Jackpot

It's official.  Jeremy's lease on his townhouse ended today, so we spent the early evening scurrying around, removing the last of his belongings and doing a little cleaning along the way.  The end.

I wish!

I wish the story ended there, but that wouldn't make for a very interesting blog post, now would it?  The story continues that despite our best yard sale efforts, we do in fact own at least two of almost everything.  Two couches?  Check.  Two bathroom scales?  Yes.  Two irons, two colanders, two huge containers of laundry detergent?  Yep, yep, yep. 

So now we begin the arduous task of sorting through it all in order to create some...well...order.  Because right now, this place is straight up crazy.  It's like Hoarders Gone Wild up in here. 

There is a silver lining to all this duplicate madness though.  When I discovered the situation in the refrigerator, it was like a beam of light shone down from the heavens.  The clouds parted, harps played, and angels sang.  And I took a picture:  

I mean...right?  How lucky are we?  Who needs space to think and breath and function when you've got such an abundance of MAYO!?!?!

And do we get extra points for brand loyalty? 

Cuteness alert...you've been warned

Of all the beautiful, priceless things I gained by marrying Jeremy (including...marrying Jeremy), the slew of new nephews and NIECES that are now MINE top the list.  There are so many new ones, I don't even know how many there are.  But I do know that for the first time ever, I have NIECES.  Three of 'em, I think.  (Is that right, Connell readers?  Kelly, Lena, and Merideth?  I think that's right).

ANYWAY.

If there's one thing I learned early on about nieces, it's that there is no better way to feel like a total celebrity than to have some nieces around you.  Especially if you happen to be wearing a large, white, princess-like dress, and said nieces are at a prime princess-loving age. 

At the reception, Lena, Merideth, and I danced and twirled and floated our way across the dance floor.  In all honesty, I've never seen a group of girls more dedicated to dancing and twirling than MY new nieces and their friends.  It was amazing.

ANYWAY.

Earlier this week, I got an e-mail from Lena's mom, Julie (Jeremy's sister.  Hi Julie!).  The subject of the e-mail read "1st place in the pumpkin decorating contest in class".  The following picture was attached:

I can't get this stinking picture to rotate.  Tilt your head to the right for maximum cuteness. 

I was the inspiration behind Lena's bride pumpkin.  Isn't that just the cutest thing you've ever heard of?

I mean, seriously.  A bride pumpkin.  I love it!

Tomorrow

There is too much to do. 

My suitcase is sitting in the hallway in the exact spot I dropped it, exhausted, when we returned home early Saturday morning.  I can hear it still begging to be unpacked, nagging me in really annoying voice.  (Think Gilbert Godfrey.)

There are 2 homes to consolidate by Monday.  Where in the world are we going to put everything?  How will we ever cram two fully furnished, two bedroom residences into one home without having to navigate some obstacle course of furniture every time we want to go from the living room to the kitchen?  Which we tend to want to do.  Often.  And most importantly, where are my gold flats?

There are thank you notes to write.  I feel so lucky to have such a long list of thank you notes to write.  But there are just so many. 

There's the whole issue of changing my name, which means paperwork and line-waiting and account-updating and institution-notifying.  And line-waiting.  Did I mention that? 

But instead of tackling these things - any of them - I'm going to sit on the couch and eat a burrito while watching The Biggest Loser.  And I know I'll wake up tomorrow and feel 100% better about the state of the world, motivated to put all the pieces of my new life together, excited to find the new normal. 

Tomorrow. 

A hurricane named Karma

To the fellow guest at the resort where we spent our honeymoon:

I noticed the way you were slightly gloating about the fact that you and your wife were spending TWO glorious WEEKS at the resort, where you planned to order a porterhouse steak every night for dinner, just because you could.  And I caught the pity in your eyes when we said we hadn't had the best weather during our stay.  If memory serves me correctly (and it does.  Oh, I'm sure it does), you even laughed a little. 

