Tales from La La Land

The newly crowned Allison Morris is honeymooning with Laef in New York, rubbing elbows with the upper crust of society in Manhattan. (Tori Spelling was on their flight, which technically might not count as the “upper crust”, but she’s definitely crusty.) So as to not bog her down with the task of updating her legions of fans on every intimate detail of the wedding day / weekend while enjoying her first week of wedded bliss with her new husband, I volunteered to step in and post something on her behalf. I only hope that she doesn’t get kicked off the BlogHer Network for allowing someone with testicles to post something on her site, but as Laef pointed out, I’m married, so it really shouldn’t be a problem.

The weekend had so many highlights it’s hard to know where to begin. Check that, it’s easy to know where to begin (as you’ll soon find out), but where to go from there?

THE DANCE: For most couples, I think the first dance is one of the more nerve-racking parts of the wedding day (at least it was for me). Everyone’s looking at you, and there’s really only so much rocking back and forth you can subject your guests to. Those not lacking confidence – or rhythm – can opt for something a little more involved, like salsa or swing. Or, you can do what Laef and Allison did: make everyone think they were going the traditional route, but a minute in, change it up from Carrie Underwood to Lady GaGa. This was great on so many levels: anyone who really knows the couple wasn’t surprised that “Poker Face” made an appearance at the reception, but that Allison was able to talk Laef into doing this for their first dance; Allison did all the choreography herself (with a little help from the internet); almost everyone at the reception was completely in the dark that they were doing this, Allison only spilling the beans to a few of us after a shot of Patron unlocked the key to her vault on Thursday night. I’m going to stop trying to describe it because, quite frankly, whatever I say won’t be able to do it justice.

So hop on over to YouTube to check it out.

THE MILLIONAIRES: You know how most people with money are pretentious assholes? Well, we found evidence to the contrary on Saturday. The wedding party arrived to the beach a few hours before the ceremony so we could take some pictures, and as we hiked up and down the beach, sweating our collective balls off and getting sand in uncomfortable places, all while trying to look fresh and photogenic, Laef and Allison were constantly being congratulated by the locals. One particular group seemed very interested in when / where the ceremony would be, but honestly we didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to them. Hours later, when the limo parked a couple blocks up from the beach (there are only so many streets that a stretched Hummer can fit down), we had to walk down a pedestrian street nestled between multi-million dollar beachfront homes, and who should be waiting for us on their rooftop deck but the people from beach earlier in the day. We stopped to talk for a bit, and Allison jokingly asked to use their bathroom — along with like three of her bridesmaids. And they very graciously said yes and let the girls into the bathroom on the first floor of their house, then wished us well as we headed off to the ceremony. A couple houses later, there was another group of people who applauded as we walked by and even offered us beer, which we reluctantly declined.

After the ceremony was over, we had to walk back up that same street to get back to the limo, and the people from both houses were still outside waiting for us. The people that offered us beer had a bunch of 10ish-year old girls who were armed with rice to throw at Laef and Allison, which would have been the highlight of the walk back if it wasn’t for the other house. When we got to them, they were waiting outside with a tray of champagne glasses filled with Dom Perignon (think about that – having enough money to blow a $300 bottle of champagne on a group of strangers). We toasted with the guy that presumably owned the house, and he asked where they were going on their honeymoon, and they told him they were going to New York and staying at the Waldorf Astoria, to which he shouted to the people up on the deck, “Hey guys, did you hear that? That’s one of ours!” I have no idea what “one of ours” actually means, but needless to say, this guy probably throws away more money than most of us will ever make in our lifetime, and he and his family were super cool and extremely generous (even though some of them were USC alums). Really made our afternoon.

THE PEEPS: One of my biggest concerns when Annett and I got married was what George Costanza so accurately described as the “worlds colliding” phenomenon. You have family, friends from work, friends from school, friends from back home and friends of your parents, all who the bride and/or groom may be extremely close with, but not know that the other groups even exist. Now all of a sudden here’s this great celebration that they all are a part of, and will be a part of together. Will they get along, or will it be like a junior high dance with a bunch of little groups all over the place that look judgingly at everyone else and whisper about their outfits, or how much they’re drinking, or how stupid they look on the dancefloor or how obnoxious their kids are?

Once these different worlds did collide, something very special happened. Not only did people get along, but I think that some pretty good friendships came from the wedding activities. The bridal shower, the bachelor and bachelorette party were the bride’s and groom’s first line of defense: get everyone together a couple times, presumably with an adult beverage or twelve, and by the time the wedding rolls around, people should at least know each other well enough that small talk shouldn’t be a challenge (I know Annett couldn’t wait to see everyone from the bachelorette party and catch up). And let’s be honest – the other thing that Alli had going for her was this blog. She talks so often about her friends and her family that you feel like you know them before you ever met them.

