The Saving Grace of St. Louis

...is a restaurant called Yemanji Brasil where my dinner consisted of:

• Appetizer: fried yucca root sprinkled with fresh parmesan cheese and served with a curry dipping sauce
• Soup: shrimp bisque served with fresh bread and seasoned butter
• Entree: seared tilapia smothered with a vegetable and coconut sauce served over a bed of rice and topped with melted parmesan cheese
• Dessert: coconut bread pudding served on a bed of caramel cream sauce and topped with toasted coconut shavings and a marachino cherry

It's been a long hard two days and this dinner came close to making the misery go away. However, I still want my memory sticks back you mysterious thieving fuck!

('course I just had to end that gloriously delicious post with a taste of bitterness)

Missing Memory Stick

Have you seen my memory stick? It's a bit smaller than a stick of Wrigley's chewing gum and it's full of pictures and video from a recent Decemberists concert and of HB's adorable niece. Oh, and it's a 2GB memory stick that can hold around 800ish photos and was a gift from the HB. Yeah, well, I ask only because I know that I HAVEN'T SEEN IT LATELY.

Well, I guess I should just chalk this up to the growing list of shit that I've lost on this trip. Not that I lost it because I never take it out of my camera. It was stolen. That and the 512MB card I had in my camera case. Though, these were kind robbers, so they let me keep my outdated camera and the 32MB chump change memory stick that came with my camera.

If I had my memory stick, I would have been able to record an awesome Toyota robot playing a trumpet today and take pictures of my absolutely amazing Brazilian dinner.

Fuck St. Louis.

Good morning, Foresters!

Ho hum, ho hum. I'm glad my job doesn't make me travel more than I already do because I don't generally enjoy it. Don't get me wrong, I love to travel. I just don't really like traveling for business because it gets terribly lonely.

Ahem: I'm lonely, people. Please come visit and keep me company with stories (hysterical, pathetic, angry, or otherwise) and the like.

OHMYGOSHI'MSOSCARED!!

I was dying of thirst, so I ventured out of my room tonight in search of the vending machine. After hearing the ice machine grumble and make all kinds of completely unnatural noises (and the vending machine was sold out of practically everything), I started wildly pressing every button on the machine to get my drink--any drink--as quickly as possible so I could run screaming (in my head) back to my room like the scaredy cat I am.

Why is it that the vending machine and the ice machine are always out of the ways in this teeny corner of the hall that is most terrifying place in the entire hotel? Wtf? All I could think was redrum. Great, now I'll never fall asleep.

(whimper)

I hate St. Louis!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You may be wondering, where in the world is Blue? 'Cause she certainly hasn't been around the Forest lately.

Seriously, my bad. Between the photographer hunt and the AWESOME DECEMBERISTS concert last weekend (more details and YouTube links soon) and having whole stretches of days with the HB, I've had very little time to come 'round these parts.

Of course, now I'm stuck in the ass-end of the United States (aka St. Louis), so I guess you can consider this my punishment for not being a good blogger.

[Insert name of large company here] sent me here for the National Science Teacher's Association conference so I can basically stand in a booth for 8 hours, shake hands, smile, sell books, and be an overall chipper reflection of our fabulous company. Sigh.

The only problem is that there ain't shit to do in St. Louis. Luckily I have 3 episodes of Prison Break, 2 episodes of 24, 2 episodes of Lost and discs 4 and 5 of season 3 of The Wire. Now I have plenty to do.

By the way, should I mention that I arrived at the airport at 7:15 this morning (for my 8:30 flight) only to discover that my father and I had a miscommunication and my suitcase was NOT IN THE TRUNK OF THE CAR!!!??? Should I also mention that despite driving like a bat out of hell back home to get my suitcase and back to the airport that I didn't make my flight? Does it also need to be said that I had to be in St. Louis before noon and the next flight was leaving NY at 1:30pm? OH, and I thought I lost my cellphone, but apparently I left it at home. Without this blessed internet connection, you might as well just consider me completely not in this universe anymore.

Yeah, my day completely stunk, I'm exhausted and smell about as bad as my day, I have no interest in taking a shower because that would require me to NOT be horizontal right now, and my room service pepperoni pizza tastes like ass. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Grrrr!