To you, (un)kind sir, I say fondly,

GOOD LUCK WITH THAT:

Wherein I discuss white pants, bathroom scales, toe valleys, and a little mush at the end

Well, hi.

Hello there!

I assume you faithful blog readers (both of you (no, that joke never gets old)) are waiting on some big, huge, very informative post about the wedding.  And, well, while I'd love to provide such a post, I'm also coming to grips with the fact that it would be virtually impossible to do such a thing.  I'm sorry kid.  Life's not fair.

To summarize wedding weekend would be so daunting, so overwhelming, so impossible, that I've made a decision:  I'm not even going to try.  Instead, I'm going to take the approach of a 6th grade girl at a slumber party.  You know the type: just about the time everyone in the room has finally fallen asleep, she says 'hey guys!  Remember the time...' jarring everyone awake before recanting some blathering, detail laden anecdote that leaves everyone delighted.  Or groaning.  Whatever.

Here goes the first of probably many.
_____
The weather was amazing and perfect.  It was sunny, warm, a great breeze.  Amazing.  Better than I ever could've hoped for.  Amazing.
_____
During our reception, one of my friends (it was either Karen or Beth...hi Karen! hi Beth!) gave me some wise advice.  'While on  your honeymoon,' she advised, 'do something you'd never do at home.'  Have an adventure!  Take a risk!  Do something memorable.  And so, as I often do, I took her advice.  I did something I'd never do at home.  I wore white pants in October.  In public.
_____
For our honeymoon, we went to Playa Paraiso in Mexico.  It was wonderful.  The resort was beautiful, the food was good, and the pools were fabulous.  I would, however, like to punch in the face the man who decided it would be a good idea to put a scale in the bathroom.  I use the male gender intentionally because a female would never conceive or condone putting a scale within a country mile of an all inclusive resort.  I mean, really.  Really?  I didn't use it, but I was offended by it's mere presence. 
_____
While in Mexico, I got a massage.  Boy, did I.  I'm telling you with all the truth and honesty I can muster, it was the best massage of my entire life.  All other massages I've ever had wish they were worthy to eat the crumbs off the floor after the Mexico massage finishes dinner.  Wait.  What?  IT WAS GOOD, OK?  She massaged between my toes.  She massaged my face WITH HER FOREARMS.  TWICE.  People, you haven't been pampered until your toe valleys have been massaged.
_____
My favorite quote from the whole wedding came from my mom, during the ladies luncheon on Friday.  While telling the table about the dance lesson my dad and I took earlier in the week, she said 'honey, there isn't anything in the world your dad wouldn't do for you, so him dancing with an Asian man was no big deal.' Totally.  Classic.
_____
There will be more to tell, in dribbles and drabs, in the coming weeks.  Until then, I'll leave you with this:  Before the wedding, I scoffed at people who referred to it as "the happiest day of my life."  I thought they were corny and fairy tale-ish and out of touch with reality.  But I was wrong.  So wrong.  It was so joyful and happy and overwhelming and my face hurt at the end of the day (from smiling).  In the 8 days since the weekend, I have caught myself grinning like an idiot as I review and relive all the details in my mind.

I am a wife, and that's A-OK with me.

Complete with a picture of half-eaten food

I'm rigid.  I'm logical.  I'm by-the-book.  I like order.  I like structure.  I like a plan, especially when I'm the one who made the plan.  I like to have a schedule.  I love a list. 

I am all those things, but I am not spontaneous.  This is a fact.  And the sooner you embrace it, the sooner you will grow to love me.  Because if it's a plan you need, I'm your girl. 

Jeremy pointed this out to me last night, and I had no choice but to agree with him.  Sometimes it would be nice to be a little less on-edge.  Sometimes, I think it would be nice to fly by the seat of my pants and get carried away.  But most of the time, I don't. 

