Yeah, I Said It

Since lately all my thoughts are experienced in short, ADD-bursts, this is how I will relay them to you:

Marriage
Moments when it’s not exactly helpful to tell your wife you love her? When she’s on her hands and knees cleaning your piss and turd splatters off the toilet bowl. On her day off.

You Know You are Old When…
Well, it finally happened – I am, in fact, too old and too educated to watch MTV. *disclaimer: doesn’t apply to Jersey Shore*

And in case you’re wondering (you’re not – that’s cool – my feelings aren’t hurt) – they DO still play music on MTV. They just run at 2am when all the actual age-appropriate teens are taking a break from hating their parents, dressing inappropriately, and popping their pimples by sleeping, or stumbling in from a pre-weekend bar crawl/Burrito King binge in College Town, USA, while vaguely wondering if they have a quiz in History 101 in the morning. Which begs the question – what exactly am I doing up at this hour?

Things I Could Literally Not Care Less About
1. Charlie Sheen. Seriously, if the guy wants to hole up in his mansion, screw hookers and smoke crack until his lungs collapse, then who are we to judge? I say let him have at it, and then maybe – fingers crossed – "Two and a Half Men" will finally just go away.

2.Moral musing by Justin Bieber.

3.That show – “Who Do You Think You Are?” – that takes celebrities and traces their ancestry, and they get all “wow!” and weepy and whatnot. Listen, I’m gonna be really frank here – who actually gives a fuck about self-centered, narcissistic, world-revolves-around-me individuals walking down the path of self-discovery but who in reality are so far removed and out-of-touch from their real selves? And I don’t think they could have picked bigger a-holes to profile. It’s like the producers stepped back, took a look at Hollywood proper, and said, “Hmm, who are the least tolerable and most self-absorbed people in this town? Let’s cast ‘em in a show that is ALL ABOUT THEMSELVES!” Bitches, please. You know what would be much more enjoyable? Anything. No, I really mean anything. Like, I would rather have my pedicure lady slice up my toes to pull out ingrown nails and mercilessly bring me to painful tears as she scrubs the bottoms of my feet off with a sandpaper rock than sit through this. There are far bigger problems in the world than Sarah Jessica Parker finding out she’s related to Salem witches.

4. What Lindsey Lohan’s going to do next. So could major news sources stop broadcasting stories about her court issues, lip injections, and drug rehab? Again, definately more important things going on in the world...

5. People using the image of Hitler for political protest purposes. And this goes for both political sides – i.e., those protesting things like Obamacare, and those more recently protesting Gov. Walker’s union bill in Madison. I mean, really people – Hitler is responsible for the deaths of literally millions of people. DEATH. MILLIONS. Call me overly-sensitive, but trying to pass a bill that takes issue with collective bargaining hardly seems like a fair comparison to a man who put people in gas chambers and ovens. I'm sure someone's going to try to make the arguement that Hitler also opposed unions, but guess what? In my job, I have to deal with union bullshit/power grabs and all the bureucratic inefficiancy that would make your head explode, and I've since developed a distaste for them as well - does that make me Hitler-like too? So how about this – how ‘bout the only person we compare to Hitler is Hitler himself? Or how ‘bout we save his image for when we want to storm state capitals to protest actual literal mass genocide? Think about. Get back to me.

6. Homeless drug addicts with good voices who abandon their 9 kids and wife. I don’t celebrate your bad life decisions just because you sound good doing voiceovers for Kraft Cheese and Macaroni.

7. Chicago Mayoral Race – because four blocks separates my apartment and having to make an impossible decision between many evils.

8. Oh, and the political endorsements/television ads that come with it. I mean really – are you going to vote for someone just because the Chicago Tribune tells you to? Do you really believe that when Rahm so earnestly looks into the camera and tells you that “city government is not an employment agency,” he’s really going to be looking out for the best interests of the city once he sinks into the overstuffed leather chair behind the Mayor’s desk? If you do, then give me a call – I’ve got some really lucrative investment opportunities for you.

Bet They Didn't Account for Me in Their Business Plan

Sweet Baby Jesus in a Manger.

Can someone please explain to me how I have lasted 33 years on this earth and only TODAY been to a Sweet Tomatoes?

Did you all know about this place?

Any of you?

And you never told me?

And you call yourselves my friends?

Dreadful.

Now, full disclosure – I probably have driven by this place a couple times in my life, but have paid no mind. Unless it’s pimped in the Biggest Loser, wrapped in wax paper, and comes with a medium drink and yogurt, I don’t do much fast food beyond Subway.

So when Cheese suggested we go to this unknown (to me) gem after we bought our first bike rack, I thought, “I don’t give a fuck – I’ve been training long for three straight days and in 90 degree heat today - just put some food in my fucking face before I eat yours off.”

