Cusp of Normal

Remember...

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 18:54:00 +0000

Happy Birthday, Maddie. You would have been two-years-old today.

The world misses your sunny smile.

I also want to acknowledge Veterans Day. Thank you to the soldiers who have fought and continued to fight for the country. Though I do not always support the war, I continue to support the troops.

The good, the bad, and the beautiful

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 14:26:00 +0000

Andrew and I adore our greyhound Lucas to a sickening degree. He is definitely beyond spoiled. But sometimes we harbor some seriously mixed feelings towards our boy.

Don't get me wrong. He can be a total sweetheart--patient and kind. He's not at all a kissy dog, but he is more than willing to accept any love you throw his way.

Luke accepting my drunken hugs as I return home from my bachelorette party.
Just this weekend, we were at the vet when we met Charlie, a small three-legged dog with a big personality. I walked Luke over to Charlie to say hi, and that's when Charlie was shot by Cupid's arrow. Charlie was smitten. Even though he was missing a leg, he jumped all over Luke, slathering him in big wet doggy kisses. What did Luke do? He stood there like a perfect gentleman--accepting this brilliant display of affection--though I don't think he returned Charlie's strong feelings. I thought it was adorable that Luke let this tiny eccentric thing jump all over him--never batting an eye.

His patience is abundant. He is accepting of all mild forms of torture inflicted upon him...

A not amused Luke wearing my bachelorette sash and bow.
But he's not always so angelic. No, sir. See, Luke is battling an addiction of sorts. A filthy addiction. Phew... this is hard to say. I'll just blurt it out and get it over with. Luke eats trash. If it's in his presence, he's eating it. It doesn't matter what it is. Old towels, coffee grounds, styrofoam, animal fat (yum!), empty bottles of drain cleaner (yikes!)--his palate is quite undiscerning.

There's no photo of this--but believe me, we have had plenty of opportunities to capture the scene of the trash can on its side, days' worth of garbage trailed through the house. We just aren't in a very photogenic mood when we return home from work to find this disgusting surprise awaiting us. Usually, instead of running for the camera, we simply curse for a few minutes. We eventually realize that swearing does not make the mess magically go away. So we move on to the final phase--acceptance--and call on the arsenal of cleaning machines at our disposal--the mighty Dyson, the Bissel Spot-Bot, and the Bissel Steam Mop. Because there's really nothing I'd rather do after a full day of work than come home and give my house a deep clean. LIES! I JUST WANT TO RELAX, DAMMIT! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME, LUKE? WHYYYYYYYY?!

I'd like to mention that we even bought a supposedly pet-proof trash can with a lock to prevent curious snouts from exploring discarded food stuffs. Either that lock is a piece of junk, or Luke is Doggy MacGuyver. (Fun Fact: Richard Dean Anderson, MacGuyver himself, went to my alma mater, Ohio University.) I have a hard time opening that blasted trash can lock, so let's just go with the Doggy MacGuyver theory, shall we?

But as annoying as cleaning up the trash is, it's very hard to stay mad at him. I mean, just look at this face...

I tried to fix his flash-induced demon blue eyes, but they still look rather creepy, no? Oh, well. He's still a very pretty princess.

Honeymoon Riviera Maya Style

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 18:53:00 +0000

Instead of captioning each photo, let me provide a quick summary of what you are about to see. Andrew and I spent our honeymoon in the Riviera Maya, Mexico. Our week was spent relaxing in the pool and on the beautiful beach, visiting Mayan ruins, and snorkeling in the reef (not pictured).

While on our adventure, we became acquainted with several creatures that made a home for themselves on the resort. One was a peacock, and I'm sure you know how much this pleased me. And the others were long-snouted long-tailed furballs called coatis. Much of our trip was spent seeking out these critters and trying to touch them, to their dismay. I did finally get to scratch a few of their ears. That was pretty much the best day ever. Oh, and don't you think the coatis seriously resemble Luke? Snouts galore!

