Sparkles

Dislaimer: Mark directed me to retract an error from yesterday's post. He states for the record that he "didn't have actual tears come out his ducts...he just got choked up."

I've been slapped upside the head with a sock stuffed full of bars of crazy and happy.

Everything about our weekend was basically perfect. You're going to have to either put up with this the next few posts or come back later. I'm sorry, but I'm in luuurrrrrrvvvvv and frankly, I'm a bit much to be around right now.

The kids were stars.

On Saturday night we were teasing Abe (6) and I told him the wedding was a trick, and he was going to actually be the one to marry me...Abe got panicky and fretful, finally exclaiming

"THIS ISN'T FUNNY TO ME, GUYS!"

Point taken.

It's not nice to make fun of people, and I shouldn't need a reminder from a kindergartener. By Sunday, I had groveled sufficiently and all was forgiven.

The hall was decorated with white teapots brimming with flowers. The welcome table boasted our white trash wedding pictures, a vintage pocket watch, and some nutty orange dancing teapots. The professionally framed watercolors from my sweet friend TJ Lubrano in the Netherlands were displayed on a table along with a framed copy of their story.

So picture this. Mama Bird connected with TJ and TJ painted Mark and me as characters from Alice in Wonderland. Including pictures with Gabby as the Cheshire Cat.

As if that wasn't enough cuteness to rot your teeth, look at my husband. I'm noticing that in every picture we seem to be mad happy grinning.

I found a sweet artist on Etsy who crafted me a nest necklace for Mama Bird, and I gave it to her this weekend as an itty bitty gesture of thanks. She did such a beautiful job putting everything together and she was so smiling and pretty.

My dad was awesome. He helped coordinate all the people and ran errands to keep things running. His speech was fantastic - I'm posting it soon. We have such a quirky relationship but I know he loves me, and I love him.

Neil's speech brought down the house. You'll die when you read it. I am so happy to have a brother I adore and I am so bombdiggity excited to pass NEIL AND REENA the family wedding baton.

I am still stupefied by the loveliness that was our weekend. Mark and I are very lucky in our lives right now.

Gabby is adjusting to her new place, with a legal mother. We had a brief incident our first day when she tried to run away from home. She made it to the porch, considered the consequences and marched back inside the house to resume napping. I think she'll recover fully, given some coddling and rest.

Mark and I are honeymooning lavishly in St. Paul, Minnesota.

We went to Target and bought vegetables and fruit.

And Chelsea Handler's newest book for me.

And a DVD for Mark.

We're going to the Como Zoo this morning, and then off on a little date this afternoon.

Tomorrow we're going to go hiking down by the river and have a picnic. It will be like camping but without tents and bugs and sleeping outside and shit.

Sunday we're going to the Renaissance Festival, courtesy of one of my favorite sunny uncles. I cannot wait to eat spinach pie and look at pottery and pet an elephant with my HUBBY.

Then Labor Day parties with friends.

Then some new and fantastic work.

Then my little pseudo-sister Heidi gets married.

Whose life is better than this today? I'm so HAPPY.

A Hot Wedding Mess

Disclaimer:  No more than three people will read this post in its entirety, but I am going to vomit it ALL up for posterity.

*******************************

My cousin's daughter, Hannah, popped out of bed at 4 AM on Saturday with two important questions.

"Mom, is it my wedding?" she asked.

"No, honey, it's Tricia's wedding."

"Well," Hannah demanded. "When do we paint my toenails?"

We kicked this weekend off with family parties - dinners, brunches, BBQs. Glasses were raised, food was abundant and Hannah's nails were did.  

Piles of people, jostling and hugging. There may or may not have been a snorting symphony from three cousins falling all over each other laughing.

We got a little wild and had a rave in the basement, but the police parents shut the club down at 9 PM.

Sunday was the wedding and everything started out seamlessly.

My friend's sister wrestled my hair into a semblance of a pinup look and attached the fascinator I made. I was stuffed into an industrial strength strapless bra and wore blue JUST MARRIED undies. Because, really - a butt like mine should always be bedazzled.

I was lacquered in hairspray, zipped up and en route, Starbucks in hand. Life was good.

We arrived at the Garden Room to be greeted by a nervous blonde lady with alarmingly dark eye shadow. She informed us that our wedding coordinator - the lady with whom we'd made every arrangement - had up and walked out a couple days earlier, leaving Nervous Newbie in her place, with about 20% of the information written correctly in the file.

