The Price is Wrong, Bitch

May 3, 2013 1 Comment

A couple of months ago my mom and I were discussing activities for her LA visit this month.  She has been to LA countless times so I knew I wasn’t going to hear the dreadful “Let’s go to Hollywood,” or “I’d love to see Disneyland.”  But what she did want to do, and has wanted to do for a good 20 years, was be on The Price is Right.

I happily agreed, not because I was excited, but because I could tell how much it meant to her.  I’m pretty out of the loop when it comes to pop culture, television, and celebrities.  I don’t own a television, I don’t read the news (with the exception of news that I am required to track for work), and I couldn’t pick a celebrity out of a lineup.  I honestly once had someone show me a photo of Madonna and I didn’t know who it was.  Yikes.

My mom isn’t big on what’s trending either, but she is very loyal to a handful of shows and celebrities, The Price is Right and Drew Carey being among her list.

I worked a few hours on Monday morning before I came home to find that she had cleaned my entire apartment from top to bottom (moms are awesome like that).  I was eager to get out of my work clothes and changed into jeans and a sweatshirt.  My mom looked at my scruffy outfit and whined, “Are you serious?”

I was serious.

We hustled to the CBS studio with almost no traffic, which is a pretty damn good day in LA. Once we parked and made our way to the front gate I actually started to feel a little excited!  I wasn’t allowed to watch much TV as a child but one thing I did always love was The Price is Right, with the exception of Bob Barker.  I hate that old bastard, he was always so condescending to the elderly contestants.  Look in the mirror man, you’re like 100!

The initial waiting area was a hot mess.  We didn’t know where to wait or what to do.  We eventually found a friendly man from Madison, Wisconsin who was eager to point us in the right direction (Midwesterners are so awesome).  We waited in that area for over two hours next to the most obnoxious 50-year-old birthday girl ever.  She was loud, dressed like a teenager, and dragged her poor, old mother all over the place.   At one point she even told my mom her gray hair reminded her of her aunt.

The line finally started to move as they began to process the group of 300 people.  First they took a single photo of us, then a fun group photo that they try and convince you to buy at the end of the day.  My mom is a sucker.

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Next, we got in our second line to wait for our interviews.  I knew I wasn’t going to be picked.  Unless you are wearing an obnoxious neon t-shirt that professes your love for the middle-aged comedian in puff paint, your chances are slim.  I was okay with that.  Besides, we arrived right before noon, which meant we were one of the last in the line.  The woman that was supposed to be taking notes in the interviews sat annoyed and bored, secretly scrolling through her phone behind a legal pad propped on her leg.  My mom’s ultimate dream was not going to come true that day.

Once we finished with our interviews we made our way to the last line, which was where I lost all my patience.  By this time, we had been waiting in lines for nearly five hours, and let’s be honest, I’m a pretty impatient person.  I’m prompt and like to get things done then and there.

They took our cell phones and had closed the snack bar at that point so the only luxury I was left with was being able to use the washroom.  When we returned I jumped at a couple of open seats.  A few minutes later a couple of teenagers returned and just stood in front of me staring and whispering just loud enough for me to hear, stating that I had “stole” their spot.  They clearly wanted me to move but I wasn’t really interested in that idea.  They finally walked away, but that didn’t stop a nearby old couple from chastising me for getting out of numerical order.  They insisted I move, even after I politely pointed out that not everyone was in order and that we would deal with it when we moved to the next area.  They weren’t satisfied with that answer and kept pressing on.  I wasn’t going to make my mom stand so some punks could sit down.  I lost my temper and told the old man to mind his own business.  I wasn’t proud of that, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t feel right.

After about 45 minutes in the last holding area they finally started to shuffle us into the studio.  We were the last group to arrive, and when we finally stepped into the studio I thought my brain was going to explode from sensory overload.  Neon colors, bright lights in every inch of the studio, music that streamed through my ears and shook my brain, and really aggressive dancing.  At this point I was a little terrified because I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to muster up enough fake enthusiasm to match my fellow game show attenders overwhelming excitement of being on television.  Even just the dancing worried me, which I usually only participate in if I’m alone or have a minimum of 3 glasses of wine under my belt.