P.S. Don't mind the giant Star Wars Storm Trooper. That was from the resort's nightclub, Galaxy. We never stayed up late enough to make it to the club (that sun really tuckers you out!) but we snuck in once before it opened for a photo session.

Now what? The afterlife of a wedding gown...

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 17:29:00 +0000

Ladies and Gents, I need your advice. My wedding gown has been hanging in our bedroom since the wedding night, and it's getting kind of sad. It has fulfilled its purpose and now I'm not quite sure what to do with the little guy. There are some purple spots on it from the flowers in my bouquet, so no matter what it will need to be cleaned. But then what?

Do I have it preserved in the off chance that I one day have a tiny daughter with the same taste as her momma? Or do I donate it to a good cause? Or try to sell it in a consignment shop or Craigslist?

My dress by Essense of Australia
I love my dress but I know I will never wear it again. What is the best way for this sentimental packrat to give my gown an afterlife? To my married ladies out there, what did you do with your wedding dress after your wedding?

Happy Halloween!

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

We went to our good friends' annual Halloween party last weekend. Here's our costumes.

Link from The Legend of Zelda

Max from Where the Wild Things Are

What are you going to be this year?

Validation

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 09:00:00 +0000

We've discussed our most bizarre fears here before. My number one fear being that someone will jump to their death from a tall building, landing on passerby me, swiftly killing us both. It's an elaborate fear. And also a plausible fear. Which is why my pulse goes up a notch when I walk past buildings with more than five floors.

There's another fear I have held close since childhood. A fear of walking on grates in parking lots and on sidewalks. When I was a kid, it was because I believed Cookie Monster lived down there. (What kid is afraid of a Sesame Street character?) But as an adult, it's because I'm afraid that the grate will crumble beneath me, plunging me to my smelly sewery death.

Ridiculous?

I don't think so. And neither does this Baltimore man who plunged about 15 feet underground after the metal grate he was walking over collapsed.

Validation is a satisfying, yet terrifying thing, people. Watch out for those grates. And for Cookie Monster. He'll cut you for a snickerdoodle. He really will.

Repeating Myself: 12 Steps

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 14:26:00 +0000

The following post originally appeared on my blog in May 2008, when my readership was practically nonexistent. I think the amusement factor is high enough to warrant a little rerun. And that's not at all pompous of me to say because the funny belongs to Andrew.

I think every young woman goes through a stage where she is extremely hung up on someone who is completely wrong for her. Whether he* breaks her heart one too many times or just doesn't treat her like the gem she truly is, for some reason she is unable to see this. She pines for him. She cries for him. And then one day, she meets the man who is everything she has ever dreamed of and so much more. The man who gives her pink unicorn piñatas and writes her love songs about being a panda from the sea. The man who makes her laugh so hard, she shoots hot chocolate out her nose on their first real date. The man who makes her forget about all former heart aches. The best thing to ever happen to her... her soul mate.

Today I am looking through old e-mails from when boyfriend and I began dating. He waited for me when I was hung up on someone else and when I said I wasn't ready for a serious relationship. He waited and waited... and then one day... I came to my senses. I count my blessings every day that he stuck around! Below is an excerpt from one of his many hilarious and wonderfully adorable e-mails:

12/21/06

...Railing tequila shots with my parents and watching fireworks by the ocean, pretty spectacular stuff. Plus we saw this really weird animal down there that I became obsessed with. It's sort of like a groundhog with a weirder tail and stripes I think, but it can jump 7 feet straight up in the air, which, just admit it, is (expletive) terrifying. We called it the dik-dik, after another weird animal I saw in a zoo somewhere one time, but the Mexican thing was actually an agouti. Anyway, I'm rambling now. You know why? Because I miss you. And I have a huge little crush on you. 2007 is the year we take over the city, Ryan and I have already decided. Pittsburgh is ripe for a brat pack type of 20 somethings to knock the city on its ass, and really show it a good time. That sounded more aggressive than I meant it to, and I'm sorry. I'm going through the 12 stages of Amanda withdrawal.

