So this past Tuesday was Valentine’s Day, otherwise known as the international day of love. Before I met my husband, I was single pretty much every February 14th (and most other days) and quite bitter. I know not every single person is bitter that day, but I was. Mainly because they used to sell carnations in high school that you could have delivered to homeroom or something and I would watch some girls prance around with seven of them while I got zilch.
Although I’ve technically had a “Valentine” for the past 6 V-Day’s, Steve and I have never made a big deal about the day. Steve says everyday for me is Valentine’s Day, because he cooks me dinner, buys me things, and generally showers me with adoring love and affection on a daily basis (his words, not mine). That’s mostly true, so I’ve never made a big deal about it, but just an acknowledgment of the day would be appreciated.
This year I got more than acknowledgment, as I was asked to attend a special February 14th Bruins game! Well not so much asked…
Steve: So there’s a Bruins game on the 14th.
Me: February 14th?! As in Valentine’s Day?!
Steve: Uh, yeah. Did you like, want me to do something with you that day? Because I can find someone else to go with.
Me: YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT ME ON VALENTINE’S DAY. I got married so I would never have to be alone on Valentine’s Day ever again, EVER.
Steve: Wow. Okay. So I guess we’re going.
I love a theme, so when I found out that my presence was so lovingly wanted at this game, I knew immediately what I was going to wear: the forbidden Pink Jersey, banned circa July 2009. I know, I know- any true sports fan, regardless of team, wouldn’t be caught dead next to a girl in a pink jersey, hat, t-shirt, etc. I have been lectured many times about how “real” fans don’t wear pink; they proudly support their teams actual colors, and clearly no team’s colors are a baby pastel pink.
But this being a day filled with hearts and love and sparkles I decided that I would stand firm and insist on rescuing The Jersey from the perils of my closet where it would surely never see the light of day again. And as I learned from Tom Hanks scratching himself in A League of Their Own, anything worth doing is worth doing right. I was going to go all out.
So you can imagine Steve’s horror when he step out of the shower and saw me in this:
the pink ladies would be much more accepting
His actual words: “Is that what your’e wearing? Do you know how many other season ticket holders sit around us?!”
My response: “IT’S VALENTINE’S DAY!!!!”
Not my best comeback, but accurate.
Dressing for these games is so hard. I love a good theme but I don’t want to be wearing enough garb that it looks like I think I’m actually on the team. For situations like this, I have to look to my #1 hockey girl fan, Mrs. Carrie Underwood Fischer.
I love her because she always has her hair and makeup done but dresses down just enough that she doesn’t look like a glamourpuss who took a wrong turn on her way to an awards show and ended up at a hockey rink by accident.
Then of course we had to do our mini ticket photo shoot. I especially wanted to get a good picture of the date:
timmm-maaaaaaaay
Steve was a little camera shy. He kept hiding behind his tickets. I can’t imagine why…
he knows we can still see him, right?
Finally, he relented and actually let me take a picture of us together. Although the embarrassment almost killed him.
don’t be fooled. behind that smile is an angry, angry man
As if The Jersey wasn’t enough, the Bruins totally ate it and we lost 3-0, which was essentially pouring salt on the wound.
sad v-day 🙁
To be fair, the Rangers are in first place and we are in second, and also their goalie is REALLY handsome, and Thomas has had that moustache for so long…
what? i always take my helmet off in slow motion
So I think that The Jersey is now officially retired. And by retired, I mean someone hid it and I can’t find it anymore. Also, I am now banned from attending Original 6 match ups.
Happy V-Day, lovers (hockey and otherwise).
I am not a fashion blogger.
I’m not even sure what kind of blogger I am. I started out strictly writing about celebrity scandal because I missed my college weekly column. Then came “the Tree” and additional tidbits about my thrilling personal life. Now, it’s kind of a mix of both. I spend a ton of downtime reading other people’s blogs because it’s inspiring to read things from people that you can tell they’re really passionate about. Like me making fun of people.
One of the ones I read on a daily basis (mainly because she posts daily) is What I Wore, a fashion blog by Jessica Quirk. She is an amazing blogger, and her blog is the type that all blogs want to be. It’s classy, organized and clean, which are qualities my blog aspires to but rarely achieves. Usually her posts center around her fabulous ensembles, but this week there was a twist thrown in, as she was calling all style bloggers for a Winter Remix Challenge.
Like I previously stated, I am not a fashion blogger. I like clothes, I have lots of them and continue to buy more even though my husband yells at me. I would love to work more fashion into my blog, but there are a few challenges that stand in my way.
1. I wear black 5 out of 7 days a week. I try to mix in as many textures and over sized jewelry that I can get away with, but overall my everyday look is totally snooze worthy.
2. I live in a 700 sq foot apt. I have no quality back drops for mini photo shoots, hence why I keep standing in front of the door. I could go outside… But I live on the third floor. And it’s cold. And I don’t wanna.
3. I still don’t own a full length mirror. So it’s very hard to tell if one end of my outfit goes with the other. I can stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom and see the top and I can stand on a stool in the hallway and see the bottom in the bathroom mirror. But never the whole thing in at once.
4. I could never ask Steve to take my picture everyday. Everytime I do, he gets one good outfit photo and at least 6 of my butt and/or me making this face:
4. I could never ask Steve to take my picture everyday. Everytime I do, he gets one good outfit photo and at least 6 of my butt and/or me making this face:
are we serious right now?
But today the fashion blogger inside me got her day, as I was one of the 80 or so that got their 15 minutes of blog fame by being featured in the challenge. Ever since I spent a Sunday morning staking out the Jason Wu collection and cursing the existence of the evil under lord that is Target, I have been racking my brain to figure out how I could wear my two pieces before July. So this was the perfect opportunity to try.
However, like most things I do in life, I procrastinated and never got around to taking the photos or even putting the clothes on, until last night during the Grammys with the 11:59 submission deadline looming. Assuming an Adele sweep, I raced to my room and threw on the ensembles I had planned in my head and ordered Steve to snap my picture as they announced Album of the Year (before you freak out on me, I rewound and caught her teary acceptance speech when I was finished. SO CHILL OUT). Hence why my hair and makeup looks like crap. I threw on some red lipstick, hoping for a miracle.
Then I attempted to download the 10 pictures, which took about 20 minutes because I have so many freaking photos on my 4.5 year old MacBook. I started to sweat a little bit, but like my book reports in 4th grade, I work best under the pressure. I threw the layout out on the soon to be extinct Picnik and composed a nice intro email and clicked send. And it was 11:57.
me & wu down by the school yard
And now I am all over the Internet! Well maybe not all over per se, but featured on a blog with a huge faithful readership. So for a novice like me, pretty damn exciting.
So thank you to Jessica for featuring us on your blog today. Go to What I Wore to check it out, and while you’re there look at all her clothes because she’s pretty awesome. If you hadn’t heard of it before, your outfits will thank you. And then I will thank you, because I don’t have to look at your sad outfits anymore.
While I mock and ridicule many a celebrity weirdo on this blog, one thing I try to stay away from is making fun of the deceased. You just have to draw a line somewhere, you know? And there really isn’t anything to joke about here. Whitney Houston passed away today at the age of 48. 48!!! While the cause of her death has yet to be released I will give you one guess what it could have been. But the truth is so glaringly obvious you probably don’t need it.