The hall wasn't set up. The food was not what we'd agreed upon and purchased. There was no sound system. The bartenders started pouring champagne 90 minutes early and we overheard people being charged for soda and champagne that had already been paid for.

We laughed, because it just seemed fitting that everything would be a hot mess and because what the mothereffenheimer else could we do?

So we laughed and laughed and laughed.

Our processional was drama ridden - we forgot to get a cue to start it. So I was hiding out with my folks and our brothers and the little kids while Mark stood in front of everyone uncomfortably until someone ran to check on us.

The little girls sashayed.

The little boy got bored and took a seat.

When I walked down the 'aisle' with my folks, there were a few steps down and our cumulative ass didn't fit, so we had a Three Stooges moment squishing ourselves into a single-file line.

The emergency sound system that we crudely rigged went haywire during the ceremony and began to blare Nina Gordon. So we laughed, shut it off and started over.

We fumbled through the ceremony this time, giggling and grinning, and when we exchanged rings, my husband whipped out a surprise ring combining two designs I'd fell in love with the first time we went out looking.

I shrieked like an animal.

Then we cried and kissed and I ran out of the room to splash cold water on my face before I passed out.

All of our friends began pouring in and the next few hours went by in a minute and a half. My dad gave a sweet, funny speech that was choking me up when my friend's four-year-old son stole his thunder by hollering

"When are you having a baby, Tricia!?"
and cracking half the room up.

My brother wrote a speech about my predilection toward trying to change his gender, simply because I used to dress him up as a girl when he was small because I wanted a sister. And because he was now my maid of honor.

Mark's grandma was retrieved from her senior housing for the occasion and she was super disappointed when the music died completely, leaving the reception awkwardly silent for the bulk of the afternoon.

While crouching down for a picture with the kids, six-year-old Abe looked earnestly into my eyes and said "Tricia, I see you're shaking a little. Are you feeling nervous?"

I laughed some more - and passed it off as nerves. I didn't want to admit to a kindergartener that my thighs were actually shaking from copping a squat.

From what I'm told, the food was good. People clucked over me all afternoon, racing off to bring me food and champagne. I swallowed an errant cheese cube, but every time someone handed me a plate, someone else hugged me and pulled me away.

I was fawned over like a celebrity and everyone told me how pretty I looked. One person even managed to gush three times how good I looked for A Big Girl, and it got tough to control the size of my head.

My only disappointment was how fast the time flew. Everywhere I looked there were people I love and I wanted to hog time with them all.

But we had to jet away on our posh honeymoon.

So far we've been to Dairy Queen and Target.

Please don't tip off the paparazzi. The wedding was absolutely PERFECT. And now we need our privacy.

DO NOT DISTURB!

PICS TO FOLLOW SOON!

Blended Families

My Faithful Alarm Clock

I had a heart-to-heart with the other woman today.

It was time.

It had to be done.

I love Mark dearly, but I'm no homewrecker - I have to respect the facts. Gabby was here first.

She's a bit of a whore, though. After only two dates, she determined she was totally open for a polyamorous relationship with us.

Sex-free, of course. This isn't Savage Love.

Gabby adores me shamelessly and shares Mark selflessly. (Actually, she shares nothing. But she digs having a second someone around to worship her.)

I asked her today, quite solemnly, if she was comfortable with the level of commitment we're about to sign up for. She offered to sleep on it.

She considered the upsides:

      - Mom's pillow smells good
      - Mom gives bigger scoops of food
      - Mom has a snuggly butt

After an exhaustive analysis, Gabby returned the ballot.

She's voting YES to  bispecial polyamorous marriage. She's ready to say I DO.

I'm Not Gonna Cry

All along, Mark has been telling me that I will cry like a little bitch at the wedding. My response? Deny, deny, deny.

But it's not looking good.

I woke up with a suspicious lump in my throat today. Naturally, I knew it must be cancer, so I Googled it to learn about alternate treatment options that wouldn't cause my hair to fall out this weekend.

Turns out?

A lump in the throat doesn't mean cancer.

It means you might cry.

All of a sudden it hit me.

I'M GETTING MARRIED THIS WEEKEND.

My family is coming from all over. My crazy, wonderful, amazing family.

My friends will be there to hug me.

I get another family out of this deal. Another crazy, wonderful, amazing family. And bonus friends!

I will look a'ight ravishing.

My mama did this all for us.

And when it's over?

Mark will be my husband. My sexy, quirky, funny, silly guy - promising to be my best friend for always.