Oh, did I mention that I'm stuck in this hell hole until Sunday?

How to get fancy meals for FREE

One word: tastings.

Whether you plan on getting married or not, I highly recommend you follow these directions:

1. Pick a friend of the opposite sex (or same sex if you live in Massachusetts) and establish your wedding details: engagement date, wedding date, how many people you plan to invite, and whether you plan to have the ceremony at the reception site or at another location.

2. Do some research and make a list of fancy reception halls you want to visit. Call them up and tell them you're getting married (gush and squeal) and ask to make an appointment to tour the place with your "fiance."

3. Visit each reception hall (gush and squeal) and tell them all about your wedding. They'll ask you all sorts of questions, so stick to your prepared information otherwise they might sniff out a freeloader.

4. At the end of the tour, tell them how much you LOVE the place and that you'd love to set up a tasting soon.

5. Reservation is made, so all you have to do is show up. Nice places will pull out all the stops to impress you and gain your $20,000 business to their fancy wedding establishment. All you need to do is leave a gratuity for the waiter, but a $10 tip is a small price to pay for a few hours of finger-lickin' goodness.

Why HB and I never thought to try this back in college when we were always broke and looking for a free meal, I have no idea.

Sorry!

Dear Foresters,

Sorry I've been away most of the week. HB was in town and between galavanting for a photographer, snuggling, and beating Zelda: Twilight Princess, I haven't had much time to write. We have SO MUCH to catch up on. I'll start tonight.

Hugs and kisses,

Blue

Busy wedding bees

HB is here visiting me and we're going to embark upon a photographer search for the next two days. Among the shortlist are:

• Merri Cyr (we're meeting at Union Square on Tuesday! #$%^&*&^%$#!!!)
• Modern Wedding Photography (the wedding slideshows were the first photos I've seen that made me cry)
• Sherwood Triart (photographers to the unfairly rich that wed in Long Island. Not sure why we're meeting with them)

So, for the next few days we'll be busy, busy bees, or shutterbugs, or something. Hopefully we'll come out with a clear idea of who we want, but suspect this may take more research. I'm not going to jump into Merri Cyr's arms without doing my homework first! (Or without her autograph.)

I seriously need an intern. I plan to post an application here on the blog soon.

MERRI CYR EMAILED ME!

Holy shit. Merri Cyr, like, totally emailed me back and said that she's free on 8/3/08 and would be very happy to travel to Queens and Long Island.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?? I'm seriously losing my mind!!

So, would it be totally inappropriate to bring my copy of A Wished for Song: A Portrait of Jeff Buckley and ask her for her autograph??

Merri Cyr could do my wedding!!!???

For any Jeff Buckley fans out there, this is big.

Merri Cyr, famed photographer, and photographer for every beautiful photo of Jeff Buckley you've ever seen, apparently does weddings too!!

Of course, her photos are beautiful, but shockingly her prices are pretty much on par with other photographers HB and I are considering in Long Island.

I've sent her a message through her site and I'm currently waiting (seriously) with bated breath for a response. In the meantime, I'll continue to freak out in the privacy of my room.

An awful, awful nightmare

Last night, I had the worst nightmare. I was in a boardroom full of well tailored suits who were interviewing both me and my current boss for the same job as an associate editor at a small progressive political publishing company. We were sitting side-by-side getting interviewed simultaneously!

However, it was unlike any interview that would ever take place in the waking world. The first question was, apparently, to test memory and fluency in French. Of course, I didn't know that at the time. The publisher read aloud a three minute passage from some French book. When she was done she prompted E. and started repeating it back to her word for word. He only repeated back about one minute, which was all he could remember, but it was decidedly better than the 3 words I managed to utter before hearing one of those game show bells that screeched to tell me that I got a word wrong. Humiliation.

Next, the boardroom conference table dissolved and two pool tables took their place. The next round of the interview would be a competition. Immediately I throw my hands up in an "I'm fucked" display of defeat. The last time I played pool was at Jillian's on Landsdowne St. (for any of you Bostonians) during my Boston College summer o' clubbing days and I didn't even bring my glasses because I thought I looked cuter without them. (Yes, this was the never never-time, before HB.) How did four-eyes play pool without my glasses, you ask? Horribly. I might as well have not had my glasses on for this round of the interview, that's how badly I played.

