Pushing pause.

So now THAT'S over...

Meaning the royal wedding and all...now the people can turn their attention to the real important wedding...MINE.

Just kidding.

My asshole cat woke me up around 6:20 a.m. (of course, leaving P.I.C. to sleep soundly for another hour or so), so I got up and watched some of the royal wedding. Kate Middleton was lovely. Her dress was amazing. I saw them kiss on the balcony (twice...escandalo!!!) Now perhaps the world can move on.

In other news, I seem to have forgotten the days. I swore that yesterday was Friday. Of course, I was wrong. Today is Friday. Time seems to be rushing past me, flying away from me. It seems that since December 23, I have been planning, anxious to get past this hurdle called the "wedding." Only now that the time is here, I want to push pause.

I want to savor every moment of these next few days. I want to remember that P.I.C. suggested to me yesterday that two days was too long to wait. He wanted to go to city hall yesterday. I want to remember drinking champagne with two of the loveliest girls around last night as we got glue all over our hands putting programs together. I don't want to forget the feeling of calmness that began to take over my body yesterday at the same time the butterflies moved into my stomach for good. I suspect that calmness was a form of exhaustion, but I'm embracing the lack of total anxiety.

I'm excited right now, but also feel like everything is set to run its course. Friends are flying into town. Champagne has been purchased. Errands are mostly complete.

As I sit here on my couch and sip on my coffee as P.I.C. continues to spoon my pillow in bed with Oxford creepily staring at him (don't ask me, he's a creep of a cat), I want to slow everything down. I don't want to forget a moment of these next two days.

It might not be the royal wedding, but it is my wedding. Our wedding. And the weekend is here. I can't say finally because time seems to have sped rapidly to this day. If I could just slow it down for the next 48 hours...

I am so very happy.

Oxford almost became an outside cat last night.

NOW, NOW, NOW. Before you report me to PETA, please hear me out.

Lately, Oxford has been exceptionally nocturnal. That's normal, right? Most cats are nocturnal. However, it would appear that as of late, he wishes me and P.I.C. to be nocturnal as well. It all starts out the same. The annoying noise of Oxford licking a bag. Then comes the running and sliding. What is hilarious during waking hours (him running and sliding into things) turns into a horribly annoying noise montage in the wee hours of the morning.

P.I.C. and I take turns getting up to scold him. Without fail, once we get up, he follows us back into bed. He will jump on us, and if we attempt to go back to sleep rather than pet him, he will claw at the blankets. Sigh. So one of us will have to try to stay awake for a little bit to pet him to avoid this other annoying sound.

Part of the problem, I suspect, is that we have "stuff" everywhere. There's a plastic bag with all of our table numbers in the living room. There is a box of vases with paper to wrap them laying on top. Everywhere you turn, there are signs of a wedding being hastily planned. However, to Oxford, these are signs of an obstacle course. But not any obstacle course. It is a midnight to 4:00 a.m. obstacle course that must be played in a very large and in charge manner.

Last night, I'd had it. The crashing. The licking. The diving into plastic bags. I was so over it. I was tired, cranky, and certainly in no mood to let this feline creature disrupt my sleep again. I got up. Scolded him. When he came to bed, I told him "No way, cat. You lay down and leave me alone." Eventually, he jumped off the bed only to get back to the run and crash routine. I got up, looked at him pointedly and told him, "OXFORD. I AM ABOUT TO OPEN THAT BACK DOOR AND LET YOU OUT. YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE." At that moment, I shut the bedroom door. No more cat attack last night, thank you.

Yeah, I kind of am a mean cat mom these days. However, I am going to pull the "almost my wedding day" excuse. No one is more scary than a bride close to her wedding day. NO ONE. Trust me.

Happy Easter!

Last year, the night before Easter, P.I.C. and I went out with friends and had entirely too much wine at a cozy wine bar and then staying out too late listening to a band with giant hats, an upright bass, and even bigger champagne cocktails.

