Stress

When BNF and I got engaged and we started planning the wedding, I heard more advice than I’d bargained for. And occasionally more than I desired.

I was told how hard it would be, and how stressful. I was told how I’d have to do everything on my own, and how there were all these little details that I wouldn’t even think of.

“Just wait,” PiC told me, “it’ll be a few days before the wedding and you’ll be writing out all the place cards by hand, while your fiance sits in front of the TV.”

I nodded and smiled, secretly thinking that I would be the one bride who would escape the stress.

After all, wedding planning was my happy place. When I was procrastinating on school work (and really, when wasn’t I?), I looked up table arrangements. When I was bored in class, I emailed vendors and nailed down schedules. And, contrary to PiC’s prediction, it wasn’t just me doing all the work – BNF has been amazing. Not just supportive, but involved.

But now we’re less than 20 days away, and apparently my psyche feels the need to make up for lost stress.

A sample:

• Is it really okay to seat these relatives over here? Are they too far? Will they feel slighted?
• What if someone shows up unexpectedly?
• Will the set-up all go smoothly? Will I know?
• What if my bridesmaids don’t like their presents? What if the flowers are wilted?
• What if photos take too long? Or the ceremony takes too long? Am I allowed to give my pastor a time limit? (Note: I actually tried. He smiled, nodded, and gave me a figurative pat on the head.)

Logically and rationally I know that these things will be fine.

And I know that they are not what the wedding is all about. Not by a long shot.

But it is apparently impossible for me to not have something to stress over.

When everyone was giving me this advice, and telling me how stressful it would be, they also shared the “positive” side.

“With all that stress you lose, like, five pounds in the month leading up to the wedding.”

Oh really?

Does the cheesecake sitting in my fridge know about this deal?

Read Full Post »

If my birthday list were a test, I would have failed

I didn’t do quite so well on the birthday list this year.

I’m proud of a few things, but others, like I mentioned, are a little harder to measure.

For instance, I don’t think I’ve turned into a bridezilla (#19), but would anyone really tell me if I had?

On the positive side, I have…

…planned the better part of my wedding (#5).

…kept track of restaurants, even if I haven’t made it to all of them on my list (#21).

…taken more pride in my personal appearance (#25). I still sometimes leave the apartment with wet hair, but I also bought some hot rollers and can now leave home with sexy curls. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

…minimized job complaints (#26). Maybe because I’m happier at work, or maybe because there’s only one person who truly gets my goat, but complaints are down significantly.

I’m kind of disappointed that I didn’t make the time for a Duck Tour (#13) or a DC United game (part of #24), but hopefully I’ll get to those by the end of the summer.

So I’m 18/26 with just the weekend to go. Not the best completion rate.

I do, however, still have about 72 hours to get my Duck Tour, stop judging and grudging (for real!), play golf, go to 4 different restaurants, and check out DC United.

Totally doable, right?

Right?

Okay. Maybe just the driving range, then.

Read Full Post »

Diagnosis: Senioritis

I have been feeling increasingly unmotivated and unenthusiastic during this last semester of grad school. I have been procrastinating even more than usual and doing fewer and fewer of the readings.

(Oddly, I have also found myself participating more in class, which perhaps means that my bullshitting skills have increased over the past year and a half.)

As I was describing all this to PiC, she told me what was going on in no uncertain terms: “You have senioritis.”

Huh.

She has a point. All the symptoms are there (minus the truancy/skipping class…for now). And it’s definitely worse when the weather is nice. It has all the makings of senioritis.

But, seriously, who gets senioritis during only a two year program?

Maybe the time has nothing to do with it. Maybe it’s just inevitable to get that slacking urge when you see the light at the end of the tunnel.

You know you’re so close that you could practically coast the rest of the way. Besides, it’s not like anyone wants to fail you. Right?

I think that’s what’s going on here. In 12 weeks, I’ll officially have my degree. In 10 weeks, though, I’ll have turned in every last final and will have my life back. My weekends, my evenings, my sanity, my money for things other than books and tuition – they will all be mine again.

Hopefully that motivation will be enough to power me through the next 70 days.

Because I just don’t care enough to try to find another cure.

Read Full Post »

I never thought I’d get a deodorant mark on my skirt

But life is full of surprises.

Yesterday, my closet revolted. Maybe it was angry from all the recent purging. Maybe it was offended by my fashion sense. It’s hard to tell.

I had opted for a black pencil skirt that morning. Classic choice, right? I pulled it on, fastened the hook and eye without issue, and proceeded to zip up.

But the zipper went on strike about three inches shy of the top of the skirt.

