Nothing strange about that...

Recent conversation with my boss, about having a glam program for the kids:

Me: I can bring in a few pairs of opera length gloves and Pretty, Pretty Princess.
Boss: *Looks quizzically at me*
Me: Oh, and four...no, five...feather boas. I think I have a few tiaras, too.
Boss: I'm not going to ask why.
Me: Some of them light up.
Boss: *shakes head and walks away*

I can't help it. I'm fancy.

More Sesame Chicken...why not?

One of my BFF is getting married next month, despite my tales of married life and I'm so excited for her. I'm excited for me, too, since this will be my first appearance in a bridal party other than my own.

Unfortunately, because of schedule/location problems, I wasn't really involved in the bridesmaid-dress-picking process (or perhaps fortunately, since picking my own bridesmaids dresses almost resulted in jail time), so I was really intrigued to see what the bride came up with.

Since the BFF is such a thrifty doll, she found some great dresses, in her color of choice, on clearance -- only problem was, they only had a few sizes. What the heck, I figured, even if I do get it a couple sizes up, it will have to be altered anyway.


But not nearly as much as I hoped it would.

Marriage equals moo?

I've never been a beanpole, and no one would ever accuse me of being anorexic, but I was pretty proud of the fact that I squeezed in to a size 8 designer wedding dress that fit off the rack, no alterations needed, thankyouverymuch. I tried for months to keep from gaining any weight, and to some degree I was pretty successful (although, let's not count the fact that I had to take my corset off during dinner because I couldn't sit down, let alone eat).

So imagine my shock and awe when, weighing in at a doctor's appointment, I discovered that I had gained 15 pounds since my June wedding. Fifteen. That's like half an Olsen twin.

Later that night, as I got ready for bed, I asked the hubbs if he had noticed a weight gain.

"You look beautiful," he replied, which of course, I interpreted as "get to the gym you fat, fat cow."

So to the gym I went, huffing and puffing along with the slender, blonde-ponytailed she-devils, terrified my arm flab would knock one of them clear across the room if I so much as lifted a finger to wipe the sweat off my brow.

That was the end of January, and now I'm about 10 pounds down. So why do I still feel like I should belong to Heifers International?

With a rebel yell

I get grand ideas all the time, usually that I pursue with ardent passion for about a week before I either get bored or find something I like better. Whenever I stay on one thing for longer than a few weeks, it's a pretty big deal. So a few months ago, when I decided I wanted to get my nose pierced, I did all the research, surveyed friends and family and found a "good" place to have it done. I even went so far as to buy eyelash glue and rhinestones to model what my new bling would look like.

I told everyone I knew that I was going to get this done, and for the most part was greeted with an eye roll. I asked the hubbs why people would respond that way.

Me: I just don't get it. I'm hip. I'm cool. I can pull that look off.

Hubbs: Um, you're not that cool.

Me: What do you mean, I'm not that cool?

Hubbs: People who are cool enough to get facial piercings don't announce to everyone that they are, in fact, hip and cool.

Me: Whatevs, I'm going to do it and I don't care.

Hubbs: Sure.

Fast forward a couple of days, and the hubbs and I are out running some errands. I'm fighting an internal battle over whether I'd rather go for pizza or burgers for dinner, when the hubbs makes a detour and we stop in front of a pretty popular tattoo parlor. Apparently, sick of my talk, my darling husband decided today would be the day I would walk the walk.

Never one to back down from a challenge, I summoned my nerve, held my breath and got stabbed through the face with a giant needle.

It freakin' looks awesome.

A foray into the blogosphere?

I've been toying with the idea of starting a blog for a while. I like to write, I like to be witty, and nothing makes me happier than reading witty things I've written. So even if it ends up that this is only for my amusement, well, at least one person's laughing.

To start it off, here are five totally random things about me:

1. I love cherry flavored anything, but I HATE cherries.

2. I'm really good at guessing what time it is, usually within five minutes.

3. I love to talk, but I am not a phone person. At all.

4. I own at least four feather boas.

5. Even though I've been married for almost a year, I still sometimes forget to sign my *new* last name.