Tales from La La Land

Last night I was naughty.

The thought of cooking for myself after a long day sounded about as awesome as one of Lamb’s throat-punches.

I started thinking about Salt Creek’s grilled artichokes and then my car just automatically turned into the parking lot.

This is naughty because one of the things that is no longer in the budget is my solo dining experiences while Laef is on the road. I did so good this month and figured that it was already May 28, so technically it’s like June 1, and therefore I had succeeded.

It was bustling at the Salt Creek. The bar was filled to capacity with Cougars and Cougar-lovers watching the NBA playoffs.

And, OF COURSE, just as I sat down with my first glass of wine my phone rang.

It was Laef.

Crap.

We had played phone tag all day and I wasn’t sure if I’d catch him later. I had to answer. But, it’s so loud, he’s going to know right away.

Me: “Hello…”
Laef: “Busted.”
Me: …
Laef: “Where are you?”
Me: (whispering) “Salt Creek.”
Laef: “DOUBLE busted.”

I am pretty sure Laef understands the dilemma of not feeling like cooking, and also understands it’s even worse when it’s just for yourself, so he quickly changed the subject and let me know the real reason he was calling.

It is 88 degrees in Eugene this weekend.

WTF. It’s raining in LA today.

Totally digressing.

While sitting at my table for one at SCG, a group of 17-year-old boys anxiously awaited for their friend to arrive so they could yell, “SURPRISE!”

The boy came. He was surprised. Happy 17th Birthday. You get to celebrate with $16 appetizers, $30 entrees, unlimited lemonade and 10 of your BFFs.

Birthday boy’s mom was taking a bevy of photos, using her gigantic diamond for a flash and his dad was instructing the waiters to “bring them anything they want. Only the best. I’ll come back to settle the bill later.”

And then his parents left.

They ordered 10 lemonades and bacon-wrapped shrimp to start things off.

(BTW, I wasn’t like stalking them from across the room. They were 10 inches from me. And 17. They talk loud.)

I pondered being 17 with rich parents. I pondered being 17 and having dinner with a group of friends without having to worry about bills, weddings, car payments, litter boxes, wanting to have sex every single day without ever being tired, grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, etc.

And then a few minutes later, ANOTHER birthday group arrived and sat at a table right next to the boys.

Only this one was for a little old lady. I don’t know how old she was, but it was the opposite of 17.

So, then I pondered being the opposite of 17. Retired. Family Raised. Life lived.

Just when I wasn’t sure what would be more exciting, the little old lady ordered Grey Goose on the rocks. Double.

I wish I could be as bad ass as she was. But, my 30-something self could only manage red wine on a Thursday.

Can’t wait to celebrate life with vodka on the rocks.

Is this what marriage is going to be like?

You know, flipping between the Cardinals game and OT in an NBA playoff game? WHILE Real Housewives of New Jersey is on?

Who watches the NBA anyway? If nothing else, the NBA sucks for this reason: Laef can tell me, “Look, there’s only 50 seconds left!” In NBA time, that’s code for at least 45 minutes.

Plus, Marv Albert bites people and has bad hair.

But, despite suffering through the final moments of the game, I am pretty content right now. Both Laef and I have survived our respective bachelor/bachelorette parties. I have only heard bits and pieces from Laef’s weekend, but considering he didn’t call to say “good night” until 4:45 a.m. one morning, I surmise he had a good time. Plus, he won $300 gambling so I’m pretty sure that made his year.

With all of the planning, celebratory weekends, work travel, hair travel, etc., we haven’t had much of our normal routine lately. Which I miss. I have come to realize that we probably won’t be back to normal until we return from our honeymoon.

Until then, it’ll be a whilrwind. One that I’m trying to enjoy.

The invitations have been sent out and the responses are coming in. Is it a surprise that our first RSVP arrived from the Lara/Shaner house? I can’t make fun of them because when Laef and I got the invite for his coworker’s wedding in June, I sent the RSVP the next day (I mean, it’s addressed with a stamp!) and we were the first RSVP he received. He has been making fun of us ever since.

So far the invitation fuck up is at 2. I sent Kim Detwiler two invitations (she has a twin sister, so it’s kind of not a fuck up) and I did not send an invitation to one of Laef’s groomsmen.

As long as Laef’s mom received hers, I am happy.

On Saturday while Laef was bacheloring it up, I put on my wedding dress and showed The Sanch several hair options. Everything was fine until he decided the bottom of the dress was a toy. Dress up time over when the cat starts clawing my dress.

I’m sure I didn’t look like a crazy cat lady wearing a wedding dress on a Saturday afternoon waiting for my BF to call and reassure me that he wasn’t getting herpes from a stripper named Daisy.

But, now things are back to normal and we are watching trashy TV on a Tuesday after watching a Cardinals win.

The Sanch is dealing with an injury to his paw so he’s not rolling with his A game. We came home one day to find blood all over the kitchen floor and the couch. He had a massive gash and one of his little pads was completely torn off his foot. We patched him up and over the next few days it heeled up.

