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Showered with Love

February 8, 2011

On Saturday these two lovely women:

also known as Darcy and my mother, threw me the world’s best bridal shower. Really. The Guinness Book of World’s Records people came over and proclaimed it The Best.

Complete with the world’s cutest name tags

and a cake meant for a Princess (Mikkimoto). Take that Middleton!

That crown? It’s hand-made of sugar but something I can keep (and maybe wear around my bedroom while dancing to Madonna’s Material Girl) forever. Yes this amazing piece of art was made by the same magician who is making our wedding cake.

If this crown ends up on the wedding cake I have no idea how it got there. Seriously, once you have a crown on your cake, can you ever go back to a non-royalty cake? Me thinks not.

(that thing on my head isn’t a dead fuzzy flamingo, it’s a crown that Darcy’s daughter wanted me to wear. When a 5 year old with excellent taste in all things Princess asks you to wear something, you don’t say “no”.)

Oh and? This cake was totally sugar free. So I had cake. For the first time in almost a year. And it was good.

There were no games at this gig, which made some guests cheer while others sighed with relief. Instead we were just going to go around the room and quickly introduce ourselves and everyone say how they knew me. Simple enough, right?

Apparently when you have been as single as long as I have, not to mention have been dating as aggressively and vocally as moi (“I will NEVER EVER FIND the right guy!) when you do finally find the man of your dreams, people are reduced to tears. Literally.

I was blessed to have all these amazing women from all parts of my life at this event.

These two knew me from college and 6th grade.

These lovely ladies are women from the neighborhood who have known me since I was five. I baby-sat their kids and when Susan said I was a role model to their girls, more sobs ensued.

Friends new and old gathered.

The outpouring of love was so intense (a rep for water proof mascara would have made a killing in this crowd) my mom handed out Kleenex as she said, “This is like group!”

After an HOUR, we all got a grip and some food. With full bellies, I was surrounded with amazingly generous gifts.

The time just flew. When people started to put their coats on, I wanted to throw a temper tantrum fit for a Princess. But I instead I held it together and just hugged and thanked and said, “Can’t wait to see you at the wedding!”

Now instead of wanting to buy the world a Coke and keep it company, I’d want everyone to experience a day like I had on Saturday.

And maybe also teach the world to sing in perfect harmony, because that would just be nice.

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friends, luckiest girl in the world, thats one way to end a post, wedding

Golden Girls Take Chicago – Part Two

January 21, 2011

We now return to the second half of the Golden Girls Take Chicago.

We last left our heroines waiting for the check after sending back a cut of meat so fatty even Henry VIII would be disgusted. In fact everyone’s meals lacked something. That something being taste.

As we waited for our check, we wrestled with our next move.

Darcy: So girls, what should we do now? I’m done drinking for the night as I’m really not feeling well but I’ll still go out. (Darcy was now complaining of chills with a very flushed face…)
Amy: We could go back up to the roof top bar for a drink and decide.
Me and Darcy: Sure.
Me: OK, truth serum time ladies. Do you really want to go out?
Amy: We’d have to get our coats, and get in a cab. It’s cold out.
Darcy: Let’s just go up to the bar, you guys can have another drink and then maybe back to the room to watch another movie?
Me: (smiling with relief as my stomach was still protesting Travel Eating) Sounds good.
Amy: OK.

pause

Amy: OK, truth serum right? Let’s just skip the bar and go back to the room.
Darcy and me: Thank you Baby Cheezus.
Darcy to the Pork Chop Manager: Can we get our check, NOW?

Once back up in our nursing home room we changed into our weekend uniforms, also known as pajamas, with a speed that would make Superman in his phone booth jealous.

Hysterical laughter ensued the minute I realized we spent more time getting ready for my big bachlorette night out in Chicago, then we did actually being out.

Right before we snuggled into the foldout bed, Amy announced that she was really nauseous and yet, now, I was starving.

So we ordered room service. Perrier water for her and a grilled cheese for me. When in doubt, always order kid food.

An hour into The World’s Most Depressing Movie, I noticed that we still hadn’t gotten our food. So I called down to the front desk.

Me: Hi, we ordered room service an hour ago and we never got it.
Clueless Dude: Oh. Ah. Hmm. Let me look into that and call you back.

Ten minutes later with no call back, I was now mad. And hungry. And depressed from this movie that needed a “Must Take Prozac Before Watching” warning, I called back and did something I have never done. Oh yeah, I went there. I played The Diabetes Card.

Me: Hi. Me again. Not so surprising with the high quality of customer service in this hotel, but you never called back. You see, I’m diabetic. I need this food!
Clueless Dude: Oh wow. I’m so sorry. It will be right up.