So, as people started to trickle in and the weekend started to unfold: sushi on Thursday night followed by drinks at a couple bars, and then a midnight meal followed by more drinks at one more bar; the rehearsal dinner on Friday followed by drinks at the hotel bar; and then the wedding day marathon of activities that may as well have been sponsored by Corona and every brand of champagne priced under $10 at Vons. By the time we all parted ways on Sunday after breakfast, I think it’s safe to say that the majority of the group felt like we were saying goodbye to friends and not just casual acquaintances.

THE CEREMONY: What more could Laef and Allison have asked for? Sunset on the beach (with the famous L.A. smog noticeably absent); an intimate gathering of 50 or so of their closest friends and family flanked by tiki torches; Sean rocking a bowtie and accompanying the ceremony with some selections on his acoustic guitar; some great sentiments by Neil, Allison’s brother-in-law who performed the ceremony; some adorable flower girls; and vows written by the bride and groom that were both funny and heartfelt, demonstrating that Laef and Allison truly are meant to be together … I’m pretty sure it was exactly what Allison had envisioned when she started planning things.

Like I said, it was an amazing weekend and Annett and I were both glad to be along for the ride. And now that it’s over, the next logical question is, “So, when are you going to start having kids?”

Here’s a slideshow of some of Tom’s pictures:

Allison and Laef Morris – Images by Thomas Boyd

And here we are. Last, but most certainly not least.

Whitney Morris.

My new sister.

The thing about getting married is that you get a whole new family. The better thing is if you actually feel like your new family includes people that you have something in common with or will look forward to seeing at holidays.

Whitney and Laef have always been close and in the beginning I am pretty sure that she didn’t like me because I was too short for Laef. And, not Too $hort as in too gansta for Laef. Literally, I did not meet the height requirement of the family.

Which is actually a good point. I look completely out of place in family photos and I think there’s some sort of code about short girls taking tall boys off the market for tall girls.

In the beginning when I was dating Laef, it was hard for me to establish a relationship with Whitney. We didn’t meet in person until Laef and I had been dating for almost a year. And on the night that I did meet her, I had been waiting at a bar for Laef to show up for nearly two hours. I was pissed he was late and drunk from waiting.

Bad combo.

And that was her first impression. Which took me at least two years to recover from.

Laef and I broke up about a month after that first meeting with Whitney, so things weren’t exactly the greatest.

What I have always appreciated and valued about Whitney is how much she cares for Laef and vice versa. So it kind of makes sense that I had to prove myself.

Which was hard because we were never able to hang out. She lived in Indy and we lived in Oregon/LA.

And then one weekend in 2007 it all changed. Whitney came to visit Laef in Sacramento, but he wasn’t back from a work trip yet. My friend, Amy L. and I were heading to San Francisco for a girls weekend and I decided to ask if Whit wanted to come.

So we headed to San Francisco, sat VIP with a couple of crazy characters, got free drinks all night, ordered way too much room service, drove all over SF with some randoms who went to their hotel room and put all of the alcohol from their mini-bar into a pillow case to bring to another hotel, in which the room was a delux suite that overlooked the city.

It was one of those nights that you can never plan and become epic slowly, but surely.

Since then, we have gotten to spend more time together including Christmas in Missouri, Whitney enjoying Art’s pink chicken (or at least the site of it) at my parents house, Whitney visiting LA and bringing a cactus leaf home from the bar, a visit to the Master Baiter – Bob’s Bait Shop, visiting her at The W hotel in Westwood where we ran on the treadmill for like 12 minutes and decided that was plenty, my bachelorette party and most importantly our wedding.

Mostly over the past two years, our relationship has grown over the phone. That is how we have gotten closer and realized that we come from different places, but at the end of the day, we’re both just two girls trying to figure out our way in the world. I listen to her stories about dating and some of the complications with that. She listens to my stories about living in domestication and fending of being stagnant in life.

The truth is, I wish she lived closer. I drag Laef to sushi or out for a post-work glass of wine to unwind and I think he’d rather be at home relaxing. If Whit was here, I bet we’d spend hours talking about everything from how much she loves The Little Couple to why guys play sick head games.

We’d talk about whatever sisters talk about.

It’s hard to know where to begin with this one.

I mean, the first time I met this girl I am pretty sure her husband tried to make us kiss and I sat on her lap the whole night.

I met Annett Malone through her husband Ben, who I have known for about 10 years.

