Archive: September 2007

This entry is my 200^th! It’s one of those high points that only I’m aware of, but what the heck. The last time I hit a similar milestone, I did the slightly gimmicky 100 Things list, so why should this be an exception? In honor of my two hundred entries, I’ve compiled two hundred — just kidding! — twenty trivia questions that can be answered from one’s own brain or by hunting through the blog.

I’m curious as to the degree of difficulty here. As one of my more cantankerous college professors would say regarding an exam, “I thought it was easy.” Right, very helpful. Answers — available for impatient or highly-motivated folks — will go live on Monday.

Happy scavenging!

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1. Who left my first comment?
2. For which “holiday” did I bake custom-shaped cookies?
3. What did the first picture on this site depict?
4. Much to my initial chagrin, what weekly pictorial feature arose out of peer pressure?
5. According to the original plan, when were JG and I supposed to get a dog?
6. What is the origin of our dog’s name?
   
7. Where did JG take me for a “surprise” birthday dinner this year?
   
8. In an assumption that left me appalled, about which food item did an acquaintance think I had in-depth knowledge?
   
9. How many celebrities did I spy during my trip to Los Angeles? Extra props for identification!
   
10. Speaking of Los Angeles, how did I get home from the airport?
11. According to me, kitchens are made for which activity?
12. In an effort to curb household TV-watching, what weekly ritual did I institute?
13. If I had listed my top five things I was thankful for last Thanksgiving, excluding family, friends, and health, what would have been at the top of my list?
14. When I had to go to Connecticut unexpectedly, what did my train seatmate buy me at Penn Station in New York?
15. What do I think might be a good name for someone from Connecticut?
    
16. What special occasion did I invent as an excuse to show off our house?
    
17. What holds the top position in the “Nerdy Gifts I’ve Given JG” category?
    
18. What did JG and I give each other as a 2nd anniversary gift?
19. How did I fare in the family’s Wii bowling tournament at the beach?
20. How was I able to afford a dress from Saks Fifth Avenue?

Ted is not quite at the point where we can leave him unattended and loose in the house. Usually, I hold on to him while JG does other things like make popcorn, scoop ice cream, or mess with a video game; I generally give him back and return to my book or knitting afterward. Lately, though, JG has noticed that, during his errands, he may hear nonsensical babble like:

• “Who’s my little puppy?”
  
• “Who’s the cutest doggie EVER?”
• “Oh, we’re gonna dance, huh? Dancey-dance?”

JG pinned me right away: “You’re all ‘Oh, I’m just going to occupy Ted while JG’s busy,’ but you’re actually playing! You’re having fun!”

I screwed up my face and retorted, “I hope that isn’t gloating because that’s not allowed in our deal!”

“I’m not gloating,” JG said, “I’m just confirming that YOU LOVE THE DOG!”

Fine. I begrudgingly concede that I love the freaking dog.

(Let the Shoving It In My Face commence.)

Tune in to Roosday-Tuesday and Wednesday-Bensday for the other two-thirds of the doggie cuteness trifecta!

Thursday, August 30

1:15pm Pacific Time: Board flight home from San Francisco, feel tickle in my throat.

9:30pm Eastern Time: Arrive at Philadelphia Airport with rock-your-body sneezes and chills to follow.

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Friday, August 31

7:45am: Take Dayquil after restless night of half-sleep.

8am-1pm: Sit on high school bleachers, hollering at girls to pick up dropped passes and hooting for good serves. Manage not to faint after swaying at the top of the bleachers in the effort to get good action shots.

1:30pm: Suggest that I head home for lunch and a nap with the best of intentions to come back for the last game.

3pm: Still not at the game. Instead, in bed, coughing up a storm.

5:30pm: Drop the dog off at the dogsitter’s. Stop at the pharmacy to load up on cold medicine, cough drops, and cough syrup.

7pm: Leave for Williamsburg, Virginia.

9pm: Stop at a Wendy’s for dinner. Choke down chicken nuggets before forcing down two Nyquil tablets. Look enviously at mother-in-law’s baked potato.

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Saturday, September 1

1am: Arrive in Williamsburg, or so I’m told. Feel woozy from the Nyquil. Stagger after JG to our hotel room, where I manage to take my contacts out before collapsing into bed.

8am: JG gets up to find a newspaper. I loll around in bed, croaking that I need water. My abs ache from too much coughing.