The first one was denial, when I thought I could totally deal with it. (wrong) The second stage is having to pee all the time, for some reason, and I had that last night. Although it could have been from the drinking. The third stage, and the one I'm suffering through now is when you wear two unmatched socks to work and feel like a jerk because your mind is too consumed by Amanda-ish thoughts to process whether or not the socks you're holding even match. The fourth stage, which I'll probably hit later tonight, is pretty serious, and that's talking about the things you like about Amanda when she's not even around. Like, telling total strangers. Lunacy, right? The fifth stage, I don't even want to talk about. It's lice. You literally get lice, from out of nowhere. Spontaneous lice. Terrible, I know. And then the sixth stage is equally offensive, but you're halfway home so it's almost easier to deal with. The sixth stage is voting Republican, which fortunately due to the timing, isn't something I need to worry about right now. If this had happened last month though, shit. I don't know if many people have survived the seventh stage because it's really, really hard to deal with. YOU LOSE YOUR SENSE OF TASTE! Okay? Well you don't lose it so much as it gets horribly transformed, so that everything you eat tastes bad and weird. So a few days from now, when I get to this stage and I want to eat Mom's delicious Christmas dinner, it will taste like old newspaper and fleas. I hate that. It's just gross. Stage eight makes it dangerous to drive, because you have to wear sunglasses all the time, even at night. I don't know why, it's just the way it is. Probably so no one can see you crying like a baby. The ninth stage is weird, and probably something you can relate to. Everything smells like maple syrup, all the time. You could stick your snoot right into a delightful spring bouquet of flowers, and instead only smell the blasted syrup. It's nice for like an hour, at breakfast, IF YOU'RE EATING PANCAKES. But it makes the rest of the day unbearable, so horrible that it almost makes you long for the tenth stage, WHICH KILLS YOU! You're dead for a week! And then you wake up to stage eleven, where you find out everyone else is dead too, and the world is now ruled by sentient squid! Oh the horror! Squid are telling you what to do! Squid is the boss of you! And they wear little outfits and telepathically tease you about your two stupid arms and your dumb hair. How dreadful. So you suffer in some savage work camp, doing the squids' nefarious bidding for what seems like an eternity until finally, thank Christ, you hit stage twelve. Which is when Amanda comes home, and makes you better feeling.

So that's that. That's how I feel, wish me luck...

Wow! I just love this guy so much! I am so lucky he survived the squid!

*Masculine pronoun used for convenience. Please substitute with feminine pronouns where necessary!

I just can't hold this in any longer

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 15:20:00 +0000

I try really hard to not blog about work. Really Hard. It's not that there's a lack of material. I could go on and on and on about some of these characters. But I don't. Because I really like having a job. And I'm going to try to keep having it as long as I can.

But this just MUST COME OUT.

My coworker in the office next door clips his nails at his desk. And the sound CLIP CLIP CLIP CLIP makes me seriously nauseous to the point that I have to get up and ~~slam~~ shut the door whenever I hear him start it up. I then crank up whatever music I happen to be listening to, rocking myself gently back and forth, praying for the clipping to stop.

You might think, geeze, that's sick but how bad can it be? I mean, he only has ten fingers. It is probably painful for about a minute and then it's over with until the next time he has the urge to be &%$#$%^ gross. But no. It's like he has an infinite supply of fingernails because the clipping is unceasing! Maybe he clips each nail bit by disgusting bit. Or maybe he's clipping his toenails too?! Who can be sure?

Until today, I just shut my door and held back the vomit quietly. Not even casually walking past his office to see if this obvious nail clipping sound was actually the result of nail clipping--or if perhaps there was a less obvious more innocent explanation for the sickening sound of nails flying willy-nilly around the office, landing in his coffee mug or getting wedged between the keys of the keyboard. :puke: Maybe his mouse was just really loud and he was in the midst of some furious double-clicking action?