Two minutes later the phone rings.

Clueless and Now Scared Shitless Dude: Hi Miss. I’m so so sorry but our kitchen is now closed. I guess we never got your order. If you want I can order you something from another restaurant but it might be an hour.
Me: Are you kidding me??!! Forget it. Just make sure you at least bring up the Perrier. Free of charge of course.

Amy and Darcy were mildly horrified but also so sucked into this movie that an affair, divorce and a dead baby trumped me not getting grilled cheese. Especially since I had now discovered the snacks we brought.

When there is a knock at the door ten minutes later, I said, “This should be good.”

I opened the door to find two men in suits holding a bottle of Perrier and three glasses. I recognized the one. It couldn’t be. But IT WAS! Pork Chop Manager!

Hotel Manager: Hello ma’am. My name is _____ and I’m the Hotel Manager and this is ________ the manager of our restaurant. (Um, yeah, I met him an hour ago when I gave him back my meal.) I understand you have the diabetes. I am so sorry for this mix up. Would you like me to go to Walgreen’s for you?
Me: (trying really hard not to laugh as I think the hotel manager’s eyes are going to pop out of his head from fright) No no. I’ll be fine. (I really just wanted the Perrier and to be done with this)
Hotel Manager: Are you sure? Is there anything I can do? How about I give you a $15 credit to the mini bar?
Pork Chop Manager: And I’ll give you two $18 vouchers for breakfast tomorrow.
Me: OK! Thanks!
Hotel Manager: Again, we are so so sorry. If there is anything I can do, PLEASE let me know.

As I walk back into the room, Darcy and Amy are now laughing so hard they make no noise.

Finally Darcy squeaks out “Tell me that wasn’t Pork Chop man!”

Me: Not only him but he brought along the hotel manger, who wanted to run to Walgreen’s for me.
Amy: (cry laughing) To get you what? A Lunchable? Some edible lip gloss?
Darcy: You should have started to faint in the doorway and then crawled back into the room.

For the next two hours we laughed hysterically at how fantastic our Angela Lansbury, Golden Girls, Bachlorette party turned out. And how awesome it would be to return to the rooftop bar, in our pajamas sans bras and demand a grilled cheese.

That night, I went to bed giggling. And let me tell you, that’s the best way to fall asleep.

The next morning we enjoyed our delicious and free breakfast in bed. When we were packing up, Amy reminded me I hadn’t used the $15 mini bar credit. I decided to spend the money wisely. I took a umbrella and a bottle of water.

My weekend in Chicago with two of my favorite people on this planet is a time I’ll never forget. I’d give up a plastic penis any day for a missing grilled cheese and a delicious mini bar umbrella.

Side note: Monday Darcy went to the doctor to learn she has walking pneumonia. And Amy? She’s been sick this entire week and now has the stomach flu. And you tell me we didn’t party?

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Chicago, cousin sister Amy, friends, trips, weekend

Golden Girls Take Chicago

January 18, 2011

I can’t believe it’s almost been a week since I last blogged. Time flies when you are on a Bachlorette or Bust adventure with more plastic penises than you can… you can… shake a penis at. Or when the drinks are flowing and the good times are a rollin’.

We were so wasted! I mean look at Darcy, she’s totally passed out cold. Don’t let that smile fool you, she’s totally passed out man.

Whoo! Hoo!!! WILD! (pay no attention to the pajamas in these Girls Gone Wild pictures. PJ’s are the new micro mini.)

Luckily you can’t see the digital clock which would read somewhere around 9:15. At night.

OK so there were no strippers and I didn’t pimp myself out with “Suck for a Buck” or “Get Lei’d” shirts.

Instead it was a truly awesome weekend. One of the best times I think I’ve ever had.

Our hotel was right downtown. Just a block off of Michigan Avenue. Our room had an amazing view.

I love big cities where you can just wander until you find a great restaurant.

Friday night we stumbled upon an Armenian place that was perfect. Sadly there were no Kardashians to be found. So we drowned our sorrows in kebabs and wine. Somehow I managed to strong arm Amy and Darcy into letting me pay for dinner. But that was the last dime they would let me spend. I was spoiled rotten by those two loves.

When we got back to the hotel I declared it “PAJAMA PARTY TIME!” and promptly brought out cozy socks for all. You can’t go to Chicago in January without the proper equipment.

And Darcy doled out the “Rock Candy” rings for us. Not as warm as socks but a tad more flippin’ GORGEOUS!

