“Oh Yeah, the Wedding…”: A Nonchalant Wedding Existence

Well, the academic year began. And, I was henceforth completely overwhelmed.

Pastry and I are trucking along, commuting through the desert, going to NFL games, making insane amounts of plans for the one day off a week we tend to take, harassing each other to do our homework/design projects/mow the waving lawn, taking the dog-boys for bike rides, trying to coordinate visiting his grandma in Tampa, doing the endless piles of laundry that seem to come along with being an adult, etc. Exciting, no?

Meanwhile, my new love is spray painting random items in our house either red or a various metallic colors. My work version is that I laminate things  when I’m stressed. Beyond stockpiling cardboard for spray paint projects and making hardy, weatherproof signs, I’m taking three doctoral classes and teaching a course for undergraduates on top of my regular full time job, so any delusions of free time I might have this semester really were delusions. While shoving fries in my mouth while frantically driving between campuses for classes last week as I had forgotten to pack dinner, a tiny thought flitted by my mind, “Maybe I should be dieting for the wedding to better fulfill my OPTIMUM BRIDE POTENTIAL.” To which my brain said, “Meh. Eat those fries or otherwise you get really cranky in your class by the time 10:00pm rolls around.”

My ultimate downfall, especially when served Animal Style.

Besides, my friends and family know I have arms more in line with the Pillsbury dough boy than Michelle Obama, and it’s not like eventually wearing a white dress for one day six months down the line should be the only reason for a lifting schedule and sudden French-fry-less clean eating. I do have health and fitness goals, but they are just not wrapped up in feelings related in any way to wedding shenanigans, hence why the lone French-fry, bridal readiness thought was so odd.  My larger life issue is more prioritizing health goals for myself is quite hard right now, and when you are chronically mentally and physically tired from a busy life, French fries almost always seem like a good idea. (As they are delicious.)

Otherwise, wedding stuff is the least stressful part of my whole life. I just cannot muster any worry, obsession or preoccupation around anything wedding related. We’ve booked almost everything and figured out what we want. At some point, we need to spray paint (YES! Stress relief!) a bunch of dinosaurs and make a fun streamer arch. Given my normal job of constructing large LED birch trees for public art projects and Pastry’s epic handyman skills, we got this.

A wedding arch made of mini-kegs of Canadian beer. See? We’re not even that fringe!

We ordered some standard invitation samples, and promptly meh-ed at them. I designed a couple options and they were, well, honestly a bit too classy for our eclectic affair. Then we happened upon some glorious invites which will likely make a good portion of guests think we are more than slightly crazed. But, you know, I truly doubt we will look back on our wedding when we are yet older and wrinklier, and say, “I regret nothing but those insanely quirky and fun invitations featuring an awful pun and something we both love. That…that was the beginning of the end.” Then we will turn to each other and startle as we recognize each other again, and instead of perishing in each other’s arms as Nicholas Sparks would have us believe as a romantic end, we will likely make T-Rex noises (via Jurassic Park) at each other before going back to nap on the couch.

The call of true love.

True Love Equals Tolerance for Triscuit Intolerance

I’ve been quite busy with this whole working full time and doing a doctorate business. At week eight of class, I have had about nine assignments and thus have gone a bit crazy (crazier?). Pastry and I went to the grocery store earlier this week, me stumbling around like a snack-sneaking zombie as Pastry tried to herd me in the correct direction. And, lo, I happened upon a giant display of Martha Stewart endorsed Triscuits.

I LOVE Triscuits. But, er, wheat in general does not love me back. But, my inner snack-sneaking zombie voice told me that I should get a couple boxes of crisped wheat snacks in fun flavors like Toasted Coconut and Sea Salt or Rosemary Olive Oil. I snatched up a pile and ran up to Pastry at the self-checkout stand. In my snack-enthusiast daze I don’t quite remember the actual conversation we had, but it went something like this.

“Triscuits, eh? Don’t those make you feel ill?”


“Your call, Cucumber…”

So, we went home and I promptly ate a bunch of Triscuits. Cut to day two, and my packed lunch at work was a bowl of cherries and Triscuits. I got home and had Triscuits prior to dinner. Pastry made a delicious dinner of bacon-wrapped chicken thighs and green beans. I may have had a few more Triscuits. Pastry, so cleverly and suavely, devised a romantic maneuver after dinner. Meanwhile, the epic of amount of Triscuits I had ingested over the past day, suddenly resulted in me, well, feeling like this below picture.

Holy god.

“I am SO SORRY. Really. SO SORRY. Oh god, it’s so bad…”

“My love, I am marrying you. It’s really okay. I don’t care.”

Thus, we ended our romantic date evening by laying on the bed, laughing and reading Amazon reviews of Fiber One Bars. Pastry reminded me that perhaps this should be a cautionary tale concerning my Triscuit indulgence.

He really is the best. And, those coconut Triscuits are really delicious.