I stood in the entrance in fear while I waited to be directed to a seat as everyone raged to a bubbly Katy Perry song.  The frantic usher finally approached us and told us they were nearly out of seats.  I was confused.  You know how many seats you have, you know how many tickets you reserved; why is this an issue?  We were told we could separate or sit together in obstructed seats.  I wanted to ask if there was just an option to leave.  Alas, we sat together in the obstructed seats.  They were incredibly obstructed.  We sat behind George’s (the announcer) podium and could honestly only see about 40% of the entire show.  I ended up just watching the screens suspended from the ceiling.

During the commercial breaks, Drew would engage in friendly banter with the audience.  I must say that this was my favorite part of the whole day (other than making my mom’s dream come true!).  His dry and nerdy humor reminded me of my cousin, Johnny, so it gave me quite a few smirks and chuckles.

At one point, George told Drew he needed to come over and give the people in the corner some love because we “had to stare at his butt the whole time.”  He came over and chatted with every single person that surrounded me.  He finally made eye contact with me, nearly ready to speak to me, but then our eyes just froze for a minute.  I didn’t know what to say to the guy and he was probably looking at me like, “who the hell let this angry troll in here?!”

He eventually walked away, but not without a firm handshake, a warm smile, and a little conversation for my mom.  After he walked away my mom leaned towards George and told him she was just as excited to see him as she was to see Drew.  He was flattered, shook her hand, and blew her a kiss.  Afterwards I was teasing her about it.  Her reply was, “I’m not going to get all weird and refuse to wash my hand, but it was nice.”

Overall, it was an exhausting, aggravating day that left me with a headache and an overwhelming happiness that I don’t engage in the nonsense of television.  But even with all these annoyances, it didn’t stop my mom from having the time of her life.  I kept looking over at her during the show, halfway siting in lap of the man next to her so she could see better, enjoying her ear to ear grin.  She had a great time and that is truly all that matters.

943139_10151548748902299_1907590820_nNow this is the face of someone who just had a dream come true!

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Full Circle: A Happy Times Comeback!

April 23, 2013 1 Comment

It’s been ten months since I last posted here; ten long months of trying to come back but never being able to.  Since then, my life has been crazy, weird, and busy.  It was filled with happy times, but I never felt the desire to log in and tell my stories.  Or maybe it was the somber note I left off on.

I thought long and hard about how I could make that comeback and what I would write about.  It was one sunny Saturday afternoon while I was away on a day trip when it hit me: Christine’s wedding.  When I last wrote, I told the story of my long-time friendship with Christine and how our dear friend Beth’s death brought us closer than ever.

So now here I am, reflecting on a glorious (and snowy!) long weekend in Minnesota, feeling like I came full circle.  The wedding was amazing and filled with emotion; from the absence of Beth, to the victory of Christine’s twice-cancer-surviving father walking her down the aisle, it was a tear-jerker.

Christine had told me that if Beth were alive today, she would have been a part of the wedding party.  A couple of months ago we put our heads together to try to think of a way we could include her on Christine’s special day.  Christine’s idea was to visit the cemetery together the day before the wedding and place an “honorary bridesmaid” bouquet on her grave.  My idea was to make small frames with her photo and tie them into our bouquets on the day of the wedding.  We decided to do both.

I’ll never forget the moment the music started playing before we walked down the aisle.  I clenched my bouquet and the gent at my side, took a long look at the smiling face in a tiny frame staring back at me and headed down the aisle.  I truly felt like Beth was walking beside me, ready to celebrate this day with our amazing friend.

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We weren’t able to make it to the cemetery the day before the wedding but Christine and Sam made the stop on Sunday.  She separated the bouquet and placed flowers on four graves: Ed, Ann, Jake, and Beth.  I can only imagine how loved Beth and her family must feel, wherever they are, knowing they will never be forgotten.  I couldn’t forget them if I tried.