No. 'fraid not. Today, at the sound of the first CLIP, I jumped out of my chair and did a cruise by. And there he was. All hunched over his desk with a nail clipper. CLIP. CLIP. CLIP.

Why is this okay to do at work? And with the door open, yet? I seem to find myself asking this question with alarming frequency, but it must be asked. What is wrong with people?

P.S. Andy, you never saw this. Kapeesh?

Describes us perfectly...

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 18:15:00 +0000

And in a good way...

From Exploding Dog

What does this say about my blog?

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 17:54:00 +0000

That suddenly all I want to blog about is my dog's poop?

Just a quick update. Luke pooped an earplug yesterday. An orange ear plug. It kind of dyed the rest of poop orange in a swirly pattern. I told Andrew it was like tie-dye.

Thanks for reading! I hope I'm really enriching all of your lives.

Love,
The Dog Poop Blogger

Do you see this face?

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 13:00:00 +0000

Oh, sure he might look all sweet an innocent like he could never do any wrong. But don't trust him, folks! He's a maniac!

Luke was having some ... um... how do I put this delicately... butt licking problems... the week of our wedding. The wonderful woman who previously fostered Luke before we adopted him offered to watch our boy while we were busy getting married, so she took him to the vet for us. They ... oh boy... um... "expressed his glands" (sorry! I really didn't mean for this to be such a graphic post!) and sent him home with a strict order to eat more fiber.

Well, we picked him up after returning from the honeymoon only to find him still very irritated and uncomfortable. We took him to the vet the next morning and they tested him for a bacteria infection. The vet said he must have got into something he shouldn't have. To which I replied, "Oh, I bet it was either that dead animal I had to pull out of his mouth a few weeks ago or all that garbage he ate!"

See people? This is not the face of an angel. This is a dead-animal-garbage-eating- monster.

We also had the vet check him for a thyroid disorder, as all his shedding has me worried. Greyhounds are not supposed to shed much at all, but tell that to the tumbleweeds of fur rolling around on our wood floors. The vet was very skeptical, saying he was probably shedding due to stress. (Stress? Um, lady, Luke doesn't exactly live a stressful lifestyle. He eats, poops, and sleeps. That's really about it.)

The thyroid function test came back to reveal that our boy has hypothyroidism and has to take two little blue pills every day for the rest of his life. The low thyroid hormone levels explain his shedding, bald belly, and low energy level. The vet told us to expect a noticeable change in his energy level on the meds.

Oh boy, we notice.

We came home yesterday to find my loofah shredded into a thousand pieces and poop on the rug and (i kid you not) poop smeared on the walls. I really don't know how he managed to do that. It's almost impressive.

What? You pooped in the refrigerator? And you ate the whole... wheel of cheese? How'd you do that? Heck, I'm not even mad; that's amazing. How 'bout we get you in your p.j.'s and we hit the hay.

The Rehearsal Ensemble

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 18:16:00 +0000

There was one slight hiccup the night of the rehearsal. We realized we had no idea where the marriage license had gone. I had it in a box with other things I needed to take to the church with me that evening, but on the way to the dinner, I realized it was not where I had left it.

I panicked and my mood at the rehearsal dinner suffered. Here's a photo of me trying to pretend I was not about to morph into a raging lunatic, with my calm and collected husband to be. Isn't he adorable?

Some wedding photos

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 15:09:00 +0000

Practicing my trek down the aisle with my dad at the rehearsal

Trying to kill time before heading to the church, I ask my MOH, "Am I allowed to unload the dishwasher on my wedding day?"

Putting on the finishing touches as I get ready in the ladies' parlor at the church

Married! Bubbles! Kisses!

First dance as husband and wife (You are the Best Thing by Ray LaMontagne)

Sneaky shot of me and Andrew outside of the reception taken by wedding guest

Me and my lovely maid of honor Brianna

And of course there was much showmanship and dancing

More photos to come.