So out of respect, I’m going to try to avoid saying anything wildly inappropriate. However, this is a list of things that I am still trying to wrap my head around regarding this situation:
1. Am I no longer allowed to laugh at reruns of Maya Rudolph on SNL when she yells “BOBBB-BAAAAAAAAY?”
2. See above in relation the “KISS MY ASS!” clip from The Soup
3. What are the Grammys going to be like tomorrow? Do you think that those guys in editing are crapping their pants right now trying to fix the “In Memoriam” segment?
4. How did Bobby outlive Whitney? No, seriously, like how?
4a. And also Charlie Sheen, Lindsay Lohan, Keith Richards, Courtney Love, and everyone on Celebrity Rehab?
5. What will Christina Aguilera do to embarrass herself at a memorial? Even if she not invited to the actual service, that will not stop her- girl will throw one in her living room if that what it takes.
Sigh. If pictures of Amy Winehouse, Nick Nolte, Andy Dick and Britney Spears circa 2007 won’t discourage people from doing drugs, will this? Will anything?!
DON’T DO DRUGS.
r.i.p. whitney. and maya rudolph’s impression
Crack really is whack.
I know that every other New England resident has spent the past week planning their Superbowl parties and stocking up at their local packie, however I am not one of them. My week consisted of an all-consuming obsession with getting my hands on Jason Wu for Target pieces that happen to be debuting today, otherwise known as Superbowl Sunday. Well, not for me. Today was Wuday.
Let me preface this by saying that I am not that kind of shopper. I have never participated in an early morning sale of any kind. I am more of a shop-on-a-random-Thursday-in-the-clearance-section-and-stumble-upon-a-great-cheap-pair-of-shoes-because-all-the-normal-sized-shoes-were-already-purchased-by-people-with-normal-sized-feet type shopper. I work at a mall. I am surrounded by clothes all the live long day. I rarely have Sundays off. So my idea of a fun Sunday morning when I don’t have to work in retail is to stay as far away from a shopping center as possible. And sleep.
But somehow this week, my curiosity about Wu’s collection grew from a general wonderment to a full on neurosis that pretty much consumed all my extra mental energy. I began stalking fashion websites all week with a coworker, plotting the best tactics for beating out all the crazies that ruined Missoni for the rest of us sane people.
After discovering that my nearest Target was on “The List,” as the collection would be presented at a limited amount of stores, I immediately felt relieved. After all, Milford isn’t a particularly fashionable area, and judging by the looks I got from people when I mentioned Jason Wu, very few were going to be out on the front line me at 8:00 am Sunday morning.
There were three pieces I was dying for. These were them:
kirsten called. she wants her hair back.
Notice I said “were.”
I knew that there were a chance that a few of the items in the 60 piece collection wouldn’t be in the store, as they were online exclusives (like the black tie blouse). But the navy poplin dress? That is the dress of my nautical dreams. I had to have it.
Similar to the way an athlete stretches before a big game, I prepped myself last night. I set out my outfit- leggings, a tight tank and a zip up sweatshirt (just in case I had to try on garments over my clothes in a fashion frenzy), switched from my new Kate Spade “Stevie” bag to an oversized canvas Old Navy clearance purse (so I could easily throw my outerwear in it in my trying on fury) and got my allowance from Steve (Christmas money from his grandfather that I had been saving for something special). I set my alarm for 6:45 am and tucked in early.
I woke up at 5:00, 6:00 and finally, 6:45. I had a foreshadowing dream that I thought I was the first person in line, and then it turned out everyone was hiding inside Target already. And instead of Target, it was an auditorium that was half Target/half bar and for some reason Shia Labeouf was doing an unplugged acoustic performance. Okay maybe it wasn’t totally foreshadowing. Needless to say, it was the fastest I’ve ever woken up that early in the morning. I felt like it was Christmas, except the presents weren’t going to come to me, I was going to have to go and take them. Well not take, but snatch and then rightfully pay for.
I scarfed down an English muffin for energy, filled my Nalgene and headed out the door. I arrived at the Milford Target exactly at 7:30 am and found… nobody. The parking lot was empty except for tired looking employees in red shirts and khakis. A coworker and I had conspired to meet there, and as we sat in my car, we visually surveyed the parking lot with the stealth of a sniper. Anytime a car would enter the lot, we would scan the driver and decide whether or not they were fashionable enough to be showing up at the crack of dawn for nautical dresses and daisy print scarves.
Finally, a few other weary shoppers arrived. Noticing the lack of a line at the door, they continued to sit in their cars as well, since it was 7:30 am in February and all. Around 7:50 am, I couldn’t take it anymore, I was so paranoid about being beat to the door that we quickly shut off the car and made a run for it. Slowly, the others followed. Amateurs.
There ended up being five of us in line. FIVE. If that isn’t a testament to the demographic around here, I don’t know what is. Suddenly I was thankful for living in the sticks. I could only imagine what those poor saps in Somerville or Watertown were doing. As we stood outside the door, we peered inside and could see hints of red white and blue stripes. We were so close.
Finally, an unenthusiastic security guard unlocked the door. While we had engaged in polite banter outside, the mood changed immediately upon stepping through the automatic red doors. I bolted to the dress I had seen from outside and grabbed the XS and S. One of the most challenging things about these special collections is you never know how the sizes are going to run. It’s not like going to Banana Republic and knowing that you can take home any size 4S without trying them on and be golden.
To my left was a peach, yellow and black striped dress featured in many of the ads. “No way,” I thought. That’s the exact same color as my skin.To my right was a white t-shirt with a giant black cat on it. Also featured in all the ads and also weird. I stepped around the back side of the display and found… an entire rack of Mossimo butterfly shirts. I looked up and noticed the display said “Jason Wu.” Odd.
usually i wear black socks by accident when i try on dresses. sorry, mom
“Excuse me,” I asked the sales clerk. “Is this all there is of the Jason Wu collection?”
“Yes, that’s it. There’s some bags over there,” she declared and walked away. She clearly did not want to get caught in the wrath of the five most fashionable people in the extended Worcester area.
The other shoppers and I walked around the same three displays in disbelief. A dull peach blouse here, a black pleated skirt there. A gray t-shirt with faux lace down the front. So many pieces, just not even there. I couldn’t believe it.
slim pickings
I snuck a peek at the bags. They were cute, but there was nothing that made me want to die. You know, like in the Rachel Zoe way, not actual death. Plus I had my limited Christmas money budget and I was under strict orders not to spend a dollar more. And I have a gazillion purses, so I felt okay with my decision to walk away.
Before heading to the fitting room, I grabbed a navy sleeveless top with daisies on it with a mesh netting thing at the top. Since I couldn’t find any pieces that even resembled anything I had been hoping for, I figured I should try something that was slightly reminiscent of Wu’s frequently used print. I got the only XS, and there were probably only 8 of each item total. One XS, two S, two M, etc. I also grabbed another navy dress with daisies printed on it and a yellow belt. Why the hell not.
The most successful find was the red, white and navy shift dress. While it wasn’t the nautical dress I really wanted, it was a good summer jersey dress that I felt I could style into something special. Plus it closely resembled a t-shirt from the collection that I also wanted but was not in the cards for me that day.
shy sailor
I also sort of ended up liking the blue daisy shirt. It was a little short for my liking, as I am short myself, and I felt like I was just amplifying my shortness, but the model was wearing it with a high waisted skirt, so if I just tuck it in, I will look like a model. Done.
so.many.prints.
