He stole my insult.

The other night, P.I.C. called me a "problem child." That's fine. I think by most people standards, I most likely AM a "problem child." I do, however, have one problem with this particular name he has decided to deem my new moniker.

I TOTALLY CALLED HIM THAT FIRST.

When he called me problem child the other night, I kindly informed him that while I was being difficult, he could NOT copy my nickname of him. His response? Disturbing, to say the least.

F.A. "You realize you really shouldn't call me that since I am pretty sure that I have called you MY problem child AT LEAST six times."
P.I.C. "What? No. I don't think so."
F.A. "Haha. You're so funny. You KNOW I have called you that."
P.I.C. "Um, no. You have never called me that."

At this point, I know my voice was getting a little shrill. He was either messing with me (the most likely situation) or he genuinely did not remember me calling him a problem child (how DARE he).

F.A. "How could you NOT remember that? I mean, it was so hilarious when I called you that all SIX TIMES."
P.I.C. (laughing)
F.A. (SHRILL NOISES)
P.I.C. (LAUGHING)

He is a problem child. Apparently, so am I. We are perfect for each other.

Life is good.

Yesterday started out like this:

P.I.C. "Good morning!" (hands me coffee)
F.A. (unintelligible grunt) :::SLURP:::

P.I.C. "Why don't you have another sip of coffee."
F.A. ::::SIP::::
P.I.C. "Cuz Oxford puked on the chair and I have to leave, so you are going to have to clean it up."

30 MINUTES PASSES

I am getting ready to run out the door when I notice something that looks like a piece of paper stuck to Oxford. I run my hands along his back and realize...I just touched cat feces. Since I was getting ready to leave, I had to make due with a quick scrub of his behind with a soapy paper towel in an attempt to clean him up (which is JUST AS FUN as it sounds). Awesome. Puke AND poop. My cat is a vile little creature. Really.

Then I go to work. It's fine, but Larry won't leave me alone. It's like he wants to hang out in my office til I agree to go to another county on Monday. NOT GONNA HAPPEN. LEAVE ME ALONE, LARRY.

After work, I then have to go to my friend's house to check on her kittens. (I have my fingers crossed that there are no puke/poop issues there.) My CTA card will not work. This is about where I have had it. I was SO OVER yesterday and ready to burst into tears.

Then it happens. The bus driver smiles and me, waves me on, and invites me to have a seat. WHAAAA? For real? Yes. It was happening. Then P.I.C. agreed to come pick me up from my friend's house. The day was slowly turning around.

I got to my friend's house, freshened up the food and water for the kitties, then sat down with a cup of tea and a bridal magazine (I am attempting to be a good bride now). My friend has two cats: one is friendly and sweet, the other one is definitely more cautious and usually makes me bleed because she is so cute, and I cannot resist petting her. This time was different, however. She jumped on the couch and looked at me. I moved the magazine to see if she was actually going to sit on my lap. SHE DID. Not only did she sit on my lap, she nestled her little body up to mine and started to purr. It was SO DARLING. (I LIKE CATS. SO WHAT?!)

P.I.C. then picked me up. We got home and more WONDERFUL things happen. I got a little package from another dear friend containing note cards that say "The Future Mrs. P.I.C." (Actually, they say P.I.C.'s last name on it, not P.I.C., but you get the gist.) Then we got to eat leftover Costa Rican food which is STILL amazing ("pura vida" indeed). We had some wine. We also watched the first disc of Modern Family.

I was SO HAPPY by the time I went to bed, I almost forgot about the shitty morning. Yes, it's true, my morning was literally shitty.

I am fully aware that this was likely a very boring rendering of how my day went yesterday. However, it just goes to show you, it doesn't take too much to turn a day around. For me? It was a kind bus driver, a snugly kitten, and a reminder that I have amazing friends. The wine? That didn't hurt either. I really should stop whining about my life. It's pretty great.