We stumbled back to my apartment where I found an Easter basket. It was bright, colorful, with Peeps already outside their packaging to get appropriately stale, just the way I like it. If I didn't know this man, ahem, Easter Bunny, was my person, I sure knew it then. My inappropriate alcohol-infused response consisted of tears, as I recall, but I remember feeling so happy. We spent the next day dining with family, eating ham like you wouldn't believe. Sorry, but I love, love, LOVE ham and will eat an obscene amount of it when given the opportunity.

This Easter? Well, lucky for us, we have no pressure to go anywhere or do ANYTHING. Reason number one: P.I.C. had his bachelor party. I'm fairly certain he had a good time. He and his friend woke me up (accidentally) when they got home around 4:00 a.m. attempting to make the frozen pizza I had bought for them and then kept me up as they discussed the hotness of Kristen Bell, and how watching Veronica Mars would seal the deal on loving her. (This drunken conversation nearly had me convulsing with laughter in bed, despite being annoyed at not being soundly asleep. "I mean, you've NEVER seen Veronica Mars? NEVER. You will watch it, and then you will KNOW. You will LOVE her. Like, REALLY love her." (Not to worry, ear plugs helped me back on my way to dreamland.)

Reason number two: Our wedding is six days away. YIKES. I have to pick stickers off the vases I bought for centerpieces. (I intended to do it last night, but my gal pal came over and we decided it'd be fun to do our nails while we drank wine. It was awesome.) I have to finish writing out our place cards. WE HAVE TO WRITE OUR VOWS. We are busy putting all the final touches on the day.

So we have two solid reasons for not having to do anything for Easter this year, as lovely as it is to see the family. However, I will not dare deprive my body of that salty goodness of ham that I overeat at least one day a year. I went to the store and BOUGHT a ham yesterday. I found a recipe for a glaze. I'm going to make that. I figure that I can heal P.I.C. with salty meat, potatoes, and a smile.

While I have fallen off the religion train (something about which is a posting that I likely will never write), I look to holidays as a way to celebrate family and the love that is there. Today, I will celebrate my almost-family. Me and him. As of next Saturday, we will be our own little family. That's pretty amazing. It's also scary and exciting and mind-blowing, all at the same time.

I don't think P.I.C. bought me an Easter basket this year. I will let him off the hook this year. (See the above two reasons.) Oh, and I already know he's my person.

One week.

Time has been flying by at such a rapid pace lately. YES, I have been "counting down." Who doesn't do that when a big event is on its way. Speaking of, at seven days out, am I entitled to proclaim it the FINAL COUNTDOWN? (For the record, I am certain that I have posted that link before, or some incarnation of it. Sorry. I love that magician named Gob AND Arrested Development. It's funny stuff.)

I'm tired of thinking about wedding-related stuff all the time. I am sure that I have become "that girl" that talks about nothing other than her wedding. It's nearly impossible not to be though. I can't wait to have the brain of a normal functioning woman in my head again. I can't wait 'til I don't get scolded for taking my new diamonds out of the box and trying them on. As of next Saturday, I can wear all of my diamonds. Yay! (See, I start talking about it, and that's all you get. Wedding-schmedding.)

However. Here is the important part: I am in love with the man I will marry. After we get done with the ceremony, we will be surrounded by our closest friends and family. We will all be dressed up. There will be an open bar. We will dance and eat cupcakes (mojito-flavored, naturally) and drink and have a the best time.

Oh, and I get to wear fake eyelashes. WIN. (I love them.) So, seven days. YIKES.

Hummingbirds.

Several years back, my life was not quite what it is today. (I suppose most people can say the same thing.) I hadn't started a relationship with P.I.C. I was in a bad relationship. My job made me miserable. Then things slowly began to change. I got a new job. I ended the bad relationship. I went down to visit my parents in the country. This was the summer that my life began to change for the better.

My parents live in a very rural area on twenty acres of land. They have their own pond and occasionally have to chase the neighbor's cattle back home. My parents are animal lovers, so they have multiple bird feeders on their property, including the bright red hummingbird feeders. They make sugar water, then dye it red, because hummingbirds are attracted to the color.