The blue dress was another story. There is no picture of me in this because it’s probably one of the worst fitting things I have ever tried on, and I did high school theater. The bust area was flapping in the non-existent wind, and the yellow belt needed about three more holes to actually cinch where I imagined my waist was supposed to be. And that was an XS. If you are a busty petite woman, it’s the dress for you. I am only one of those things. Guess which one.
even. more. prints.
So I settled on my two pieces. Out of the selection that was there, I considered it a success.
victorious… i think?
Finally, it was time to head home. As soon as I got to my apartment, I jumped onto target.com to see if the situation was as bleak as I imagined. Sure enough, every item- sold out. I figured I’d have much better luck going to the store than trying to score stuff online, so I didn’t even try. Now I sort of wish I had persuaded my husband to also wake up and stalk the Internet for me while I went on my excursion. All over Twitter and Facebook, livid customers vented their frustrations about the availability (or lack thereof) of the products and accused Target of purposely manufacturing as few items as possible to drum up interest in the line. Oddly enough, the dress I had so coveted showed up as once being available in the Milford store, but currently sold out. Weird, because I was THE FIRST PERSON THERE.
If you follow @targetstyle (as I so furiously do now), you know that they claim that at the end of the week, some additional merchandise will be added online. What, we don’t know. I can only hope that my dearly beloved navy poplin dress is one of them. And that I have little to no work to do so that I can be on my phone 24/7 this week.
So without further ado, I give you… my Wu.
please remember how early it was. makeup was nonexistent
ahoy, matey
I will leave you with this:
Steve: What did you buy? Johnny Wu?
Me: Jason Wu.
Steve: Oh. I was trying to tell my mom I couldn’t remember.
Five minutes later:
Steve: What was it? Johnny Chow? Jason Lee?
Ugh. Men. Good thing I didn’t ask him to scour the Internet for me after all. I would have ended up with a black cat drawn on a t-shirt in Sharpie with “Johnny Chow” on the label.
omg omg omg.
There are so many other more pressing things to write about right now. But I just came across this beauty on Us Weekly and I couldn’t resist.
I read about this story a few days ago online. Etta James finally passed away, which prompted many self absorbed songstresses to wax poetic about how much she inspired them, how she paved the way for them, blah blah blah. I am certainly not doubting James’ contribution to the music industry, what I am doubting is attention whores like Christina and Beyonce who claim that she did so much for them and then make spectacles of themselves while singing her songs. Remember when Beyonce sang “At Last” while the Obama’s shared a dance at the Inauguration party? My favorite part about that whole story is how pissed James’ was that Beyonce was chosen to sing her song while she was STILL ALIVE.
Unfortunately, now that she has passed, no one will be able to stop the likes of X-tina and Blue Ivy’s mom from screeching out her classics for the next 50 years. Well it’s already begun, as Christina Aguilera performed her most popular song in front of hundreds at a memorial service for James in L.A. Like I said, I read about this a few days ago on my EW app, so the article and picture were teeny tiny. So imagine my surprise when I signed on to usweekly.com for my after-work celeb night cap, and I see this:
stay cool. nobody’s looking down there anyway
For a good five minutes I was just staring at this picture in disbelief that she felt that this was the most appropriate ensemble to wear to a funeral. Nothing says “I’m so sorry for your loss” like forgetting your blouse. I have to say though, I think the rosary beads smushed between her suffocating bosoms really class up the whole look.
It wasn’t until I read the accompanying article that I realized that something else was going on in this photo. If you look closely at her lower half, there is something happening down there that isn’t quite right. It appears that some sort of brownish liquid is literally running down her legs. But Christina is a professional, and instead of excusing herself and politely scrubbing her legs clean with scratchy church restroom paper towels, she just kept on belting out like nothing was happening.
So what is this mysterious oozing substance? “Insiders” are claiming she was nervous and sweaty, therefore streaking her spray tan. Either that, or she lost track of her cycle and unexpectedly was paid a visit by her Aunt Flo.
Luckily for Christina (and us), her next gig requires her to do nothing but push a button in a giant chair, which gives her almost no way to embarrass herself. But I’m sure she’ll find a way. After all she’s a Figh-teerrrrr!
i’m not fat. it just made my skin a little bit thicker
Once again, I have gotten a little behind in my blogging as of late. Between the holidays and my recent excursion to Canada (more on that later), I have been emotionally unavailable in the blogging sense. I wanted to make my triumphant return in honor of my favorite time of year: Awards Season. However, due to my not so well timed wedding anniversary (which I totally didn’t take into account when picking the wedding date last year), I found myself trudging through the Arctic tundra on a day I normally reserve for parking it on my sectional and observing six uninterrupted hours of E! coverage of the 69th Annual Golden Globes ceremony. In effort to you know, stay married, I willingly decided to forgo watching the awards and instead enjoyed a very fancy meal with my husband of one year. And by willingly, I mean there was absolutely no other option as I couldn’t find the Globes on any Canadian stations (not even in French!) and said husband refused to pay $14.95 a day for wi fi.
So I was forced to fanatically check my phone in between courses in search of any clue as to what gowns my favorite stars were sporting. That proved to no avail, so I had to wait until Tuesday when we returned to the States to finally watch the show. And I have to say, I was completely… underwhelmed.
I’m going to let you in on a little secret: while I am utterly fascinated by award shows, I could almost care less as to who actually wins any of them, unless it’s someone that I’m obsessed with. I barely even see any of the films or television shows that are nominated because things like Teen Mom and Step Up 2 Da Streets rarely get the recognition they deserve. It’s not that I don’t want to, but I never feel like I have time and half of them are scary violent. I am, however, infatuated with the fashions. Now I know this is a little late, but I couldn’t resist a Globes fashion wrap up, especially because I felt that many of the ladies left much to be desired this year.
Let’s start with my absolute FAVES:
l to r: helen mirren, paula patton, nicole kidman, sofia vergara
First of all, let’s just start off by saying that Helen Mirren is a goddess. This is type of woman you look at and wonder if you should rethink selling your soul to the devil in order to age as she has, despite any moral oppositions you may have once had. I hands down will fight anyone that doesn’t think that the other Divine Miss M was the best dressed person that night. And by fight I mean exchange in a nasty digital discourse via the Internet. Paula Patton I loved not only because I think she is so physically beautiful, but because she was one of so few who took a chance on color. I would so much rather see someone take a chance and miss than see 20 women plotz down the carpet in black and white (but more on that later). I’m going to be honest, I’m not totally sure why she’s even there but after taking a look at this dress, I’ve decided it doesn’t actually matter. She could be pulling a Michaele Salahi and I would be like “you go, girl!” Plus I’m sure as long as she brings her husband, she’s pretty much welcome everywhere. Nicole Kidman is normally not one of my faves. First of all, I think she is B-ORING, and I feel like she has been dressing that way for the past 10 years. She’s been showing up in some real disasters as of late. But this Versace number fit her so well and finally merged the I have an Academy Award/I married a rock star look that I feel like she has been striving for and continuously missing. Last but not least, Gloria Pritchett herself, Sofia Vergara. I’m going to say, teal is not one of my favorites, but again, a standout color and perfect shaping. That woman should probably get all her clothes tailored to be mermaid style- I’m talking nightgowns, bathing suits, raincoats- anything that graces her glorious curves. My only baby sized critique is that I absolutely loathe stick straight hair at awards shows, weddings, proms, pretty much anything fancy in general. I wish there was just a slight curl at the ends just to give it a touch more of glamour.