I remember when Ben started talking about a girl he was dating and I was dying to know what kind of person could possibly handle his non-stop sarcasm and insane devotion to the Chicago Cubs.

Turns out she’s the sweetest kind of girl you’ll ever find and she quickly softened Ben.

I should probably remember the exact location of our first meeting, but the first 10 times we hung out are all sort of blending together. From the minute I met Annett I felt like she was a friend I had known for years.

We would drink and chat the night away, always outlasting our men. I only got to see her a few times in the early years as I was still living in Oregon when she and Ben started dating and they lived in San Diego.

But through Oregon softball and football road trips, I’d cross paths with them at least a couple of times a year.

I have always appreciated her carefree look on life and her positive attitude. I honestly don’t think I have ever heard her utter a negative thing about a single person. From time to time I would vent to her about Laef and I and would ask if Ben ever acted like a complete shit-for-brains only to have her smile and giggle.

I guess that’s a no. Or if it was a yes, she certainly wasn’t going to say it.

Sweet girl. But I totally know better.

Anywasted.

When Laef and I moved to Manhattan Beach in 2007, Ben and Annett were our only friends. They were a quick 1.5 hour drive away and we spent many weekends watching college football, going to the Manhattan Beach 6-Man, lounging around, going out for sushi and getting all sorts of crazy.

Well, Annett and I got crazy. Ben and Laef watched.

We’ve been to Dodger games, Karaoke, had Thanksgiving together, celebrated her wedding with a fabulous bachelorette party in Palm Springs, walked through the Carl’s Jr. drive through, rocked The Powerhouse in LA, kept each other company with a dinner of Halibut and grilled artichokes while Ben and Laef were in Tahoe, gone dancing with WAY too many shots at Beaches in Manhattan Beach and generally just encouraged each other to have the best possible time always.

She is one of my crafty friends who made the shoe bags for the wedding favors and who will be helping me make the bouquets on the wedding day.

Annett is always smiling or laughing.

And she makes me smile and laugh. Especially when she calls me today – a mere 8 days before the wedding – to inform me of a thumb injury.

I know it’s not funny and I shouldn’t be laughing at her pain, but if she is rocking this down the aisle, I will laugh.

But, let’s be honest. Angie Sit and Annett will bedazzle the shit out of that thing if she is still wearing it come wedding day.

These are supposed to be in alphabetical order.

But seeing as I’m the host and I’ve pretty much lost my brain, we’re mixing it up today.

Happy Birthday to my bridesmaid, Angie Sit.

If only I had remembered when I called her bright and early at 8 a.m. this morning.

I am sure she was thinking that I was calling to be the first to say Happy Birthday.

But, no.

I rattled off 2 million ideas about flowers, photos, wedding schedules, make-up, and who knows what else.

Everything but her birthday.

So you can imagine how far my heart sank when FACEBOOK reminded me of what I had forgotten. Yes, I have been too scatterbrained to even check my day-planner as religiously as I did two months ago.

Horrible feeling for many reasons.

I met Ang when I worked in Media Relations at Oregon and she worked in Marketing. We didn’t hang much when I first started working at Oregon. I was way too preoccupied with going to Rennie’s six nights a week and acting a crazy fool.

I am pretty sure that A. Sit wanted nothing to do with A. Ross.

As the years went by, we both worked at all of Oregon’s sporting events and eventually we shared a room on the Oregon football road trips. We also shared some of the same frustrations related to work and I would often trek to her office for good conversation.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she had a TV and candy in her office.

I loved rooming with Ang because she had the best make up and she was super neat and organized. I tried to pack my bag just like hers and have my make-up bag look all neat and pretty. Am I the only one whose make-up bag has blue eye shadow and lip stick stains all over?

Hers had none of that.

I slowly learned that even though Ang doesn’t drink much (I know what you’re thinking, WHY would she be friends with me) and doesn’t come off as a crazy party girl (or someone that would want to hang out with a crazy party girl) we have a lot in common.

We shared stories of boy troubles on our road trips, went running together, watched college football from the minute we woke up on Saturdays, suffered through the game-day drive to whatever stadium we were visiting (no matter what, we always got lost or my boss always almost crashed on the way home) and had tons of laughs.

I was constantly amazed at her ability to come out to the bars with the Oregon crew and tolerate all of the drunk people. She never crapped out, and always stayed until the bitter end.

She is one of the first people that helped me realize that even though I might think I’m too clustery, none of that stuff really matters if you meet good people.

Angie Sit is one of the most solid, caring, crafty, hilarious, in shape, die-hard Florida Gators fans I have ever met.