At first, I was optimistic. I’d hit snags before. I zipped down and up, trying to catch the snag unawares and break on through.

Then the nasty little thing threw me a curve ball. All of a sudden, the zipper wasn’t moving anywhere. It was camped out in no man’s land (where it remains today), still at that same three-inches-shy mark.

And so I was stuck. With very minimal wiggle room. And, naturally, I was running late. Because these sorts of things never happen when you have loads of time on your hands.

I made one last ditch effort to yank the zipper up and down, hoping to get at least another inch of space so that I could pull the skirt off. And the zipper responded by attacking me.

Talk about not fighting fair.

The way I figured, I had a few options:

1. Safety pin the top three inches and go about my day.
2. Wake up BNF and ask for his help in ripping the zipper down.
3. Take the skirt off over my head.

Now you can see where the post title comes from.

I had tried sliding the skirt off the same way I put it on. But the combination of it being zipped most of the way up and my ample butt made that impossible. So over the head seemed the best course of action. Except for that little obstacle known as boobs.

I don’t want to admit how long it took me to get out of that skirt. Suffice it to say that it was a lot longer than it took to get in it. There was a lot of wriggling, a lot of grunting, probably a pulled muscle or two, and way more cursing than I’m usually prone to before 8am.

In the end? I really think the skirt won.

The zipper is still holding strong in no man’s land; it left my finger with a boo-boo; and the only “wounds” it has are some little white streaks.

I really hope it doesn’t inspire the rest of my closet.

Read Full Post »

Pinterest is stressing me out

I had ignored it for a while. Not out of principle or anything, but just because I didn’t need yet another site taking up my time.

Then I remembered Berrak telling me that it was a good place to gather all your wedding ideas and share them with your bridesmaids. And I thought, okay, that sounds reasonable. And maybe, while I’m at it, I could use it to show BNF what I want on the registry, or for the apartment, etc.

I think you can see where this is going.

I signed up. Before I’d even pinned anything to my boards (look at me! it’s like I know what I’m talking about!) I had followers, thanks to Facebook. And that? That stressed me out.

What if my lack of activity made me a loser? What if I pinned something that everyone else thought was stupid? What if, what if?

Then I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I’m an adult. Usually.

And while that reminder may stop Pinterest from being a source of stress, it’s still a complete time suck.

I spent the better part of this morning poring over wedding websites and pinning left and right. Yesterday, I was all over Williams Sonoma. I’m sure later today it’ll be something else.

Hopefully, at some point, this will become productive. For now, though…

***

***

…well, let’s just say this post would have been up a while ago, except that I got distracted by someone else’s pins.

So much for productivity.

Read Full Post »

A quick and easy way to freak out a neurotic grad student

“So you can see from the syllabus that you have your first policy analysis due next week. You’ll notice that I didn’t give you a whole lot of guidelines on what it’s supposed to look like. Just do your best.

On the bright side, you’re all in the same boat!”

This is not a boat I want to be in.

Especially not without my water wings.

Read Full Post »

More evidence as to how uncoordinated I am

I have seen other women do it. I know it can be done.

I just cannot figure out how to gracefully ride my bike while carrying my purse.

Now, I get it. That’s what backpacks are for. But sometimes a girl gets tired of lugging around a backpack, and on a day she doesn’t have class, she just wants the minimal amount of stuff with her.

I think I knew as soon as I got on the bike that I’d made a mistake. But I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to be stubborn enough to try it anyway.

The first few blocks were wobbly at best.

• I tried putting the bag on my shoulder. It slipped.

• I tried sitting up straighter. Still not helpful.

• I contemplated sitting the bag in front me, kind of on the handlebars. And I almost fell over just thinking about it.

Eventually, I thought I’d found a winner. I was holding the bag in my right hand, so that it was hanging parallel to the bike. Or so I thought.

But if it had been truly parallel, I wouldn’ t have heard sounds like chhhhhhshhhh. Eeeeieieieieie. Oh, yes. Those are the sounds you hear when your purse gets caught in your wheel. Or, more specifically, between the fork and the wheel.

And this is what happens:

It looked worse before I cleaned up all the dirt/grease/gunk. Kind of like when you get cut and there’s blood everywhere, but the cut itself isn’t so big. Exactly like that.

So, on the one hand, I know this doesn’t look awful, but on the other, this bag was a gift from the boyfriend’s mom, and I’d really like to get it fixed before I see her again.

I’d also like to figure out how other women manage this feat. Seriously, there must be some sort of balancing trick I can learn. I can’t afford to have all of my bags looking bike-chewed.

