See, I told you.  Breaking Point!  Officially reached!

In other news, I cannot find my car.  I was going to drive to work this morning so I could go to the grocery store after work, but car = missing.   Does anyone know where I parked my car?  Black Jetta covered in pigeon poop?  Anyone?

Lastly, I came home last night to find a note from UPS saying that they'd left a package my brother had shipped here with some last-minute stuff for his bike trip "BY FLOWERS -->".  I looked in in the shrub that the United States Postal Service so enjoys abusing, but there was no box to be found.  Someone stole it, which isn't all that surprising since UPS basically left a nice shiny box on the sidewalk on our heavily foot-trafficked street.  I am officially adding "mailbox" to the list of requirements for our next house, right after "closets", "designated parking", and "more closets". 

Whip THIS

I have officially hit The Breaking Point.  I knew this was coming, but it still sucks.  A lot. 

I feel like our house is falling apart at the seams.  Somehow we have no food (again), even though we got up extra-early on Saturday and went to the Farmer's Market.  There is cat litter everywhere and a layer of dust an inch thick on every surface.  I put in a load of laundry last night, and when I went to put it in the dryer I discovered it was full.  So that's where all my underwear has been.

Nothing major has happened, but we're leaving for our trip to Vermont on Saturday and I just feel like I don't have time to breathe.  I have to get the house cleaned, get a haircut, decide how I want my hair cut,  do the laundry, book my work trip to Chicago later this month, get ready for my BFF's bridal shower, and book a trip to Scotland.  Yes, Scotland.  As in, land of kilts and bagpipes and the Loch Ness Monster.  And Ewan McGregor. 

So, I'm a little bit stressed out.  And I also feel like a hugely hypocritical asshole, because the reason I "haven't had time to breathe"?  Is because I was at Penn State all weekend with my friends, drinking $1 Long Island Iced Teas and getting milkshakes at the Creamery and doing things like this:

Because I need something fun to focus on (and I'm still too busy feeling like I"m going to puke about Scotland, does anyone else get queasy when they click "book ticket"?), let me tell you what I am going to make for this week's Whip It Up challenge.  My little brother (remember the one who drove cross country by himself?) is off on his latest adventure: biking across the country with two of his friends. 

They left northern New Jersey on Monday morning, and if all goes to plan, they will arrive at my house in Baltimore sometime on Thursday.   I will then provide them with showers, a place to sleep that has four walls and a roof, and cram them as full of vegetables and protein as I can before they get back on the road and return to eating pasta at a campsite every night.

My menu, so far:

• Salad crammed full of veggies
• Blade Steaks with Mushrooms
• Roasted Red Potatoes with Rosemary
• Grilled Portobello Mushrooms (I was going to make grilled corn on the cob, with fresh corn from the Farmer's Market, but Joel very wisely pointed out that corn on the cob + riding a bike all day with very limited bathroom access = an uncomfortable situation)
• Homemade Iced Tea
• Homemade Chocolate Chip Cookies

I think that should hold them over for four thousand miles or so, don't you?  At the very  least, it will keep me occupied with something other than having a nervous breakdown until we board our plane to Vermont on Saturday.

Two down, four to go

I've got two weekends in my six-weekends-out-of-town marathon down, and so far... so good!  I was a hot, cranky, tired mess when I rolled into Baltimore around 6pm on Sunday evening, but since then I've done some vacuuming and some laundry and caught up with some emails, and I feel fairly recovered.  

In terms of a quick weekend recap:

• My three side dishes for the fancy bridal shower came out wonderfully (if I do say so myself)

• I FINALLY went to see Sex and the City (loved it... totally cried during the Brooklyn Bridge scene)

• I had two servings of ice cream cake at the Fancy Shower to combat the brutal heat and GOD WAS IT GOOD.  How come no one reminded me how good ice cream cake is?

• I went to a swanky clubin NYC for the bachelorette party, where I did not pay for one thing.  It is good to have friends with connections, it seems.  Also, bottle service is the best thing ever.  Especially when it is free.

The one real snag of the weekend occurred when we arrived at the apartment we'd graciously been given access to for the bachelorette party.  As I walked in with my suitcase, dragging a cooler of leftover food and drinks from the shower, I saw a very large fish tank in the middle of the room.  Please tell me there is a fish in that tank, I said to my bride-friend.  Please, please tell me there is a special fish who doesn't need any water in that tank.  A fish who looks a lot like a snake.  Because that cannot be a snake in that tank.  NO ONE TOLD ME THERE WAS GOING TO BE A FUCKING SNAKE.