I'm pretty surely I narrowly survived a choking last night

Yesterday evening started out so promisingly. P.I.C. and I both left work a little early to hustle to a tasting for wedding food. We were looking forward to it, knowing that we loved the restaurant and that it would be a unique and fun idea to feed our guests. As expected, we LOVED the food. The owner (I think he was the owner) was ever-so-gracious and fed us thoroughly. Not only did we leave stuffed, he wrapped up all we did not eat for us to take home. Score. It was a good eating night.

So, P.I.C. and I headed home to unwind for the evening. We watched a movie, then started chatting wedding logistics. Y'know, the boring stuff like renting tables, dishes, etc. (BARF.) We then started discussing how we would get the tables set up and, as is typical of late when getting stressed out with wedding stuff that is not fun (read: anything other than eating or music), I started to feel this tightness well up in my chest and flashes of panic wrecked through my head.

F.A. "Um, OK. We don't need to figure this all out now. K?"
P.I.C. "Well, we do need to figure it out."
F.A. "I KNOW. Just not right now."

::::Silence::::

At this point, P.I.C. gets this look on his face that I have now been able to put a finger on. It is a look of utter frustration and irritation that tells me that it wouldn't be so bad if he just choked me...a....litttle....bit to make the pain stop. We stop talking about wedding stuff and go to bed.

As we are laying in bed, I get P.I.C. to admit he was utterly frustrated with me (WHAT NERVE) and that he gets frustrated when I "shut down" and decide I don't want to play wedding planning.

F.A. "I hate that look on my face. It looks as though you want to choke me a little."

P.I.C. just starts laughing. "No. I really don't want to choke you. I just think that you are an incredibly frustrating woman."

F.A. "Duh."

::::Silence:::::

F.A. "But don't you think that if you just choked me a little, your frustration would be subdued a bit?"
P.I.C. "Seriously. What is wrong with you? I promise I don't want to choke you."
F.A. "OK. Fine. I'm glad. G'night. Love you."

Sigh. I really don't think that he wants to choke me. Honestly, I am fully aware of the level of frustration I cause him. It is as though I am outside my body witnessing myself act like a bratty jerk, but I cannot stop it. I can't help it! I don't WANT to figure out who will set up our over-priced rental tables. Sorry. It is not fun for me. Sometimes, I just want someone to figure this all out for me. Then I remember that in three months, this shenanigan will be over, and I can just enjoy being married, regardless of who sets up our damn tables on that day.

Yeah. I am not a Bridezilla. I'm more of an Asshole-Bride. Sorry.

In re your cat puzzle

This is an actual email I had to send out resulting from Oxford's retaliation at being left alone at home for a few days. Sigh.


Hi friends,


I never anticipated that I would have to write an email like this, but I believe that I have to be honest with both of you. Remember that puzzle that you loaned to us with all of the unhappy-looking cats in costume? P.I.C. and I had been having a great time working on the puzzle bit by bit to put all of those 750 pieces together. We started it before we left for vacation (when Oxford was with his cat-sitter) so we were able to work unobstructedly for a week or so. However, the reconstruction of the puzzle became more difficult when Oxford got home.

He loves to jump on the table and knock things around. Clearly, the puzzle pieces that had taken up habitation on our kitchen table were no exception. We would find pieces on the floor, in the other room, pretty much everywhere throughout our apartment. Finding the pieces and putting them back on our table became part of the puzzle process. However, nothing compares to the treat we got when we arrived home from Missouri this past Sunday night.

Oxford was apparently rather angry at being left alone for two days. We came home to cat puke (typical, because I believe he secretly eats his own hairballs) and then a more interesting "present." Stuck to the floor in our bedroom was a face-down piece from the crazy cat puzzle. No, Oxford didn't get into the glue. He actually had taken a piece of his feces and used it as an adhesive on the puzzle. He's really quite creative, honestly. He's always coming up with different ways to show that we have pissed him off.