When the pool tables disappeared, we were no longer in the boardroom, but outdoors on a beach at night. There were tiki themed decorations all around and a huge bonfire. The publisher's husband just came back from Mexico where he captured and brought back rare Mexican eel, which both me and E. had to taste. I guess this was the only part of the competition/interview that I passed because I thought the eel tasted like chicken, but E. refused because he was a vegetarian. Go figure. The only thing I could do right was eat.

Finally, I woke up disoriented, upset, and defeated. First, no interview would ever be like that (well, I keep telling myself that) and second, a senior editor would never apply for a job as an associate editor at a smaller company. Still, I feel a little humiliated even though none of it really happened (I keep telling myself that too).

Kicking my ass

So, I met with a trainer today at my gym to create my new fangled 12-week workout routine. I have to commit 3 days a week and I have to login and record all of my cardio, chest and shoulder presses, bicep and tricep curls, and cruches. Sigh.

Oh, the embarassment of running a gaspy 1/4 mile while someone's watching you. Thankfully Max is a very patient and genial guy who doesn't frown upon you when you're not doing chest presses in the correct form.

I'm sure you're wondering, "Gee, Blue. Why the sudden burst of exercise energy?" The correct answer would be that I want to look hot wearing this:

Cat's out of the bag

Geez, Moonie. Did ya have to shoot it from the rooftops? Now we'll never get a table at Verlaine, the land of milk and honey and $4 lychee martinis.

Here's our awesomely cheap night:

• Martinis: $4 ('course, I only had one) @ Verlaine
• Pistachio Cupcake: $1.50 @ Sugar Sweet Sunshine, a place which I previously wrote off because I picked the wrong flavor cupcake, but now have been reborn
• Sesame pancakes & dumplings: $2 @ Fried Dumpling
• A night of cheap goodness and a full tummy: priceless

She rocks the mic

Last night, Moonie and I had the distinct pleasure of watching a good friend--Nikki--read a selection from her upcoming novel, Walking on Tiptoes. She was invited by two important literary groups to an event where the other headliner was a famous author. I couldn't stop grinning for so many reasons.

First, and foremost, Nikki is an elegant writer and it's clearly only a matter of time before her words appear bound and between covers. Second, I felt honored to be present to witness one of those moments in life that she'll never forget. Standing there on that stage reading from her novel to a captivated audience--it was her moment, all eyes were on her, and it was great! Third, the pride emanating from her father (who took a train from DC that afternoon so as not to miss this important night) gave me the warm fuzzies and almost made me cry.

I know that Nikki is a writer, but I don't think I really understood that until last night. Her words and her voice evoked such emotion and they deeply touched me.

One of the topics of post-discussion was how a lot of writers like to write about characters who have nothing to do with them and who are far removed from any of their own personal qualities. If this is true, I guess that's why I've never identified myself as a writer.

As a reader, I'm very self-centered and the novels I enjoy most are the ones where I can identify with the protagonist. Last night, the passage Nikki read from echoed a sense of disappointment, wishing, and longing--all things that I relate to deeply these days. There were details that were eerily similar to my own childhood, like the blouses that Delia's mother wore that felt like silk, but were really polyester.

The memory of my face pressed against my mother's blouse while I was buried in her arms in, what felt like, the biggest hug a mother could ever give her child, is still a fresh one. Her blouses, which were actually just polyester, always felt like silk to me because they were so soft. To this very day, I have one of those blouses (salvaged from a trip to goodwill) hanging in my closet on a wire hanger, just like Delia. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time, like when my mom still wore that blouse, and relive those moments. I never knew life would be so hard today. Had I known, I would have savored those moments more.

I can't wait to hear more from Walking on Tiptoes. As I'm writing this, I'm picturing myself joyfully holding my very own copy of Nikki's fourth book as I patiently stand on a long autographing line at the Union Square B&N. I know it'll happen one day.

Nikki--there may not have been a mic last night, but you still rocked it.

Frenemies

Earlier this evening, Lexi spoke some seriously true words: women get dressed up for other women. When you find yourself in an office full of men (ahem, Moonie), you're no longer compelled to glitz up your outfit because, seriously, who are you trying to impress?

