My name is Flib and I am addicted to being hungover in inconvenient places

There is much preparation going on at casa de about-to-wed-in-T-minus-nine-short-days. Last weekend I had to drive to Minnesota for my final dress fitting, and then promptly turn around and drive back to Chicago, stopping off in Madison for a raucous bachelorette party (not so raucous really, but I did have to puke in a bag while trapped in traffic on I-90, and yes I know this is my second indecent puking incident in a single month and I am appropriately humiliated and seeking treatment in the form of leaving the state for 2.5 weeks).

Anyway, hallelujah, my dress fits. I was scared when I had the first fitting because I put it on and it literally fell off. It was zipped up and it fell off. It was, in so many words, way too fucking big. They accused me of losing weight, but I know my body, and I know that I have not lost that much weight. Luckily I found a very skilled seamstress and $500 dollars later, my dress fits. Thank goodness I have a very generous aunt, or I would be wearing a wearing dress with industrial clamps keeping it on my body because I stupidly had not budgeted for that much in alterations. Is nothing cheap when it comes to weddings? Sadly, no.

In all honesty, neither of us are too stressed out about the wedding. If things go wrong, so be it. We are getting married outside and we have no fall-back plan if it rains. I figure, if it rains, we hurry up with the ceremony and take the cake to an empty bar and save the champagne for another day. C’est la vie. (Note: my family does not share this laissez faire attitude with me, I pity them)

In more exciting news, Brett and I biked ourselves silly yesterday, exploring our newly adopted town. We moved to this singularly bucolic town in Northern Illinois, about 60 miles from Chicago. It is adorable, and friendly and filled with charming Victorian homes within walking distance to a town square that offers several delicious non-chain restaurants and cafes, bars with tin ceilings, a jewelry store where we bought our shiny wedding bands, a Ben Franklin and a bakery that serves up pull apart cinnamon bread. It’s kind of awesome, and we can bike there, which makes me extremely happy. We could walk there too, but biking is far more exciting.

We stopped at the bike shop (also in the town square, and also not a chain, which is kind of a mantra for us) and tried to procure some baskets for our bicycles so that we could actually run errands via bike, but, get this, they were SOLD OUT. Yes, there are so many like minded individuals that they could not keep their baskets in stock. This, my friends, is the silver lining on the ever expanding grey cloud of gas price doom. The world, our world, our way of life, is changing. Change is good. Change keeps us from becoming drones and while I have no idea how we will make it if gas keeps climbing, because we live on a budget and it does not allow for $20 gasoline (or even $6 dollar gasoline), I know that good will come out of this. I also know that biking is a whole lot more pleasant than driving. Change is a positive, even if it seems like a negative. It keeps you on your toes and that is always a good thing.

Also a good thing . . . Love is a Mixed Tap by Rob Sheffield. Go get this book and read it STAT. It is wonderful and I cried myself stupid and resisted the urge to call Brett (I read it this weekend while I was running around the Midwest puking in JC Penney bags and he was at home painting bedrooms) and tell him all the reason I loved him and what I would put on a mixed tape to express our love. Avoid doing that to your loved one, but nevertheless, it’s more wonderful than I can say.

What’s not so wonderful is the fact that our cable package does not offer Bravo in its line-up. This is a travesty for me because I am currently missing Project Runway. I set it to record on the DVR, but then when I played it back the TV mocked me with a “press info button for subscription information.” Fuck you cable company. I knew the deal you were giving me was too good to be true.

Check out Brett’s blog for info on his birthday surprise trip with bonus picture of us in kayaks. Awesome.

white knuckles and birthday surprises

Last night’s drive home was exciting in a heart-pounding-please-don’t-let-this-be-the-end kind of way. I left my office at about 7:20pm, and Brett called me soon thereafter to inform me that a storm was pushing its way eastward, through the corn fields and into Chicago. “Eh,” I thought. “I’ll make it home before it hits.”

Then I saw in the western sky, an enormous black line of clouds, like a big space ship covering up the entirety of Northern Illinois. Seriously, it was like those space ships in Independence Day, just hovering over the farmland. Creepy.

I, of course, was headed west, directly into the impending storm, and I noted that perhaps this was not going to be as “eh” as I had thought.

Fifteen minutes later, me and my car are engulfed in the space ship like storm cloud, and the rain began to pelt my tired little car with it’s less than terrific tires. Shit. The hydroplaning began, and I held on for dear life as it became obvious that my gas peddle was doing nothing more than offering me a place to rest my foot. Seriously, I was convinced I was going to be washed away, never to be seen again.

That last mile of interstate before my exit was nothing short of terrifying. I wish I could have just pulled over, but I could barely see out the windshield for the driving rain, and I was pretty sure no one else could either. I didn’t feel like getting squashed by a semi-truck as I waited out the storm.

Basically, it sucked. End of story.

In non-terrifying news, Brett’s birthday is Tuesday. I am taking him on a surprise trip. He has an “idea” of where we’re going, but whether his “idea” is accurate has not been confirmed. I’m not telling him anything, and I considered blindfolding him for the entirety of the drive, but then I reconsidered it as I certainly don’t want to be mistaken for a kidnapper.

The only hints I gave Brett were that it was within driving distance, he need not bring any dress clothes, and he would need multiple bathing suits. So, any of you familiar with our part of the Midwest, where do you think we’re going???

approaching time warp

It’s storming outside at 5:16pm on this Thursday afternoon. I’m in my office, trying to finish work before I go home. I need to stay late so that I can be gone for TWO WHOLE WEEKS(!!!) in August. It’s approaching very soon, but I have a lot to do before we go.

I feel a tad nauseous today. Unfortunately my nausea is due to the bizarre foods I ate in attempt to make up for a failed lunch. I thought we had some sort of office barbeque today, but it’s actually next week, which makes me an idiot. I sauntered out of my office and out to the parking lot, expecting to find a big tent and the smell of grilling meat, but instead I saw cars. Sheepishly I hurried back to my office and re-read the damn memo. Next week.

Then I ate some yogurt, a banana, a handful of crackers and have been sucking on hard candy. I guess that’s not so bad, but I don’t feel very good nonetheless. Plus, I would like to go home now because office = lifeforce sucking machine.

My friend Shipyard made me do it.