In case I have not mentioned it lately, I HATE SNAKES.   "Hate" isn't a strong enough word.  I fear them, loathe them, wish they did not exist on this planet.   And the snakes I fear most are those of the constricting variety.  I do NOT DO nine-foot, 50-lb boa constrictors.  Absolutely, positively, no way in hell.  I don't love anyone enough to sleep in the same room as a boa constrictor, sorry but THOSE THINGS CAN KILL PEOPLE YOU KNOW. 

And then the funniest thing happened!  I had about nine drinks, and all of a sudden the snake didn't seem so scary anymore.  I made a tentative peace with the snake, and I even tried to get the bride (who happens to be a professional snake handler) (seriously, that's not some kind of bachelorette party humor... she handles snakes and other reptiles for a living) to feed the poor snake a sandwich when I learned that he only eats once a month. 

I slept not more than an arm's length away from him and he didn't strangle me in the middle of the night.  I guess that's what you would call "progress".  Or, "passing out".  Whatever.

A midsummer night's breakdown

If it's not too late to post about the weekend, perhaps you'd like to know that mine was fabulous.   We drove to New Jersey to celebrate my mom's birthday (which is actually in February, but that's how we roll in in my family), and spent Saturday hiking in New Paltz, NY.  When I remarked, after seeing a bride being photographed in the formal gardens at Lake Mohonk, that this would be a beautiful place to get married, my mom's jaw hit the floor.  "What! Don't you remember, the last time we were here, I said this would be a great place to get married, and you said 'Sure, maybe if you're old"", she asked. 

Um, no I did not remember saying that at all.  And I take it back, the place is lovely.

Throughout the day we had several more exchanges in which my mom recalled how scared I was of a cliff, how I cried on a hike (more cliffs), how I generally just had a terrible time.  Still, no recollection from me.  I was a bit unsettled that I could completely block out an entire experience like that, but I chalked it up to the fact that I must have been really, really terrified of all those cliffs.  (My fear of heights (without a railing; if there's some sort of protective rail, they don't bother me) is eclipsed only by my fear of constrictor-type snakes.)  (The fact that all my irrational fears have specific criteria is a topic we'll have to discuss another day). 

Finally, after about the fifth time that my mom asked if I really, seriously did not remember saying what a horrible old person place this mountain paradise was, I thought to ask when exactly this alleged previous visit took place.  Turns out it was when I was somewhere between the ages of twelve and fifteen. 

I'd like to make a rule right now: all snotty statements about old people places and horrible times should have an expiration date, after which no one can hold them against you.  Five years, perhaps?  Ten years?  Maybe we could say that upon graduation from high school, all previous bratty behavior is expunged from our records, and the same thing would go for college graduation and other milestone achievements.  Any of you lawyer-types out there, feel free to get started drafting up some legislation to that effect.

I feel much better knowing that my memory hasn't been completely erased by all those alien abductions -- I just, understandably, don't have crystal-clearn memories of every single hike and every remark about old people places that I made fifteen years ago.  And besides, by the standards of my twelve year old self, I AM old.  Don't mind if I do add yet another venue to the ever-growing list of  Places We Should Get Married.  

So, throw in some torrential downpours on the ride home and some great BBQ, and that was my weekend.  How was yours?  OK, great, now that I've politely pretended to be interested, I can move on to The Complaining.

Internet, this past weekend marked the beginning of my summer marathon of being out of town.  This coming weekend we have Bridal Shower/Bachelorette Party #1 in New Jersey.  After that, I'll be spending the 4th of July in State College, PA visiting some college friends.  The weekend after that, we leave for a week-long trip to Vermont to visit Joel's family.  When we return from that, I'll be driving straight up to NJ for Bridal Shower/Bachelorette Party #2.   The weekend after that, I'll be helping Sister-Wife Jenny move from Williamsburg to Richmond.  For those of you keeping track, that's six consecutive weekends that will not be spent on my couch at home.

True, most of these out of town activities are for fun.  But, still.  I'm the type of girl who needs enough quality time with my Tivo and a good half-day each week spend organizing and compulsively cleaning the house to feel balanced.  When are we going to look at the remaining wedding venues on our list?  When am I going to do laundry? Go grocery shopping?  More importantly, when am I am going to watch that new ABC Family show with Molly Ringwald and lie in my new magical bed?