Obviously, we owe you another puzzle. I felt it wouldn't be right to return it to you sans one piece. (Of course, the offending "turd piece" was throw away.) P.I.C. suggested that we just buy you a new one and not let you know what really happened. But me? I like to give credit where it is due. Now you both know the feline asshole rage that P.I.C. and I encounter on a daily basis.

I'm sorry that Oxford ruined your puzzle, but of course, we will buy you a new one. Just let me know where I can find it.

With regrets,
Fabulously Awkward

Oh, right. This is payback for the time I dressed him up like an elf.

Everyone is talking about a diet...

New Years resolutions has brought a rash of blog postings about losing weight. Getting healthy. Getting to the gym. I'm sure, if I had made an effort to get to the gym at any point in the last three weeks, I would have noticed a certain increase in the early morning traffic. You'll notice that my postings have not focused on these goals.

Sadly, I have been a gym flunky. Of course, I want to get healthy. Of COURSE, I don't want to be a tubby bride (and a big fat THANK YOU to P.I.C. for putting that particular phrase in my head*). I just am a lazy individual. So sue me. It's freezing outside. I am not sleeping well. My life is full of stress. I just don't want to work out these days. I drink cup after cup of green tea thinking, "THIS IS HOW I WILL DO IT. THE POUNDS WILL MELT AWAY NOW." I will let you know if it works out.

I'm not judging anyone for posting about weight-loss related issues. I most-certainly could take a page from their books and attempt to make myself accountable for getting in-shape. So, at this time, I am making a request. Can you please motivate me? We are at T-minus 101 days til wedding day. Help me.

Also, do not worry about the green tea tip. I got that memo, and I am AWESOME at it.

* P.I.C. didn't call me a tubby bride, nor did he say that I was going to be one. He merely suggested that this would be his way of motivating me to get up early in the morning to go to the gym. I kindly suggested that him calling me a tubby bride would be my motivation to give him a black eye. Problem solved. I'm going to be a great wife.

New source of comedy...bridal magazines.

According to this wedding magazine, one way of making my wedding truly unique is to have a signature color.

Allow me to take a dramatic pause.

Signature. Color. Are these people serious? Would you like another suggestion to really make your wedding special and unique? Start a bridal blog. Well, lucky for YOU GUYS, I kind of have. Not really. Because I have been so busy with planning my wedding (which, apparently, I'm not allowed to call SHOTGUN because I am not pregnant...good to know) that I figured that most people didn't want to hear all about my details. I am tired of the details, truth-be-told.

Hey, if I get in a creative wedding rut, at least I have this magazine article that will help me make my wedding special. "Pick a special font." That doesn't seem too difficult. I can do that. How about another suggestion. "Bedazzle your Bouquet." Now I am convinced that the author of this article is a thirteen year-old girl. Although my inner teenager is squealing at the idea of putting sparkles on EVERYTHING, this does not seem to be a really great and unique idea for my wedding day. That's just me though. As an aside, anyone interested in having a bedazzling party? T-shirts? Pillow cases?

Or, ya know, I could just focus on the fact that I'm marrying an awesome dude. That might make it special too. (Sadly, that is not listed among the 75 suggestions.)

My eyes are like leaky faucets.

Obviously, I have become a woman obsessed. Wedding planning has taken over my life. I mean, it was our decision to plan it in three and a half months, so perhaps we have brought this on ourselves. Of course, planning a wedding in such a short amount of time means lots of stress.

Anyone who has had the intense pain pleasure of planning a wedding knows that it breeds stress in levels unknown to most folks that have never been in this position. As of this week, my stress has started to manifest itself in tears. It's not even the actual planning of the wedding that makes me cry. It is other external factors. Oh, someone posted an article about an abandoned dog? SOB. That commercial about the three-day breast cancer walk? SOB SOB SOB. I lost a motion that I should have won? SOB (SCREEEAM) SOB (and please don't tell anyone else I cried over a motion. Please.)