I think I'm gonna cry.

Bring on the Princesses!

Even as I write this, my family all over the country is packing their bags to head to Minneapolis.

My cousin Rebecca has been packing for a month - not because she's high-maintenance (trust me on this) but because she's. So. Damned. EXCITED.

Her kidlets have very important roles in the wedding. Namely, to be cute as shit.

Hannah will be wearing a fascinator and carrying flowers, like the diva she is. She's forgiven me for dropping her on her head last Thanksgiving, which may or may not have had something to do with the chance to Dress Up.

(To anyone who uses my discount babysitting services, I would like to state that Hannah did not suffer a permanent traumatic brain injury after the accident. And also? Look at her - she doesn't need to be smart.)

Abe's role is a bit less clear, but we've decided it will require mass quantities of temporary tattoos. Since I doubt he's excited about the prospect of carrying a pillow, we figured he'd like to dress up, too. But his dad Tegan gets all uncomfortable when Abe wears tiaras and tulle, so tattoos it is.

Mark's two nieces will also be flower girls. The cuteness will be intoxicating and the heat will be off of me.

With three little princesses and a tattooed tough guy running amok, I could show up naked with track marks down my arms and it's doubtful anyone would notice.

If only I'd thought of that before wasting all that money on a dress.

Primping

I'm very busy with last-minute spa rituals, so as to look refreshed and vibrant this weekend.

Gabby supervised while I iced my jaw with a bag of frozen shredded cheese. This is a little-known procedure that offers results not unlike a face lift.

OK, that's bullshit.

But it feels really, really good on my sore toof.

Luckily, others are getting primped in my place.

The flower girls got haircuts, my mother-in-law-to-be got a mani-pedi, and Mark trimmed his ear hair.

My preparations have been limited to gobbling antibiotics to soothe my infected face. And allergy meds, to soothe my pot-smoker-lookin' eyes. And extra birth control pills, to try to trick my period into not showing up for the occasion.

A month ago I fantasized about looking slim and stunning this weekend. At this point, I'll take infection-free and not bloated, thanks.

Ready or not, here comes the bride...

...and her traveling pharmacy.

Monday Marvels

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, August 22nd

10. The root canal blew, but spending the evening with my man afterward being fed strawberry malts and having my feet massaged was pretty darn fine.

9. I'm grateful that Mama Bird's head hasn't blown off yet. I've never seen anyone fret so much over an event that she's organized masterfully and will quite obviously be perfect. It's odd how we're nothing alike.

8. I'm pleased I made it home safely from the dentist. I laughed off the idea of the Vicodin on Friday when he first brought it up. Guess the eleven shots of novocaine and the three and a half hours of laughing gas had me feeling all right and there's a slim chance I shouldn't have been operating a vehicle.

7. I seem to have made some inappropriate calls whilst high on nitrous,  but I'm thankful that I barely know how to operate my phone, which limited the damage I could do.

6. I'm happy to have had a chance to spend some QT with Gabby this weekend, as I don't think she's going to be shown the proper amount of attention next weekend, what with the wedding and all.

5. I quite enjoyed making jewelry this weekend. I may have no fashion sense, but I am certainly sentimental. My bling for the wedding includes bits and pieces of jewelry made for me by friends all over the world. Each bauble has significance and is from someone special!

4. I'm quite thankful that my second backrub of the day yesterday was just as delightful as the first. Yay, Mark!
3. I'm grateful for this perfect weather, and hoping selfishly that it holds out for - oh, say another week or so.

2. I am so excited to be surrounded by such love. I have friends and family en route from all over the U.S. and I cannot wait to hug and kiss and squish on everyone!

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, August 22nd?

1. This is my very last Monday Marvels list as a Miss. This time next week, I'll be a Mrs.!

Bite Me

I've been working diligently all weekend on last minute wedding plans.

By taking Vicodin and napping.

My latest wedding plan?

Not look like a battered hobo.

Whilst grinding my teeth in the night, I split my molar right down to the pulp and set the nerves on fire with infection.

I must have a touch of anxiety.

So I spent six hours Friday inhaling copious amounts of nitrous and getting drilled in the face.

Emergency root canal.

Now I've spent Saturday and Sunday inhaling copious numbers of Dairy Queen malts and holding a frozen bag of shredded cheese on my face.

Emergency coddling.

I no longer hope to look lovelier in Mark's eyes than Kim Kardashian next week at our wedding.