Then yesterday, I noticed blood on the floor again. We were confused. What in the crap is he cutting his foot on? Turns out, he was slicing it open on my brand new kick ass Williams-Sonoma cheese grater/slicer. It is sitting on a wine rack that rests against the kitchen sink. The wine rack has always been his launching pad to get up onto the counter. We have since moved the grater (because he’s too much of a dumb fuck to put two and two together and realize that he’s losing toes by jumping onto the counter) and have put him a cast. Which, I signed.

(You have to look close because his “cast” blends with his fur).

I think I am officially sober.

Two days after my last Patron shot.

Never before has the wedding seemed more real than it did this past weekend. All it took was 12 giggling girls and ample shots of tequila to make me realize that, holy balls, I am getting married, yo!

I always knew I had great friends. But, I don’t think I truly realized how much great friends actually mean until I was going through a major life event.

This crew of crazies each brought their A+++ game to my bachelorette party weekend. My sister was doing shots. Angie Sit was doing shots. Erin Shaner came through on night two even though I am sure her bed was calling her name. Amy Ross brought the pink and killer shoes. Amy Longetieg made the statement of the year: “My plan for having kids is this. I am going to party super hard all summer and then maybe try in the fall.”

Perhaps you had to be there to appreciate the fact that the emphasis was on the PARTY ALL SUMMER and her voiced trailed off a bit as she contemplated the “trying in the fall” part.

The Detwiler twins. Where to begin. Kim Detwiler’s Molly Shannon impersonation at 3 a.m. was so spot on that Erin wanted Kim to become her own personal Polly Pocket. Amy Detwiler’s domination in a lyrics contest at Whiskey Girl (thus winning our group an $80 bar tab) was nothing short of stellar.

Natalie Lara’s naked bed pose. Sarah Pilgrim going on a four mile run. After drinking a bloody mary. Annett Malone’s ability to take 412 pictures while holding a drink and dancing. Whitney Morris’ love for male pole dancers. Angie Sit putting the wrong dish soap (of course she was cleaning up and making things pretty) in our dishwasher causing a major outpoor of bubbles and scary sparks.

Despite the fact that there were multiple Amy’s, sisters, twins, sisters-in-law, strangers and random neighbor cats, the weekend could not have been more perfect.

You never know what you’re going to get when you put 12 random girls together in one house (that is only supposed to sleep 10), but the laughs never seemed to stop.

And whenever a random playa tried to front on our crew, this is pretty much how it went down:

They would come over. Try. Wait. Try again. Pretty sure Natalie and Annett never even acknowledged this guy. Pretty sure that when some random came up to Kim Detwiler, she stopped him before he even started by saying, “Um. No.”

UPDATE: Speaking of douchebag playas creeping on our crew and because of Kim’s description of a so-called male Chip and Dale dancer, I have decided to include a photo so you can all see just how NAST and NON Chip and Dale he was. THAT is why I curled up in the fetal position. I didn’t want sweat dropplings on my dress!

While I enjoyed the crazy nights out belting Lady Gaga, some of the best moments took place at the house. Late night hot tub sessions. Amy Longeteig crawling into bed while five of us watched her from outside. I guess you had to be there to see the look on her face when she made eye contact with her pillow.

Laef asked me what my favorite part of the weekend was.

It was this: When I was feeling like a hot mess on Saturday morning, I was lying in bed trying not to puke my face off and I heard everyone else awake. They were all laughing and giggling. It made me so happy to know that I have such sweet friends who can be thrown into any situation and laugh together after just one night out.

My second favorite moment was this: The 3 a.m. text from Laef on Friday.

It said:

“We’re getting married!”

Yep. And I know a group of girls who can’t wait to be there.

As in 20-second time out.

It’s time for me to admit that the blog is probably the furthest thing from my mind.

Today is May 4. Which means June 4 is ONE month away. Which means I have essentially been engaged for ONE year. What. The. Fuck. This was the fastest year of my life.

We are 10 weeks from W day. Things are fine and coming together and everything should be OK, but my brain is at full capacity. Between work, figuring out how the fuck to make Chinese lanterns work and arguing over our first dance song, I tend to forget to write such things in a blog.

Also, I recently had a scare with a scary person that made me wish I didn’t put forth so much info on the blog.

A couple of weeks ago, I was trying to call a coworker on her cell. I mis-dialed her number by one digit. When I heard the random answering machine, I hung up and called her on the correct number.

Well, whoever I accidentally called, decided to call me and scream, “WHO IS THIS? I will find you and fucking kill you.” Click.

Um.

What. The. Fuck.

I then got a text that said, “I find you…”

So, yeah, I don’t really like spooky things and was fucking panicked that some maverick was in his basement splicing phone wires and tracking me down. Or reading my blog knowing every last detail of my life.

Anywasted, I know the blog sucks and I am horrible mother, but I’m sort of preoccupied. The bachelorette party is two weeks away and I am pretty sure there might be some good stories.

But, I will change all names and blur all faces in photos!!!