Tuesday, December 6, 2016


It’s hard not to complain about everything lately. There’s just so much material. 

Trump’s Twitter feed. A five-foot-tall Christmas tree costing $40. 

…The fact that my health insurance refuses to cover a typhoid vaccine from when I went to Guatemala because reimbursing customers for preventative health care is as foreign a concept as…Guatemala.

(Also, complaining about having first-world problems.)

But, in these seemingly DARK and DISMAL times, you know what is virtually impossible to complain about? 

Or…so you think.


Apparently, there are GUYS out there who complain about sex, and I don’t mean complain about NOT getting it.


I KNOW!!!!!!

My friend Margie told me this mortifying story about this guy she dated, Griffin, who was nothing but a critic. UGH.

They went out several years ago, when they both worked at a restaurant. 

Griffin didn’t exactly get a good life review himself, since we’re on the subject of assessments.

He was in his early 30s, lived at home, wasn’t in great shape and he struggled with getting customers’ orders right. 

He also spent all his free time at the restaurant bar.

But Margie thought he was fun and harmless, so they went out for a few months. 

One day, there was a throwback “drive in movie” playing somewhere and they decided to go. Margie said in typical 1950s fashion, they totally did the hanky panky, grab-ass or whatever the cool kids call it, all in the privacy of the car.

Margie said it was the first time they had ever been that physical before, and it was all very exciting as Indiana Jones played on the big screen.

And, well, she didn’t do anything that uhhhhh Monica Lewisky hasn’t done before.

No complaints from Griffin there.

Margie felt a little sheepish on the way home about it, as most teenagers in the 1950s did, I imagine.

But as she looked to Griffin for some sort of comfort about itGriffin, the guy who had absolutely ZERO going for himhe politely told her, "thanks for going out with me tonight" and then added….

“That was the eighth best B.J. I’ve ever had in my life."




I don’t know what the bigger joke was, his B.S. line or pretending like he’s had eight B.J.s before.

Regardless, it was in poor taste, the worst of the worst in poor taste, and Margie ran out of his car mortified, 5000% regretting her decision.


How about, "Baby, that was amazing, I'll never look at the Ark the same way!"?????

No, let's make up a rate system instead! Let's make the girl I'm dating feel **really good** about her life choices!!! 



Now, how can we get him to contract typhoid…..


Monday, December 5, 2016

A December to remember

My twin sister Joy said a co-worker came into her office recently and asked how to pronounce her last name.

“That’s weird,” I said. “Our last name is, like, one of the top five most common names in America. What an idiot!” (Actually Census says it's number 65)

Joy paused.

Then I paused.

"OH DUH!!!!!!"

“Of course…your ‘married’ name.” 

(For the record, her new last name isn't even in the top 1,000 most common last names in the U.S.)

(I guess that coworker wasn't an idiot haha)

It feels like only yesterday that a such a major life-changing event occurred, but in fact, it was a year ago.

One year ago EXACTLY, in fact.


I know it’s hard for most people to remember what they were doing a year ago.

(I’m not real clear about what I was doing a week ago.)

But on this day exactly a year ago, I know exactly what I was doing—getting scolded by my mom for my makeup.

“YOUR FACE LOOKS TOO ORANGE!” my mom said, across the large, airy room at a rented beach house on Folly Beach, South Carolina. “IT NEEDS TO BE BLENDED MORE!”

I took a sip of champagne (also met with displeasure by our mom haha) and apologized to the makeup artist for my whiteness.

Seven bridesmaids were all lined up to get our hair and makeup done and I felt like I was getting ready for the Academy Awards.

We all wore gorgeous matching silky robes Joy bought us and the day could have just ended right there and I would have been happy.

But then, we looked out the window and saw the group of men approaching.

All wearing matching charcoal gray suits walking up the wooden dock to the beach house, sticking out like sore thumbs against the sand and the shore.

OMG there he is!” Joy said, seeing her soon-to-be-husband for the first time that day. 

And then she teared up.


“Well of course there he is!” I said, confused. “There they all are!” 

(Some of the men included the husband/significant others of bridesmaids.)

But the married bridesmaids knew the importance of this moment. The moment you think about when you agree to say YES to someone.

And just for a second you forget about the wedding planning you've been stressing about for months and months.

Because all that matters is that there he is.

And there you are.

And there we ALL were.

(...errr some more orange than others.)

From that moment at the beach house, everything that happened on December 5, 2015 has been etched permanently into my brain.

The limo bus to the chapel, where I filled everyone glass with exactly two sips of champagne. 

Posing for every possible combination of photos for the photographer. Waiting in the “bridal suite,” at the chapel, peeking out to see all the guests arriving.

Even walking down the aisle, which felt like it was twice as long as it was the night before.

Tearing up as Joy walked down the aisle with our dad.

...And then holding her very heavy bouquet and realizing the terrible logistics of having to wipe tears from your eyes while holding a bouquet of flowers in each hand.

The entire thing was just perfect.

And then, if the day couldn’t have gotten any better, I had every single person I know and love, to hang out with for the rest of the night.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing all 130(ish) people at a party, but it’s amazing. You’re never in a corner, never at a table alone. No one turns you down for a dance. 

Everybody tells you how great you look (Lol). It was remarkable how many people I was able to catch up with in four very short hours. 

My maid of honor speech went over VERY well (thanks for asking) and after an insane amount of BEAMING from everyone on both sides of the new family, tons and tons of eating and dancing, memories and jokes, photos and singing, pans and pans of shrimp and grits later, it was time for the send-off.

I arranged a boat charter captain to meet at the dock right outside the venue so Joy and Daniel could leave the wedding on a boat. (Who needs wheels?)

We added battery-operated holiday lights on both sides of the boat, just like Cinderella’s carriage, only with…uhhh…different kind of horsepower.

And the saxophone played “When the Saints Go Marching In” and the boat puttered away into the distance, capping off the best December 5th I’ve ever had in my entire life. 

And then, just like that, everything went back to normal.

Well, except Joy’s new last name.





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