August 2010

I went to the dentist today.

Dun, dun, duuuuuun.

For those of you who keep up with my blog, you know the dentist and I don’t see eye to eye.  Mainly that he seems to find lots of cavities.  And I just don’t see what the big deal is. 

Ok, I didn’t really mean that.  And I DO practice good dental hygiene, I promise!  I can’t help the bad enamel.  Thanks a lot, DNA.  And while I’m sarcastically thanking you, I’d also like to thank you for the stumpy legs and that weird one hair that always grows super long on the back of my arm.  What?  TMI? 

You have one too, and you know it.  Just ‘cuz I’m brave enough to admit to the one long hair.

For those of you wedding guests that are just joining us from the wedding website, welcome.  Grab a chair.  Read about my one, freakishly long, arm hair.

This has taken a drastic turn away from being about the dentist.  So here’s how I will bring it full circle.

I don’t have cavities!  Repeat: No Cavities!  Want it in bold?  You got it!  No Cavities!

I told the hygenist how much I floss (which is the truth) and how I use the fluoride treatment often (which is not the truth).  I also was the most friendliest of friendly patients, even after a long Monday at work and someone else’s fingers all up in my gumline, just in case the universe gods were still deciding whether to turn the dental karma my way.  It worked.  I’m cleared.  Now let’s go eat a Kit Kat.


I learned an important lesson this past week.  The lesson being that I need to start loving flowers like carnations instead of flowers like hydrangeas.  Because hydrangeas, it turns out, are a huge vacuum cleaner to the savings account.

I finally met with a florist on Monday and we discussed my vision for the reception decor and my bridal bouquet.  And somehow, over the course of a 2 hour appointment, the conversation ended with me having one sole flower – can you guess?  oo, oo…try and guess!

My bouquet was to be all white hydrangeas.  The table centerpieces, along with manzanita branches, were to have white hydrangeas.  Apparently, she was all about me having the hydrangeas.  I’m not sure how I feel.  Hydrangeas are one of my favorite flowers.  I love the poofiness and soft shape.  I also love the them for a winter wedding.  And I think I even allowed her to sell me on the “one” flower theme because it’s a little dramatic having a focal point flower.

But then the cost estimate came.

Let me first start off by saying that I went into the meeting with a clear decision to keep it simple.  We aren’t doing boutinerres.  There won’t be flowers for the mothers and grandmothers.  The tables will be branchy and there will be lots of candlelight.  Not only will it be winter, but it’s also a venue that has its own beautiful look.  So we can get away with minimal flowers.  So when I went in, I knew we’d only need about 5 flowers per table.  Somehow this has translated into a $2,000 bill.

Fun fact: did you know hydrangeas are about $15.00 a head? 

I’m definitely going to get another opinion.  The florist was nice, but I didn’t feel like she had a clear vision.  I also feel like I’m being ripped off.  Wish me luck.  Or else you’ll be forced volunteering to help put together elaborate floral centerpieces at 3 in the morning the night before the big day. 

Eloping in Vegas is looking more and more like a real possibility.

I’ve been feeling really down about something at work lately.  It’s too complicated to explain, and because this is the big, bad internet and its little internet-y fingers reach long and far, I should probably refrain from bitching about work on the blog, anyway.  But just know I’m thinking bitchy thoughts.  Just know that.

So what’s a girl to do to turn that frown upside down?  Why, take pictures of her shoe collection, of course.


So in no particular order (because, really now, how do you choose a favorite?  These are like my children and you wouldn’t pick favorites with your children, right?  Right, Mom?  Mom?) here are just a few of my favorite little pretties.  (And I can call them “pretties” without it being weird because I’m running this ship.  If I refer to them as that outside of the blog, though, it’s fair game for you to smack me and demand I stop being a such a moron.)

The new kids on the block

These are my newest bad boys.  And they’re so rocker chic.  And it’s alright to be jealous.  But try to play it cool, next time.  Drooling isn’t very lady-like.