Decision made. Off we went.

(Side Note: The new bike rack thing is a WHOLE ‘nother one of those life thrills that in my world is probably comparable to birthing a child – which is funny because my siblings post pictures of their kids on Facebook, and I post pictures of Ricky the Rack-y. Now, fingers crossed the fine upstanding citizens in my neighborhood don’t take a buzz saw to it tonight – here’s to hoping!)


Our new addition


So back to the Sweet Tomatoes….

One step through the door and it was like the mother ship calling me home.

A mother ship built with endless rows of food, fueled by free refills, and…

...wait for it….

FREE ICE CREAM.

*deep breathes deep breathes*

Now THIS is intense.

How so?

Cheese pointed out that I actually out-ate him.

And if you have ever sat to a meal with me, you can vouch for the fact that I am to food what Lindsey Lohan is to coke – a straight up whore of a Hoover. No plate unturned, no piece of lettuce uneaten.

In fact, it was hard to ignore the old lady who literally stared at me the entire time I ate. I mean, that old lady just STARED. She didn’t even try to hide it, like maybe sneak a pair of sunglasses on so I can’t see her eyes, or at least save the gawking for when my head was in the soup bowl. But no – ol’ girl went right on staring, and truth be told, I can’t blame her. If I were a betting lady, I would say that in her 180 years on this Earth, she likely has never seen something so appalling and shameless as me – all sunburned and sweaty, grabbing clumps of spinach and romaine and shoving it into my mouth, broccoli chucks flying everywhere, and garbanzo beans leaping off the table for fear of their certain death.

The busboy refused to collect our plates, the fear of me snatching off one of his fingers showing in his eyes.

I mean, picture this - I was at the tail end of many long hours and miles this weekend on foot and bike, and I found myself at dinnertime Sunday, quite literally in the middle of unending food. My will was already weak, my head throbbing, my stomach eating itself in hunger.

If God himself wrote a book called, “Recipes for Disaster,” there would be a picture of me and my shit-eatin’ grin on the cover, big old mixing bowl and spoon in hand, just stirring up the trouble.

There was really nothing anyone could have done to prevent what occurred in the Sweet Tomatoes.

Oh and fear not! I most certainly did not walk out empty handed….



Fuck yeah I pocketed an apple and an ice cream night cap.

There is no WAY I was going to walk out of that joint having consumed only one ice cream sundae-with-hot-fudge-caramel-topping. Come on now - It’s ice cream and its free –

I would’ve slapped my own face if I couldn’t squeeze a little more down my throat.

I can still taste the sweet creamy deliciousness of the frozen yogurt on my tongue as I write this.

Yeah, literally on my tongue – I just puked a little up just now.

Turns out that even though my mind doesn't have a limits, my stomach does. And it was three plates sooner than the mind could process.

So, now that I just realized I wrote two solid pages about nothing but my love for buffets, I should probably go take another shower. No, not that kind of shower– I mean, I love food but not THAT much.

It’s just still about 80 degrees and I’m sticky as a used GU packet.

That, and my food baby is about to be delivered, if ya know what I mean.



AND A LITTLE BONUS ADVICE
If people had told me that getting married guaranteed me a Nasty-Bug Killer at my beckon call, I would have hopped on this ship far sooner.

Especially since my town is infested with these horrific 6-inch long bugs with a bazillion legs that slither up the walls while I am innocently laying in bed trying to read. It’s like their surveying out the scene, just waiting for me to turn the lights off so they can burrow in my brain and have babies that will then destroy my frontal lobe.

Bastards.

But this is where fearless Cheese comes in. I scream, he shows up, I make him keep an eye on that brain-eater while I get a baseball mitt full of toilet paper, and then I supervise while he crunches it.

And I do have to supervise – once he pretended like he got it, but I saw it fall out of the toilet paper, and he still tried to convince me he got it. Until ten minutes later, when the little shit crawled right back up the wall.

Busted.

Moral of the story? Marriage is good.

Is a Twix Too Much Too Ask For?

Trade-Offs
When you become an adult, you can drink legally.

But when you are an adult, it’s no longer socially acceptable to dress up in costume, wander through the neighborhood after dark, and beg neighbors for candy.

Or at least that’s what the cops told me last Halloween.

Lesson learned.

*****************************************************************************

Unfair
Halloween is a big fat tease for adults.

And I’m not referring to the Halloween parties that are like a get-out-of-jail-free-card for dressing like a porn star and letting the muffin-tops of the world five-five each other in their sexy nurse/firefighter/bumble bee/referee outfits.

Or the fact that it’s like the one time of the year that adults exert their right to take advantage of the otherwise-innocent costumes of little kids by putting a big old smutty twist on them (Or at least publicly – I can’t account for what your all do behind the closed doors of your bedrooms on any given Wednesday night.)

awwww....