This summer, the summer my life began to change and had taken a trip to visit the country and my parents, I was sitting on their porch wearing a red tank top when they began to flock. The hummingbirds. There had to be at least fifty at one time. One hummingbird is a magical creature. However, seeing fifty in one place, buzzing around, patiently waiting for the feeder suspended in the air by their lightning-fast wings, is truly a sight to behold. They are bright. Tiny. Very fast. Their little chirps are difficult to discern unless you are very close or there are several nearby. I was very close. There were fifty. It was incredible. I sat on my parents' porch for at least an hour, just watching them.

Their buzzing and squeaking put me into a trance, the green of their tiny bodies held me captivated. I couldn't stop watching. As they quickly drained the bright red sugar water in the feeder, I felt something in me change. I felt a peace take over the very core of my being. The tumultuous first six months of the year seemed a million miles away. This time with the hummingbirds, and a day out on my parents' boat swimming in the warm and clear water of the Pomme de Terre Lake, cleared my head and healed me in a way that hours in my therapist's office could not.

Fast forward to two and a half years later. P.I.C. and I are on the final leg of our Panamanian journey. We settled into our poolside cabana and beelined for our waterfront balcony. A hummingbird feeder also lived out there. P.I.C. hopped into the hammock, beer in hand, while I sat in one of the chairs. Within a few minutes, two hummingbirds and a lizard or two were on the hummingbird feeder. P.I.C. sat up.

"Wow, is that a real hummingbird?"

"Yep! Pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"I've never seen one up close."

The look on his face as he took in his first hummingbird close up was priceless. Wonder and awe. We were truly on vacation, seeing beautiful creatures and hitting the ultimate relaxation.

This, my friends, is why I love hummingbirds so much. They represent a healing of sorts. Their little squeaks and fluttering wings remind me of two very wonderful times in my life where I was unequivocally happy.

Isn't that something about which you'd like to be reminded every day?

Dreams.

My dreams have taken a turn for the worse. I definitely have had my fair share of truly odd dreams that leave me stumped for meaning, but lately, these dreams have been blatantly easy to interpret.

DREAM ONE: P.I.C. informs me I am pregnant. How does he know? He took a urine test. DUH. Maid of honor is seriously disappointed. I then begin to fret my recent wine consumption. (P.S. I most definitely am not pregnant.) When I explained this dream to P.I.C., he sighed and asked me, "Do I need to have you revisit a 6th grade health class?" Whatever. Dream P.I.C. was the one that got it wrong, so it's his fault.

DREAM TWO: We begin the ceremony, but key players are missing (such as the best man). Ceremony takes place in my grandparent's living room. P.I.C. and I start to say our vows. The problem? We never wrote any. We hem and haw out a few nice things, then turn to the few people there and say, "Um, I guess those are our vows," only to turn around and find out our officiant is missing. The reason? She decided to take a nap and finish it up later. Apparently, we had started the ceremony an hour early. Why it took place at my grandparent's house is beyond me.

SIGH.

I look forward to falling asleep tonight. Stupid stress.

On a much happier note, we had a blast taking our last-minute engagement photos and they turned out pretty amazingly.

Just a sampling of the cuteness that ensued during our photo shoot...

Eleven days...yikes! Fingers crossed I don't lose it before then.

I don't hate laundry...

...and yet I do it so rarely. I'm not entirely sure WHY. I enjoy the smell of clean laundry. I like clean clothes. However, lucky as I am to have a washer and dryer in my apartment building, anyone who has ever had to do the "load your basket up, walk outside, unlock the gate, unlock the door to the basement" dance to get to their laundry room knows that it can be a pain in the ass. (Yes, if you asked me right now, my dream home could be 600 square feet so long as there was a washer and dryer IN UNIT.)

However, today, a rare unplanned weekend day, has been full of domestic delights. I watched a documentary on Netflix (The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia...watch it, it's really fascinating), then got down to business. I walked to the laundromat from hell, got $8 in change, then started my laundry.