Saturday morning we once again wandered downtown Chicago until we found the most perfect and beautiful breakfast buffet in the Omni Hotel. I still think longingly about the blueberry maple sausage. I miss you, Sausage!

After breakfast it was all business. We weren’t leaving the Windy City without my wedding shoes and undergarments.

We were so naive, so young and vulnerable as we set out. Little did we know that unless we wanted a shoe that costs as much as my monthly rent, or a ridiculous excuse for a bra from Victoria’s Secret that is 4 cup sizes too small, we were out of luck.

With my feet broken and my spirit getting there, Amy got the brilliant idea to start CALLING places on her cellular telephone thingy instead of us walking blocks only to find heartache.

What we found is that my wedding underwear did exist! And were only 200 miles away. IN MADISON! I didn’t care, I was just glad we found them, as I made an appointment for Monday.

Now we just needed shoes. Time was getting late, our dinner reservations were looming. So we split up. Amy broke left and went to Bloomingdale’s as Darcy and I went right to Nine West. When there, in that small store on Michigan Ave, a beckon of light shined. The shoe! Could it be? It was pretty, without a hooker heel. Something I could walk in and even with my current Chinese foot-binding feet, THEY WERE COMFORTABLE!

I sent a text Amy calling the search off. The shoe was found.

With a brief stint back in our room where I soaked in a bubble bath with wine (spoiled rotten) we went up to the rooftop bar for a drink before dinner.

The waitress gave us many ideas for fun places to eat and Jazz bars to go out afterward. Great! You bet! But hey, the restaurant downstairs is really close, no need to go back out in the cold and we get 20% off for being guests of the hotel.

At dinner, as we waited ten years for our food, a silence fell over our merry group. I was the first to admit, I wasn’t really feeling well. Perhaps it was my Dirty Martini on an empty stomach or perhaps it was that sausage from breakfast rearing it’s ugly head. Darcy and Amy agreed. They too weren’t feeling so hot.

When our food came, we all gasped at my Fred Flintstone sized pork chop. This thing was massive and it glistened. I made a few cuts thinking maybe it wasn’t as greasy as it looked, only to find fat. Every piece I cut was fattier than the next. Knowing that my stomach already wasn’t happy with me, this piece of blubber meat would send it into full on revolt.

So I politely sent it back via the manager of the restaurant.

Since this post is starting to resemble Gone With The Wind, I’ll play the “Who Shot JR” card and say:

To Be Continued…

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Chicago, cousin sister Amy, friends, thats one way to end a post, wedding

The Year I Don’t Hate January

January 5, 2011

Normally this is my least favorite time of the year.

The holidays are over, the snow is dirty, the mail is no longer interesting, there isn’t a day off until late May and winters in Wisconsin are much like Paula Abdul. THEY NEVER GO AWAY.

But this year, oh this year is just a bunch of goodness in the first quarter of 2011.

In a little over a week I’m headed to Chicago for a bachlorette party of sorts. “Of sorts” because I’m going with just my cousin and my BFF Darcy. My little but very mighty wedding party. I decided to forgo the unoriginal (and ridiculous for anyone over 35) dance club while being donned with many a plastic penis and fake veil, for a weekend of good shopping, great food, delicious wine and two of my favorite women on the planet. I think I made a wise choice, no? Plastic penis just isn’t my color.

If that isn’t enough to make a girl giddy, in February I will be showered with two showers. One thrown by Darcy and my mom here in Madison and one in Oconomowoc with Matt’s mom and sisters. Since Matt’s family is close to the population of a small town, they decided to celebrate with me on their turf. Sounds great to me. Will travel for presents.

And then there’s March. Where it’s my 39th birthday and a week long trip to Jamaica. Oh and I guess I shouldn’t forget that third weekend in March where I’ll get to see my boy in a tux while Matt does me the honor of becoming Mr. Becky Mikkimoto.

Back in September, when I was dealing with a mind that was AWOL, the thought of making it through the day let alone my wedding sent adrenaline mixed with dread rushing through my veins. I had no idea how I was going to pull it off and the whole notion scared the hell out of me. Not ever questioning my love for Matt, just the wedding itself.

But now! Now that I’m happy, sane and in a really good place, I CAN. NOT. WAIT! I can honestly say I’m not nervous, not freaking out, just happy. And down right excited!

If things go wrong, if something is forgotten, if someone can’t come, it’s all OK because I’m marrying the best man I know, regardless of what happens around us.

So my dear readers, if I’m annoyingly euphoric in the next several weeks, during this usual worst time of the year, won’t you forgive me?

I promise if I say anything about winter being beautiful you have my permission to punch me in the ovary.

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depression, family, friends, thats one way to end a post, wedding