12pm: JG tells me that everyone misses me, including the bride and groom, their parents, his parents, and the bridal party. I moan that I’m missing so many good photo opportunities, but since I’m not able to speak above a whisper, JG waves away my photographic ambition.

5pm: After two servings of melon and a glass of juice, resolve to get to the ceremony. Even the shower feels like an improvement.

7:30pm: Hold JG’s hand tightly as we navigate brick walkways to get to the historic chapel. Pop a cough drop as soon as we’re seated so as to avoid being That Girl Who Was Coughing.

8:30pm: Sink into a seat at the reception and wait for a spot in line at the pasta bar, relieved that I’ve rediscovered my appetite.

9pm: Dance with JG for the slow ones, but leave the faster numbers to the bridesmaids.

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Sunday, September 2

2am: Crash into bed in wonderment at what adrenaline can do.

4:30pm: Arrive back at home. Go to pick up the dog. Stay for dinner because the family is having a barbecue. Be glad that I can enjoy being off from work the next day.

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Monday, September 3

10am: Wake up, croaky and coughing as ever.

12pm: Go out for lunch only to find that the appetite has disappeared again. Also, have the worst server ever.

1pm: Realize that a routine trip to the supermarket was too much to handle. Collapse on the couch upon return and promise JG that I’ll call in sick tomorrow.

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Tuesday, September 4

7am: Drag out of bed. Take a very uncooperative puppy for a truncated walk.

8am: Perform triage on work e-mail, reset out-of-office responses for today, and realize sadly that the effort has left me all but exhausted.

9:30am: Deposit Ted into his crate, per JG’s recommendation.

10am: Try to knit and read with no success. Crash for a nap.

12pm: Eat grapes. Hope for a better day tomorrow.

The wedding this weekend was lovely. The bride was radiant, the groom was grinning, and the bride’s parents were frazzled to just the right degree. JG’s high school friends, including dates to freshman homecoming and junior prom, were astounded that his wife coerced him into dancing after all these years. I made small talk with JG’s parents’ friends and did my best to take pictures despite less-than-ideal lighting. To my surprise, I realized that I really enjoy going to weddings.

JG and I are at the point in our lives when we should be inundated with weddings. We’re a few years out from college graduation and the time has come for our peers to start entering into wedded bliss, especially in the summers. Apparently, our friends didn’t get the memo, because this summer of two weddings has been the most wedding-crowded so far. It seems as though our close friends are just peachy being single while their friends are tying knots. As a result, we hear a lot of stories about weddings we didn’t witness and our own wedding circle is fairly limited. I’m sure that my affection for the events is tied to the slim number of weddings I’ve been obligated to attend and the fact that I’ve never been a bridesmaid.

That said, I take great pleasure in putting on what I’ve affectionately termed “the wedding uniform” — little black dress, pearl earrings, pink wrap — and being a wedding bystander. I love to ooh and ahh over the bride coming down the aisle, wonder what lies under the white wedding cake icing, and dance to numbers like “The Way You Look Tonight” or “Living on a Prayer”. I enjoy the fact that JG and I get all gussied up to celebrate our friends on a day that they look their best and happiest.

Most of all, I like weddings because they automatically make me think back to our own. When the organ struck up the strains of Canon in D, JG’s ears perked up and he whispered, “It’s our wedding song.” When Liz and Andy both said, “’til death do us part,” we squeezed each other’s hands. When I signed the guestbook photo mat, I couldn’t help but think of the framed photo in our house that boasts, in the bottom-left corner, good wishes from the bride and groom we were celebrating that night. When we lit 3-foot sparklers to wave off the couple in their horse and buggy, I thought fondly of the bubbles we customized with hand-tied knots. In a strange, echoing way, each wedding JG and I have attended together has been a memorial to that hot June day more than two years ago when I wore a J. Crew dress, he made all the women cry from his tears on the altar, and we made our getaway in a ’95 Subaru Legacy packed with presents and shedding streamers all the way home.

Weddings are an excuse for me — a painfully pragmatic, left-brained girl — to be a little sentimental and think back to my big day, but the short escape into romanticism isn’t what I really treasure. At our friends’ wedding over the weekend, we witnessed vows, clinked our glasses for kisses, and admired the couple’s rings, but in doing so, we restated our vows, kissed each other, and marveled at the rings on our fingers.