I hope to look lovelier in Mark's eyes than a chipmunk that's been in a bar fight.

Choo Choo, All Aboard...

I just realized a couple of days ago that I split a molar. My jaw feels like it took a wrench upside it. My gums ache and I have a sneaking suspicion I'm beginning to resemble a chipmunk.

Dudes...not the look I was hoping for.

Kim Kardashian is already totally stealing my thunder, getting married this weekend. Everyone in the world will see her rock some slinky wedding dress like a 50s porn star. Then, a few days later, I'll have my 15 minutes of fame in my own teeny tiny world....bearing a much closer resemblance to Roseanne in a sundress.

Fuck my life.

So I went to pop a mommy's little helper but I dropped it and lost it on the floor. Good to know that if Gabby the cat finds it she'll finally be able to relax a little.

I spent the evening cleaning up poop and puke, which seems unfair - I thought only moms had to do that shit, not neighbors. (Kidding, Leslie - anything for friends. xo)

Tomorrow I'm gonna start my day getting drilled in the face, only to be directly followed by being drilled in the bank account.

I stubbed three toes yesterday and came alarmingly close to rearending a European convertible worth roughly quadruple my annual salary.

Did I mention that my life is the best it's been in a long time? That I'm excited and happy and ready to start on my new adventures?

But it may be time to accept the fact that, even when I'm content, I'm always gonna be a bit of a train wreck barreling through life.

Chugga chugga chugga chugga...............

I Wonder...

…if all those unknown calls on my cell I’ve been avoiding are actually Grey Goose, finally offering their sponsorship, rather than bill collectors?

…why ice cream men are still prowling the neighborhoods, and who sends their adorable little kid to go converse with a man in a van?

…how blind people know to find the Braille sign outside the bathroom telling them if it’s a men’s or women’s room?

…if dentists play with the nitrous tanks after hours?

…why I ever wanted to grow up when kids get their summers off?

…who invented air freshener, thinking that flowery poop smells better than regular poop?

…what the odds are that I’ll make it through the wedding reception wearing white without spilling on myself?

…why I would even wonder such a thing? Of course I’ll spill.

…how many of the famine victims could be fed with the twenty million dollars Kim Kardashian is spending on her wedding this weekend?

…how many of the famine victims could be fed if we simply filleted Kim Kardashian’s ass?

For Sale: Your Image Back

Apparently Abercrombie & Fitch have offered substantial monetary incentive to the cast of Jersey Shore – to refrain from wearing their brand. They feel that the guidos and guidettes may tarnish their image. Considering this image includes low-rise jeans and pushup bras for ten-year-olds, this says quite a lot.


It excites me, though, to realize just how much potential there may be with this avenue.

Nobody has stepped up to sponsor our wedding. I was hoping that perhaps Grey Goose would want to host it, but they never returned my calls. Nor did Summit, Kristal or Mad Dog.

I guess I’ve simply been going about things wrong.

I may not have the visibility of the douchewads on Jersey Shore, but I too could do damage to a high-end brand, given the chance. Throw Mark into the equation and we could embarrass a brand name in front of dozens – dozens – of people.

Are you listening, Vera Wang?? Just think what it would do to your street cred if I were to stuff myself into one of your couture gowns and post the photographs on my blog. Hundreds of people could see the horrors.

Or I could advertise at the reception that my wedding body is courtesy of TrimSpa. They ought to be clamoring to denounce that announcement.

The clock is ticking, people.

You’ve got one week to contact me with your best offer to NOT wear your product or brand. Think very, very hard. What is it worth to you?

I’m thinking open bar, an appearance by Kid Rock and his guitar, and a honeymoon tour of Australia and Iceland - but I’m open to negotiation.

Feeding Frenzy

From Mom: U need to come over and try ur dress on again and make sure the fit is good


I didn’t see the text right away because I was out of town for girls weekend.

Actually, I didn’t see the text right away because my face was buried in a rotisserie chicken that Leslie slow cooked over the campfire.

I’m disappointed in my mother. She broke the first rule of Girls Weekend.

We never, ever speak of The Fit.

Let’s review my weekend diet:

Chex Mix...

Raspberry (flavored beer)...

More Chex Mix...

Charred marshmallows...

Orange juice (with copious amounts a splash of champagne)...

More Chex Mix...

A chicken (to be fair, we shared and there were ample leftovers)...

Popcorn...

Pasta...

Vegetables (YAY, ME!)...

Did I mention Chex Mix?