Maybe on the way home I’ll just try wearing it around my neck.

Classy.

Read Full Post »

But if you have to wear pants, I recommend these

Let me paint a picture for you, and you tell me what all these things have in common:

Any guesses?

…

…

…

Well, if you guessed that they’re all things I’ll be wearing this weekend for an 80s themed bachelorette party, you’d be correct. Plus some ridiculous jewelry, maybe a headband, and some over-the-top makeup.

And while this might look slightly out of place if we were just traipsing around New York (where the party is), I think we’ll all fit right in when we go see Rubix Kube: The Ultimate 80s Tribute Band.

I admit that I was initially skeptical about an 80s themed bachelorette party, but trying those leggings on really put me in the mood.

Plus, now I can’t wait to bust out my crimper again.

What would you add to an 80s outfit? You can never have too many accessories.

Read Full Post »

Pleasantly surprised

I know I’ve been talking about the move a lot, and how much work it was (and continues to be). But this weekend wasn’t all work and no play. In fact, the weekend started off with plans with MJ – dinner, drinks, and a date with Harry Potter.

Now, I’ve ranted briefly about this series before. I love the books, without question, and I fully enjoyed the first four movies. The fifth one irritated me, in that it seemed as though the director (or whoever else was in charge) made sloppy mistakes or blatant changes in the story. After the sixth one, I was beyond irritated. I was furious.

I left the theater wishing I had seen it with someone, just so I could rant. In fact, I called my brother, who had already seen it, and wasted no time in outlining everything wrong with it. I was in the middle of ranting about the language, the made up scenes, the changes in timeline, and the casting choices as he told me that I was being hypercritical.

I disagree.

In any case, with those past experiences I went into the first part of the seventh movie preparing to hate it. I was seeing it because that’s what you do when you love the books and you’ve seen all the movies leading up to it. And how can I fairly critique something without seeing it first? (Not that that’s stopped me before.)

But you know what? I was pleasantly surprised. I might even say I enjoyed the movie.

There were, of course, some things that I disagreed with as far as timeline and casting, but overall? Very well done.

I might even see it again.

Plus, I kind of loved the two girls in the audience that dressed up as Harry and the Snitch and ran a lap around the theater.

Can’t wait for Part II – it seems so far away now!

Read Full Post »

Show No Mercy OR “It looks like a chipmunk running suit!”*

The other week, Cla made this offer: “I was thinking that maybe I could come over and help you pack – and help you throw things out.“

I absolutely appreciated the offer. She knows me. She knows I hoard. She also knows that I come by it honestly.

(Sorry, Mama. Would you like a Cla for Christmas?)

So last night was our “let’s toss it” date. I felt like I was on a combination episode of “What Not to Wear” and “How Do I Look?” And Cla, with BnB’s help, was the host.

I had to justify nearly every piece of clothing I wanted to save, and Cla informed me that there was no need to keep more than 10 t-shirts – even if [insert every excuse I came up with]. There were some tops that I just hadn’t worn in forever, even though I still thought they were super cute, one of which was an argyle halter top.

“Liebchen,” BnB informed me, “I think you’re mature enough to actually have an argyle sweater with arms.” So away went the halter. Along with four bags/boxes worth of other clothing.

At one point, I made the mistake of admitting that I was glad I’d already taken some things over to the boyfriend’s, so Cla couldn’t throw them out.

“So you’re hiding things! Maybe we should go over there next!“

She was entirely too excited about continuing the purge. The possibility of her sneaking into the new apartment just to weed out more clothes was also broached.

And then came the moment of the night.

You see, I have an entire package of knee high stockings. At one point, I thought they were really practical to wear with pants. And that logic may still hold true, but I never wear them. And that’s what prompted this conversation:

BnB: “Why do you have so many knee highs?“

Cla: “You could wear them to rob a bank! I’m going to take some for when I sneak into your apartment. (beat) Maybe I should try one on now.“

BnB tried to help, but it was really hard for any of us to stop laughing.

Eventually, though, Cla was successful.

"It's hurting my eyebrows!"

And a little scary.

All in all, I would say that the night was productive. The company was fantastic. The truth wasn’t even close to sugar-coated. The closets were purged.

And I got the go-ahead to replace a few items that I ended up throwing out.

But, I also made a deal on a number of articles that if I don’t wear them by the end of this season, they’ll have to go.

And I have no doubt that Cla will hold me to that. With or without the stocking mask.

*A little Cla commentary on one of my running shirts. So now some lucky donation center is getting a chipmunk running suit.

Read Full Post »