As I was getting up to leave my train tonight, I literally bumped into someone I went to high school with. "Oh, sorry" I mumbled, then we recognized one another and made the obligatory hello.

Not so sure where things went sour (well, I have an idea, but nevermind), but over the years, each time we bumped into each other her greetings to me became increasingly dry. A simple "oh, hi!" out of her mouth reached my ears sounding like an "oh fuck."

Well, whatever. I don't care to go into the details of why I think our relationship--once tightknit, friendly, and bestfriendsforever--became this shitty hello, but I do care to say this: I get dressed up everyday not only to impress other women, but for the slim offchance that I'm going to run into one of my frenemies.

Did I feel insecure wearing my super cute herringbone flats, tights, black sheath dress, olive coat with large off-center silver buttons and stand-up collar, coach duffle bag, AND my platinum and diamonds engagement ring? Umm, no.

In lieu of a bake sale

Dear Pretty Pretty:

I'm so sorry I failed you as an owner. I'm sure you're hurt by my absence and have managed to form a union with your 99 other comrades in my closet. Why, you ask, are you one among so many different bags? Messengers, totes, purses, slings, and doctor bags? It's my failing as an ADHD bag-aholic and I'm sorry.

You may also be pissed at me and wondering why I'm photographing you and posting you on eBay, but I promise you that this is for the best.

First, you deserve a more attentive owner, someone who will fawn on you and wear you everyday. It's been ages since many of you have seen the light of day and a new owner will give this to you.

Second, and probably something you don't care much about, is that I need money. Weddings are expensive and this paycheck only goes so far. I'm sorry.

Third, I just have too much stuff. Perhaps it's a tinge of Buddhist reflection in my Catholic life, but I feel a strong need to streamline my life of belongings.

Don't worry, Pretty Pretty. I'll make sure your new owner has a high, positive feedback score and I'll definitely pack you snug as a bug for your postal trip.

Remember that I'll always care for you from afar.

(WEEP)

Fondly,

Blue

Dirty Dancing, UK Style

OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD. Perhaps it's the wedding hormones that are rushing through my body thus making me incapable of finding this ironic, lame, or even a tiny bit obnoxious. This is the cutest first dance at a wedding that I've ever seen.

Girl logic on hair products

Girl logic (noun): def. the science of the formal principles of reasoning, which only make sense to the female gender or persuasion.

I had an interesting discussion earlier this week and I realized it was the perfect example of girl logic. Words are not verbatim (obviously I didn't have a courtroom typist with me), but very close to the truth:

Scene: cubicles at [insert big company here]
Time: Thursday afternoon before a Friday night "big date"

Me: Moonie's free tonight. Wanna go for a cupcake or some Jacques Torres?

Nikki: Ooh, sure. I'm meeting some friends tonight, but I have some time beforehand.

(pause)

Oh crap, I forgot that I really, really need to get more of that stuff for my hair. I have my date tomorrow night with D. and I want my hair to be touchably good.

Me: Maybe you can get it before we meet Moonie. Where can you buy it?

Nikki: Umm, only at this one salon on 57th between 5th and 6th.

Me: That's impossible, you must be wrong. You're telling me that you can only get this particular product at one salon in this city? What is this stuff anyway?

Nikki: Ouidad. It's the best product I've ever used to keep my curls intact.

Me: Wait a sec. You bought some stuff for your curls last week at Duane Reade.

Nikki: Yeah, but that was just interim stuff.

Me: Oh, ok.

Nikki: I know what I'll do. I'll just go to Duane Reade and get interim stuff and then get the Ouidad next week.

Me: But, you already have interim stuff.

Nikki: Yes, but it's interim interim stuff. It made my hair a little icky, so I need to get the interim stuff.

Me: Of course.

Now, a boy may scratch his head and ask, why didn't you just buy the interim stuff instead of the interim interim stuff while at Duane Reade last week? In fact, why buy the interim stuff at all? Why not just go to the salon and save money buy buying the correct item the first time around?

A girl would never question this, thus making this the perfect example of Girl Logic.

Skating rink diamond rings

Why can't I stop reading liweddings.com? Seriously, I think it's a bad influence on me and poisonous for my mental health.