XOXO

HITCHED!

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 19:45:00 +0000

It's official! We're married!

Photos to come upon our return from our honeymoon in the Riviera Maya!
Be well!

The dresses

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 17:14:00 +0000

Not mine! You can't see that until after the wedding, silly heads.

Here's the color and fabric that all of my attendants will be wearing... in the dress style of their own choosing.

Dress by Jordan.

Ah! They're going to look so pretty!

A favor for the birds

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 15:47:00 +0000

We had initially intended on donating money to either the American Heart Association or the American Cancer Society in lieu of wedding favors. I think of favors as junky clutter that people either leave behind or throw away upon returning home. However, when I stumbled across these favors on Etsy, I changed my tune. Favors for everyone!

You're welcome, little birdies. (Personalized tag included.)

Favors by 2birdsinlove on Etsy.

My Bridal Shower

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 13:37:00 +0000

For day two of our wedding week, I'd like to share some photos from my bridal shower. Andrew's family and my bridal party put together such a beautiful party for me. With yummy food, fun games, great guests, and amazingly generous gifts (*cough* Kitchen Aid Mixer *cough*), I was sad to see the afternoon end.

We played a game where I had to try to guess Andrew's answers to questions such as "What animal would you compare Amanda to?" Some of his answers really had me laughing.

For every question I got wrong, I had to put a piece of gum in my mouth.

Out of 20 questions, I got seven wrong.

The bubble gum was Bubblicious. Each piece is HUGE. So you can imagine how hard it was to get all seven pieces in my mouth... There may have even been some drooling...

The wad... kinda looks like a brain.

My pretty "bowquet" skillfully assembled by my future sister-in-law and bridesmaid, Jessica.

And the cake was legendary. Some guests said they would still be thinking about that cake weeks later. It involved chocolate and cheesecake and some other yummy things I can't remember. It was Very Rich. Even a chocolate lover like myself could only eat a few small bites before entering sugar coma heaven.

And my half of the wedding party. From left to right, future sister-in-law Jessica, me, my sister Lindsey, and my rockstar maid of honor Brianna. Shake your tailfeathers, ladies!

It's Here! Wedding Week!

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 05:22:00 +0000

I'm getting married this week! How crazy is that?

This is a good time to let you in on some more wedding details.

A sample of the invitation we used, designed by Michelle Brusgaard (like many of our other wedding-related stationary). Visit her Etsy shop, Made By Michelle Brusgaard (MBMB). Her calling cards were featured in an issue of Real Simple. She's going to be big time, kids. This won't surprise you when you see her fabulous designs.

I love the simplicity of this design. There aren't a million little pieces floating around in the envelope. No frills. And it fits our taste (and not to mention wedding theme) perfectly.

When I showed my grandma, she asked, "Who is Jesse?" Oh, boy.

Third Time Is A Charm & Tales From A Babyfaced Bride

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 15:48:00 +0000

Last night my mom and I went shopping for *gasp* a rehearsal dinner dress. I ended up hating the way the brown one fit when it arrived in the mail. I just didn't want to bore you with the details. Because, honestly? I'M BORED WITH IT. Dress shopping is not my favorite thing. I'll post a picture of the new one post-honeymoon.

While we were out, my mom and I stumbled upon this beautiful wrap in the window of an Asian shop. I only could tell it was beaded and predominantly blue. When we asked the store clerk to show us, I yelled, "OH MY GOD!"

YOU GUYS? It has two peacocks beaded on it. Really beautiful, not tacky like it might sound. My mom bought it for me to wear at the reception, as I'm always freezing. Especially in those ballroom type of settings. So now, I'm going to be beaded, beautiful, and warm! Yay!

But here's what I really wanted to tell you about our trip to the mall. Both of the people who helped us, the woman at the Asian store and the woman at Macy's where we bought my dress, were stunned to hear the things were for my upcoming wedding. In fact, the woman at Macy's asked which school's dance the dress was for. HA!

