On what I've got going for me..

My Mii may be stretching her virtual polyester pants to their breaking point, but there's one thing I've got going for me.

I don't drink Starbucks every day.

Thanks to the power of Facebook, I've recently learned that a woman who I went to college with/worked for in the admissions office of my alma mater has a daily Starbucks habit that she's trying to break. She laments in her status update that she spends $300/month on venti lattes.

There are few things that lead me to bust out a calculator, but I just had to do the math. If she purchased one venti latte at $4 a cup, every day for a month, that really shouldn't cost her more than $120 or so. Yah, that's right, I just made daily Starbucks look cheap. I can rationalize anything. Just throw it my way.

But $300/month. No hint of exaggeration as she's quoting the losses her retirement account took. So, really, she's going twice a day and jiving on venti lattes.

Good lord.

The thing is, on the rare occasion where I've had a loaded Starbucks card and have gone every day in a week, I'm left to feel nothing but bloaty and, well, a little whorish. You know how too much of a good thing can leave you feeling like a walking embodiment of sin? Yah. You just want to take a shower, loofa off the pumpkin spice latte dusting and rub your eyes so that brown, white and green aren't the only colors your over-caffeinated eyes can see. And stop with the Michael Buble already...

Dunkin Donuts every day, well, that's just a different story.

The good news about Dunkin Donuts is that their really unhealthy drinks, those that make you topple over with delight at 'Bucks, taste like a mix of Sunny D and Yoo Hoo at DD. They're awful. So the worst you can really do is light and sweet coffee. Don't get me wrong, a cup of that every day and your Mii's little red t-shirt is going to rip open like the Hulk. But at least you won't be broke.

And, let's face it, it's the food at Dunkin's that's the real trouble. At Starbucks, the scones taste like a cardboard box o' joe. Try it sometime. I'm sure they'll give you the empty box of coffee for free.

On Mii vs. Me

Well, I've reached a new low as a chick. I'm about to write a blog about the fact that I'm fat. I can already tell this is going to be horrible.

The clothes in my wardrobe that fit me and those that don't are running about 50/50 right now. Trying on wedding dresses was a horrible experience. Oh, and the belly rolls. The belly rolls from hell.

Still, I wasn't entirely convinced I'd gone crossed the chubby line. At my last physical, my weight in was the highest its ever been, but as I squinted to read the BMI chart on the wall and saw that I was merely on the CUSP of overweight, I convinced myself I must still look ok.

But I know I don't look ok. I don't feel ok. But what I don't understand is I'm cooking better and overall eating better than I have in a long time. So what gives? And how do I fix it by July 4?

The thing is, I don't have a ton of discipline. About anything. So dieting and exercise have always come in mighty spurts, followed by mighty falls of the weight watching wagon.

The worst part is I wouldn't even be writing this if my beloved fiance has not managed to secure a Wii Fit on Thursday.

I hopped on for the first time yesterday. It takes you through a body test to create your character, and then came the part where it took my BMI and weight. Sure enough the bar kept going up, and up, and up. Overweight. It landed on overweight. I wanted to cry.

And with no time for pause, my Wii Mii plumped up while a sound typically only heard in clogged pipes chimed along.

Ouch.

So I've been on the Wii Fit for 30 minutes each day since (yes, that's only two days - shut up), and dragged my beloved on a 3 mile walk along a trail I somehow didn't have the energy to explore until today. But can I keep it up?

Has the Mii muffintop finally provided the motivation I need?

On the road again..

It's official. I'm not becoming a truck driver.

Since Thursday, I've accumulated about 35 hours on the road. OK, maybe it's not all that bad when you split it up day by day, but a round trip drive to New York and another to DC in less than a week is nothing to sneeze at.