As a last word, I just want to throw a shout out to Christine.  You inspired (but actually forced) me to start this website, you have been my rock through one of the toughest obstacles in my life, and you are the reason I am back on this site today, a site I have called “home” for over two years.  Love to you and I am so happy that I was able to be a part of your wedding day!

weddin

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The Things We Learn From The Ones We’ve Lost

June 26, 2012 2 Comments

Everyone loves summer and anticipates it every year. Summer means more outdoor activities, sunny days, and my favorite holiday, the Fourth of July.  But for me, summer also holds a certain unwelcome anticipation, the anniversary of Beth’s death.  It has been five years to this day.  Whenever I think of how much time has passed, I always have to stop to convince myself that it’s actually true.  Life has carried on, but the memories still linger as if it was yesterday. After Beth passed people often consoled me with words like “It will get better with time.”  In some ways, they were right.  But I know ten years from now I will still be grieving, and a certain part of me will never heal.  There is no cure to fill that empty void left in your heart when someone you love leaves this world.  I still cry, I still wonder why life has to be so cruel.

I have always considered myself a pretty positive person.  I always try to look at the bright side of things, that is, after all what this entire site is devoted to.  Over the last five years I have tried quite hard to model my coping in a way that would make Beth proud, she was such an incredibly strong person.  If she saw the mess that I was the whole year after her death I am sure she would have kicked my butt and told me to get a hold of myself.  She was always such a hard ass, even that first day I met her…

It was October and the soccer lesson in my eight grade gym class was underway.  I played soccer for years throughout elementary school, which lead me to develop a secret hate for the sport.  I decided to take a poor grade and stand on the sidelines, refusing to participate.  I stood with my arms crossed, sure to prove my point, watching my fellow classmates scoot back and forth on the field.  I lost track of the ball when I noticed a girl standing on the other side of the field, clearly having the same thoughts as I was.  I slowly walked across the field, deliberately trying to get in the way of the ongoing game.  The gym teacher began to shout at me, “Get out of the way, Buelow!”  I just casually waved and continued walking towards this girl I had yet to meet.  She was wearing black track pants and a teal Nike sweatshirt, her long blonde hair tangled in her arms across her chest.  I casually stood next to her for a moment before I said “This sucks, huh?”

“Yup.” was all she said as she rolled her eyes and walked away from me.

I stood there kind of shocked, but was also amused by this girl so I decided to make it my personal mission to become her friend.  I was persistent in pursuing her friendship, regardless of how hesitant she was.  After a week or so of me bugging the crap out of her, I think she just gave up.  She asked me to be her CPR partner health class and the rest was history.

Beth and I on the last day of 8th Grade

Beth and I spent the next ten years building up a friendship that I was sure I was going to cherish for the rest of my life.  I know I will, I just never thought I would cherish it without her.

We used to do the silliest things, I’ll never forget the time we staged a turkey murder in her Aunt Nancy’s front yard the day before thanksgiving (the things high school kids do for entertainment).  We went to Cub at midnight on a secret mission to buy a frozen turkey and ketchup.  Lots of ketchup.  We dumped the turkey and fake feathers from a craft store in Nancy’s yard.  We then used the ketchup to make it look like there was blood everywhere.  It was so dumb, but the looks on her entire family’s faces was pretty memorable when they saw that monstrosity in the front yard the next day.  I don’t think Nancy even knew that was us until I told her after Beth had died; we had a good time laughing about it.

I think I have always enjoyed the silliness in my life, but Beth taught me how to embrace it and bring it to an art form.  She taught me so much, I always thought she was one of those people who was wise beyond their years.  She taught me to be silly and to dance like a fool and never stop to see if anyone was watching.  She taught me how to play card games and how to embrace heavy music such as Korn.  She taught me to never be afraid to say “I love you.”  But one of the most important gifts Beth gave me was the gift of friendship.  Both her friendship and the friendships she inspired in my life, especially with Christine.

Christine and I had been friends since junior high, but drifted away after high school.  I always thought about calling her, she was such a fun friend.  Christine went away to school in Illinois but her and Beth remained close.  Beth was always prying on both ends, telling me to call her and telling her to call me.  Neither of us ever did, I’m not sure what it was that stopped me.

After Beth passed away, we were instantly drawn together again.  Maybe it was that we were both looking for a connection to Beth, or that we both knew it was finally time to mend our relationship.  Or maybe it was our way of fulfilling a wish we both knew meant a lot to Beth.

Over the last five years, Christine and I have grown to a closeness I feel we never had before.  I have not seen her in over a year, but we talk every single week.  We both agree that we are each others last ties to Beth and her family.  We are the ones that are carrying her memory and legacy in our hearts.  She is the first one I call when I am sad and thinking of Beth and her family.  We call and send each other messages on her birthday, and on Mother’s Day when we are thinking of Ann and all the giddy afternoons we spent in that living room.