I don’t have crazy tales of us being lushy together, but I have plenty of memories of the Holiday Bowl (pretty sure Oregon went 10 times when I was there), riding with the top down in Aaron Fentress’ convertible, sushi dinners, softball press box weekends (Ang REALLY loved it when the softball players yelled up to the press box to tell her what songs to play) and dancing to Scott White Band at Sharks Cove.

She wears Florida Gator socks every Saturday during football season. She loves Jason Taylor and has finally realized that Ryan Reynolds is alright.

By far, she is one of the most thoughtful people I have ever met.

Put it this way.

One year, football was at a bowl game over Christmas break, including Christmas Day. Ang brought me a mini-Christmas tree with lights and a few presents to put in my hotel room.

She handmade me an apron for my bachelorette party.

I can call her at any hour of the day and talk about anything. We’ve both been through some ups and downs over the past 5 years, and I am so thankful that I have her to lean on.

Ang, Happy Birthday.

Heart.

The Bridesmaid’s stories are in no particular order.

OK, I lied. They’re in alphabetical order.

So, Missy Koke is up first. Which could also mean that I am doing the bridesmaid’s blogs in order of height.

Shortest to tallest.

Missy K. grew up in Eugene. She played softball at Oregon while I was a student there. Her dad drives the Duck on the back of a Harley before Oregon football games.

Missy was around Oregon athletics. I worked in the Oregon athletic department from 1999-2007.

I did not meet her until 2006. Which was 1) a total bummer and 2) un-effing believable considering the size of Eugene and the quaintness of Oregon athletics.

And, it was a total crapshoot that we even met.

It went something like this:

I went on a date with a guy.

The date didn’t go all that well. We went to the movies and watched Kangaroo Jack. I wrote a blog about it. But, I never mentioned him by name.

I then got a call on my cell phone one evening from Missy (I am still unclear as to who she got my number from).

Missy: “Um. I know who your blog is about!”
Me: “WHAT?”
Missy: “I know who Kangaroo Jack is!”
Me: “Meet me at Rennie’s in 10 minutes”

So, we met up and it turns out that she was actually dating this guy when I went out with him, but I had no idea, and she laughed it off because they were in some weird on-again off-again thing.

Anywasted, from that moment on, we were inseparable.

Two peas in one clusterfuck of a pod. She is the one person who might be more clustery than me.

If she wants to argue this, I will simply remind her that she just booked her flight for the wedding.

Today.

July 1.

Which means she paid a crapload for the ticket. She also did not book her hotel room and the deadline has passed. So rooms were no longer cheap.

Thus she is going to be sleeping with me for two nights, including the night before my wedding.

TOTAL cluster. Which is why I heart.

The truth is that Missy uses me. She calls me “free entertainment” which I am still trying to figure out is a good thing or a bad thing.

I also use her. To feel tall.

Because I moved to California in 2007, I only got to hang out with her for about a year.

We managed to squeeze a lot fun into that short time, capped by an epic trip to Portland in December 2006.

Which was precluded by Thanksgiving 2006 at Jane Moseley’s dad’s house. The night ended when Missy and I were scolded by Laef at 2-something in the morning.

Laef: “Seriously. Missy and Allison. You need to come inside and stop shotgunning beers. It’s 2 in the morning and it’s Thanksgiving.”

I think Jane was very appreciative of Laef’s words as she hadn’t envisioned Thanksgiving turning into Beerfest ’06.

Two clusters in a pod.

She also pulls shit like the following. Just before we were to leave for Portland one weekend this is what transpired:

Friday – 4:12 p.m.
Missy calls me.
Missy: “Hi. As soon as I find my ID, I’ll be by the Cas to pick you up.”
Me: “You better not be one of those friends that’s going to back out cuz you ‘can’t find your ID.’
Missy: “No, I’ll find it. I’ll be right over.

4:20 p.m.
A text from Missy: I’m heading to DMV and I’ll be right over.
A text to Missy: Are you fucking kidding me?

We were the dark-haired divas until I moved to California and completely screwed that up.

She is one of those people that I felt like I could always just be myself with (which is a common theme amongst my bridesmaids). I feel like deep down she appreciates me for the person I am. I have never felt that she judged some of my more idiotic decisions.

And, most importantly, Missy doesn’t really bring the drama. The only thing that girl wants to do is watch football, talk about boys, drink beer and laugh her ass off. She likes MAC makeup, running marathons and wearing Oregon T-shirts. She has a penchant for spendy jeans and high heels. She even made the trek to one of infamous camping trips.

She sounds just like someone else I know.

Well, it’s July.

Basically.