Today, the schedule I made for myself (yes, really) included a bunch of random errands, kicked off by a trip to downtown Charleston to pick up our marriage license.  So I went.  Downtown.  At noon.  I battled traffic, felt irritated that the rest of my self-imposed schedule was being impeded by a bunch of fanny-pack wearing tourists who forget how to drive because they're on vacation.  I went to the courthouse, successfully navigated TWO metal detectors, retrieved our marriage license, and began the walk back to the third floor of the parking garage where my car was waiting to take me to the rest of my errands. 

And on the walk to the parking garage, I started thinking about my conversation with Jeremy.  And I started thinking about the week ahead, and our wedding that is only 7.5 days away (who's counting, right?).  And I remembered how potentially stressful this next week could be, with all the demands of being a bride.  And then I thought, 'Elizabeth.  You're downtown.  It's a beautiful, sunny day, and while you do have things to accomplish, none of those things need to be done RIGHT NOW.  Go to lunch.  Pick one of these amazing restaurants downtown and go eat lunch.'  And thus began the internal argument between my rational side that ALWAYS wins, and my tiny spontaneous side that must often feel like that neglected article of clothing in the back of the closet that always gets passed over. 

When I arrived at the next corner, I didn't turn left to head toward the parking garage.  Instead, I felt my legs carry me to the right, down one of Charleston's many charming streets.  And before I knew it, I arrived at the step of Poogan's Porch.  I've lived in Charleston for almost 10 years.  I've always wanted to eat at Poogan's Porch, but I never have.  Seems shameful.  And then, those same legs carried me to the hostess stand, where I heard myself say "Any chance I could get a table for 1 for lunch?"  I heard my rational side, (the side that's louder than Rosanne Barr) scoff and say 'there's no way they'll have a table.  Did you see all those fanny pack wearing tourists waiting outside?' So imagine the surprise of my rational side when the hostess said "Sure!  Follow me." 

And then I proceeded to enjoy lunch.  By myself.  Unscheduled.  I sat at a beautiful table near the window and tried not to notice the inquisitive looks from other diners.  I buttered my biscuit carefully.  I spent some of the time pretending I was traveling in another country, vacationing by myself.  I studied the menu carefully.  I also pretended to be a food critic.  And I spent some time thinking about what I really hope next week...wedding week...will be like.  And only one word came to mind:

calm. 

I know it will be fun.  Exciting.  Memorable.  Emotional.  Happy.  Whirl-wind-like.  I know it will be all of those things. 

My hope is that it will be calm.  Sitting-in-a-beautiful-casual-restaurant-lingering-over-unplanned-lunch kind of calm.  I hope my hyper-active, control freak side will take an early honeymoon so I can be calm. 

Because the reality of it is, it's up to me.  I get to choose.  I get to make the plan.  And my plan is to be calm. 

Grilled pimento cheese sandwich with tomato and bacon with a side of house-made chips kind of calm.

It is, after all, the best kind. 

This one's for you, Amanda

My internet friend, Amanda, called me out on Facebook.  I haven't updated my blog in ONE MONTH.  Wha-huh?  That is so unlike me.  So here are some random musings from my life lately:

- Have you ever noticed how the word "engaged" is only one letter away from the word "enraged"?  I have.

- From the "I rendered my own self speechless file":  I was typing an e-mail to my parents the other day and attempted to use the word "clan", as in "I can't wait until the whole clan is here for the wedding."  Only I spelled "clan" with a "k" because I'm from Gainesville, GA, which at one point in the not so distant past happened to be a hot-bed for those clan-with-a-k people and I guess I just always thought that's how clan was spelled.  With a "k".  Yikes. 

- I got a spray tan the other day.  It was a trial run to see if I liked it before the wedding.  I didn't.  Not only did it smell bad, but the only person who noticed my "tan" happened to be the same teenage friend who kept asking if I was going to lose weight for the wedding.  I've been exfoliating feverishly ever since, trying to rid myself of the tint.  It's (almost) all gone. 

- From the "oh-my-gosh-write-about-something-other-than-the-wedding-file":  I got nothin'.