I don’t think I would have been able to center my grief as well as I have over the last five years if it wasn’t for Christine.  I always thought this was Beth’s way of taking care of us after she was gone.  She wanted us to have each other to support, and I am thankful everyday that we did.

Beth is gone and there isn’t a day that goes by that I haven’t wished that I could change that, but I am so thankful for so much.  I am thankful that I had her in my life for as long as I did, that I have so many photos, memories, and stories I wrote about her in my journals over the years, and for the things she left behind, both in my heart and in my life.

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Moving In and Letting Go

March 30, 2012 Leave a comment

The day had finally arrived and I couldn’t have been happier.  My brother drove my rented truck solo 2,000 miles from Woodbury to my new home in West LA earlier this month.  He arrived on a typical sunny LA day and backed the 16 foot truck into the driveway.  I waited eagerly on the sidewalk for him to push the giant door open.  I felt a burst of excitement, a longing for the things that make me feel at home, and a certain fear knowing I wasn’t going anywhere for at least a year.

The two of us began to unload the truck, which is something we have never done with so few people.  It was probably the most exhausting three hours of my life.  Andy and I were a bit slap happy, both from the exhaustion of hauling boxes and furniture and the excitement of seeing each other.  At one point I actually crumbled on the stairs underneath my flopping mattress, trying to cry and laugh at the same time.  I’m sure my neighbors thought the new tenant in apartment five was nothing short of a nut job.

On the first day, I stood in the middle of the living room and looked around at all that surrounded me.  I couldn’t help but think of that man I never knew, who was also buried in his belongings, only in a different way.  I spent the first half of March hibernating in my apartment, attempting to tear down the mountain of things I have accumulated over the years.  It was a difficult process in many ways.  Physically, it was just a lot of work, but I also had to decide what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to donate.

The joy of it was that unpacking made everyday feel a bit like Christmas as a child.  Each box I opened contained an abundance of tightly wrapped goodies.  I felt a certain anticipation as I eagerly unwrapped the newspaper dated September 2010.  Mixed emotions flooded my apartment.  Childhood treasures made me laugh and memorabilia of lost ones made me long for the faded memories of my past.

After living the life of a minimalist for 17 months I thought it would be easy to rid myself of these things I thought I needed.  It was easier than I thought, but there were some things I wanted to hold onto, things that reminded me of people who no longer exist in my life.  I forced myself to the decision that unless the possession is one that belonged to the dear five that have left this world, then it had to go.  There is no point in trying to hold onto something that is clearly long gone.

Once I instilled a little more logic and a little less heart into my unpacking process, it became much easier.  This sent me into a tossing fit, filling a dozen giant boxes with donations for the Goodwill.  As I filled the boxes, the practical crafter inside me situated herself on my shoulder, whispering ideas of recycled art projects into my ear.  I have been here before and found that is where a lot of my clutter comes from: art supplies.  I decided to minimize the things to keep for art, but did make some fun projects out of them.

A pitcher filled with wine corks was turned into coasters, which was perfect because I didn’t have any.

A soap dispenser was given to me by my sister, which I splashed with colorful paint to match my bathroom.  As long as it’s in my own home I actually like to use a bar of soap, but I can get down with the dispenser.  As long as it doesn’t dispense foam soap.  To me, foam soap is symbolism at it’s best when showing how lazy our country is.  We can’t even take a moment to work up a lather!  I cringe every time I press a soap lever and a perfect swirl of white foam lands in my palm.  It seems ridiculous, but I guess it’s just one of those little things that drives me crazy.

Currently, I am working on turning twenty t-shirts into a blanket, which will also be perfect because the only blanket I have is on my bed.  I would hate to sleep in my sleeping bag when I forfeit my bed to my upcoming visitors.

So, even though I got rid of more things than I probably kept, I was able to turn a couple of things into new adornments for my home.  What are some of your favorite ways to recycle your belongings?

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Nomad No More

February 22, 2012 7 Comments

517: the number of nights I spent sleeping on beds that weren’t mine, couches, air mattresses, pillows, cushions, sleeping pads, yoga mats, tents, and even once in my car

Making myself a home away from no home

This fact became more of a reality and less of a game to me since I returned from my travels almost a year ago.  Freelance writing is no way to get ahead, financially speaking, so I remained “homeless” to continue to do what I love.