I am really, really going to try not to let all of this stuff stress me out, and to remember that most of this IS FOR FUN.  SO IT SHOULD ACTUALLY BE ENJOYED AT THE TIME.  But honestly, I'm not sure I can make any promises that I won't be curled up in a corner sucking my thumb when August rolls around. 

I survived.

If you are wondering why I was so stressed out about this reunion weekend, let me explain:  I am crazy.  I have problems.  And have I mentioned that I'm crazy?

In general, I just hate these sorts of forced functions.  I got one email (among dozens regarding this reunion because I made the mistake of accepting the invitation to join Reunion Facebook group) last week about a networking event on Friday and the phrase "break out your business cards" was actually used.  I almost threw up reading that - do I need to explain, or have I sufficiently covered my hatred of networking in over the past two years of blogging? 

Because I still live in the same city as my alma mater, I've gone to Homecoming events every year.  It was never great, but never that bad.  The Young Alumni tent is an overpriced frat party, but it can be entertaining if you're drunk enough.  The homecoming lacrosse game is still a boring lacrosse game, but it can be entertaining if you're drunk enough.   

I've never panicked the way I did this year because there was always the possibility of just ignoring homecoming altogether.  If there were people I cared about coming back, I'd show up at a few events, pay my $20, collect my commemorative beer mug, and catch up with people.  But this year was The! Big! 5! Year! Reunion!  It was going to be So! Much! Fun!

For most people in our class, this was the first reunion they'd attended.  And I can see the excitement in that.  But this is my FIFTH.  And quite honestly, I'm over these reunions.  I feel like I need a disclaimer here, because I didn't hate college.  I LOVED college.  I had a minor life crisis when college came to and end and my life as I knew it ended with it.   Twenty-two was a not a good year for me.   I spent the majority of it feeling simultaneously lonely and overwhelmed as I struggled to adjust to working full time, cohabitating with Joel, and just becoming an adult.  I wished a million times that I could turn back the clock and just go back to school, where everything had a purpose and I knew what  my role in the world was.... even though I spent quite a lot of time senior year stressing out about tests and papers and thinking about how easy everything would be once I just graduated and started working, because then I'd have money and my weekends would be free from endless studying and staying up all night bullshitting papers.   Grass: greener, etc.

But then Joel and I bought a house, moved out of our craptastic apartment, got some cats.  I got a new job that sucked significantly less than my old one and paid significantly more.   At some point, I stopped feeling like a college student masquerading as an adult.  I moved on, for lack of a better phrase.  And I'm happy.  Though I may complain about trivial (and at times, not-so-trivial) things here, I am so content with my life it's ridiculous.  I love where we live, I love my friends, I love my family, I love my fiance.  I  love my three adorable cats.  This is the life I want. 

And yet, when I find myself forced to make small talk with people I don't know well, I inevitably feel a crushing sense of inadequacy.  I feel like a loser because discussing careers and networking opportunities makes me want to throw up.  I feel like I suck because I don't have a fancy job title or a posh city loft or crazy stories about my wild nightlife.  I feel kind of boring.  I don't WANT one of those fancy jobs, I don't want to be a single girl partying hard in NYC, I don't want to be in law/med/business school.  But I do feel bad for NOT wanting those things.  Sometimes I feel like I used my reserve of overachiever, reach-for-the-stars gasoline during high school and college, and now I'm just a slacker.  Honestly, that is probably a good thing.  The level of perfection that I used to demand from myself in every area of my life was unsustainable and I am so much happier and healthier now that I have let all (most) of that go.  But I still feel guilty about it.  If that makes no sense at all to you, that's because you're sane. 

In a nutshell, that's why I was dreading this reunion.  I felt like I was supposed to be SO! EXCITED!, when I really just wished I could hole up in my house and ignore the whole thing.  But I couldn't do that, because that would be antisocial.  And so  my friends and I decided that we had an obligation to attend at least one official reunion event.  We decided on the lacrosse tailgate because 1. It was cheap, and 2. It was not the frat party Young Alumni Tent.   I was OK with this decision until we were sitting in a coffee shop across from the lacrosse field half an hour before the tailgate was scheduled to begin, and all of a sudden I started having a panic attack. Why are we going to this?, I asked my friend Sarah.  What the hell were we thinking?  Do you want to just cut our losses and run? I seriously would have PAID the $15 ticket price just to not have to go to that event.