Yes, part of it is my lack of sleep. I truly believe that if I had a pensieve like Dumbledore (my FIRST Harry Potter reference...so excited!) and could take those troublesome thoughts out of my head, I would be able to rest at night. For now, it's all thoughts of wedding stuff. Before all of this, I swore that this wedding would not consume me. Now, here I am, all-consumed. The one thing that helps me out is knowing that as of May 1, it'll just be me and him, and the wedding will be dunzo. Hooooray. He will be my P.I.C. officially. Although, I feel that to commemorate this event, I should reflect his status change with a nick-name change. Any suggestions?

For now, can you please refrain from sending me any darling forwards that might reference abandoned puppies? Can you please not discuss any sort of tragedy in my presence? Most of all, pretty please with sugar on top, can you please not say that I am now a Virgo and not a Libra??? I really appreciate it.

Or if you can make me a wizard and provide me with a pensieve. That would work too.

Date has been set.

It is officially official. P.I.C. and I have set the date for our wedding. We chose a nice short engagement of three and a half months.

Yeah.

The insanity begins. Photographer. DJ. Food. Cake. Tables. Decoration. Cake. Booze. Cake. Invitations. Cake. Booze. Ya know, the important stuff.

Oh. And I have to go dress shopping. Honestly, I suspect that I am the least enthused of all women to try on and obtain my wedding gown. Barf. I'd rather have someone say "here, wear this." Oh, and not have to pay $1,000 for it. That too. However, shop for a gown I shall.

Maybe I will get something like this:

Oh, hi. It's me. Me and my understated and exceedingly elegant bridal gown. Of course, my bridesmaids' dresses parallel the elegance of mine. BRIDE 4 LIFE.

NOT. (OK, I know this is not what people say anymore, but I tend to appreciate a good "NOT" joke. So bring it.)

P.I.C. is so cute. I was whining about trying on dresses the other day. His response? "Well, don't you get to drink champagne and wine and stuff? That shouldn't be too bad." Bless his heart, he knows how to aim for my weak spots. Why do you think I am wearing this ring?

HAHAHAH. Just kidding. I love him. Which is why we are getting married. Not because I want a wedding. Because honestly? The wedding just seems to be a pain in the ass right now.

I shall now take ten minutes and look at my designated Zen photo:

That's better.

Confession time.

So yeah, I have a confession to make. I'm not really proud of it, but I really, really love bad movies. Like LOVE them. In fact, I think I love Netflix streaming so much because the bad movies that I'd probably be too ashamed to put on my queue? I can watch them straight to our BLUE-RAY PLAYER (thanks for showing me how, P.I.C.)

This is no revelation to myself. Nope. I have known this for years. I could never EVER turn off the movie Cry Baby. Same went with Friends 'Til the End. I love them. I love Lifetime. I love made-for-tv. I love all that bad stuff. It makes me swoon with happiness. In fact, I truly believe that the reason I loved this past weekend was because I had a marathon of bad movies.

The movie that really struck my fancy this weekend was Chicago Boricua. What drew me to this movie was the fact that it was filmed and takes place in Chicago. More specifically, it takes place in a neighborhood that is in my backyard. However, upon watching this movie, I have so many questions.

::::SPOILER ALERT::: 

DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU DO NOT WANT THE MOVIE CHICAGO BORICUA TO BE RUINED FOR YOU

When did Tata decide she wanted to be una Puertorriqueña? Clearly, her mother was white, living in the suburbs, and her birth certificate stated her name was "Amy" and claimed her ethnicity as Caucasian. How was she capable of speaking Spanish fluently (although truthfully, the movie did not have her speak much Spanish, it just had her with proper pronunciation)? Why did she choose to move to Humboldt Park? Why did she identify so closely with a Puerto Rican ethnicity? These questions pervaded my thoughts last night, so I had to insist that Miss Sass watch the movie to discuss. Sadly, Miss Sass told me she could only made it through half of the movie because she loved herself too much. Touché, Miss Sass. Touché.