Which makes me nervous. I am excited about the wedding, marriage and seeing all of our friends. I am scared that the food will be cold or that I will drop my ring in the sand while fending off tears of joy.

Everybody tells you that at least one thing will go wrong on your wedding day. For the most part, I think I am OK with that. I haven’t exactly arranged for a super fancy affair. So, for example, if something goes wrong with the cake, I will live. Mainly because the cake cost less than what I pay to have my hair done every other month.

Sick, I know.

I truly am most nervous about people having fun.

Thankfully, Amy Longeteig is my matron of honor. I might have just spelled her name wrong, but this isn’t a fact-checking blog so…(I did check her Facebook when addressing her invitation. I’m not that lame).

Anyway, as we get closer to the wedding day, and I think about all of the people coming to spend the day with us, I get super excited.

Not a single one of my bridesmaids lives in LA. Only one of them lives in California.

I rarely see them.

And they are my favorite people.

I emailed Amy today to remind her that she will have to give a toast. I almost started crying thinking about what she will say.

There are memories.

A LOT.

I met her husband first. Then I quickly realized who was the cooler of the two. Her, of course.

She was a New England transplant and she was not afraid to speak her mind to the more laid back people of the west coast, and, in particular, Eugene, Oregon.

Who the fuck orders a Cosmopolitan (it was 1999 people, they were cool back then) at a DIVE bar and then returns it because it tastes like shit?

Probably because the bartender farted on it due to the fact that she ordered a Cosmo at a bar that has Pabst on tap and peanuts on the floor.

I was always in awe of how she stood up for herself. I am a pansy in every shape of the word and if my food comes to me cold I will smile and say that it tastes great so as to not piss off the waiter.

Circa 2004, I was a girl who would let a guy treat me like shit and figure it was my fault.

Amy was the friend who would call him, give him a piece of her mind and then hide my cell phone until the next morning so that the vicious cycle of text-fighting would end and we could all sleep.

Her house was open to me morning, noon and night. Like the time I decided to walk 3 miles home from a party, but realized half way there that it was a horrible idea.

Luckily, the Longeteig house was nearby so I strolled up at 3 a.m. Sure enough the front door was unlocked and I quietly curled up on their couch while their guard-dog, Stella, gave me puppy kisses and asked if I wanted to steal the TV.

I woke up and left in the morning before they ever knew I was there.

There were the camping trips.

Killer Longeteig barbeque’s.

Sunday’s at Jerry’s for Sex in the City, Six Feet Under and yummy drinks.

There was her wedding in Maine.

Dancing.

Strip Clubs.

That ever-memorable moment at a wedding when Amy said, “Who the fuck cares about college football?!”, not realizing that Oregon football coach Mike Bellotti was at the table next to her. He smiled.

That one time Those 10 times that she has fallen down after a night out and been seriously injured.

Realizing that the stray cat she adopted and named Lucy was actually a boy, forcing her to rename him to Lou C.

Her late-night grilled cheese sandwiches.

The list goes on for years.

And so, when I think about having fun at the wedding, I remember that there will be people like Amy there to make sure fun happens.

That’s her number one duty as MOH.

Bring the laughs.

Listen. I have never claimed to be the world’s most perceptive person.

So, it should come as no surprise that when one of Laef’s coworkers gave us this wedding present, I didn’t act as excited as she probably thought I would.

Don’t get me wrong. I totally was excited.

But, I was saying things like, “Ooohhh! It’s so cute. Beach images to always remind us of living in Manhattan Beach! I love it. I love the coloring. Thank you!”

When I should have been saying, “Holy Fuck! You strung together my new last name with various photos. That is simply A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!”

Yeah. Totally didn’t see it for like the first five minutes.

Whatever. I wasn’t expecting to take some kind of Ishihara Test after four glasses of wine on a Saturday evening.

To make matters worse, earlier in the evening I was trying to be all badass and telling the girls that I had contemplated not changing my name. Not to try and be all feminist or something, but because I’m hella lazy and am NOT looking forward to going to the DMV, requesting new credit cards and getting new checks.

Laef’s coworker (the one who spent days trying to find a light post that looked like an “r”) was totally giving me the death stare. She is married so I figured that she thought my laziness was pathetic and I should honor Laef by becoming a Morris.

Turns out she was just mulling over the countless hours it took to find all the letters AND a picture frame that has SIX photo holes. Not to mention how the photo doesn’t say Morris-Ross, and how it would look totally weird in our house if that wasn’t my name too.

Apparently, you can find frames that have four photo holes anywhere and everywhere.

Which is why Laef should become a:

R-O-S-S.

Just sayin’.

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!!!