Saturday, June 30, 2012

I am an engaged person.

Repeat: I am an engaged person. As of last night, I will no longer feel like a ridiculous psycho want-to-have-a-wedding-so-I-will-Pin-all-the-wedding-things lady when talking to vendors and clients. Typically, conversations are as follows:

Me: "Well, I'm getting married in November."
Client/Vendor/Passerby: "Ohhhhh my gosh! Congratulations! How exciting! Show me the ring!!!"
Me: (After they realize I have no ring to present) "Well, we're not engaged, per se."
Client/Vendor/Passerby: "...oh..." (Updates Facebook check-in to say "with Insane Wannabe Bride")

Embarrassment and justification ensues.

Now, though, I have tangible proof of my upcoming nuptials. And a story to back it up! Let's relive last night, shall we? I know you're itching to find out details.

T'was the night before Friday, and all through the apartment, not a thing was suspicious - not even my roommate...ment. As we're sitting on our couch that rests upon cinder blocks, Erin hopped up and decided to clean the bathroom, a feat she never voluntarily tackles. But you know, I cleaned that hair-laden vinyl hell last time so it was her turn. Needless to say, I didn't think anything of it.

Later, I will find out that she confessed to a thread of Facebook friends of mine that if she cleans more than one entity of our home in one sitting that I will become suspicious, due in part to the blatant fact that Erin cleans about twice a year.

After about 45 minutes of thorough scrubbing, she re-emerges in the living room, removes her rubber gloves and notifies me that Lennald (boyfriend's nickname) would like to go on a double date to South Congress Cafe on Friday night. She said that Gerry was already on board.

"Sure," I said, "I hope Gerry feels like paying as I have $36 dollars in my bank account." (I'm already petitioning to get a sponsored blog called "How to have a wedding for $20 dollars," so I'm obviously living out my blogging ambition...)

The Friday workday came and went, as usual. And I headed home to get changed for dinner at 7:30.

Sidenote: On the one hand, I love surprises. But on the other hand, I love ruining surprises. Permanently skeptical, I never snoop (cop out) but I thoroughly enjoy probing. I suppose I see this is a true testament to whether or not my friends and family love me as much as they say they do. I mean, it must be love if they plan and scheme for days and weeks just to fool me for one single moment. It's fun to be friends with a pain in the ass, isn't it?

Anyway, Gerry picked me up for dinner and we made our way to South Congress. Me, still totally unsuspecting at this point, just chatted casually with my soon-to-be and unbeknownst-to-me fiance. When the other half of this seemingly normal double date arrived, we were seated in a cozy booth adjacent to the bathrooms (lovely). As of the sit-down, Erin had already mentioned about 4 or 5 times that she was sweating profusely, and they must have their dial turned to the setting that resembles hell. Usually, I'm the one that is ever-sweaty, but Erin is known to be hyperbolic at unnecessary times. So, still clueless at this point.

Dinner ensued. I couldn't decide what I wanted to eat, wound up not choosing the scallops, poked Gerry's "keys" (ring box) at one point in the evening because he was wearing what appeared to be jeggings and it seemed his "keys" (ring box) were breaking skin. "Those are my keys you idiot!" says Gerry. Slight overreaction, but nothing out of the ordinary for that high-tempered New Yorker. Erin's texting feverishly through dinner, Lenny becomes condescending. Thus far this is shaping up to be a totally normal, completely standard hangout.

In retrospect, Gerry just let me consume whatever was in front of me. And that isn't normal. Baked Brie, crab cakes, sourdough bread, 6oz filet (medium-rare, duh), white wine, roasted garlic potatoes, DESSERT - without so much as a peep from my self-established nutritionist. Usually, he is sweetly concerned for my sensitive health and prefers I stick to my diet of celery sticks and baked salmon. But... screw that. We're at South Congress Cafe!

After I was rolled out of the booth, Erin wanted to snap some photos outside of the cafe. Still nothing to be suspicious about. What would have been suspicious, however, was if I had actually seen Katie Huddleston roaming around the front of the giant cafe window like a little lost puppy. Which, she was doing. But, alas, I didn't. And she made it to her destination in the nick of time. 

Erin and I did our usual 8 rounds of photos because one is never enough, and she encouraged Gerry and I to take one. I'm never opposed to documenting moments, so document away. Round 1 of picture-taking happened. Erin said, "Do you want another one?", then presented Gerry with a fierce batch of  wide "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" eyes. Right as we started round 2 of picture-taking, Gerry fell to the ground at such a rate I thought his leg might have been sliced off. I started to help him off the ground when I realized he was down on one knee.

With an open black velvet box. With an open black velvet box with a shiny ring inside of it.

"Is this a joke?" I said.
"Wait, you guys, is this real!?" I reiterated.

Skepticism first rushed into me because for the last month, my father has been pushing Gerry to go buy a Walmart ring and to "get the job done". And, might I add, I had just spoken with the designer and she said the ring was still in the process.