FAIL

sweet!

Is it me, or does she look like Holly Madison, from "The Girls Next Door?

cutie!!

now wait just.one.stinking.minute. what kind of bumble bee has a machine gun?!?!

(Side note - you never really see a sexy Hobo. Can a hobo even be sexy? I don’t quite know. Discuss.)

No, the unfairness I’m referring to the fact that my increasing age is taking a toll on my metabolism, thus making it more and more difficult for me to smother myself in the sugary deliciousness that lines the aisles of my local Target without simultaneously committing myself to several hours on the treadmill or extra ass-kicking my personal trainer.

That, and that fact that my apartment is surrounded by other houses just giving the Good Stuff out for FREE.

FREE CANDY.

And I think we can all agree that the only thing better than candy is FREE candy.

I guess I will just have to be okay with curling up on the couch with my bowl of salt-free and taste—free low fat microwave popcorn and a scary movie, while praying I don’t die in my race the following morning.

Or maybe I will pull the bumblebee outfit from the closet and force Cheese to wear it, while I yell, "Dance Bumble Bee, DANCE!"

Hey, a girl still needs to have fun even without free candy.

Less Than a Week

I sort of have to laugh at it all.

For the last several weeks, minus a couple of hiccups, the whole wedding this has really gone of without a hitch.

I even started to joke that I was stressed about not being stressed.

Since my last post, we have really made an effort to eliminate unnecessary details, both for the unneeded stress it all brings, and (let’s be honest), it was just too much work and I am lazy.

(See also: programs. Yeah, those died a slow death yesterday when I said, “Eh, who cares. Every one knows everyone already, right?”)

Very quickly after that post all those weeks ago, I freed myself of the “what everyone else wants” and “what will people think” thoughts, and just did things my own way.

Costco/Whole Foods flowers for centerpieces and bridal party, with my sister heading up the actual designing? Check. (And the trial runs are gor-geous)

Invites I made by hand? Check.

Favors that consist of homemade chocolate chip cookies in handmade bags? Check.

Vases that were borrowed or bought second-hand because I will likely never use them again so why pay full-price? Check.

In the end, the actual setting (dark, wooded, small, intimate) will speak for itself in terms of décor, so we tried to keep all the “extra” down to a minimum.

Oh, and I let go of the reigns for the rehearsal dinner, which is a backyard BBQ at my sister Ellen’s house, hosted by Cheese’s parents.

So nice not to have plan something else!

The only time I felt like the wheels were starting to fall off the wagon was Sunday, when Cheese got a call on Sunday from his friend who is performing the ceremony, saying that he may not be able to make, what with his kids having the SWINE FLU and all.

And then there is the rain expected on Saturday for the BBQ.

Oh, and the fact that my dress still doesn’t fit exactly right.

But in the grand scheme of wedding world, these issues are so insignificant, it’s not even hardly worth mentioning them at all.

So fingers crossed, we should be heading down that isle in just a few days. There may be a nip-slip involved, but that’s out of my hands right now.

The toughest thing I did, however, was make the decision not to invite the kidney brother.

I agonized over this – many nights I cried in frustration, but ultimately it came down to this:

He has not contacted me once in the 18 months since the surgery. He has ignored all requests made by the family to participate in events, and has never offered to meet my fiancé. My final opinion on it was this: he has made the decision to not participate in my life, whatever his reason, so I am no longer going to force myself down his throat.

It sucks, but I am surrounded by the most incredible family ever day of life – I no longer am going to worry about someone that doesn’t care about me. I am at peace that I did my part for the relationship, and I can’t force effort on his end.

That aside, things have flowed fairly well. We have stayed budgeted (trust it – no small task in the wedding world of “tradition” and “must-do’s”). We are well-organized (me and my trusty folder). And I have an army of family that jump whenever I say, “Eh, why bother with x-y-z?”

In the end, it might not be the fanciest affair (MUCH to my mother’s chagrin), but it is all Megan-and-Cheese.

It is simple and homemade, with splashes of bold.

It is small in size, but with tons of heart behind it.

It is filled with candy and sweets (would you expect anything less from ME?)

It’s extremely sentimental in a lot a ways, and we both expect there to be a lot of happy tears.

Just ask both of our mothers, who have collectively cried probably everyday in the last two weeks.

I shouldn’t poke fun, as I find myself brought to tears almost daily over some aspect of this – and not in a bad way. It’s not stressed related – rather, I find myself wonderfully overwhelmed with happiness that it feels like my chest is just going to break open.

I cry when I think about the enormity of marriage, the decision I am making, the changes in my life that are coming. And it shocks me, at times, at how happy I am about it all – the girl who loves her solitude, who never wanted to get married, who was just fine and dandy chillin’ and doin’ her own thing.