Let me preface these by saying – oh how I love thee, leopard print.  I have walked these shoes into the ground.  Correction – I have run these into the ground.  Because I most often wear these to places of the speakeasy persuasion, I get on this kick of proving to people how fast my leopard shoes are.  So if you ever saw a girl running awkwardly down the sidewalk in leopard heels, while a bunch of people laugh behind her, that may or may not have been me.  I myself am proud of my heel-running skills.  It’s an art skill.  One I will one day prove when I run a marathon in heels (my ankles just perked up and said, “wait, what’s up?”)

But, I digress.  These shoes don’t really need an explanation beyond that, though.  Just a sound effect.  Like “purrr.”  Also, you might hear a “hoofing” noise, because sometimes I pretend I’m stomping them like a horse about to take off full-speed.  (And I get that a horse is a whole different species of animal than a leopard, but the Captain has a tendency to blur my knowledge of biology).  It’s when the “hoofing” starts, that Tony usually turns to me in the bar and takes the drink out of my hand.  These shoes are like a red dress.  They can sometimes get you into trouble.

I have a boo-boo. Please tell Katie to stop running in me.



Someone said more leopard print, yeah?

These shoes have a french accent.  Oh, oui, they do.

Are giraffes fast runners too? 

In keeping with the animal theme, I shall dub thee, “The Rhino.”

All these animal print shoes are starting to make me feel a little Cruela Deville.  I promise, no animal was hurt in the making of these shoes.  None of the fuzzy-variety at least.

My wallet was hurt in the buying of all these shoes, though.  But how can a girl with such cute shoes throw a pity party, c’mon?!

Could it be?  More animal print?  Jesus, woman!  You’re not a zookeeper!

Every respectable woman needs at least 1 pair of red pumps in her closet.  That’s why I have 2.

And if I could figure out an animal that is such an unnatural shade of red, like above, I would give these their animal counterpart as well.  But, alas, the animal kingdom wasn’t constructed like a rainbow.

These are foolish, foolish shoes.  My feet hate me after these.  And my feet are pretty used to being contorted into different animal shapes, let me tell ya’. 

But they’re so pretty.  And what I wouldn’t do for pretty “pretties.”

Do we need a break?  Come up for air?  Have you been wondering how my feet aren’t completely squished into little balls at the end of my legs? 

Want to know a secret?  I usually wear these with wool socks.  So when you see me in these next, don’t pull up my pant leg.  Unless you want to admire my fashionista new-trend attempts.

Pay no attention to the dirt on the heel.  Trekking to the bars in Wisconsin can bring you across such natural elements as rain, snow and mud.  Things no glorious shoe should have to encounter. 

Uh oh.  The bully’s in town.  Trying to mess up the flow with its practical soles and tedious laces.

It’s cool, though.  We know who’s boss around here still.

Here’s probably the one and only picture where mosquitoes weren’t trying to annihilate our existence on this good earth. 

Aside from the Toyota Camry officiating in the background, I think it turned out pretty well. 

And now, without further ado, I, as a seafoam-colored, reliable, ten-point safety rated Japanese vehicle, pronounce you husband and wife.

The rest of the photos, unfortunately, didn’t fare so well.  We can thank our buzzy insect friends for that.  Tony: A little scritchity, scritch on the calf and I should be all set. 

Katie: Hold it together, partner. Tony: No wait, he’s moving up to my face.  MAH FACE!   

Katie: Do I look pale to you?  Oh right, mosquitoes, sorry. 

Tony: Holy head attack, Batman!  He has reinforcements!  Duck and cover…DUCK AND COVER, EVERYONE! 

Katie: Seriously with this guy over here? Tony: Can’t even talk because he’s losing his shit. 

Katie: I find this amusing.   

Tony: What just happened to me?  I feel weak.  Who are you?  Why am I in a Santa hat? 

Katie: Back up ladies, this fella’s all mine. 

Katie: Wait a sec… 

Tony: Your nonplussed attitude during my recent attack has me feeling a guilty pleasure at this sudden turn of events.   

Katie: No, seriously, something is eating the flesh on my arm.   

Tony: I am feeling anxiety right now.  Please note how I am backing away from you for fear you will fling the mosquito onto my very sensitive face.  I don’t like them near my face!  Are you listening?   