Since Nikki chuckled about my comment on Long Island princesses and their skating rink diamond rings, I thought I'd induce a few more by sharing these bad boys:

• This girl had her engagement party at a place many people have their actual weddings. If she turned this ring during a bitch fight, you'd need to find the best plastic surgeon in town to clean up the mess.


• Some of you may disagree with me, but this is why I hate square-cut diamonds.


• WARNING: protective eyewear may be necessary.


• This one is just plain fugly.


• I went to high school with this girl and I very unfortunately outted myself on the board and then was quickly recognized. Luckily she doesn't know where the Forest is, so I can publicly announce that I think her ring makes me cringe.


• This girl is getting married at Oheka Castle, so I guess this ice will match the decor.

I could go on, but I really must sleep. If anyone other than me enjoyed this, I might do a followup because there's plenty more where that came from.

Daylight Saving Time Begins

Did you know that the correct term is "Daylight Saving Time" and NOT "Daylight Savings Time"? I didn't, but I was just recently corrected.

In fact, the whole time change business has always baffled me. What gives us the right to take an hour and give it back later? Can you even do that?

Weddingbee.com

Seriously, I'm thinking about applying. Once I get all the bitterness and frustration out of my voice, I think I could do it.

The Long Island Tea Party (the bitchy review)

As some of you have already heard me bitch and moan about, I wasted an entire evening yesterday attending a "tea party" thrown by Perfect Wedding Planner. Truly, I didn't know what to expect. I was told that there'd be tea, petit fours, finger sandwiches, and other teensy weensy nibblies all for free. Obviously, I was sold, so our banquet manager made all the arrangements for my appointment.

My mom and I arrived 30 minutes late because no one believes me when I say exit 36N on the Northern State Parkway. Eventually, we apologetically enter the pristine halls of Fox Hollow and are quickly and quietly ushered up to the PWP office. Inside is a room of 6 women sitting around perfectly modern glass tables with fancy teapots and Viennese trays of untouched caloric goodies. Of course, I'm surrounded by fuckin' size zero Long Island princesses who only consume hot water with lemon.

James, a PWP wedding planner/coordinator and our speaker for the evening, is animatedly waving his arms while he talks about the importance of planning your wedding just so and doing things just like this and using just these vendors. I quizzically look around the room to see all the ladies bobbing their heads in perfect unison to the beating of this bitchy diva's wedding bible.

Up goes my arm.

Me: James, if you're having an outdoor cocktail reception, how is the sound of a single violin player going to carry in the open air and with the commotion of a crowd? According to Wedding Chic, it's always too animated and noisy during the cocktail hour for music, so you should either skip it or have your DJ set up a speaker for some background music off a CD.

Pure disdain as he looks at me (for the first time since I entered the room) and says,

James: Well, I always position the violin player at the entrance to the cocktail hour. Even if you can't hear it throughout the space, you'll enter to a lovely sound.

Me: Well, obviously my reception is here at Fox Hollow and the entrance to the cocktail reception area is not all that far from valet parking. Won't it be too noisy?

James: In that case, I'd highly recommend a steel drum band.

I could have said, "Are you fucking kidding me? A steel drum band during the cocktail hour prior to a formal reception?" but I didn't. It became clear to me who I was dealing with.

Later in the presentation James talks about how there's only one style of wedding photography these days and the key word is "photojournalism." "Oh, what's that?" one silly, retarded bride says as I snort and chuckle under my breath. Up goes the arm again.

Me: "James, photojournalism has been a popular style of photography for several years now, so I think it would be more helpful if you could explain how one should go about choosing between photographers. Everyone calls themself a photojournalistic photographer these days, but there are dozens and dozens to choose from."

James: "Well, it's simple. Just choose from the four photographers we recommend in our brochure."

Ding! It's become perfectly clear to me now that this is all one GIANT SALES PITCH. Well, in that case, I'm not going down without a fight. I proceed to ask a series of more difficult questions, all of which make him look like a flustered buffoon, and his answers for me become more dismissive. There were a few moments when I felt minor victories, but all in all the evening felt like a losing battle. I hate that I'm so desperately approval seeking because if I weren't, I probably wouldn't be so worked up about this.