So…yeah. We won’t be trying on The Dress again just yet. But thanks for the offer, Mom.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go try to deliver my food baby. I'm naming him Gold'n Plump.

Monday Marvels

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, August 15th

Lips flapping in the breeze. What else
is a sunroof for?

10. I’m grateful for the free shower provided by the dog on the way up to the cabin. Seriously? Didn’t need to shower again until Sunday – she took care of hosing us both down…with drool.

9. I’m thankful we had the opportunity to work industriously on being as lazy as possible this weekend. Don’t think it’s easy being a slug – it took a lot of time and effort to rig up our tethers so that we could nap on our floaties on the lake without drifting away.

8. I’m grateful to the Mexicans for creating strawberry marshmallows. I don’t know why they are Mexican, but the bag was in Spanish, so whatever. Yum.

7. I’m happy that Grizzly – the bigger dog – didn’t drown me when he decided my floatie was big enough for two…and hurtled himself full speed off the dock into my lap. 90 pounds of brute force, and what felt like 765 sharp toenails – it was splendid.

6. I’m thankful, too, that Grizzly felt the need to spoon with me in bed both nights. His soggy lake stench was the perfect lullaby.

5. Did I mention that Grizzly makes cow noises? He moos. I’m so thankful that he mooed at me while watching me change into my bathing suit. Asshole.

4. I’m grateful for weekends where the only external stimulation comes in the form of watching the sun set over the lake.

3. I was so happy to come home to my Mark. No better way to end a weekend than at home with my guy.

2. I’m thankful our ghetto porch is getting a makeover – and I’ll be even more thankful if I don’t fall into the hole in the interim.
And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, August 15th?

1. DUDES! In thirteen short days, we’re getting married!

Girl, You'll Be A(n Old) Woman Soon...

I’ve never been a fan of that dastardly mailman, but now he’s crossed the line. Yesterday, amidst the bills and the coupon circulars, there it was.

Woman’s Day magazine.

Yes, it was addressed to me.

No, it didn’t even include a complimentary AARP card.

What the h-e-double-hockey-stick? This Stepford thing is spiraling out of control.

YES.

I cook for my man.

YES.

I own an apron (but I totally still get street cred, since it has a cock on it).

YES.

I'll soon be married.

But this is ridiculous! This magazine is nothing but mom jeans, parenting advice and healthful recipes. How did I get on this mailing list? And more importantly, how do I get off?

I’m too young, too vibrant, too edgy for this magazine.

Right?

RIGHT?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to pack.

Leslie and I are going to the cabin this weekend. I plan to wear freckles instead of makeup. I have a stack of USWeekly, some Chex Mix and a variety of fashionable sweatpants – and we’re absolutely delighted at the prospect of sleeping in before we gorge on carbs and gossip.

Maybe we'll exchange recipes.

Party on, people. Party on.

Fractures

My family is stubborn, argumentative, loud, overbearing and opinionated with a tendency toward depression and substance abuse.

I cannot wait to see them!

Did I mention that this is the more functional side of the family? The family born from a schizophrenic mother and a father who died young - quite possibly of utter exhaustion.

The other side of my family is so fractured it can never be whole again. From the rubble of destruction, though, some of us have been picking up pieces.

One by one.

Year by year.

Every piece has sharp edges and they slice deeply, but we’re picking them up slowly and trying to cobble together a new family from the wreckage.

I have no grandparents to watch me wed.

Two were dead before I knew them. The other two molested my body and battered my brain, then wrote me off for dead 22 years ago.

So to my broken and brokenhearted family, I say this: THANK YOU!

Thank you for traveling from all over to stand beside me in a couple of weeks.

It will be uncomfortable. It will be awkward. Families often are. But it means the world to me that some of you will stand with me. It helps soothe the sting that others will not.

We don't choose our blood, but every day we make choices. We can choose how to treat our family. We can choose to hide our pasts or to live out loud. We can choose to love the ones we can. We can choose to let go of the ones we can't.

It's time for me to let go and just give thanks for what's left of my family.

It is enough.

Playing Doctor

I had a revelation, which is basically comparable to a Ph.d.

While meeting with the wedding coordinator, I experienced a moment of panic when I realized that there are approximately 100 steps to get down to our reception area. This does not bode well for me on the big day.

Have we met?

I have a bionic leg. I gave myself two (count em, TWO) concussions in the space of a week. I fall down stairs and sidewalks. My legs are scabbier than those of an average five-year-old boy. I had three sets of stitches this spring.