l to r: tina fey, kate beckinsale, laura dern, diane lane
Tina Fey is an all around funny lady and one of my favorite people. I say that like I know her because I feel like I do. Anyone who reads her books, watches 30 Rock, or has generally been obsessed with her since age 13 feels like they do as well. Tina is an every woman who just happens to be ten times more funny and successful than anyone you know ever will be. However, she is pretty much terrible at choosing award show gowns, which is crazy because she wins all the time and should be a little more prepared. She always looks like she’s not quite sure why she is there, and her look often expresses that she may have been invited by accident. I put her at the top of my list because I finally felt like she wore something that is worthy of how awesome and famous she is now. I love the drama of her skirt, but that she still looks like herself with her slightly wavy Liz Lemon hair. Yes, her skirt is about 5 inches too long and spending more time cleaning the red carpet than floating atop it, but I think more than anyone she deserves some sort of “most improved” award. Kate Beckinsale is one that made me scratch my head and wonder, “why is she here?” Seriously, can you name the last Kate Beckinsale movie you saw? I can, and it’s Brokedown Palace. And I had to IMDB it just to remember the name, because it’s from 1999. Being barely famous apparently gives her plenty of time to get ready, because she is a red carpet all-star. She always looks amazing and she has the best hair. Like, hair commercial hair. I’m not even sure if there’s anything particularly spectacular about this dress, but she just makes everything look so damn good that I a little bit hate her. Laura Dern is another that I know basically nothing about, but I do know that she is a tall drink of water that looks amazing in green. Seriously, green?! Green is not easy to wear. Unless you’re Amy Adams. Laura is so lanky and tall that I think this dress compliments her figure really well without making her look like scary skinny oh my God please take my sandwich. I feel like she resembles a very glamorous mermaid, which I sort of love. And Diane Lane, who has been doing this FOREVER (she’s been acting since she was 14, and she 46- hot damn!) still looks amazing and is wearing something glitzy and fun, but still age appropriate.
Okay, now we’re starting to head into lukewarm territory. I’d like to bring you a very special category:
l to r: viola davis, maya rudolph, octavia spencer, stacy kiebler
These ladies all look lovely. That’s it, really. Not bad. Just… pretty. It could be worse, right?
l to r: angelina jolie, claire danes, salma hayek, charlize theron
I don’t know, I feel like according to the rest of the world, I’m supposed to be impressed by these four, but in real life, I’m just like eh? Once again, Angelina Jolie physically looks amazing, but does she have to be so damn icy all the time? I feel like someone was like, “so Ange, we’ve gotten some feedback that you’re super unapproachable and most humans fear if they look directly into your eyes, they will turn to stone. Could you lighten it up a bit for the Globes?” So she threw on this silvery frock with a red dinner napkin pinned to the top for maximum scary tattoo coverage. All I think she succeeded in doing is ripping off Reese Witherspoon’s retro Barbie look from last years Oscars, and NOT WELL. Barbie may have a perpetual heeled foot, but one thing she definitely does not have is a large stick up her ass. I don’t feel like I can say the same for Angie. Everyone is kind of obsessing over Claire Danes, and I just felt like she was so blah in this black and white J. Mendel gown that overly accentuated her little boy shape. I’m really surprised that no one inside the Hilton mistook her for a waiter. Also, I think her red lips are too red for her pale skin, further accentuated by her hair being totally pulled back. I may be partially biased- her nude glitter gown from last year’s Emmy’s ranks as one of my favorite award show ensembles OF ALL TIME. Salma Hayek I have almost nothing to say about, except that I think she got this dress from a closeout sale from the set of 300. And Charlize Theron… this gown makes me have multiple personality disorder. First because it is the mullet of designer gowns, and second because I love it one minute and despise it the next. Quit playing games with my heart, Charlize!
This is where I start to feel sad:
l to r: melissa mccarthy, mila kunis, reese witherspoon, shailene woodley
I have to say something. I know this is awful, but I can’t stop thinking it. I can’t not say it. How did not one person that works for Melissa McCarthy tell her that this dress makes her look like Princess Fiona from Shrek?! This has nothing, NOTHING, to do with her size. It’s the fact that she’s in a shapeless green frock that looks like it belongs with swamp people. When I look at it fast I feel like I can see little green ears poking out through her hair. Why, why, why?! And MIla Kunis. What is it with her? Is she an exhibitionist? I feel like at every award show, I almost see her boob. I don’t need to see her boob. I need her to stand up straight and smile a little bit. Girl wasn’t nominated for anything this year, so why not get drunk and just have a good time?! But my Reese. My dear, dear Reese Witherspoon. She is my everything in the celebrity world. She is the person I bring pictures of to my hairdresser. I have every movie she’s ever been in, except for the creepy one with Mark Wahlberg where he tries to kill her. I LOVE HER. But I just don’t get this gown. I think the color is amazing and more blondes should try it. But the fit is SO BAD. She’s 5’2!! And I hate to say it, but I’m not loving the beach hair with a formal red gown. Sigh. I’m depressed. And Shailene Woodley… a first time nominee, who should be so excited just to get the hell away from ABC Family, hang out with Clooney and Stacy and she got to go to Hawaii for all those months! When I look at her, all I can see is boob sagging. This dress belongs on someone 15 years her senior whose boobs just stay up, like a Real Housewife or something.
l to r: kate winslet, rooney mara, amy poehler, julianna moore
Sorry, I forgot to write anything. I took one look at these and fell asleep. My bad.
l to r: freida pinto, natalie portman, madonna, michelle williams
I feel like all these dresses have qualities that I find to be totally weird but are really high fashion and I just don’t get them. Well… I don’t. Freida Pinto looks like she needed extra room to smuggle a few more of those kids from Slumdog that everyone claimed were homeless despite being child actors. Natalie Portman was going to help the cause as well, but half assed it with only one side. Madonna‘s medieval breasts make me feel like I am being choked just looking at her. And somewhere, Michelle Williams‘ grandmother is being rustled awake by the flaming hot sun, as her bedroom curtains have been stolen.
l to r: lea michele, emma stone, tilda swinton, zooey deschanel
Lea Michele decided to go awfully hard despite being part of a show that was nominated for almost nothing. Like this is a look that you can tell required serious effort, for which seems a little unwarranted when there is the promise of little to no screen time. From what I’ve heard, it’s extremely difficult to hold up a suit of armor for 8 hours, and girl’s a vegan. Her bones seem brittle. I feel like if any comment I’m going to be criticized for, it’s Emma Stone. While I love her, I thought this dress was UG-LY. She is so fun and vivacious, and I just think this dress is a downer. It’s so dark and dreary, it looks like it belong at a Twilight themed prom. And David Bowie… I mean Tilda Swinton, well… I’m just shocked it’s in a skirt. Zooey Deschanel‘s dress sort of made me smile at first, however I quickly changed my mind upon discovering her new sideburns.
l to r: jessica biel, meryl streep, sarah michelle gellar, piper perabo
Everyone was making a huge deal about Jessica Biel being there because they were wondering if she was going to reveal her supposed engagement ring from JT. While we still don’t have a confirmation from anyone besides his grandma, it appears that Jessica has no intention of getting married anytime this century, as exhibited by this awful Victorian inspired Elie Saab number. The big joke during the real show was that Meryl Streep forgot her glasses and couldn’t read her acceptance speech on stage. Number one: how does she lose her glasses if she has pockets, and number two: did she lose the glasses before she got dressed? This dress just makes me want to throw her into a mechanical bull pit and eat barbeque ribs, which just screams “glamour.” Sarah Michelle Gellar threw her family under a bus by confessing that her awful paint like tapestry thing was picked out by her two year old, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she designed and created this masterpiece as well. And last but not least, Piper Perabo, whom I always held a place for as the star of one of my all time favorite movies (if you don’t know which one, we’re not friends) and my celebrity doppleganger, brought the crazy to the carpet wearing a parachute.