At the Asian store, a man behind the register said he would have guessed I was 16 or 17. I do not understand this. If I look 16 now... how old did I look when I WAS 16? 7?

I know everyone says, "BE HAPPY THAT YOU LOOK SO YOUNG! YOU ARE GOING TO REALLY LOVE THAT WHEN YOU ARE MIDDLE AGED!" Well, guess what? If you tell me that, I'm probably going to have thoughts of punching you in the mouth. I want to look mature and womanly for my wedding. I want to stop being mistaken for a student at work and start being treated like the professional publicist that I am.

Hey, TLC's "Ten Years Younger"... can you work your magic in the other direction for me? That would make me look my actual age. Thanks.

Love,
Mermanda

Everyone needs to take a chill pill

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 16:07:00 +0000

Dear family and friends,

This blog does not exist to frighten you with my innermost thoughts of stress and desperation. It is actually quite the opposite. It's an outlet to maintain my sanity. If I have to worry about every thing I write here causing you to worry about me, I'm going to start to censor myself--and actually already have to a degree. This is bad because my blog is becoming a place where I have to weigh the pros and cons of blogging about what is really on my mind. That bums me out.

If I am ever seriously stressed beyond my own ability to cope, I will call you. You won't have to find out about it by moseying over to my blog. I promise. I appreciate that you all care so much about me (three of you have expressed concern over my last post, my own father included). But please take what you read here for what it is. Me venting. We all have our own outlets. This is mine.

Now let's all take a deep breath and eat a cookie.

Love,
Mermanda/Your Daughter/Future Daughter-in-law/Friend/Nutty Fiance

The Holy Union of Matrimony: Give Me One More Thing to Do and I Will Snap Your Neck Like a Twig, So Help Me God

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 19:54:00 +0000

EDITOR'S NOTE: THIS IS JIVE TURKEY FILLING IN FOR ME. YOU WILL SEE WHY THIS IS NECESSARY BELOW. SOMETHING JIVE TURKEY FAILED TO MENTION, BECAUSE I JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT 45 MINUTES AGO, IS THAT I PROBABLY HAVE AN EYE-INFECTION. THE FUN JUST NEVER ENDS AROUND HERE, FOLKS! ENJOY! (ALSO, JIVE TURKEY, I HAD TO CENSOR YOU IN SOME PARTS. BUT THAT'S NOT BECAUSE I DIDN'T APPRECIATE YOUR CHOICE LANGUAGE. IT'S JUST THAT MY MOM READS THIS. KTHXBAI!)

So, it seems that our dear Mermanda has quite a bit on her plate these days, and has asked me to post here on her lovely blog so she can finish losing her damn mind in a corner somewhere. You see, she’s in the final throes of wedding planning – the “Please, just take my money and do what I say,” phase – when the blushing bride wonders why she decided to have a wedding at all when there are perfectly good 24-hour chapels in Vegas in which to get married while ass-blasted drunk on whiskey sours, the way God intended.

See, wedding planning is a tricky thing. In the very beginning, you nail down the biggies: venue, dress, wedding party, catering, honeymoon – and then you have a bit of a lull in which you have the luxury of spending a leisurely three weeks online looking for the perfect cake-topper. Then you register (FUN), then you have your shower (FUNNER), then…you wait around some more. And then suddenly it’s three weeks before the wedding, and !@#&%%$#$#!! there is so much crap to do. Deadlines for RSVPs (SHAME if you have ever neglected to RSVP to a catered affair – SHAME, I SAY!), final dress fittings (say hello to your new friend, Spanx), and O HAI, everyone would like giant piles of money now, please. And poor Mermanda is in this final stage of planning, except that – as she told me via email this morning – she missed the payment deadlines for three very important vendors. Vendors who will be providing services like, oh, I don’t know, A PHYSICAL SPACE IN WHICH TO HAVE THE RECEPTION.