What is my problem?  Well, let me try to explain the totally irrational roots of my social anxiety reunion disorder: 

1. I have totally sucked at keeping in touch with people from college who aren't either A) Joel B) My friend Liz , who doesn't really count as a "college" friend because before we were college friends, we were high school friends, C) From my track/XC team.  Over the past few weeks, I've spent a lot of time thinking about why and how this managed to happen, and I think it's partly because I overscheduled myself SO much during college that I missed out on a lot of just hanging out time, and partly because I hate talking on the phone so much, and partly because I just suck.  Remember my New Year's Resolution to keep in better touch with my friends?   I made that resolution because I KNOW I suck at this and I want to get better.

I was afraid I'd come back and see how everyone is still BFF with all their college friends except for me, and then I'd feel like a giant loser.

2.  I really hate making small talk/bullshitting about "what I'm doing now".   I feel like I have nothing to report on my life.  Still living in Baltimore, still working at a job, same old same old same old.

3. Sure, I have the big engagement news, but the next logical question is "so, when's the wedding?" and I'm not positive on this one, but I don't think that durrrrrr? is a socially appropriate response.

4. Did I mention that Joel was out of town all weekend?  I usually have no problem being on my own while he's coaching or traveling for work, but at these kind of extremely stressful social events it would be really, really nice to have him to lean on, instead of calling him from a bathroom stall and begging him to come home right now PLLLLEEEASE.   

5.  We found out last week that Max has cancer, and that is not related to any of this at all except for that it isn't exactly making my mood any better, you know?

So those are all the reasons that I am crazy.  Now for the good news: this weekend was not nearly as bad as I was expecting it to be.  Actually, it was kind of awesome.   After having a joint anxiety attack, Sarah and I agreed that we would go to the tailgate for half an hour fifteen  minutes seven minutes.  We'd grab some snacks to get our $15 worth, and then we would book out of there and we would be able to say that we went to the stupid reunion.  Our two friends who abandoned us "forgot to register" agreed that they'd go for a walk around campus and that if we hadn't re-emerged within fifteen minutes, they'd call us so that we could pretend there was some emergency and extricate ourselves.  And just as we were about to get up and go in, I spilled coffee all over myself.  Oh, yes.  I did.  I am THAT awesome.

We purposely went at the very beginning of the tailgate to avoid the crowd, and it was beyond awkward.  There was ONE other person there, and she was weird.  She chatted us up.  It was bad.  And we still had five of our seven minutes to go.

And then something amazing happened.  Other people showed up.   People that I love and haven't talked to in years.  People who are now married to other awesome people, people that I actually wanted to talk to.  People whose numbers I obtained so that we could meet up later and hang out.   People who just laughed and helped me and Sarah exit gracefully when the tent actually started to fill up with ex-sorority sisters and a dude who actually refers to himself as HK03 (Homecoming King) (I'm not joking) and the whole thing started to go downhill very, very quickly. We lasted thirty-three minutes in an Official Reunion Event, and it was actually sort of fun! 

And then we went to Holy Frijoles, which now has a liquor license.  I pounded a pomegranate margarita and ate every bite of my burrito and everything was alright.  Because sometimes alcohol really DOES make things better.

The rest of the weekend was actually wonderful - I got to see my friends, my cats didn't cause anyone to go into an allergic fit (although they came close), people actually called me and came over to my house and we all hung out and it was so lovely.  Best of all, since I didn't know that that People I Haven't Seen in Five Years would be coming to my house, I didn't even have time to freak out and obsessively clean beforehand.  (But things were still generally in a VERY clean state, thanks to my mom's visit a few weeks ago, don't worry).  We spent time watching TV in our pajamas, I stayed up until 2am catching up with people I truly love, laughing so hard that my abs hurt on Sunday. 

Sunday was a laid back day, filled with a long lunch, and a lot of chilling out.   I didn't even have to call Joel once to beg him to come home early from his race. 

Even though the weekend as a whole turned out extremely well, I've never been so happy to return to normalcy.  Joel came home soon after my last friend departed, and we quickly settled into our normal Sunday night routine of making dinner, watching TV and getting ready for the week ahead.  God, I never knew normal could feel so good.

One can dream