There were so many things I missed about having my own home.  I missed sitting on my bed and staring at my wall art (I called it meditating, others called it too much time on my hands).  I missed my low-sodium cookbooks and whipping up delicious, kidney-friendly recipes in my own kitchen.  I really missed having my own space to write, paint, and create.

One of my favorite quotes is: “The pessimist complains about the wind, the optimist expects it to change, but the realist adjust the sails.”

I don’t always consider myself a realist, but I am a champ at making the very best with what I have.  Things weren’t always fine and dandy, but I always remembered the life changing experiences that ended up coming out of my nomadic lifestyle.  However, I’m still human and I had my days.  So, this is my grumbling:

I ate out a lot.  I enjoy dining out but would prefer to cook myself.  My kidneys agree.

I found my underwear in people’s driveways – several times.  The most embarrassing incident was at Tamera’s house, only because it had rained the previous night and had slicked my neon green underwear to her driveway.  I stopped leaving clothes in my car.  It was best for everyone.

I didn’t have anything tying me down.  I was able to pick up and travel the country for three months.  I still think of it as one of the best things I have ever done for myself.

I lost a lot of stuff – jewelry, clothes, shoes, and a little bit of my mind.

I lived with Diana and Brad for two months in West St. Paul.  Their quaint house still and always will release that “happy place” feeling whenever I enter.

I bought a car.  I had been car-less for 14 months prior to moving out of my Burnsville home.  I’m quite impulsive and often have an odd way of making decisions, if you never noticed.

I sold my car.  There was no way my car was going to make it back to LA after the torture I put that poor 10-year-old car through on my road trip around the states.  I am once again without a car but live in a city where everything I want, except my friends, is within walking or biking distance.  Luckily, I have a really cool sister that shares her car with me for all those weekend trips to the valley.

I drove a lot.  I put over 30,000 miles on my car in one year. Only 6,000 miles was from my road trip.  The average American drives 12,000 miles per year.  Where the heck was I going?

I’d like to say that I saved money from not paying rent, but I’d only be lying to myself.

I had my good days and my bad days, but things were never really as bad as they seemed.  I had originally put my belongings in storage for two months – HA!  Those two months quickly turned into a year and a half, but it reminded me of things I often forget in the bustle of life.  It reminded me to slow down, to appreciate the little things I had in my life, and how to live comfortably as a minimalist.

My belongings are currently snuggled into a large moving truck en route to my new apartment in LA.  I am eager to tear through the boxes and find that I don’t need half of the things I packed away that sad September.  Hopefully having a home again won’t spoil me too much.  If it does, I just might go find a yoga mat and some random floor to sleep on, just to remind myself how truly lucky I am in life.

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Christmas on the Coast

December 5, 2011 2 Comments

It was Friday; the weekend had officially started and the only item on our agenda was to pick out a Christmas Tree.  We began to cruise the streets of Santa Monica, taking in the holiday flair that lined the beach city streets.  Brightly lit trees and homes adorned with wreaths resonated feelings of warmth in the cool California winter breeze.  Yet, it felt as if it could have been a fairy tale, as the Christmas I remember is filled with memories of snow angels and cold winter afternoons selling trees on the farm.

We struggled to find parking as we made our way to the Boy Scout’s Christmas Tree Lot on Montana Ave, ready to purchase a tree to decorate our home.  We entered the illuminated lot to find a beautiful, fragrant sea of Christmas trees waiting for us.

A different kind of paradise

We shuffled through each aisle, Boy Scouts at our side, searching for the perfect tree.  It was refreshing to watch the kids as they communicated and worked as a team to bring the whole operation together.  After we found the perfect tree to dazzle our home for the next month, the boys hauled it to the stand to give it a fresh cut.

Perfect cut!

I began to make small talk with the supervising parents while the boys put on the finishing touches and tied the tree to the top of our car.  According to the parents, the fundraiser is the largest the troop participates in each year, which raises funds for camping trips in Wyoming and ski trips to Mammoth.  The hundreds of trees they sell each year also teach the troop business and team-working skills, they said.