Now that that’s over, we’re on to bigger and better things. Like… THE OSCARS. I’m giddy just thinking about it.
Until next time,
~L
I had no idea when I composed my first tree post that it would be my most read blog entry EVER. Seeing as I am still relatively new to the (consistent) blogging world, I am hoping that this is just the beginning of a beautiful friendship with you, the readers. However, I am also faced with the fear that all my posts must now feature my arch rival, because that seems to be the thing that people really care about. Which means that I probably will have to live with this thing longer than I had hoped. Which is my Christmas nightmare realized.
I have gotten many request for “after” photos of the tree, so here they are. Better late then never, but there was a slight hold up, as my people had to work out an arrangement with The Tree’s legal team in order to be able to publish this post.
So without further ado, I give you… The Tree! And some other holiday decor from yours truly.
enough lights to guide the wise men
So after getting the tree in an upright position finally inside our apartment, I was so… shall we say, peeved, at what a monstrosity it was, that I spent the first few days of our relationship in a bitter standoff. I tried to avoid looking at it, but it was impossible seeing as you can see it no matter where you stand in our apartment. So instead, I avoided decorating it. However, Steve was nice enough to put the lights on so I could spend as minimal amount of time on it as possible. However, this process lasted for many days because every time it seemed like there were enough lights, he ended up right back at Walmart in need of additional strands. I think we ended up with like 4 total.
Finally, it was time to start decorating. Steve wanted to do the honors of placing the first ornament, so we had a small ceremony:
like raising the banner, only smaller. and with less toothless canadians
oh christmas b’s, oh christmas b’s
After that, we spent the next 4 hours trimming the rest of the tree. Fortunately, between the two of us, we have a plethora of ornaments. Steve’s mom gave him at least one Christmas ornament every year of his life, and I have a shopping problem/snowflake obsession that has resulted in my purchasing many ornaments as well as receiving every possible snowflake ornament that exists. Also, I inherited my grandmother’s precious Barbie collection, so we have a very random mix of things happening on The Tree. However, this was one time that my love of oversized decor came in handy, as I have many things like this:
not going to lie, i was a little worried the tree would think this was a triscuit
Like I said, hours later we finally had a (semi) covered tree.
i know, i’m worried about the open flames too
Now I realize that upon looking at this photo, this seems like a perfectly normal, nice, unsuspecting Christmas tree. Before you start to think that I am making a big deal about nothing, here’s another pic that helps to put everything in perspective:
the leaning tower of tree-sa
If we break this down into a numbers thing, you can clearly see that The Tree takes up ONE THIRD of the entire apartment. I had to stand on a chair in our makeshift “dining area” just to even capture this photo.
I think the thing that bothers me the most is not just that The Tree is genetically enhanced and taking over our home. Okay, that’s exactly what it is. You see, last year we had a very small, very chic purple couch from my single girl days (well not really “single,” just not living with a boy) and post-wedding, we upgraded to a larger, more comfortable but less fashionable sectional. Unfortunately, this is now how much room you have to get into our supposed dining area. If you can’t tell from this photo, it’s approximately 6 inches.
let the corner wearing on the couch begin. who needs children to ruin furniture?
Luckily, I eat all my meals at the coffee table anyway due to its proximity to my only friend in the apartment now, my television.
This is how much space there is when you enter the apartment to get to the living room. Not as bad as the latter, but not really anything to write home about either.
even the nativity scene looks miniature in comparison
This tree made me realize many things.
1. I hate trees.
2. We need a bigger tree topper.
sometimes, size does matter
I used to love my glittery snowflake topper that I scored at Walmart five years ago for $4. Sure, it’s not an heirloom or anything but it’s better than a giant lit up star or a scary angel (no offense to any of your tree toppers, religious or otherwise. I just think a lot of those angels resemble creepy porcelain dolls whose eyes are following you around the room). This thing is just so dinky now in comparison to Andre the Giant and I every time I look at it, I feel like I am being mocked by it’s small-ness.
Like I said, we have quite the mixed bag when it comes to ornaments. But unless your super rich or are dead inside, your Christmas tree is supposed to be a mix of things you collect over the years that mean something to you. And this is coming from me, who is so obsessed with things matching that I only let white hangers live in my closet, where they are concealed by a door… that is shut.
Last year, I gave Steve this gem in his stocking. Luckily, John is never lonely as he has many lovely ladies to hang out with around with.
the duke & the barbie. a forbidden love story
As for the rest of the apartment, I waited until Steve went to work before I really dug into my bag of Christmas tricks. As far as I’m concerned, this tree is his fault, so I get to decorate with as many silvery, pointed objects as I want.
oh deer
I am also taking advantage of the season and pretending that the red chairs/green wall combo in my dining area was on purpose, and not that I have been forbidden to buy my own chairs so we borrowed chairs from Uncle Peter that happen to be red and everything else in our place is green and purple. So basically it’s Christmas, all year long. But we’re going to say it’s intentional.
oh christmas chairs, oh christmas chairs?
this reindeer has been hanging for a month. steve noticed it today.
notice on the left, the tree trying to eek into the picture. sneaky treeSo there you have it. We’ve survived a month so far, and thankfully, The Tree is coming down before we leave for our 1st anniversary trip next week. I am sure the takedown alone will warrant it’s own post, so stay tuned. Eventually, I will triumph over this thing and get my life back. And then we can talk more about 2012 and resolutions and things of that nature. First on my list? Not to lose my longstanding battle with the flora of New England.
While I have been checking the mail anxiously all month for Christmas cards from my friends and family, finally the most important one showed up today. Okay, so it wasn’t sent to me personally, but Kim Kardashian posted the pics on her website, which is basically the same thing.
In case you have a moral obligation against actually clicking on something that is part of the Kardashian brand, this is said card photo:
I know what you’re thinking. This is the epitome of everything that is wrong with America. Those cats in that Sarah Mclachlan commercial need just 60 cents a day just to survive, and this family probably shelled out six figures in an attempt to look like extras from a Vogue shoot. I don’t even want to think about what the total was for the lighting, styling, and pre-Christmas card facelifts in order the get this photo.
But if you saw their card last year, you know that this is not out of the ordinary for the over-exposed Klan. They’ve been putting out ridiculous holiday cards for years. For example, 2010:
um, bruce? bruce? look over here. yep, right here. someone call bruce, please
Now even back in the day, the Kardashians were working the whole mixed family giant cheesy card photos. But they still look like a semi normal family, whereas they just look miserable now because you know the women have been starving themselves just to get into their sample size Pucci gowns. I mean, look at this picture at tell me this is not what Christmas cards are all about?!
it’s 2011. do you know where your children are, bruce?