Had I known that this was going to be like sitting through a presentation for a time share, I wouldn't have bothered. And, had I known that I would be in a room full of Other Brides (or Stepford Brides, as Nikki so cleverly dubbed them) who made me feel like a beached whale salivating for chocolate covered strawberries and sugar for my rancid Lipton tea, I most definitely wouldn't have bothered. And finally, had I known that the presenter would take every opportunity to shame me in a room full of women with skating rink diamonds on their left hands, I would have run screaming for the hills.

In closing...

Dear James:

You took the wind out of my sails, you pompous, arrogant queen. Just because you have a surface knowledge of the wedding industry does not mean you should take it out on me and make me feel like the bad seed in the class, the upstart with the questions, and the geek with the pocket protector. GRRRRR!

Screw you,
A Bride with a Brain

Them's are fightin' words

Careful bridesmaids. If any one of you cross me, you may end up wearing this:

My mom won a diamond necklace!!!

Tonight my parents took me to the "biggest bridal showcase in Long Island" to explore our photographer/videographer/DJ/band/limo/flower options and of course, some free cake. As we were parking at the Marriott in Melville, I jokingly told them that there were two main reasons we came tonight: a $10,000 prize for a bride and groom and a $1,000 diamond necklace for a mother of the bride. "You hear that, Mom?" I said, "You could win a DIAMOND necklace tonight." The last thing I expected was that we would win anything, least of all one of the grand prizes.

I know everyone feels this way about their mother, but my hardworking, arthritis-ridden, aches and pains mom deserves some shortcuts in life and a little ease and comfort. However, in lieu of all that, I think she'll take the diamond necklace.

So, here's how it happened:

The MC announced that he had two prizes for two mothers of brides in the room. (Excited cheers.) He called the first name and the winning mom squealed and made her way to the stage. He called a second name--Lynn DiGregorio--and no response. He called the name again and there was some commotion, so it seemed like Lynn was in the room, but she wasn't coming to the stage. After a few more minutes the MC said, "Lynn, are you here? I've got another name here, so if you don't come to the stage I'll have to call the next name." No Lynn.

He called, "C******...I don't want to butcher this last name." My heart lept! My eleven-letter last name's AKA has always been "I don't want to butcher this last name." Could it possibly be my mom? Finally, the dear ol' MC calls out our last name and I scream, "Mom, you won!!!" I usher her onto the stage and take this super excited picture of her:

I'm so happy for my mom and I can't stop saying so! Excuse the mushiness, but seeing my mom this happy was worth way more than a $10,000 prize.

Jack Bauer on "Fool me once..."

Damn, Jack. Another foreign embassy? WTF? You made me laugh out loud last night.

liweddings.com

This website has been quite invaluable to me in the wedding planning process so far, but I've held back from signing up for an account and participating in the chat forum. I now know why.

Since signing up with liweddings.com at 7:49 pm last night, I now have 26 spam wedding emails at 3:42 pm the next day. Crap. Yeah, that may not sound like a lot right now, but just give it time. Spam follows an exponential curve no matter what you do, which is why I abandoned by AOL account.

But yet, I couldn't help but want to announce our wedding in the forum in the hopes of finding my "date twin." There are tons of people getting married on 8/8/08, for obvious reasons, but no one other than me and HB for 8/3/08. Fox Hollow actually holds two parties at a time, but I'm starting to see that our date is not all that popular so far. Who knows, maybe we can have the place all to ourselves if everyone decides to get married the following weekend.

Well, the other thing holding me back from signing up for the liweddings forum is my innate fear of other brides. The Other Bride is so much smarter, so much savvier, and so much prettier than me. The Other Bride was born to get married and doesn't need the big purple 3-ring binder wedding planner, the books, the worksheets, and the magazines that I refer to everyday. Oh, the other bride.

Netflix to the rescue

What does one do when wallowing in self-pity and indifference towards one's job/career/future? One shall spend the entire weekend watching Netflixes. This weekend's menu:

1. The Wire: Season 2, Disc 1
2. The Wire: Season 2, Disc 2
3. Dead Like Me: Season 1, Disc 1

I know, it's an odd combination. My general rule of thumb is never to watch multiple TV series at the same time...ruins the palette. I was told by Nikki that I needed to prepare myself with season 2 since it was very different from season 1 and, in her opinion, not as good. In that case, I decided to add a little garnish of Dead Like Me as an intermezzo, a palette cleanser should I need to run screaming from The Wire.