Last weekend I burned myself on the arm – making a salad.

I have scars from the trampoline park and a wayward sparkler over the 4th of July.


But I’ve finally figured it out.

Diagnosis: moderately retarded

This is great news.

It means it’s no longer PC for you to laugh at me when I fall, and it excuses my sorry state of success in life.

It also means that I probably ought to strap on a helmet, roll myself into a bubble wrap burrito and lay down on the couch from now until the wedding.

And if any of you know of a medication I can take to unretard myself, please let me know immediately.

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

My life is changing drastically for the better, and quickly.
I’m marrying my tough lover in a mere 18 days. There will be no more posts allowing you to date tragically and vicariously through me.

I’m working diligently on that whole Not Being a Train Wreck thing, so my hopes are that there will be no more fewer posts about drunken debacles, emotional breakdowns or selling myself on the street corner to pay for Ramen and rent. As someone I love recently told me, it’s time for me to do a little less trying and a little more doing.

I won a gigantic TV, so if I continue being broke (but not poor), my worries of impending homelessness will not be realized – I can always move into the box the TV came in. I have a Go Girl, so the box can even be furnished with a mobile bathroom.

I spent this past weekend cuddling babies, hugging family, and laughing and crying (may have been wine-induced) with friends. We had three BBQs and a surprise engagement party. We celebrated with coworkers, my family, his family and our friends. We were gifted with a flat-screen, some cash and a grill large enough to cook hot dogs for all of the world's famine victims.

My posts would probably be funnier if I told you more about the handmade engagement aprons, which were decorated with iron-on decals of jelly jars and a rooster, and a romantic quote when we donned them and stood side by side. Something about JAMMING a ROOSTER down my throat - I don’t get it.

Instead I’m telling you about my Continual Improvement Plans, because the blessings are coming hard and fast (SHIT! Now I get it. Gross, guys!) and I can’t be funny right now. I’m too busy trying to breathe deeply and accept all this love graciously.

I have other big news as well, but the time isn’t right just yet.

NO.

I’m not pregnant. (I’m just fat¸ you assjacks.)

Shame Tastes Like Shit

Today I realized something important.

Mark and I need each other.

We love each other and we have fun together and we try to bring out the best in each other. And frankly, we can both be really obnoxious and we need one another's bossiness to rein in our shitty behavior.

Mark not so gently made sure I understood that I acted like a douchebaguette.

My friends generously threw us a huge party to celebrate our upcoming wedding. I drank 150 glasses of wine, overstayed my welcome and just generally annoyed the hell out of most of the people I love.

I even wrote a shitty excuse for a blog post reporting back on one of the best weekends I've ever been lucky enough to have - because I was hungover. Mark scolded me sternly and wrote a rather thorough list of things I ought to have told everyone I was thankful for.

So I'm humbly apologizing to my dear friends Carrie and Matt for repaying their kindness with my sloppy state of inebriation.

Now I will leave you all with Mark's list of what I should have expressed my sincere gratitude for today.

I'm going to go sit in the corner and think about what I did.

***********
Mark's Monday Marvels

(Ghostwritten as though he were Tricia)

I will try to do my best to make it at least somewhat sound like you, but not pervy k :) OR if you wanna let your readers know that I am filling in due to your barfo rama hangover. Up to you either way and I don't know now why I am typing in this font , great. Whose drunk again here ?!?!?

10. Friday, who doesn't love getting off work early to go to a company picnic ?!


9.Seriously folks, you should see my ring. I know , I know lots of other married women wear rings, but I LOVE mine !!! I have the greatest guy ( insert nice pic of me here :) )


8. Nothing beats having to work an hour at your own company picnic. Thankfully, I think, I was put in charge of the fake tattoo and hair glitter booth. Nothing beats wathfcing little kids squirm when you tell them it's really gonna hurt. Or spraying kids hair silver, then realizing 3 hours later with alcohal infused glitter sweat in your eyes, how much it really really burns !!!

 7. Again, hate to brag. BUT, the man does go get me my iced coffee AND 6 grain oat meal with almonds without me asking or him complaining. Because secretly he likes going because then HE also gets his carmel frappicino and oatmeal as well.


6. Babies, babies, babies every where at the company picnic. Seriously folks, who has the loud clock ticking , cause I can't seem to hear mine over the babies laughing.