For the most part, I really look forward to road trips. Even when left to my own devices, and therefore unable to ask my fiance introspective questions gathered from years of pouring over books like If and If2, I tend to enjoy the solitary journey. I like the sense of accomplishment it brings, I like the ability to sing at the top of my lungs without judgement or rehearse scenarios in which I bring Sarah Palin down in a national venue or tell off the boy who asked me out as an April Fool's joke in the 7th grade.

Not that it still bothers me.

I also enjoy the excuse it provides to stop at Dunkin Donuts, Chick-Fil-A and Arby's all in one day.

But this latest road trip had me contemplating two major disturbances:

The first? Roadside memorials. Now, I could take this rant down a very wrong path so, please don't get me wrong. We honor our dead and our loved ones in our own ways. Visiting the site where a death on a highway occurred and building a makeshift grave with a cross made from rotted white picket fence pieces is fine. Of course, it's not how I would want to be remembered if, God forbid, I was to depart this earth in such a manner. I'd hate for such a necessary place to be a constant reminder of death; not to mention the fact that I'd rather folks reflect and grieve surrounded by peace and beauty, rather than amidst a sea of shredded Goodyears and an aroma of exhaust. Still, I can understand the need to mark where the spirit departed.

I just find it so creepy. On a long road trip, how many you pass, some on the left, others on the right. And how much worse it must be to drive by a group of folks putting it together. I dunno. It just gets me thinking and it creeps me out.

Hmm.. how to transition from here. Yikes.

The other disturbing realization I made on today's return home was just how much driving we're all not doing on the road; thus resulting in these informal grave sites on the side of the road. Nosepicking, paper reading, cell phone chatting, tv watching, teaching the dog a new trick; we've seen it all before. But take my genius move.

I was dying for Chick-Fil-A. It was all I could think about. I drove clear out of my way to find one when I reached my point of desperation. I had about 90 minutes left in the drive, and I never once considered eating in the car for 5 minutes while in park in the parking lot of the restaurant. No, I must eat and drive.

And did I pick a driving friendly food? No! It was finally time to try the nuggets and dipping sauce Mary keeps raving about. And I'll wash it down with a shake, thank you very much.

Thus, while cruising down 95 at 72 mph or so, I balanced sauce in my hand as it rested on the wheel, waffle fries on one thigh and nuggets on the other.

It was damned impressive until I reached for my milkshake. And pulled the lid off. And got milkshake everywhere.

2 napkins, the paper bag my food came in and a bottle of water was all I had to clean it up. And did I pull over to do so? Of course not. I had at it while continuing down 95.

Wipe wipe, curse curse, wipe, curse. You know the drill. I eventually cleaned it all up.

And looked up to realize I'd just missed my exit. The exit the nice British GPS lady was telling me to take but I was so distracted I didn't notice.

Yah.

Not my brightest, most shining moment. I spent the remaining 48 minutes of my drive (12 extra minutes than it should have taken) with my tail between my legs. Completely embarrassed. In front of the no one that was there.

I think I've learned my lesson, though. Only Combo #1 from Chick-Fil-A for future road trips. Nuggets are not for amateurs. Though I bet truckers could shell a lobster while driving.

On about all I can muster...

My fiance and I just returned from a weekend of wedding logistics at the site of the event, Colgate University, my cherished alma mater. Despite our 11 hour drives each way and the fact that the football game we were supposed to attend was canceled in a very House, M.D.-like manner, our weekend was just outstanding. We met with our wonderful rep at the college who is holding all sorts of space for us free of change, our catering manager at the reception site who has since referred to herself as my wedding planner and has suddenly taken on the burden of chair and tent orders and finding a proper officiant (pardon me as I do my Kermit the Frog dance..YAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!). And did I mention that we essentially have the run of the entire Inn when we're there? Well, we do. We also met with a baker whose cookies and cream cake sample resulted in Cor saying, "I think that's one of the best pieces of cake I've ever had." Done and done.