We arrived at home, untied the sweet-smelling tree from the roof of the car and headed upstairs, leaving a trail of pine needles the whole way.  The next morning, Jane and I embellished the naked tree with golden lights and whimsical ornaments.  We smiled nostalgically as we carefully hung the same ornaments that decorated our tree as children.

A flawless tree

I sat back and took in all the glory of our tree, remembering old traditions and embracing the new ones.  I thought of all the holidays that have passed and the ones I have shared them with.  All these memories are stored away in a special place in my heart where they will always live wild.  Now I am eager to create memories of my California Christmas, memories that I will store away in that very same place.

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Mar Cleans Her Car: Hilarity Ensues Again

November 26, 2011 2 Comments

As my departure for LA and the sale of my car quickly approached, I slowly began removing the random contents that had accumulated in my car, Zip (short for Zip Tie).  I was surprised, yet barely at all, as I began to turn a laundry basket into a haphazard mess in my mother’s driveway.

I had hesitated posting about the contents of my purse, completely aware of how disgusting I had allowed the bag to become.  I found it humorous, but it didn’t stop some individuals from telling me that I am a foul human being.  Below is a list of the most random things I have removed from my car in the last month.  If you were one of those disturbed individuals, I suggest you look away.

Three and a half pairs of shoes

A gallon of water

A map of the Grand Canyon

A very loved map of the United States

A package of soynuts & a granola bar

Two books of CDs

Two pieces of canvas art

A map of a Mesa, AZ retirement community

Four hats

One dress, two pairs of pants, four shirts and three individual socks

Tool box

A bag filled with Jewelry supplies

A glue gun

A camping chair

Flat Sera

A sleeping pad

A sleeping bag

A $20 bill!!!

An electric drill

A bag of sandpaper

A coffee mug and a Dodgers cup

A bright yellow bandana from the Kidney Walk

A half-cut piece of sheet metal tubing

A suitcase containing: a heating pad, nail art pens, The Bad Girl’s Guide to the Open Road, another purse with more random contents, a padlock and a beach towel.

A croquet mallet

A pair of nunchucks, a plastic cross sword and plastic dagger

Suede cleaner

An aviator hat & goggles

A box of Christmas ornaments – a little confused about this one.

Pastels – on the seat, under the seat, in the cup holder, in the trunk – everywhere

And a couple of other contents that I choose not to disclose, due to the sliver of my pride that does remain.

Zip and his former nerdy owner

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Autumn Adventures

October 5, 2011 2 Comments

I have decided to embrace the Fall season after noticing the colorful beauty and perfect weather around me.  This past weekend I ventured out to Sever’s Corn Maze and Fall Festival in Shakopee with Tabitha, Elliot and Tamera to enjoy some of the greatest aspects of fall.

American Gothic - Tab & E style

WOW. Society never fails to surprise me.

I want one.

Pig Races. Enough said.

Best. Picture. EVER!

Next on my Autumn to do list: Crunch through leaves, visit the apple orchard, bake an apple pie, eat the apple pie and go to Taylors Falls for my annual fall hiking excursion.  What are your favorite ways to celebrate the season?  Tell me in the comments.

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A Whole Lot of Love

September 24, 2011 1 Comment

I ventured out last night to join five of my beautiful friends at Barrio in St. Paul.  I had been gearing myself up all day for tequila so I was more than pleased to see that their selection contained over 250 versions of the delicious poison.

We ordered cocktails and guacamole while we chatted and waited for everyone to arrive, taking in the ambiance of the evening.  Overall, the food was delicious and the service was awesome.  The atmosphere was another story.  First of all, it was incredibly loud in the restaurant and over the loud chatter of the fellow diners was a low-toned humming noise that we could only pinpoint as their “music.”  It basically sounded like someone was blowing into jugs in the corner.  It was redundantly weird.

The other odd portion of the evening came from a large bachelor party.  They rolled in on the Vulcan’s fire-truck, which to me, meant they were going to be nothing but trouble.  They were pretty well behaved, they just drank and giggled like schoolgirls every time someone nodded towards their table, noting the ridiculous wigs they were all wearing.

It wasn’t until our meal was over when they started coming up to our table trying to convince us they were either the owner or our new server.  Not only am I incredibly naive, but it wasn’t so far fetched, considering there were already a handful of other random staffers that had approached our table.  Again, it was weird.

Forgetting the random strangers that felt the need to interrupt our dining experience, it was a great night.