Obviously, it wasn't a joke. And it was very real.

After my brows un-furrowed, and after Gerry got done silently sitting on the ground, I put the ring on my finger. Jumping, screaming, hugging, and kissing (sorry, no crying) immediately followed. Then I heard a group of people scream something indecipherable from across the street. Staring at my hand, then back at Gerry, then back at my hand, I made my way across the street only to greet the familiar faces of Whitney, Katie, Whitley, Andrew, and a double-fisting hobo standing too close to Katie. I hugged everyone (even the hobo) our of sheer excitement and then began my round of phone calls to alert my loved ones.

All the while still staring at my hand.

Most of you know me. Therefore, most of you aren't surprised to find out that we've already booked a date, venue, taken care of the food, dress designer, officiant, our wedding stationary, hair and makeup. DJ, florist and dessert appointments are next week. What? While I had to endure a few months of crazy eyes and awkward conversation, it's nice not to have to hit the ground running!

All of you are invited. But only like 150-175 of you can eat. See you November 30th!

Monday, June 4, 2012

A girl's gotta eat.

Below is a real conversation that was had with a coworker of mine:

D: Hey Sadie, can you come take a look at this?
Me: Sure, let me get a couple hard-boiled eggs and make my flax oatmeal right quick.
D: you eat anything that tastes good?

To some, I tend eat things that resemble cardboard and moss. While my body chooses to love an unreasonable portion of fruits and vegetables over a tall salty stack of McDonald's hashbrown pucks - my mouth begs to differ. Thus, I bring you my [shortened] list of scrumptiously horrible foods that my mouth could eat for the rest of my life.


My man.

  • Fletcher's Corny Dogs.
  • Really, any brand of corn dog. But there's a special time of year when my family and I venture to the State Fair. Upon arrival of that redneck playground, my eyes widen like Jesus is coming and I run with both hands fiercely stretched out in front of me as if Fletcher himself were going to issue me a hug and a lifetime supply of Corny Dogs. After my fat girl dash, I revel in that little fried delight. Then, hours later, I will have a second Dog to end my trip to the State Fair of Texas and begin my week-long digestion battle. 
  • Taco Bell's Crunchwrap Supreme. My love affair with these little saucers of Tex-Mex glory first began in high school. Specifically, when I realized I was starving at the end of every volleyball game. After each game, there was a brief time where I would retrieve food, and eat it at my then-boyfriend's house. There was a mini "restaurant row", so to speak, and among those dining establishments was a KFC/Taco Bell combo. What would my high-school self order nearly every single game night? A Crunch Wrap Supreme, potato wedges, a steak Grilled Stuff'd Burrito, and a sweet tea - for good measure. How am I alive? 
  • California Rolls. Ah, the universal roll in the sushi world. While a Rainbow Roll typically wins me over on the menu, there's no escaping that the base of that colorfully delicious masterpiece is, in fact, a Cali Roll. "But Sadie, sushi is fish and rice and seaweed and avocado. That's pretty healthy!" Yes my readersan, normally you'd be right. But 99.9% of all California Rolls are made with crab stick. Which is mostly composed of 3 parts random white fish, 2 parts food dyes, 1 part incomprehensible chemical, and 10 parts tasty. 
  • Chocolate covered almonds. If ever I wander away from you in the grocery store, you will either find me reading labels of obscure foods - or staring at the bulk chocolate covered almonds tube that you can pour into a large bag at your leisure. There might have been a time last month where I filled a 2 pound bag as a "road trip snack" and ate it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. One is just never, ever enough. 
  • Lil Smokies. If you bring me to a barbecue or house party that is serving these little weens on a toothpick, it is probable that I will consume no fewer than 35 smokies in one sitting. That is all.
  • And lastly, A fat Chipotle burrito. Many of you are aware of my mild obsession with Chipotle. But it may come as a surprise to most of you that every time I open those faux chrome doors and see the beautiful assembly line of Mexican goodness - I weep. I weep, because I know I cannot order that warmed flour tortilla, I cannot order that cheese, and I cannot add the dollop of sour cream. Instead, I order the stupid salad with no dairy. Someday soon, I'm going to order that perfectly crafted burrito that I first fell in love with (tort, white rice, black beans, peppers and onions, steak, pico, lettuce, cheese, sour cream, guac, and a sprinkle of green sauce. Omg.), and my mouth will love every bite. Then, my mouth will laugh in the face of my soon-to-be-unsettled bowels. 
This is what it feels like I'm eating when I finish my dream burrito.
I'll spare you the details that I know would accompany a Chick-fil-a breakfast bagel sandwich, a medium rare filet from Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, glass upon glass of Ovaltine, and a heaping bowl of Oatmeal Squares - for I know the longevity of this post could far surpass just 6 bullet points.

Note: during this post I have since completed nearly a pound of chocolate covered almonds. I would say I have a problem, but I don't. So shut up.