I have actually been VERY cleverly avoiding doing my laundry for the better part of six weeks. No, I do not have that extensive of a wardrobe. And no, I don't re-wear my clothes (well...other than jeans and the usual suspects). I have a secret weapon. P.I.C. He tends to remain on top of his laundry. Whenever he mentions he's going to do a load or two, I simply ask, "Heyyyy, honey. Can I throw a couple of things in with yours?" Naturally, he says yes. For six weeks, this has pretty much how I have avoided doing my own laundry. Some shirts here...gym clothes there. He has done it. WITHOUT COMPLAINT.

What is even better is that he doesn't really nag at me about how my laundry begins to take over our bedroom. Understandably so, six weeks without a full laundry session will result in quite the treacherous terrain in one's bedroom. Ours is no exception. I will full on trip over it as I attempt to enter my walk in closet. In fact, last night I had to CLIMB over a mountain of dirty clothes to get into bed. Seriously. When P.I.C. suggested that we clean a bit this weekend, given our busy two weeks looming, I told him that I would take care of it while he went into the office for a bit today. Really, that just meant that he was kindly suggesting that I take care of the laundry issue in our bedroom.

AND GUESS WHAT? It is NEARLY done. After one snafu of me attempting to just use our spare sheets we bought for our guest room on our bed (and a rather sweaty struggle before admitting defeat: they did not fit our bed), I had to run BACK to the laundromat to get more quarters. After stripping the bed of our old sheets, and I had NO SHEETS to put on the bed, I knew I had to wash them. Sigh. Almost done. (In unrelated news, we still have sheets available for purchase on our registry for wedding gifts, friends...please??)

So. Yes, I am so smooth I can get P.I.C. to do my laundry. However, I broke down and did my own today. $10 worth of clean clothes are now in their proper places in my apartment. Ya know what? I also let P.I.C. throw some of his stuff in there. It's only fair, right?

Wow. At the rate I'm going, the next time I will really need to do laundry I will be a married woman. Then he's legally OBLIGATED to help me. Right? I gotta go. I have to work that into my vows somehow.

Happy Sunday, all!

Going for bust on brick breaker

You know how everyone has a super-cool iphone or android phone? Not me. Nope. I have a sucky Blackberry. No fun apps. No "checking in" on things (although, I don't think I'd really do that anyhow). Worst of all, no fun (and highly addictive) games such as Angry Birds (or Words with Friends, a game that I am CERTAIN I would dominate if given the chance*).

Sigh. I love addictive games. I recall becoming addicted to a Scrabble-like game on Yahoo Games called Literati. (Look it up, it's still there.) I recall staying up 'til the wee hours of the morning playing it because I wanted to play...JUST...ONE...MORE...GAME. So, I would likely have the same thing with Angry Birds.

However, you cannot play Angry Birds on the Blackberry. (If I am wrong here, PLEASE tell me.) What CAN you play for free? Brick breaker. So that is what I play. The other day, I had an epic game going. My previous high score was around 30,000 points. I was over NINETY THOUSAND POINTS. Seriously. I could not lose. I had fourteen lives. I kept going and going, much like the Energizer bunny. I even made the joke to P.I.C., "Watch, my phone will freeze and this epic game will get erased." So last night, I'm multitasking on the couch (READ: Watching TV and playing brick breaker.) I was nearing 100,000 points.  (I SWEAR!) All of a sudden I got the white screen. "Application reset." Seriously. That epic game? Gone. My high score is back to 30,000. What can I do? Just laugh, I suppose. I'm not the type to throw things or throw fits (alright, MAYBE I have thrown a fit or two in my day). I started over.

How long 'til my contract is up and I can get a fun phone and play Angry Birds like all of YOU people?

* I have been stealing P.I.C.'s phone and playing Words with Friends FOR him. So, if you're getting smoked, it's probably due to my stellar Scrabble skills. If you're beating him, it's because he's playing when I am not around.

When I grow up...

At thirty years old, I feel as though I should know how to finish that sentence. At twenty-five, I believe I did have that sentence finished. By the time I turned twenty-seven, I wasn't so sure. At twenty-nine, I was sure again. I was sure that I really didn't know.

Sigh.

At thirty, I realize that I am in the same boat.