My foul mouth

I think I have Tourette's. Every other word out of my mouth is 'fuck' these days, for a number of reasons:

1. I have a pimple and I think it's my job's fault. Last week I was a faux Senior Editor working with agents and authors, and ponying up $200,000 offers for books, and this week I've reverted back to my ASSisstant role, which these days is basically as a retarded coder monkey. This experience has so greatly upset me for the last week that I believe it altered the pH balance of my hormones, thus causing this pimple to explode across my cheek. The pimple started to form on President's day and is still here two weeks later. It's starting to subside, but it's taken on a decidedly purple hue which upsets me to no end. Hmph.

2. I hate my job and I'm starting to hate myself for still being at my job. I had an uncomfortable talk with my boss today, which included (but is not limited to) me calling his skills as an editor "used car salesman skills," telling him he's a liar, and telling him that I've been dumb and blind for being so loyal to him. WTF is wrong with me?

3. I'm broke. So, so broke because every penny I make must now be "saved for the wedding." I can't buy this, this, this, or this, and this only adds to my upset. I bought this, but I'm going to return it because I can't afford to buy $160 boots when it's now March.

I'm at the end of my tether, but I can't quit my job because I'm getting married and can't afford to lose a regular paycheck. Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

POLL: To eat free food or not to eat free food?

That is my question. Here's the rewind:

HB and I have settled on Fox Hollow, contracts and all, so we're all set with the reception hall. However, all the other places we've visited don't know that. In fact, they've all called/emailed to ask when we'd like to set up a tasting.

All of the other places we've seen had very appealing menus, so I wouldn't mind a taste. But, is it right or wrong to take free food from other caterers when you've already signed contracts?

Please advise in the comments.

Pretty, pretty wedding dress

There's one thing that I can guarantee about my wedding dress. There will most definitely be some princess pouf involved. I saw this dress at a bridal fashion show over a year ago, but I still love it. And I still love the fact that HB's sister volunteered to take me to the fashion show, even though there was a nor'easter, and even despite the fact that she had a baby--I think--two weeks ago and wasn't feeling all that well. Seriously, people. Good bridesmaid material.

A Serendipitous Evening

Nikki and I were reunited with our third leg tonight over blue corn nachos with goat cheese and ridiculously good sundaes at Serendipity 3. It was an appropriately decadent evening and so, so great to see our gal. An inventory list, if I may:

Nikki: The Blackout Sundae--a slice of their blackout cake (choco-heaven) with vanilla ice cream, hot fudge (real hot fudge), whipped cream, and a cherry.

Moonie: The "Can't Say No" Sundae--a slice of peanut butter and chocolate pie with vanilla ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, and a cherry.

Me: The Strawberry Fields Sundae--a ginormous slice of cheesecake with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, strawberry shortcake style strawberries, and a strawberry on top.

I'll be in recovery for a while, but I'll survive. Not so sure about Moonie. As always, check the Flickr for more pics.

Fuckin' Flickr

What the hell is wrong with the Uploadr tonight? Now I need to manually upload and tag each individual picture instead of my insta-drop and tag that I've gotten spoiled by. Hmph.

When Flick decides to cooperate with me tonight, I'll be able to finally post about delicious desserts and extra special company. Stay tuned...

Any Flickr users out there cursing under their breath too?

Portishead returns

For the last couple of years, I've been receiving Google News Alerts for one of my all-time favorite bands: Portishead. Considering that they haven't toured or made an album since 1997, you'd believe me if I told you that my daily batch of Google News updates for Portishead has been mostly about road repairs, local soccer team scores, and the maritime events of the town of Portishead.

Despite this, I kept the news alerts coming because I knew that one day their fabled next ablum would become a reality and I needed to be among the first to know. Everyday I'd glance at the email and delete. Until yesterday.

Portishead performed a completely unexpected set in a small club in Glasgow. So small and unexpected, that lead singer, Beth Gibbons, paid her cover to get in. They played covers, then "Wandering Star," and then new material. A fan described the audience like a group of people watching an alien ship land on earth.

Can't, can't, can't wait.

Whaddya want, a cookie!?!

Well, yes, actually I do. A sugarcane lime one, please.

Mmmmmm, coookieeeee.