I’m not going to lie, I have a few family Christmas photos that slightly resemble this myself. The Christmas card was a big deal in my family, complete with a 3 month planning stage, a day long photo shoot and then a few more agonizing hours of selecting the actual picture where we would argue about who looked the best in which photos. There was usually a theme with some sort of coordinating outfits, followed by a whitty poetic verse that my mother created.
no, this is not a gap ad. but thank you
But these newfangled Kardashian Kards are just taking awkward family photos to a whole new extreme. It was one thing last year to put out this highly stylized holiday greeting, but why would you continue this level of craziness in 2011 when everyone in the world can’t stop talking about hot self-centered and overexposed you are?! Also, I would love to know what the time frame was for this photo shoot. Did they do this in October like we used to? Was Kris Humphries part of the mockup? I would love to know if he was originally a part of this and then Photoshopped out. It’s totally possible, as even the blind can tell that the Kardashian’s love themselves some retouching.
To make matters worse (please, hold onto your dinner for this one), this card is actually also viewable with 3D glasses, which I’m sure you can purchase for $14.95 at Dash. Well Kardashians, on this one, the Scalera’s have you beat, as our 2002 card featured an actual piece of flannel tied through the card to make it look like we were wearing scarves.
Also, do you think it’s weird that Kourtney and Scott don’t put out their own card even though they have a child and another on the way? Or Khloe and Lamar? Or Kim and her ass? Do you think that Kris Jenner has them all contractually obligated to appear in the family Christmas card through 2050? And most importantly, what year exactly did the Jenner children get excommunicated? So.many.questions.
All I can say is, that is not a Christmas card. This is a Christmas card:
actual caption: we’re never too busy to wish you a merry christmas
I know that everyone is sitting on the edge of their seats to see a picture of our genetically altered tree in all its decorated glory, however I must digress for this entry because I absolutely have got to share about my recent run in with the law.
Before you jump to conclusions, know that I went to court for a hearing to dispute a ticket for not having my car registered FROM AUGUST. Although I would have loved to have had the chance to “plead the fifth” or “handle the truth,” it was not at all glitz or glamor as the 15 different versions of Law & Order would have you believe it to be.
Back on this fateful Friday night at the end of August, I got pulled over in Holliston on my way home from work. When the police officer asked me why I was pulled over I had no idea, as it was physically impossible for me to be speeding on Main Street, USA. He informed me that my registration was expired and that technically he should have my car towed because it’s illegal to drive an unregistered vehicle (I love how they tell you all the things they “could do” just to make girls like me start crying, like the time a police officer told me he “could” have me arrested for driving in MA with my NH license that was no longer valid because I didn’t live there anymore).
It was then that I realized that I wasn’t a moron, I did know that my registration was expired. It slowly started to come to me… I remembered Steve saying something about going to get my car registered, but he couldn’t for some reason… because something wasn’t done right… the inspection? Had my car not passed? Well yeah, that also happened but it was something else…
“You have an outstanding Fast Lane violation you haven’t paid yet,” said Officer Intimidation.
Ugh. Now I remembered. Steve had been begging me to look into that notice I had gotten for going through the toll without a Speedpass. Only I had a Speedpass, so I was convinced I was innocent and saw no reason to actually contact them. They would figure it out.
He was nice enough to “let me go” with my illegal car, but still issued me a $100 ticket, and then told me that I was too honest telling him the whole story about my husband begging me to pay the violation so he could register my car and that that was the only reason it wasn’t registered and I was so so SO sorry and I would go home and do it right away but it’s Friday and I don’t think I can do it online this late at night and I have to work all weekend so I have to drive my car but what if I get pulled over again? I was so confused- hadn’t I been taught my whole life by my parents, teachers and other generally decent human beings that it was always better to tell the truth than to tell a lie? Was he fining me for my registration being outdated or taking up too much of his time truthtelling?
Just to put me more into shock, he told me that although he was giving me a ticket, I should appeal it and appear in court and LIE and tell them I didn’t know it was expired and they would drop the fine. This really confused me because if the whole point of all of this is to get them to drop it, shouldn’t you just not give me a ticket right now and save all of us the extra time and paperwork?!
So cut to four months later, I’m due to appear in court for my hearing at 11:15. So naturally I start panicking at 9:00. My first dilemma was, what to wear? How does one dress for a traffic hearing? My goal was to look nice enough that they could tell I wasn’t a delinquent but not so nice that I looked like I had enough disposable income to afford a $100 ticket. But I was weary of overdressing and looking like I was trying too hard to look innocent. I settled on dark jeans, black ankle boots, and longish white tank and a cropped black jacket with pearl detailing on the edges.
I headed over to the Framingham District Courthouse an hour early. From what I’ve heard, these things take an insanely long time and it helps to be punctual. But of course it was POURING. Not just like raining, but like movie rain hose from the sky pouring. Luckily I had my Gap trench and new clear bubble umbrella to chicly shield me from the weather, however parking was another story.
When I pulled up to the lot, it appeared that not only was it full, there was a sign that said “Employes Only.” Weird, I thought. How could that many people work in this small building? And where is everyone else supposed to park? I continued on, circling the perimeter of the building. The street adjacent to the courthouse appeared to serve as additional parking, but the sign said there was a parking ban that only permitted people to park on the odd side of the street. I looked around. People were clearly parked on both sides of the street! I knew I couldn’t take my chances and inched into a space on the odd side. Parking on the incorrect side of the streets and ignoring the signs when it’s clearly marked is something that only happens to you once. Or in my case, twice.
After my minor parking dilemma, I tried to mentally prepare myself with my story for when I took the stand. At this point I was about a half an hour early and still feeling okay, until I realized that my two index fingers had NO nail polish on them all, while my other eight digits were polished with shiny red glitter. I forgot that were majorly chipped yesterday and I peeled them off with the intention to repaint them prior to my hearing. This did not look good. If having an unkempt manicure isn’t a sign of disorganization I don’t know what is. Good thing I always carry a small bottle of nail polish remover with me in my little purse emergency kit.
BUT IT WAS GLITTER! Red glitter. It took me a solid 15 minutes to get all of it off. Now I would only be 15 minutes early. Also I smelled like rubbing alcohol. What if the judge thought I was ingesting it in order to flush illegal narcotics out of my system to pass a drug test? I hear that’s what the kids are doing these days.
And what was I going to do with all the nail polish remover soaked tissues? I couldn’t leave them in my car. It would ruin my new car smell. I didn’t see any trash cans in sight and there was no way I was going to litter because it’s totally against my beliefs. Also there were tons of cops around, but that’s besides the point. I figured I would just have to put them in pocket and throw them away inside.
I hustled down the sidewalk to get into the building, getting splashed by giant waves of water with every car that passed by. Nice. I rushed into the building only to be confronted by a giant body scanner/metal detector thing. Were they serious? I plunked my oversized purse down on the conveyor belt and stepped through, setting off the detector immediately. I couldn’t believe it. In all the years since I became a bionic woman (i.e. had a titanium rod put in my back) I have never set off a metal detector, even though there have been a few times I wanted to for some strange reason. “It’s probably your shoes,” the security guard said. Fat chance, I wanted to tell him, as I buy pretty much all my shoes at Payless and they are clearly plastic.
So I had to stand there with my arms and legs spread as he waved that little wand around me, while his buddy over at the machine informed me he had to check my purse. Of course he has to check my purse. It was then I realized that in my state of frantic nail polish removal that I had torn through my bag, leaving it completely disheveled and unorganized. As he started poking around, I could clearly make out that my bag seemed to be exploding tampons everywhere. Not only were there feminine hygiene products in plain sight, but I seemed to be hoarding all of my electronic devices in my bag as well. “Just make sure you keep that camera inside your bag when you’re in there,” he warned. Right, because this was a day I really wanted to remember. Also, my laptop cord was hanging out, which I was pretty sure he was going to consider it a weapon and confiscate it. For some reason he let me go, and even offered to hold my sopping wet umbrella for me.