You guys. Seriously. Even if you have never planned a wedding, you can appreciate the OMFG of that. Pardon me for being crass, but just READING about that made me shit my pants a little.

I am assuming that Mermanda got the situation figured out, since she was still capable of speaking about the incident in full sentences and without setting things on fire, but she is having A Week, as you can plainly see.

Adding to the fun times is the G-20 here in Pittsburgh. If you are not familiar with the G-20, please go a-Googlin’, because I am so very tired of talking/hearing/reading/writing about it. Basically, it’s going to turn our fair city upside down in the manner of a keg stand for two whole days, and the weeks leading up to it? Have been batshit crazy. My company is actually shutting down our office for the next two days – which they have never, ever, EVAR done before – because shit is expected to get THAT insane with the events and the road closures and the protesters and such. And hey – know who works in the building right next to mine? And whose work life has been totally consumed with the G-20? And who said in her email, “I am probably going to die before the whole spectacle is over because someone is sure to launch a brick at my face, which will make me very pretty for my wedding if I do happen to live”? Yes, that’s right. Lovely Mermanda, my friends, who I suspect would still be a beautiful bride even if she received a brick to the face (hey! I smell a wedding toast!), but that’s really not something I want to find out for sure.

Actually, that reminds me of my own pre-wedding potential-face-maiming experience (what – like you don’t have one?). It was the Wednesday before my wedding, and my friends were all meeting for happy hour at a local bar. I was in the midst of last-minute wedding [BLEEP!], but decided to swing by to get my mind off of centerpieces and tea roses for a few hours. Unfortunately for us, half the cast of Hee-Haw was in attendance that night, and we found ourselves seated next to two charming young ladies who were knee-walking drunk and determined to pick a fight. Now, friends, I am a peaceable sort. I do not enjoy confrontations and I can ignore even the most obnoxious drunk chicks. But if you get your drunk ass UP IN MY FACE and start INSULTING MY FRIENDS and it just happens to be THE WEEK OF MY WEDDING and I am looking for AN EXCUSE TO HIT SOMEONE, we just may have a situation on our hands. I had been in that bar all of five minutes (my drink hadn’t even arrived!) before I was ready to throw down with Backwoods Barbie and her big-haired sidekick. Words were exchanged, hands were shoved in faces, and before I knew it, Trailer Sue was winding up to punch me. IN THE FACE. This is when my friend Heather – one of my bridesmaids and lo, she would be named MVP of my wedding for this valiant act – stepped between me and the offending fist, yelling. “You can’t hit her! She’s getting married!”

Don’t we all just need friends like Heather? I love her.

Anyway, it worked. Heather successfully blocked the punch, the bouncers took notice and threw out the redneck duo, and I got my Jack & Coke. All was well, and I didn’t even have to sport a black eye on the altar three days later. (It should be noted, though, that when my loving fiancé found out about this, he was livid – LIVID! – that I would put myself in a potentially eye-blackening situation. I was disappointed in his inability to see the bad-assery of my behavior, but I guess he had a point.)

Sorry for derailing this post down Memory Lane, but the point is, I made it through all the Wedding Crazy and had a magnificent day – and so will Mermanda. Strength, my dear! The insanity is nearing its end, and pretty soon you will be wearing that gorgeous white dress and watching all the planning come to its fruition. Oh, and did I mention how people will wait on you hand and foot, and will always be shoving glasses of champagne in your hand? Because they will. AND IT WILL BE AWESOME.

So let us take this time to pull Mermanda back from the brink of OMFG and pep talk her into not going insane. Because a straight-jacket is not a good look for a bride, and The Knot can quote me on that one.

It's always something

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 13:27:00 +0000

Our new house is (mostly) clean and of sound structure. So it always surprises me when I notice a creature in the tub as I'm about to step in to the shower. Sometimes it's a spider. Sometimes a centipede. *shudder* But today? It was a worm. Really. It was a worm. How did it get there is what I want to know?