5. I guess, I have to admit it, I am a bit lousy sometimes at this whole wife in training bullshit. My man got asked to play soft ball in the Championship game cause he looks like he can play. Unknowingly to me, the boy hasn't played softball in about 7 years. I heard he made the 2nd out of the game, fly ball, but then overthrew the first base player, allowing 2 runs to score in the first, yeah way to go stud. His first at bat was a disaster. First swing, whiff nothing but air, like Jordan, Jordan played baseball right ?!?! So, everything is going great, I now instead turn my attention to the said baby I was now engaged with. I played with the baby and the game went on, meanwhile I guess the story goes that the team my boy was on needed one run to win the game and split of a large sum of money. with 2 guys on base, one to tie, the other wins, with 2 outs, guess whose batting ....yup my boy. I had no clue, baby was giggling and laughing and I was to enthralled with the tiny bundle of joy. My boy smacked the hell outta the ball, scoring both runners and getting a triple. the crowd roared, and I went yeah, so what happened ? Who won ? Yeah, sadly I had to tell him I wasn't watching. Bad Tricia :(

4. Free food, Picnics 3 exactly in ONE WEEKEND , and babies. Have I mentioned I am really loving babies ?!?!


3. Seeing family and friends from BOTH sides of our soon to be combined families. It's soooooooooooo true, CAN pick your friends, but family is a whole nother ball park. Thankfully, we love each others families just as much as each other, bleh, cue harps ?!?!



2. At said company picnic among being a horrible wife in training, I happened to redeem myself quite well, or dumbluck. Either way I am taking credit as it was MY name that was called for the GRAND prize. Yeah, I came home slightly irratated in the fact that my man was grinning so bad, it was a candy store, sugar induced, strip club like high effect on him, this man has never, repeat NEVER smiled a much we he found out that " WE " won a brand new 46 inch flat screen hd tv. Sigh, it's bad enough men run around an cheat on there wives behind there back. Mine, is just gonna do it in front of me now.


1. The last picnic of Sunday brought me to my very dear friend Carries. I thought it was just gonna be a hang out of a few people, drinks, food, good deal. Nope, instead Mark an I were surprised to find the house full of people. Friends, family all together to celebrate the upcoming marriage. When I am done laughing or puking, which ever comes first, you will see the new aprons that we had custom made for us as gifts, to go along with the new grill everyone helped pitched in for. Seriously, the thought of being a domesticated house wife doesn't sound half bad. I can see it all now, cleaning house, calling my soon to be hubby at work " what would you like for dinner tonight hon ? ", baby on the other hip, yeah that seems somewhat appealing. Oh wait, I can do all of that AND work from home you say, thanks alot.

Monday Marvels

I had an amazing weekend and would love nothing more than to write out a top ten list to gloat about it...

but...

but...

but...

I pickled myself in red wine at the surprise shower that my lovely friends hosted yesterday and I'm too busy concentrating on not vomiting again to format a decent post.

So you're just going to have to write your own damn top ten list today, people. Unless you have copious quantities of Excedrin and Vitamin Water, I have nothing more to say.

Peace out.

I Got Boned

Sometimes life just throws you a bone.

Yesterday was only a half-day in the office. We shut down at noon for our annual party, a company picnic.

I had offered to volunteer and I was tasked with manning the tattoo table. I spent 90 minutes applying hearts and skulls to sticky children and spraying their hair with glitter. This was delightful until we learned that glittery hairspray-flavored sweat in the eyes feels like salty razor blades.

Mark was recruited for the softball tournament, which gave me an excuse to sit with a coworker's wife and shnoogle her three-month-old baby girl. Apparently Mark made some MVP shot at the end to drive in the winning runs but I was raspberry-raping the baby's fat little cheeks and didn't see the play. I did, however, see the fifty dollar bills handed out to each player on the championship team.

Then I ate some potato salad and won a 46" flatscreen TV.

Er....what?

I didn't even see it up there until the bullhorn sounded my name and everyone cheered. The guys crowded around Mark congratulating him on winning the new TV and Mark tried to conceal his boner.

We came home to our 92"  rental house and I basked in the contentment of a perfect start to a weekend. Mark tenderly unwrapped the giant TV, stroking it and murmuring sweet nothings in its box.

I fell asleep last night heavy with gratitude and peace.

I'm marrying my lovemuffin in three weeks. I know, deep within my core - my heart and my soul, that this man will never cheat on me.

Because he's never going to get off the couch now that we have a TV the size of a short bus.

The Bachelor

I had a bunch of stuff to do last night, so Mark was a bachelor for the evening.