When I was a young girl, I wanted to be a ballerina. I had this MARVELOUS tutu that I would wear all the time. Twirling and spinning to the music in my head, I was SET. A dancer I would be. (As an aside, I'm fairly certain that if I had that tutu today, I'd still be putting it on a twirling around my apartment. Either that or putting it on and getting splashed bus Sex and the City-style a la Sarah Jessica Parker. I'd be cramming my too-big butt in there, that is for sure.) A lack of formal training kicked that dream to the curb.

Today? I feel as though I should be set. I'm not. I am a "grown-up." Well, I guess I am. I have a career, I have expensive diplomas hanging on the walls of my very own office. I'm about to get married. I'm pretty grown up. But that little girl in the tutu is still inside of me. She's twirling. She's strutting around in a tutu. I'm pretty sure she's telling me that I'm meant for something else.

What that is? I don't know.

To be continued....after April 30.

Stripping in court: This really happened (Part Two)

NOT ME. I DID NOT STRIP IN COURT.

Now that I cleared that up, I can explain what exactly happened in court this morning.

Despite the judge granting my motion last week (a motion to dismiss, nonetheless, so the case was dismissed), Judge refused to strike the trial date set for this morning. Therefore, I had to appear in court.

Of course, my pro se opponent appeared as well. This is how it went down.

FA: "Good morning your honor, F.A. on behalf of the Defendant."
Judge (J): (Looking at Pro se) "You were not hear on Thursday and I dismissed your case."
Pro se (PS):  "I know, and I'm sorry for that, Judge. You see, last week, I had heart surgery."
J: "You had whaaa?"
PS: "HEART surgery...SEEE"

At this moment, PS begins to unbutton his shirt to show the judge his surgical proof.

J: "I DON'T NEED TO SEE THAT. STOP UNBUTTONING YOUR SHIRT."

:::Silence:::

PS: "I have a doctor's note too."

LUCKY for me, Judge stood on the previous ruling.

Pro se: 0, Fabulously Awkward: 67.

OK, I might not have triumphed SIXTY-SEVEN times over pro se litigants, however I have triumphed over quite a few.

This really happened.

I went to court this afternoon to present a motion I filed last week. As required, I had sent notice to the opposing party.

Opposing party did not show up. The judge sat on the bench for TEN minutes reading my motion. My THREE page motion (double-spaced). Ten minutes. She then looks up at me and says, "Counsel, I have read your motion. Proceed."

Now, for those of you non-lawyers out there, this is not how things usually goes down. The judges always usually sometimes read your motion before court. Additionally, if the respondent (that person who did not FILE the motion, so NOT ME in this situation) does not show up, the moving party (ME) will win without much argument.

No. This judge wanted me to give a FULL ON oral speech. So I did. But not until she had thoroughly read (and memorized) my brief and succint motion.

When you see a judge sitting there for TEN MINUTES reading your motion, lots of thoughts run through your head. "Shoot. Maybe she knows something I don't know. Maybe she will deny it because he's not here. What if I don't move my left leg from it's locked position? I might fall in the front of the courtroom. Oh, it's cool, there are only three other pro se litigants in here. And the clerk. And the court reporter. Falling would have minimal impact on my life today. But just in case, I should unlock that left leg. There ya go. Now. SHE'S STILL READING THE FIRST PAGE? That's only the part where I say who I represent and that the PLAINTIFF SUED MY CLIENT..."

And so on.

I won. Thank goodness. It's not every day you fear losing a motion when it is unopposed.

One small-ish elephant.

I know this topic has been discussed to death. Not necessarily by me, but I've read other blogs.

But just now, I heard what could only be described as my upstairs neighbor FALL from his couch to the floor.

THUD...D...D

A few moments later, he was clearly mad because he stomped down the hallway.

STOMP STOMP STOMP

Then I heard the toilet flush.

Clearly, he was very angry because he fell off the couch. That caused him to stomp angrily down the hallway, knees high, because everyone knows that is the only way to stomp, to the kitchen, presumably to get a tool to pay back the couch for such an offense. However, as he walked toward the bathroom, he realized, "Yeah, I could take a leak," so he stopped. Post-leak taking, the sound of the flush almost soothed him, and he forgot to go back and destroy the couch.

