I Do...

Not Know What I'm Doing. Help.

One of my best friends asked me to be her maid of honor. Tears were shed. And after the initial excitement...

Fear set in.

I want her 2010 spring wedding day to be perfect. The duties of a maid of honor are way more than I thought so I'm lucky that my beautiful bride-to-be has been patient with my busy schedule. But never did I imagine to be so knee-deep in taffeta and table cloths in my mid-20s.



We almost started crying while combing through gigantic wedding gowns at a bridal store. (Wedding gowns are HEAVY folks). We surveyed the beautiful Laguna Beach site and we fought those pesky tears while someone else's wedding rehearsal was happening in the background. We're also flipping through so many bride's magazines we are soon to be the reigning paper cut queens.

But in the end, I wouldn't trade this new, fascinating and stressful experience for anything. This is after all, an honor. If you have any fabulous tips for this first-time MOH, I'll toss the bouquet to you myself.

Like a Virgin,


of Make Me Blush, Drive Me Wild

Standards

A girl's gotta have standards.

This weekend I spent a few frustrated hours at the beach late night style, by myself sitting in the dark. I worried my sister as she feared I would be abducted and end up on Dateline next month. I was thinking, talking to friends, texting and sending pictures of my feet in the sand to twitter.

Standards, standards, standards...it was all I could think about. The standards to which I hold my friends, my parents, myself, men...probably why I'm single.

A girls gotta have standards though.

Are standards black and white? When do we make exceptions? In talking to a friend who shared a similar experience growing up, I realized that the standards I once held my father to have changed...have they lowered? No, I don't think so. Have I realized that he's not who I want him to be...but instead someone I can love, learn from, count on in a different way? Yes. If I let myself.

I have to keep my standards when it comes to matters of my heart though, a girls gotta.

You don't get to choose your parents. But I will choose the next him. Hopefully the last him. I know I write about this a lot...and I fear gaining the reputation of sad single girl. I most def am not, blogging is more to me than posting pictures though...it's a release. I know, as so many of you have told me, that when you know, you know, that it will happen when you least expect it, and I'm cool with that, really, I am.

I can't help but wonder (hello Carrie Bradshaw, sorry), if my standards are TOO high. Is that even possible? I just hate that weird feeling, the red flags that so often I've ignored, the settling...the I KNEW YOU WOULD DO THAT fights, or thoughts..that have left me walking a mile down the Vegas strip alone at 3am in a mini and 5 inchers, being followed by creeps, afraid to call my friends or family for fear of " I told you so's..." because I already told myself so. Nobody is harder on me...than me.

Standards. I'm sticking to my standards. They're high. And when I meet him, and I just know, and it's when I least expect it, I won't have to lower them. If anything...he better raise me up, he's gotta.

XOXO,

Liz

Kung Fu Grip

It was the hot and sticky summer of 2006.
(I mean strictly weather here, folks!)
(sure I do....)

Location: Gainesville, FL.
That, of course means that my definition of "summer" was April. Hot and sticky nonetheless - don't even think about picking up that hair straightener! There will be no point.

But I digress.

I was headed out on the town with my BFF Holly, who had evolved as such from being a previous Aerobics student of mine (that's what happens when you're the same age as those you teach...)

On the way to midtown in my silver Nissan Frontier (how I miss you!), rocking out to vintage hip hop and car-dancing like a pair of wild satyrs, we see blue lights reflecting off of the dash...

Shite.

So we pull over, in front of all the clubs of course, being seen by many a Friday-night-bootie-shaker on the way to do just that (no kidding, later a fella friend asked me, "really? that was you? hahahahaha...."), and up walks up one of Gainesville's finest - a young, obviously bored one at that.

Turned out that my license plate had expired.

An assertion that a new sticker was in the mail (which was almost true) got us off the hook, but he still took my VA license,

"just to make sure you're not wanted or anything."

Then, this comes piping out of the shadowy passenger side from the lovely redhead next to me -

"oh, she's wanted, all right!"

As my hand covered my eyes in (semi-authentic) embarassment, he walked away. I snickered and turned to Holly, possibly calling her a not-so-nice name...

And eventually he brought me back my license (nope, no felonies, thanksverymuch) and we were on our way.

As this was in one of the heights of my intermittent male-objectification-pink-spoon days, the evening included making rounds, having drinks, dancing with various hotties (none of which we exchanged names with, thankssss), until at 1am, tired, sweaty, and goofalicious, we took a seat at the bar.

"How about this - we look over each others' shoulders, and I'll pick yours out, and vice versa."

It was on.

There were many suggestions and discards, with an occasional cha-ching! that got us a bit of conversation, perhaps a dance or two, but as it was girls' night, nothing more....

...when Holly's eyes widened as she gazed past my left ear. She grinned and nodded, and gave me a purposeful glance before her eyes returned to the prey.

At the perfect moment, my right hand snaked up and around, Indiana Jones whip-crack style, and caught hold of Mr. Mysterious' wrist. I slowly turned my head and brightly smiled at him.

"Hi, how are you?"

....as the next 1.892 seconds passed, I realized that Holly had made a grave mistake. He was a Monet! Oh no!

note: I have only a vague memory of my uncannily accurate aim that must've had to do with the Force being with me. The eighteen thousand malibu and pineapples probably helped with both my foggy memory, and my aim. That info is straight from Holly, circa the next day...

My smile never faltered, he said he was fine, and just as the glimmer began to appear in his eyes, I grinned and said,

"That's great! Well, have a good night!"

-and turned back around to the bar. (you'd better believe that H was apologetic)

Yikes! That was a close one.

And yep, I was one of those girls, in only that moment.

But hey, it happens to the best of us, right?

Besides, I still chuckle about it every now and then, and I don't remember a single word exchanged with any of the others, so in the grand scheme of things, Mr. Monet gets the most of the C-brain-airtime.

Karma.