After dinner a couple of the girls headed home while the rest of us made our way to Diana’s house for a little more fun.  We all sat around the living room and laughed uncontrollably at things I now don’t remember.  Laughing like that is one of my favorite things in the world.  It is truly the only enjoyable pain, to laugh so hard your body hurts.

Tabitha expressed her midnight munchies on the drive to her house and asked if I would stop by a drive-thru for her and Elliot.  We pulled into the Wendy’s in Maplewood and waited for what seemed like an hour before it was our turn to pull up to the window.  The woman was grinning ear to ear as she handed me Tabitha’s soda.  I went to hand her Tabitha’s credit card as she shook her head and held up her hand.

“It’s already been taken care of,” she said,

I obviously had a stupid, confused look on my face.

“The gentleman ahead of you paid for your meal and wished you a great night,” she explained.

Tabitha and I were so excited.  Not because someone was paying for her meal, but because there are some people out there that truly surprise me the way they make up for the rest of the world’s slack.  I love when people go out of their way to help a stranger or to commit a completely random act of kindness, just to make someone smile.

The smiling woman appeared a short minute later in the little window as I handed her Tabitha’s credit card.

“We would like to pay it forward and pay for the car behind us,” I told her.

She smiled even bigger, you would have thought there was a hanger in this woman’s mouth.

Tabitha and I joked as she ran her card, secretly hoping the two men in the car weren’t on a food run with a $50 fast food bill.  They were not and their total was very near our own.

We left Wendy’s that night feeling good about ourselves and hoping that the car behind us will pay it forward too.  Not necessarily by paying for someone’s food, but just by stopping for a minute to think of someone else.

What a night.

Do it. Photo courtesy of Slice of Love

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The Royal Wedding

September 16, 2011 Leave a comment

Royal Wedding?  Yes.  I can’t speak with complete certainty, however, I have a certain belief that Jane and Marc’s wedding was more of an affair than the actual royal wedding that took place in England this past April.

Just a sampling of the schedule

We started on Monday with a Labor Day BBQ with both families, which turned into an all-nighter that didn’t end until 2:00 the next morning.  Way to start things off with a bang.

The following day consisted of a surprise dinner brought on by the bride.  Over 25 people, both my family and Marc’s from out of town, showed up at the Buelow Farm for a dinner party.  We feasted on a delicious Indian inspired chicken dish, chicken compliments of the farm.  I was flattered to hear my step-mom skipped the added Sodium to the meal in honor of me.  Look at me affecting giant dinner parties, I’ve come a long way from harassing individuals in that parkway cafe.

Wednesday was our “day off,” but Laura, Pat and I ventured up to Blaine to visit Andy for taco night.  Andy and I frequent this restaurant for this affordable affair once or twice a month, but this was by far the best visit.  Andy realized he didn’t have his ID but wanted to order a beer.  I was confident there was a way around this issue, so I tackled it when the waitress approached us.

“Oh my gosh, you’ve been our server so many times!” I lied.

“Yeah, I totally think I recognize you,” she replied.  “What can I get you to drink?”

“Dos Equis,” Andy replied.

A smile, a nod, a beer.  Set that one up just for you, buddy.

Really though, the highlight of the evening was Laura finding a twist tie baked into her enchilada.  No harm done and we ended our night feasting on a free serving of fried ice cream.

Thursday night we headed to the farm for the Meet & Greet, where my stubborn diet kicked in and left me gorging on bread and Chris’ homemade garden salsa.  New people began to pop up as the week went by, each day confusing me more on whether or not I had actually met that particular person the previous night.  Thursday night was filled with a garden nothing less of a vision, good company, rowdy children excited over the chickens and luminaries that jarred particular memories of a similar light I once saw on that windy, dirt road.  The night was an appetizer for the hunger that was our anticipation for that weekend.

Out-of-Towners fascinated with the Model A

Friday was a hectic and chore-filled day.  I was already behind schedule in the morning and still had to be packed for the weekend and at the Marquette for lunch at noon.  I was late, but so were the bride and groom.  We satisfied our morning bellies with a delicious spread of Greek food to represent their upcoming honeymoon.  I was famished from the morning and was not up for another vegetarian meal.  I knew it was going to be a long day and needed a little protein (random, I know).  The meat was lamb.  I decided to be adventurous, and it wasn’t half bad.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon fulfilling my MOH duties and shopping for underwear on Nicollet Mall.  I really shouldn’t pack in such haste.