He told me to head up the stairs to registration for my paperwork. What was this, freshman orientation? They were the ones who told me to be there at a certain time. Weren’t they just expecting me? I raced up the cold metal staircase and found myself in a bustling courthouse like you see on TV dramas. The floors were marble, which only exaggerated how many people were rushing around there as you could hear every step they took. Every office had one of those wooden doors with the big glass windows on them.
After finding my way through registration, the woman told me to head up to the second floor. But I had already went up a flight of stairs to get here. Aren’t I on the second floor now? Whatever, I didn’t want to ask anyone, as nobody seemed particularly friendly.
Finally I made it to the second floor even though I was convinced I was really on the third floor. Maybe this is one of the ways they get inside your head and break you down so you confess. I took a seat in front of hearing room 4 and awaited my fate. But I couldn’t stop myself from staring at everybody who walked by, wondering what horrible things they have done to end up here.
It was then I realized I still had all those tissues in my pockets. I scanned the room for a trash can, trying to stand as close to it as possible in order to minimize people witnessing me tossing out multiple red stained tissues, which I had just realized probably didn’t do much to convince anyone of my innocence.
The sign on the door said “Quiet- Court In Session,” but the building was so echoey there was no way I would be able to hear my name called. Oh God, I realized, I have to pee. I always have to pee when I get nervous. But it was already 11:10. What if I missed my time and was automatically found guilty? I would just have to hold it.
A woman leaned to take a drink at the water fountain beside me. I looked over and she was wearing handcuffs. HANDCUFFS. She was in a total mom sweater and looked like someone that would bake cookies for your local PTA. Hardly seemed like a criminal, but was being escorted by a police officer nonetheless. She was still smiling though! This place was insane.
Across from me, an elderly gentleman was being spoken to by an attorney about whether he meant to intentionally steal something from someone. He looked like he could have been my grandfather. Oh dear God, please get me out of here, I begged in my head.
It was then I noticed that a bunch of other people seemed to have lawyers accompanying them into their hearings as their names were called. For traffic hearings? Was I supposed to get a lawyer? Or should I have been studying up these past four months with online law courses to learn how to defend myself a la Bringing Down the House?
I started to feel lightheaded. Probably from inhaling all that nail polish remover in the car, but I was beginning to debate booking it out of there and just paying the $100 fine.
Everyone that was there was on opposite sides of the wardrobe spectrum. There was not one person who was in the middle (except for me, of course). People were either decked out in sweatpants and Ocean State Job Lot athletic sweatshirts or they were in full suits. There was one guy in a navy suit with an aggressively green dress shirt that made him look like the Joker. Not a great way to prove you’re not a criminal, buddy.
Oh jeez, now a baby is crying. This had to be what hell feels like.
Finally, my name was called. I grabbed my stuff and bolted into the room, which looked oddly like an academic classroom in an old building. There was no bench, no judge, no jury- not at all like what I was expecting. Just me, a police office and a clerk sitting at a desk.
As the officer read my offense, I tried to remind myself in my head what my story was. Don’t say too much, I reminded myself. Don’t tell the truth, the whole truth so help you God. Just say, “I didn’t know.”
“So did you fix this online?” the officer asked after he finished reading.
“Yes,” I said. “I tried to do it that night but it was Friday so they wouldn’t let me do anything until Mon-“
“So it’s all set then.”
“Um yes. It was all set on Monday. And I ended up getting a new car like a week later so I had to reregister anyway.” Too much?!
“Well then,” he said. “Aren’t new cars nice?” Wait, was he mocking me? It almost sounded like he was implying I was a spoiled housewife who was just sitting around, waiting for her husband to buy her a new Bentley. I had to defend myself against his unfair judgements!
“Yeah but it wasn’t just like, a new car, I mean, I really needed it. It’s the first new car I’ve ever had. My old car was almost 11 years-“
“Okay you’re all set. You can go.”
“Oh. That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
And just like that, it was over. After days of preparing my alibi, selecting the most court-worthy ensemble, and having mini panic attacks for the past 3 hours, I was a free woman. I flew out of that courthouse, grabbed my umbrella, and got the hell out of there. And I vowed never to return.
So the moral of the story is, stay on top of your crap. Don’t end up a cautionary tale like me. And apparently, lying to a police officer is okay.
So by now you’ve all heard the beginning of the story of us picking out our first tree as man and wife. If you haven’t heard it, I guess we’re not really friends. If you would like to fix that and get back in my good graces again, you can catch up on it here.
When we last left, our heroine Lindsay had finally selected her perfect tree cutting ensemble. She thought this would be the most difficult part of an otherwise happy occasion. She would soon find out how easy she had it when the hardest thing she had to do was hunt down the perfect red flannel.
Ahhh I can’t write like that. Third person is not my friend. Anywho…
So Steve and I woke bright and early (um like 8:30- yikes) on Thursday morning so we could head up to New Hampshire to select our first fir. Why NH, you ask, when we live in Massachusetts and are completely surrounded by trees? Well I’ll tell you, my friends. Steve is something of a tree elitist. A treelitist, if you will. He has been picking out trees in the rolling forests of NH for years for his family, and has always considered them to be superior to all other New England trees. Being a NH born citizen myself, I completely understand viewing the state as a mecca of all things nature and mountainy, however it’s a slight inconvenience when you live an hour and ten minutes from even its most southern border (which Steve doesn’t even thing qualifies as “real” NH and refers to it as Northern MA). But this was going to be a special occasion- when else in our lives would we ever pick out our first tree? You know, other than the one we had last year. Our first married tree. Not that we’re marrying the tree. You get what I’m saying.
If I was going to be getting up that early on a day off and spending a majority of it outdoors traipsing around a farm, I was going to need some sort of compensation. Steve really had his heart set on a tree farm in Portsmouth and I knew immediately what my bargaining tool would be:
mmmmmmmmmmmmmm
The Friendly Toast is one of my favorite places. I got chocolate milk and cinnamon raisin French toast. I don’t remember what Steve had but he seemed happy about it, despite the fact it was cutting into our woodsy time.
doesn’t he look like he would fit in at a truck stop?
After taking what felt like 4 years to get our check, we finally were on our way to Tonry’s Tree Farm where all of Steve’s Christmas dreams would be coming true. We had spent a little time in downtown Portsmouth, so by the time we got there it was almost 1:00. In my head I had hoped we’d be back by 1:00 so we could start decorating. However, if you know us you know that timing isn’t exactly one of our strong points as a couple. But I let it go, because there were acres and acres of tree farm to be combed and we essentially had the place to ourselves, because let’s face it- who else is going to hit up a tree farm at 1:00 on a Thursday?!
All the little areas of the farm had names. I was hoping our tree would come from this one:
this is where all the sexy trees hang out
But alas, it wasn’t happening for us in the Vixen Field. In fact, none of the trees in any of the 20 million fields were doing anything for us. Because all of the good ones were tagged. Tagged! December 1st! All the nice normal tree shaped trees had already been claimed by happy families just sitting at home while we were out in the trenches picking through their left overs. I started to get bitter. Steve just kept finding tree after tree that he thought was “perfect.” Like this one:
fat bottomed tree, you make the rocking world go round
Now I’m aware that people tag trees. We had this same issue last year when we slummed it picking out our tree in Rhode Island. But I really thought that was because we were so late getting one. I never imagined that in a place with this many trees that so many of them would already be claimed.