Spiders and centipedes are one thing, but worms in my tub are totally unacceptable. I am publicly asking the kind worm people to stay out of my house.

Thank you.

Also, stay out of my medicine and beverages while you are at it.

Best Regards.

I can see your underpants

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 12:27:00 +0000

Mermanda is being kind enough to let me take over her blog today, as I try to avoid being dooced. I, uh, don't want my blog attached to this but I will say that I spell my name with 2 l's. Thanks, Mermanda!

My boss is very difficult to work for. He's brilliant at what he does but is lacking in the social skills. He is very shouty, is what I'm saying. Whenever I need to deal with him directly, I'm on edge. His reactions are completely unpredictable, so it was with trepidation that I asked if I could take an unused filing cabinet from his office to mine. The previous week, my coworker (in an attempt to make my move from one work station to another as easy as possible) moved the filing cabinet. It was empty of anything important, as far as we could tell. A cursory glance revealed a few maps, some plastic bags, and a bunch of empty folders. When my boss saw what we had done he lost his shit. Lots of swearing and indignant sputtering as he dragged the filing cabinet back to his desk.

The next day he told me that I was welcome to the filing cabinet, as long as I asked before moving it.

So I asked for the filing cabinet.

He said okay and told me to come with him as he cleaned it out because he wouldn't be dragging the filing cabinet across the office to my desk. Fair enough. I walked over to his desk and watched as he started pulling junk out of the filing cabinet. He pulled a handful of stuff out of the bottom drawer and there, clutched in his hands with the assorted plastic bags, empty envelopes, and other office junk, is a pair of faded black, brief-style, rumpled (so I'm assuming worn) mens' underpants.

I froze.

He looked up at me to see if I noticed.

I could not look away.

"It's my spare underwear," he said with a straight face.

I threw up in my mouth a little.

So later that night I'm telling this story to my sister and I get to the underpants (underpants!) part and she says, "I keep underpants at work." And I'm all, "what the what?"

SHE KEEPS UNDERPANTS AT WORK.

I have a spare pair of shoes and a drawer full of chocolate. No underpants.

She's got spare underpants and socks and assorted toiletries.

So what I want to know is, who is the crazy one?

My streak of luck continues

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 00:35:00 +0000

You weren't too keen on my flies in the martini story, so I'm guessing this one won't be a crowd pleaser either.

Yesterday, nursing myself back to health/sobriety after a 3 hour beer tasting, I reached for the Excedrin Extra Strength--desperate for the room to stop spinning. I took a nap for a few hours and woke up feeling amazing. Andrew, however, was still trudging through his post-beer tasting haze and asked for some ibuprofen. Instead, I gave him the Excedrin that was conveniently on my nightstand.

Later that night I was tidying up the bedroom, putting the Excedrin back into the medicine cabinet. That's when I noticed something black at the bottom of the bottle. A FREAKING SPIDER. It was a spider with only two remaining legs (the others were floating around the 20 or so capusules left in the 100 capsule botttle). That's right. We consumed about 80 Excedrin capsules that were infused with spider legs. Yum.

Exedrin is hearing from me tomorrow. You bet your bippy.

UPDATE: Just got off the phone with Novartis, the maker of Excedrin, and they are sending me a voucher for a free bottle of Excedrin and a mailing packet for me to send off my spider for investigation. How exciting.

How to get in good with your significant other

noreply@blogger.com (Mermanda) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 15:45:00 +0000

When your pookey bear least expects it, launch a surprise attack of gooey chocolate peanut butter brownies straight from the oven. And if that doesn't work, rub his/her tummy. (This alternative works with dogs also.)

Work was really pulling out all the stops yesterday, but I wouldn't let it take me down. I fought the good fight and came out on top. Today, there is not much motivation left--but that's to be expected when you drain an entire week's worth of concentration in one day. My brain is mush. Really, touch it. See? Gross.