Of course, we also learned that C-E-L-T-I-C-N-O-T actually spells S-U-C-K-E-R. Once we met our photographer, who is also down to earth and great, I'm pretty sure we were tricked into an engagement session. See, they start by saying they're going to take a few pictures no matter what, session or no, and the next thing you know 90 minutes have passed and I'm walking like Miss J on America's Next Top Model. So much for pinching pennies. We loved every minute of it, and think our photographer is just fantastic.

Another highlight was coffee with my faculty adviser and favorite professor in the world. She really saved me as a student there, and for Cory to meet her is nothing short of a blessing.

The best part was watching Cory fall in love with campus and Hamilton just as I did so many years ago. We can't wait for July! Here's a sample of what's to come:

Wedding site:








Reception site:

Building Exterior



Lobby



Reception Room



Outdoor area that reception room opens up to.. also ours!




Everyone was so nice, so approachable. We feel very taken care of and are more excited than ever!

On bad combinations...

Sorry for the uber wedding focus today, but we must discuss favors. The truth is, I hate favors. Wedding favors. I don't mind doing people favors, and I certainly don't mind when they're done for me. But wedding favors. There's nothing more useless. Case in point:

One of my bridesmaids, Kelly, shared the story of her parents' wedding favors, personalized matchbooks, once I shared that's the favor I decided on. The story is, as follows:

My parents got married in May 1979. Uncle Nick went, and he wore his good suit. In April 2001, Uncle Nick once again busted out the good suit.... alas, this time for his sister Anna's funeral. He thought this suit was gray, and would therefore be appropriate. Since he hadn't worn it in a while, he asked my gramma to have it dry cleaned for him. As it turned out, the suit was black... and very, very dusty. And, in the pocket, was the matchbook from my parents' wedding.

Case closed, your honor.

Still, matchbooks are practical. We do have smokers in the family; they'll likely use them the same evening, and everyone has candles, right?

So, matchbooks. They were on sale at The Knot. They'll look something like this:

Now, this is likely not the only trinket we'll give our guests, and with the reality that our wedding date is the Fourth of July, I do want to do one or two things in tune with the theme.

US Flags!

So I started browsing the web for those small, handheld flags we all wave at parades and political rallies while sipping lemonade, listening to baseball games on the radio and humming The Star Spangled Banner. I can find them for a real deal!

So then I began to visualize. A flag at every place setting, with the book of matches above it.

Ummmmm... why do I think that might turn ugly? Perhaps not the best gesture to the Vietnam vets in attendance. Arrival bags, then. We'll put the flags in the guest arrival bags. Phew. Any potential flag burning can then be enjoyed in the comfort of our guests homes and not at our reception.

Crisis averted.

On needing a getaway car...

The good news of the day is I found my wedding dress. Deposit is down. It's done. Overall, I opted for something more budget-friendly and practical than overly elegant and whimsical (whimsy equals HEAVY and sweat inducing), but I really like what I found and think it will be perfect for the day. Huzzah!

The dress was the unexpected consequence of my day trip to Durham. The Durham trip was planned, exclusively, to attend my first, and last, bridal show.

As the days narrowed prior to the event, I had this sinking feeling in my stomach that it was going to be a huge waste of my time. I'm not getting married down here, I have no need for local vendors, I just wanted some ideas. Ideas on things I don't know a thing about: flowers, ceremony and reception "concepts" for lack of a better word, etc. Long story short, it wasn't that. But, as my dread built about attending the event, I scheduled an appointment at David's Bridal and now I have a dress. So there.

I'm thoroughly disappointed with the bridal show experience. I was really looking forward to writing about my day spent as a true bride-to-be fully immersed in the whole thing. After all, one of my favorite students at my last job put together a feminist version of a bridal magazine for her senior thesis and did much of her research by attending these things. I was so impressed with the project and desperately wanted to help. Now, I have no idea how she got through it knowing she is of a similar mindset. I guess I just received the confirmation of reality I knew all along. The commercial wedding world is just not my scene.