And not just claimed. Claimed and decorated. The tags I saw last year were just little red tickets with people’s last names on them. Apparently, in NH, they don’t mess around. I mean, they do live free or die. Apparently they live so free that they decorate trees that AREN’T EVEN ALL THE WAY THEIRS YET as you only need 10% down to claim your tree. Tree layaway, is what it is. Treeaway. I can’t believe none of these tree farmers have capitalized on any of these terms yet.
Some trees just had like, red tacky bows from the dollar store on them. Others went all out, with themes and everything. Like this one:
how embarassing
There were others that really wanted you to know how proud they were of their roots. GET IT?! Roots?
hey, I think this tree belongs to someone
By this point, I started to think awful thoughts.
Me: How much would I have to pay you to take off one of these tags?
Steve: Stop it. Karma will get you. And Christmas karma is worse.
Me: Whatever.
If you’ve ever gone shopping with my husband, you know ahead of time to set aside at least 5 hours or else you will end up having to cancel the rest of your plans that day. I knew it would be a long day, because he takes 2 hours to pick out a pair of sneakers, so I could only imagine how long it would take for something that we would have to look at every day in our home for a month. I still was not prepared to walk around every field of that damn tree farm twice.
The weather was deceivingly nice for December 1st- no clouds, blue skies, sunshine. Because of this I felt it unnecessary to bring gloves or a hat. During the first hour I was like “eh, there’s a slight nip in the air, but no biggie.” At first, I actually thought it was weird to be picking out a tree when it had been like 60 degrees the day before. But by hour two… I was dying. I instantly began to regret every decision I had made that day, starting with wearing my brown heeled books. I was sinking into the wet, mushy grass as I walked up and down the same hills four times because we had to revisit tree candidates that we weren’t sure about. I could barely keep the snot from dripping out of my nose and my eyes were watering so much, it looked like I had an emotional breakdown when I finally left the farm that day. But let’s get back to how we finally selected “the tree.”
Earlier in our travels, we had both spotted a tree that had somehow grown like 4 feet off the ground. We both commented on it’s nice shape and kept moving.
But later, as we were nearing the 3:00 mark, we walked by said tree again and started seriously considering this as a our potential tree. It was hard to tell exactly how big it was, giving that the actual tree part started so high and the cold had killed most of of my critical thinking abilities. Steve tried to measure the tree from the bottom of the branches up to see if it would fit.
an optical illusion…?
Since we had no idea how tall the ceilings were, we had to call the apartment complex to check. 9 feet exactly! Using the oldest measuring tape in the world, Steve deduced that the tree was about 8 feet tall. We started to think we were in business.
So after much deliberation we decided it was time to cut.
I wasn’t prepared to do any actual sawing, but still felt the need to stage a photo in my outfit and all:
take that, l.l.- bean, not cool j
But being a lady lumberjack is not all fun. It’s hard work too.
i’m not cut out for this
So Steve jumped in.
By this time I was starting to go a little cray cray in the brain. I was so overcome with emotion and hypothermia that I almost took it out on the tree:
this tree knows who is in charge
But then it was time to get the thing on top of the car. Fortunately, my husband spared me this and let me stay in the car with the heat on, sitting on my hands hoping to regain feeling in them again.
i pulled the rope. my only contribution to this part besides capturing it on film
Finally, it was time to head home. We said goodbye to the tree farm and I silently hoped to never return again.
note that is is now almost dark
Needless to say, we didn’t get home until almost 7:00. Also, I was so full from my breakfast that I hadn’t had anything else to eat that day. We left the tree on top of the car and relaxed for 2.2 seconds while we tried to figure out a plan of attack.
Steve had called his friend Mark on the way home to ask him to help us get the tree upstairs, because clearly I am of no use at all when it comes to lifting heavy things covered in sap.
Yet when we got home, Mark didn’t pick up his phone. After calling repeatedly, Steve was overcome with the desire to get the tree inside NOW. So for the second year in a row, he threw the tree on top of his back and carried it up 3 FLIGHTS OF STAIRS.
Finally Mark showed up and the men began to assess the situation. There may have been maps, blueprints and other specs to figure out where exactly the tree was going to go.
tool time
It wasn’t until the tree was inside that we really started to question the size of it. I mean, we knew it was tall, but how did it suddenly double in width? Had it grown on the way home?
We couldn’t really determine anything until we saw it standing up in the tree stand.
Did you know that Steve has trouble making decisions? All week he had been debating between two different stands that looked basically identical to me:
twinsies
As the guys had the tree finally standing upright in our 690 sq. ft apartment, it hit me.
This tree is too damn big.
I still don’t even feel like any of these pictures really show how much of a monstrosity this thing is. No matter where we put it, it’s in the middle of our apartment. It’s like we have a third roommate. Besides Mark.
A panic immediately began to set in for me. We were going to have to share our home with this thing for a month. Last year we had so many ornaments between the two of us that you could hardly see the tree anymore. Steve actually looked at this tree and told me, “I don’t think we have enough ornaments.”
Although I should have been happy that he was basically giving me permission to shop (wait, is that not what you got out of that comment?) instead I felt the making of a stroke looming inside me. How are we going to live like this? You have to turn sideways to get around it just to enter the living room, and then once you’re in there you have to do the same thing to get into the dining area. It’s going to shed everywhere. I have already found needles in parts of my apartment that are no where in the vicinity of this tree (although I guess everything in here is now technically in the vicinity of this thing). When Steve emptied the vacuum it looked as if a small baby tree had already formed inside of it.
He could tell I was freaking out.
Steve: I feel like you want to cry right now.
Me: Um, no. I’m fine.
Steve: I think you want to cry but you’re not doing it because Mark is here.
Me: False. I’m just thinking.
Steve: I can tell when you’re upset.
Whether or not he thought I was on the verge of tears, Steve and Mark still deemed it a good time to reward themselves for all the work they did. And that reward was scotch (because you can’t make it home from NH without hitting up a highway liquor store) with a pine garnish. Steve claims the sap enhances the taste.
flannel, pine and scotch. does a man need anything else?
So now, cut to me, living in a forest, which if you know me, is that last place I want to be.
I’m still trying to come to terms with the tree. Steve has volunteered to remove it and try to give it to someone else, but after spending an entire day and $55 on this thing, I don’t feel like that is fair to any of us.
Steve often checks in on me and the tree to see if we are starting to form some sort of bond, as observed by this text just this morning.
Steve: Are you and the tree getting along?
Me: We’re working on our issues.
The tree is now it’s own entity, as if it is a giant person. Steve depicts it as a bully that we are forced to serve in fear of it’s wrath.
Steve: When I woke up in the middle of the night the tree pushed me against the wall and said, “Listen, I want a full sized chicken every night.”
Me: That’s not funny. This tree could kill us.
Steve: When I got home today, the tree was sitting on the couch smoking a cigarette.
Me: Dear God, please stop.
None of this would have happened if we had just gotten the tree that I wanted.
sigh. i miss you
So now my only hope is that somehow, decorations will help tone down the ginormous-ness of this thing in my living room. If you don’t hear form me for 8 days, it’s because I’m still decorating. Or the tree has swallowed me whole, Little Shop of Horrors-style.
Get Snappy
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