Left unsupervised, we all know what men do, right?

Surf porn?

Drink beer?

Night out on sniffer's row at the local club?

I got home last night and Mark was watching a documentary...and wearing his wedding ring.

"Excuse me?" I asked. "We're not married yet, babe."

"I know," he replied sweetly. "I like it and I'm just practicing!"

God, I love this man.

OMG WTF is gng on!?

Did you hear about the cop who was called to the daycare center? There was a three-year-old resisting a rest.

Words.

They’re tricky little buggers. Used wisely, they can convey love and humor, pain and sorrow. Used wrong, you have to eat them – and frankly, they taste like shit.

With the influx of convenience technology, communications have suffered immensely. Most people can’t communicate effectively even with limitless words so is it any wonder that texting and Tweeting is crippling us socially?

The first few years I used texts, I refused to use shorthand. My texts were grammatically correct and included proper punctuation. It took me fourteen text messages to invite a friend over for cocktails, and by the time she arrived my thumbs were too sore to lift the shaker and she was offended by my reference to cock.

I’ve caved.

I LOL now.

When I’m texting.

But the virus has spread. It’s infecting emails and Facebook.

The typical status update of a teenager now reads something like this:

Omg wtf did we do last nt? roflmao! Srsly ;p

The children of today won’t be able to cnstrct a sntnce, and their children will have gigantic thumbs and communicate solely via computers and the occasional grunt.

I have clients now who tell me to ‘just text them’ about their projects.

Um…………………………………………..?

OMG ur prjct is lt! :( Will 2mrw wrk instd? Thx 4 ur ptnc, I know its been awhl

And of course, iPhones helpfully rewrite your shorthand for you. I can see myself hurriedly sending this to a client:

OMG u prick a lot! :( Will tomorrow wreck instead? Thanks four your pittance, I know it’s been an asshole.

I fear for our future.

OMG the wrld is endg! LOL oh well ttyl

Mom in Training

In the manner of cats everywhere, as soon as I wrote about how Gabby pins me into the bed at night, she stopped doing so - to prove me wrong, no doubt. After she read my post, she clearly realized that she wasn't taking full advantage of the available real estate.

Now she sleeps on my pillow. Technically, she starts each night by sleeping on my head but once I fall into dreamland, she edges me out. I now wake each morning to a mouthful of fur and a crick in my neck.

Diva that she is, she's also taken to waking me up once or twice each night...so I can pet her back to sleep.

Mark used to feed her each morning at 4:30 when he leaves for work, but Gabby decided that's too early to disrupt her beauty sleep. I suppose she's extra tired after her midnight massage.

So her new morning routine is this:

     4:30 AM - Ignore Mark, pretend to remain asleep
     4:40 AM - Mark leaves
     4:45 AM - Wake up mom, howl to be fed immediately

Excuse me, Gabby??

Does the kibble taste better when you interrupt my sleep to pour it for you? Do you have a problem with Mark's technique? What the fuckety fuck?

I smell collusion.

I'm no fool.

Mark's asked her to train me on how to get up forty times a night, like you do with a baby.

Monday Marvels

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, August 1st

10. I'm thankful that Leslie shared the brownie that her New Lover baked and brought over for her.

9. (I'm grateful that it wasn't a roofie brownie. That could have been awkward.)

8. I'm relieved that my head wasn't splattered across the blacktop like a pumpkin during our Friday night motorcycle ride.

7. I'm happy I found a sweet little retired lady to alter my dress - it only took two minutes of pinning and 58 minutes of dicussing her grandchildren.

6. I'm thankful that Mama Bird's hair didn't turn purple when I dyed it on Saturday. She's a bit...mature for the shock rock look.

5. I'm grateful to Gabby for holding down the bed all weekend. I was concerned it might escape while Mark and I left it unsupervised.

4. I'm excited to see Carrie and crew this weekend, and swim with Avery in his pool if he doesn't enforce his sizist rules and kick me out for being too big. Fat people like to swim, too, jackass!

3. Seriously. I'm stoked to swim in the kiddie pool. This kid better not let me down.

2. I'm still reeling at the support I felt last week on stage - you know you are loved when your family and friends come to some shit like that. Nobody wants to listen to fifteen people reading monologues.

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, August 1st?

1. I got to see my wedding ring and... IT. IS. STUNNING. I'm stunned. My man is stunning. The ring is stunning. We're getting married in 27 days, and the wedding is going to be...stunning.