Linen companies. Dress companies. Photographers. Videographers. DJs. Makeup artists. Gyms. Weight loss plans. China vendors (plates, not country). Did I mention DJs? With microphones and speakers? It honestly wasn't that big. It was just cheesy. I think it was the "strolling fashion show" that put me over the edge. Brides passing by me as I pretended to care about table settings.

You know those scenes in movies where they show the main character so overcome by his or her surroundings that the backdrop starts to zoom round and round as the figure sweats, rubs their eyes, tries to find some serenity in an all too chaotic environment? Well, it wasn't exactly like that. But it stressed me out just the same and was distracting enough to me to skip the cake samples. There was something about it. The maitre'd at the entryway of the registration desk, the big hair on the ladies at the desk, the sticker they gave me to wear identifying me as "the bride", (if only Kill Bill style) and the ballroom full of vendors circling attendees like sharks. It was good for me, actually, to walk into something like that and be reminded of what students attending a college fair for the first time are thinking. "Please just let me walk around. Please don't talk to me." I did one lap and was out.

I couldn't believe I spent $5 on the experience. At least college fairs are free.

It does occur to me that I'm really trying to set up my wedding so that it involves as few decisions as possible. We picked a location with few options for ceremony and reception sites. The reception site actually includes quite a bit of the things we'd otherwise have to worry about (ie table settings and centerpieces). I'm now formally astounded that there are people who do this type of stuff every day for people far less reasonable than I.

So for those of you who will join me and my groom next July 4, I apologize if our day lacks the keen eye to detail that you may expect. I apologize if I have the slightest bit of back fat creeping over my dress and I apologize if I don't stick to a single color scheme or spend thousands on flowers. I apologize if our outdoor set up is simple and lacking bows or ribbons or doilies or archways or doves. With a forgiving heart, just come, laugh with us, dance with us, eat, drink (wine, beer or soda!) and be merry.

That's all we ask.

On words losing their meaning...

There was a time in my life when I was a huge Lance Armstrong fan. More the Lance of the Kristen Armstrong era than the Sheryl Crow chapter, but most definitely pre-retirement Lance vs. post-retirement Lance. I basically dealt LiveStrong bracelets at my office. I was a yellow band pusher, for certain. Don't judge me. It was a phase.. a college thing.

Well now Lance is back. And so is Brett Favre. I guess the mockery Michael Jordan endured amidst his many retirements wasn't enough to prevent Lance and Brett from avoiding the same. We're simply left to wonder if their experiences with championships will be more like MJ's first post-retirement seasons or his second.

I'm just left to wonder.. why go to the trouble? Is declaring one's retirement from professional sports now akin to Michael Scott "declaring" bankruptcy? ("I DECLARE BANKRUPTCY!")Are we just in it for the party now? Did Favre's screening for football commentary not go as well as Michael Irvin's? Is that even possible?

From the fan perspective, I just hate the notion of either of these men stumbling off into the dust once injury forces a next, more final retirement. They were both at such incredible high points, but peaks, nonetheless in their careers, to leave on a better note doesn't seem possible for either. Of course, I guess the real difference is what's driving the need to comeback. Knowing each of these men no better than I know your great uncle, I still get the sense that Favre feels a bit cheated due to a few bad seasons, addiction, you name it. For Favre, I feel like it really is the love of the game.

I do know a bit more about Armstrong. Well, check that. I know as much about Armstrong as his ghostwriter let me in on. Equipped with my understanding of him, my guess is this return is more about a pissing contest, more about an ego, more about a point to prove. Or maybe it's all about Michael Phelps, and 7 championships no longer makes the grade for larger than life athletes.There's no doubt he has the passion, don't get me wrong, but his re-entry lacks a purity. Or, perhaps, he's been called upon by those who once loathed him to inject life back into the sport after Lance-less doping scandals continue to suffocate its rebound.

Whatever the reason, I hope he doesn't leave another lovely lady covered in Trek marks along the way.