Katie: I would appreciate you loosening your vice grip on my hands so I can swat this thing off. 

Tony: I will stare at your arm to keep track of that bug.  If he goes near my face, I am calling this whole thing off. 

Tony: Are we done?  We’re done, right?  Is it time to be done, yet? 

Katie: Keep smiling, Katie.  You can’t kill him until AFTER the marriage when you can collect the  insurance money.* 

(*And before you start dialing the police, people, please recognize how KIDDING I am.  Besides, the insurance wouldn’t cover that hot, little Aston Martin I’ve been eyeing anyway…) 

Seen enough?  Didn’t think so.  Here’s part two of the Great Mosquito Swarm of August, 2010.  Please pay close attention to Tony’s left temple where the happiest mosquito in all the land drained about 5 minutes worth of nutrients from Tony’s skull. 

 Tony: I feel a weird pricking sensation near my left temple.   

Katie: Thank goodness those mosquitoes are finally leaving me alone.  They must have found a new blood source. 

Tony: Yeah, there’s definitely something on the side of my forehead.  But I’m afraid to move for fear Katie will beat me if I ruin yet another picture. 

Katie: I will seriously beat him if he ruins another picture. 

Tony: Must. Not. Move.  Is it hot out here?  Anybody else feeling a little warm? 

Katie:  Starting to wonder if she remembered to clean the bottom of her feet. 

Tony: Something’s not right.  I feel light-headed. 

Katie: :::Inhale::::::Exhale::: 

And it wouldn’t be fair to post only bad photos of Tony.  So to balance out the universe, I’m leaving you all with this stunning gem: 

I’m fairly confident most of you got your Save the Date cards in the mail today.  I’m posting the digital version because if you look at your hard copy, you’ll see the color looks slightly skewed.  Or maybe Tony just felt like wearing lipstick that day.  I’ll let you be the judge on that one. 

Thumbs down, OfficeMax, for making my fiancée look like he dabbles in makeup.  Thumbs down, indeed.

Save The Date Card (hint – you’ll need some type of program that lets you view .pdf files.  Because apparently WordPress hates me.  Just like OfficeMax).

So there you have it.  The color is much better on the .pdf file and Tony doesn’t look so skeletor with big red lips and I don’t look like I’m hanging out in the shadows, all creepy and evil-like.  I think I may be exaggerating the color skew on the postcards.  But still.  I hate you OfficeMax.

Moving on…(because someone has to put a stop to the OfficeMax tangent).

When I first started thinking up creative ideas for our Save the Date cards, I had grand visions of us sitting in our bathing suits doing “summer-y” things, while decked out in winter garb.  And as the photo shoot day moved closer, it dawned on me that 170 postcard recipients would soon see me strutting my stuff in an itty bitty bikini.  And I pictured some bewildered great-aunt Mildred somewhere shaking her head while muttering “oh my stars.”  (Note: neither of us have a great-aunt Mildred.  But we both have active imaginations).  So we made it a little more PG and wore regular summer clothes.  I’m sorry to dash your dreams, ladies, but Tony’s not in swim trunks.  Save those fainting spells for Elvis.  Or Justin Bieber.  Whatever.

And in true Tony and Katie fashion, we have tons (and I’m talking tons) of horrendous, hilarious blooper photos.  70 plus photos of one-eye-open, weird smiles and fat arms.  And 7 pictures in a row where a very happy mosquito is sucking the lifeblood out of Tony’s forehead.  And these I will save for tomorrow.  Or until Tony comes home with the memory card that holds these photos.  You don’t think he’s hiding them on purpose, right?

Poor Tony.  Poor, poor Tony.  He’s been working on a brochure in Quark all month.  I’m talking, probably one of the biggest projects he’s done for work.  And he made one wrong “Save” this morning and all of a sudden poof.  The file was lost to that special land where only important, deadlined computer files go.  Also known as What The F&!^ Land!  I think we’ve all visited that land once or twice.  But man, I feel his pain.

He’ll be up all night, no doubt.  While I’m cozy, asleep in our big, comfy bed.  Ok, that was mean.  Really mean.  Sorry, babe.