I hear sporadic stomps up there now. That's how I know the flush didn't full calm him down. However, I think the episode is over, and we can all carry on with our regular lives. Upstairs neighbor's couch lives to fight another day.

On another note, if I had not seen my neighbor a time or two and realized he was a rather big man (as in tall) and likely has immense feet, I really would have thought a herd of elephants lives upstairs. Or at least one. One small-ish elephant. Dude is LOUD. And clearly, he has big feet. The falling off the couch is a new noise. He must've had a rough day.

What's the deal with YOUR neighbors, fellow apartment dwellers?

(Note to self: Avoid writing blog entries when I know I am tired and not really making sense.)

Boxed wine.

I'm just going to put this out there: Call me a new fan of the vino in a box. Yes, friends, I have jumped on the box o'wine band wagon. Why? Well, to be honest, I don't make it to Trader Joe's enough to really buy wine that I can afford in a way that I like. (Meaning, that I get to browse the most beautiful labels and make my decision based on the best, most gorgeous bottle. Doesn't everyone choose their wine that way?) I rely on P.I.C. to get groceries most weeks, and he doesn't value a pretty label like I do. Well, and if I say buy one bottle of red and one bottle of white, that's what he will buy. Whereas if I were shopping, I would see that list and say "well, but there is also this interesting label that I'd like to try" and I'd end up buying probably six bottles. Hey. That's me. It's just how I roll.

Well, back to the box. (That's what she said.)

The other day, I was getting ready for some company. I knew that I needed some wine. P.I.C. and I were on a strange corner with an unfamiliar liquor store that just begged for my patronage. It looked SO SCARY from the outside, but the inside conveyed a lovely 70s fake wood paneled decor and a surprisingly vast selection of wine. Score for us! However, I locked and loaded on a certain box of wine. Once I saw that I could get FOUR BOTTLES worth in that tiny, easy-to-cart-on-the-CTA box, I was sold. I bought that box. I did feel a little bit like my grandmother (sans carafe), but I bought it.

You know what? I liked that box. I liked it so much I bought another one when it ran out. Today, I just bought another one. It's FINE. They are all different kinds. I have to decide what I like. Most importantly, do I like the box?

Also, remind me the next time I make a grocery list for P.I.C., I need to include a carafe. I need to class this joint up a bit.

Frustration over a special kind of writer's block.

Clearly, I do not have writer's block on the blog front. Nope. I've been blabbing incessantly this week about anything and everything. That is not the issue.

Of course, this one is wedding-related.

For much of the wedding planning, I have a had an attitude of "I don't care, let's just pick one." However, now that it's time to choose the readings for our wedding and the writing of our vows, I am suddenly stricken with panic.

Clearly, I am not the type of girl to just have some boring poem read. I'm not a boring girl. Frankly, neither is P.I.C. Well, he's not a girl at all, but he's not boring either. We are rather unique and goofy individuals. A reading of the first Corinthians will not cut it. Therefore I have spent the better part of three hours on the internet googling various phrases that I hope will lead me to a rather unique and special reading. Actually, no. I need two. I want two nice readings. TO NO AVAIL. The internet is failing me mostly this evening.

Oh, and I have to write vows too. Initially, I was all "WHATEVER.We will just do the usuals." But after thinking about it for awhile, I decided that it wouldn't be representative of us. Much like a canned ceremony or a canned reading, canned vows just aren't us.

Here's the thing. Unlike picking out the dishes (I still almost feel bad for the lady at Bed Bath & Beyond), I care immensely about our readings and about our vows. This is the part that won't last very long and that most people will not remember.

I will remember. It does matter to me. This is the guts of our day. The short time we will stand in front of everyone, unbustled and anxious, will be the most important part of our day. That's the part where we get married. It is the reason for the copious amounts of alcohol and serious dance party later in the evening.

So. Yeah. Writer's block. Vows. Readings. I got nothing right now.

I did, however, finally stop by a florist. So at least if everyone is just standing around awkwardly, reading nothing, no vows being professed, I'll have a bouquet. Right?