So yeah, the truth is I love bad movies. But this is me, putting it out there. Come on, I can't plan a wedding 24/7. A girl has gotta have hobbies, even if they are embarrassing ones.

I've been found.

I tend to be passive aggressive. I'm not proud of that quality, but it is what it is. It's just how I roll. Workplace scenarios tend to increase that characteristic in me. Take, for example, last week.

In December, I had worked on a project with a coworker, and I had done the bulk of the work before I went on vacation. Ten days later, on my first day back, our buddy Larry emailed me and it went a little something like this:

"Hi Fabulously Awkward. Welcome back. I'm sure you had a great vacation. Have you heard from so-and-so about the Blah-Blah matter?"

Can you feel my enraged silence and huffing from over there? Good. That's the exact mood I am trying to convey.

In any event, I continued to follow up with this for a week or so. About a week later, Larry goes on vacation. However, BEFORE HE LEAVES, he drops a piece of paper in my mailbox and asks me to follow up on it WHILE HE IS GONE. Please note that Larry has not followed up on anything in this case. He waits until I am in the office, then asks me to do it. Since it's either I get this done, or have to figure out how to do a conference call on my own, I get it done.

He comes back from vacation for ONE DAY before the end of the year. He emails me to do a report on that project.

My response? I ignored him. COMPLETELY IGNORED HIM. That passive aggressive behavior continued until this morning (now Thursday, we are at a week of the silent treatment.)

RAP RAP RAP (If you didn't know, this is the way we announce our intrusion into others' offices at my place of employment. Most of us don't have doors, instead using various file cabinets and metal shelving for a bit of privacy from foot traffic in our hallways.)

It was Larry. He had me cornered. Ignoring him was no longer an option.

"heyyy, just wanted to ask you a question...I got a call about that project...."

Yeah, he asked me more stupid questions. I finally spoke to him and took care of business. It's what I do. While the silent treatment was fun, I will get my work done.

Then he says to me, "FA, are you growing your hair out? It looks longer." I just shook my head and mumbled that I usually pull it back into a ponytail. I wasn't about to tell him that it was because he caught me on a morning when I actually washed my hair.

Come to think of it, that might've been a much funnier way to ensure that Larry would leave me alone for another whole week. Nah. I am sure that I have more work to get done for the both of us.

I committed a mortal (relationship) sin.

I know. My title is shocking. Right now, you must be wondering, "What on earth could have Fabulously Awkward done? What SIN? I thought she was so happy."

Well, I AM happy. However, P.I.C. is not so happy with me. Last night, I had just gotten home from an errand to find P.I.C. in the shower. I was hungry, so I grabbed a piece of chocolate and ate it. Then, apparently, I ate another piece. This, in and of itself, is not sinful, right? Turns out, I ate the LAST. TWO. PIECES. of the delectable chocolates with the hazelnut hidden inside. I thought nothing of it. What I suspected happened was I ate the first one, saw another one, and crammed it in my mouth before I realized, "Hey, it might have been nice to save the last one for P.I.C."

Fast forward to a few hours later. After having a pizza and beer filled evening spent with Season Four of The Wire (an excellent show, I highly recommend it), he goes into the kitchen. He comes back slowly with a look on his face that could only mean one thing: I had stepped on his kitten. The only issue? HE DOESN'T HAVE A KITTEN. So what on earth caused this profound expression of sadness on his face? Apparently, since there were two chocolates left, he had it in his mind that later on in the evening, we would EACH HAVE ONE.

Ooops. He was seriously upset. I didn't know what to do. I apologized. I told him I'd buy NEW chocolate, BETTER chocolate. To no avail. That look was persistent for the remainder of the evening. Clearly, eating the last of the chocolate is akin to stepping on a kitten. It equals supreme sadness of the heart. Sigh.

He has chosen to retaliate by stealing my snuggie. (Well, technically, it's a "couch blanket" because it's not a genuine snuggie.) Well played, sir.