Anyway, on a more exciting note, we’re heading up north tomorrow night.  Just the two of us.  And I’m excited to spend a weekend fishing, tanning, sleeping in, watching movies, and reading a good book.  And we made a deal.  He wouldn’t talk about work.  And in return, I promised (maybe with my fingers crossed behind my back, but…) that I wouldn’t talk about the wedding.  I’m not going to lie.  There might be a lot of silence.

You want more exciting news?  Can you handle it?  We’re sending out our Save-the-Date cards tomorrow morning.  And they turned out cuu-uute.  And you know what that means, right?  All the blooper outtake photos posted on this blog when I get back.  Did I just make you wish me home sooner?  You jerks!

We did our wedding registry yesterday.

oh. my. god.

Heed my advice, ladies: don’t take your hubby-to-be with you.  Trust me.  Not only will you be better off, but he’ll thank you.  Because I found out something yesterday.  He doesn’t care how many ounces the soup bowls hold.  Or the difference between the lip on one plate versus another.  Tell him to stand guard with a cell phone in case you need to call him while he’s busy shooting zombies on the Xbox at home.  But keep your questions limited to “should we get a coffee maker?” because if you go any  further than that and start asking questions regarding what color it should be, his face might actually melt off his head.

We started off  ‘ok’ yesterday.  I kept preparing him that we were in for a long day and that I wasn’t going to give him any false hope that this would be a wham, bam, thank you-ma’am sort of excursion.  I followed it by hyping up the laser gun he’d get to use and how much fun it’ll be to pick out all kinds of cool gifts.  Presents, man!  Presents!

Sometimes I feel like a mom talking to a toddler, trying to get him psyched for something that will obviously be very boring.  Laser guns!  Clap, clap, clap!  Aren’t we so excited?!

He usually doesn’t fall for it, though.  Can’t say I didn’t try.  But damn, was I good babysitter back in the day, thankyouverymuch.

Anyhow, we made it through Crate and Barrel pretty well.  In fact, he actually picked out the flatware.  Flatware that…how do I put this nicely?  I can’t stand those damn forks.  They’re long, thin and…dainty.  Not something I’d see Tony picking out, but he got super pumped about the flatware and how “balanced” it was that I thought we might have just turned a page and was so taken aback at his enthusiasm that I found myself scanning the damn silverware without even knowing it.  Going into shock will make the body do funny things, no?

So I gave in and he’ll be happy with the silverware in all it’s “balancey” goodness.  And if you buy that gift for us, you can be sure you are buying something that will make Tony feel very proud of himself. 

It’s all about compromise right?  He gets to pick the silverware while I get to pick the bedding, bath towels, pots, pans, kitchenware and glasses.  Fair trade.

After about 2 hours at Crate and Barrel I could tell he was losing steam so I wrapped it up quick and we were on our way to Bed, Bath and Beyond.  Things started to go downhill by this point.  He started off really goofy.  Maybe a little crazy-goofy.  He was joking around in the bath section and trying to get me to register for animal fur bathmats and shower chairs.  It was cute if not a little annoying because, hello!  I was going on 3 hours of this as well.  After so long I started to scold him when he’d get ADD and hold up an electric shaver for me to scan. 

By the bedding section, I had completely lost him.  Not only was I tired, but he didn’t want anything to do with what colors the sheets were going to be or what the hell a sham was anyway.  I think our bed colors will be a surprise to him.  We must have looked really loving to the bridal consultant who helped us, because everytime she came around happened to be a time we would be bickering about “just scanning the damn thing already and let’s move on.”  Take a guess who was saying that.  I wonder how much time she gave us before we get divorced.  You know she was thinking it.

By pots and pans he was having a meltdown.  In all fairness, this was hour 5, we were having a problem scanning a pot we were registering for, and he hadn’t eaten anything since 1 in the afternoon.  I was pretty much there with him.

It ended positive, though.  We registered for some really nice things and we’re both excited about different items on the list.  He came home, took a nap on the floor and then proceeded to go straight to a friend’s house to wipe clean all the icky girl stuff I made him do throughout the day.  Just wait until we go to the florist.  That will be interesting.

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