We headed over to the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden for the rehearsal where I was shockingly amused at how difficult it was for 30 people to grasp the concept of walking down the aisle.  It still confuses me when I think of it now.  Perhaps it was just the circus show of a bridal party.  I guess it takes more than 25 minutes to train a circus.

After the rehearsal we headed to Basil’s for the dinner.  I was enthralled by the speeches, each of them just as hilarious and touching as the next.  In conjunction with that was a delicious meal.   And even more so, delicious wine.

"Your family drinks a lot of wine," the bartender told me. "Uh, Yeah."

After dinner, and nearly being kicked out by the staff, we headed down to the hotel bar where we shared over-priced cocktails and touching stories of where we all found ourselves as 9.11 unfolded.  I wish I had recorded that conversation.  All I think of is writing.

The next day I woke early and headed back to the Executive suite that I gave up for my niece and nephew.  I couldn’t wait to see my sister.  She was on the verge and heading out for a run so I took Izzy and Ethan upstairs for breakfast.

The morning unfolded as quickly as the bridal suite filled with beautiful women, hair stylists, make-up artists and photographers.  It was a bit of madness, there were so many darn ladies coming and going from that room.

Lookin' good.

The moment crept up on us like a Minnesota winter as we headed to the limo bus to make our way to the sculpture garden.  I slipped into my four inch heels and crossed my fingers that they wouldn’t be the death of me.  They were.  I used to be a heel whore but quit wearing them years ago.  Let’s just say I was cursing in my head by the time I reached the lobby, it was going to be a long day.

We made it to the garden where we met Jane, who rode in on the Model A with my Dad, and had a photo session that seemed to last forever.  I get awkward during organized photo shoots, I always just have this pained look on my face.  Hopefully I didn’t ruin them the way I did the family photos of ’98.

We headed back to the Walker cafe where I spent $7 on sparkling water and eased my poor feet.  That is, until a Walker volunteer demanded I put my shoes back on.  She told me it was illegal.  I wasn’t in the mood to argue with her but I’d like to return on a sting operation, without my shoes, providing her with valid, legal documents that state it is not illegal to be barefoot anywhere in the State of Minnesota.  Yes, this has happened before.

The four o’clock hour quickly approached as we all headed out to the ceremony.  I made my way down the aisle, trying to both watch my steps through the grass and smile for the cameras.  I was standing in front of over two hundred people for no more that five minutes before I felt a wave of nausea rush over me.  “Don’t lock your knees,” Gemma told me before we headed down the grassy path.

I locked my knees.  And I was hot.  And my feet were killing me in ways I had never experienced before.  Was I the only one suffering or am I just a complete baby?  Either way, the feeling you feel before you faint is all too familiar to me, and I felt it during that ceremony.  My only option was to remove my shoes.  So I did.  I stood barefoot for the remainder of the ceremony until it was my turn to exit the garden.

Sara later told me she was impressed, saying it made me a real individual to do what I did.  I actually felt like a bit of an ass but she made me a little less worried that everyone else would have agreed with me.

After another photo session we headed to the top of the IDS tower for the reception.  The reception was awesome.  I wish I could have cloned myself so I could have been in a dozen places at once, there were so many people I wanted to visit and get silly with.

I also had to give a speech, being the MOH and all.  I felt a little nervous, more so because I had already had several cocktails before I had reached the stage and was afraid I was going to slur my words.  I didn’t and my speech came out with shocking fluidity.  Keep in mind that I am not the best public speaker.  I am a writer, so I spend a lot of time alone inside my head, which means there is a small side of me that is a bit socially awkward.  I’m not afraid to admit it.

Marc and Janie’s wedding was the most beautiful affair that I have ever attended.  The company was not only top notch, but they had traveled from all over the states, and even Europe, to be here to celebrate this occasion.  It was really amazing to watch our friends and these two families come together.  It was so much fun getting to know people I met and spend time with those I rarely see.

I know that times like these with these people will be few and far between, but if they do arise again, I know I will cherish them with an even greater love than I did last weekend.

My favortie silly couple

Biggest love to Snugs and Marc.

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