That girl is about to get married, and she's really kinda freaking excited about it.

Sneak Peek

Scene: Our apartment.

Cheese, in the kitchen, cooking asparagus, chicken, and stuffing.

Me, sitting at my desk in the dining room/office. Working. Still.

Cheese (walking up to me with a full plate of deliciousness): Here you go, dinner is ready.

Me (shoveling food into my mouth): Uhnk u.

Five minutes pass.

Cheese (coming back in, taking my plate): Honey are you done?

Me: Yup.

Cheese : Rice pudding for dessert?

Me: Okay.

Cheese (from the kitchen): Oh, and so you know, there is still another chicken breast left, no bones, I cut it up and put it in the fridge, you know, so you can have it for lunch tomorrow.

Me: (stunned silence)

Cheese: What?

Me (smiling): Nothin.

Cheese turns back to start washing dishes.

I return to the computer screen.

End Scene.

The Proposal

Wrigley, August 2007 - The first date and first kiss, both under the sign

On August 28, 2007, I picked up Cheese from his hotel during his Chicago work deployment. It was the first time we met face-to-face, and I was nervous. I had to wear my black cami because I knew I would be sweating my ass off from nerves.

But he was amazing - he did most of the talking because, even after the 20+ phone hours we had logged in the three days before this, I was stuck for words.

I figured that any red-blooded male that has never been to Chicago would want to see Wrigley Field, so I got tickets for their game against the Brewers - both teams were in first place at this time, and it was a HUGE series. Needless to say, he loved it. And (though he may tell it different), I think he started to love me.

It was a good night.

Fast forward to October 10, 2008. Cheese's family arrived that morning at 4AM. He still had to work, so I spent the day with his mom, sister, neice and nephew. We had fun, but it was a really long day. After picking his dad up from the airport, Cheese was INSISTANT that we drive to Wrigley Field to show his dad (who apparently has seen it 8 times before, but this was all part of the plan).

One hour, two screaming kids, some really worn out adults - we tumble up to Wrigley. It was 730, and I was tired, dirty, and bleeidng from ears from all the child-whining I endured for the last ten hours. We walked around the stadium until we were in front of the sign, just like a year ago.

As we stood there, I noticed Cheese kept turing his head around as if he was looking for something. After I took pictures of his parents under the sign, I turned my head and noticed my family standing across the street.

I looked at him, looked at them, and asked, "What's my family doing across the street?"

And then it started to come together......

As they crossed the street, I looked back to Cheese, who, in front of the Wrigley sign, was bent on knee, white box in hand.

His eyes were wet. He croacked out, "Meg, will you marry me?"

For a few seconds I was stunned, and couldn't speak (to him, on bended knee, this felt like hours). I just kept covering my face, laughing, looking at my family (or so I was told - this part gets a little blurry).

Finally I nodded and said, "Yes."

As he hugged me and kissed me and told me he loved me, he told me that he had a speech, but he started to choke up and couldn't get it out.

My family (and all the random strangers that stood there cheering and taking pictures) milled around, hugging and kissing and crying.

Despite my posture here, this will not be a shot gun wedding.

/

I should mention that Cheese has spent the last three weeks organizing this whole thing - emails, phne calls, plans, scheming - he did it all, and my whole family was in on it. He called both sisters, my brother and my mom for their blessing, all of whom gave it. Like I mentioned in the last post, this whole thing could not have gone down with out my sisters and my mom. And they did an AMAZING job of lying through their teeth at me when I started to suspect something was up.

/

Well done, Liars Liars Pants on Fire!

I tried really hard to get a decent picture of the ring - it's weird because it sits high - not flat on the band, and I wanted a picture that got a feel for it - this was the best I could do.

This one is blurry, but you get a sense of the height.

So after the proposal, Cheese herded us all across the street to Harry Carey's Tavern, where my mom conitnued to cry, and everyone stuffed their faces. The above picture is Devin and Patrick.

My mom. The following night (which I will get to later), she cooked the MASSIVE past dinner, conplete with meatballs and sausage, and brownies and peach crisp for dessert, for Devin's marathon run. She was the bestest mom ever.

My brohter in law, Nat, and Devin's friend Dave, who would be running the marathon with her.

My sister Ellen (who started her own blog of fabulousness - she's like a really cute version of me, but with tons more style [versus my none], lots of biting wit, and a beautiful kid to finish the package. Check it out and give her some love as she starts to built it!)

Odd, there are almost no pictures of us from that night. I took this one from my crappy camera.

90 minutes after all this went down, we were walking back to the car, and Momma Cheese took my arm, asking:

/

"So can we start thinking about when you going to have kids?"

/

Uh, no.

/

We can't.

/

Oh, and lest I forget - as if reading my mind - he thought ahead and got us this swank ass hotel room for the night, so that we could have a break from the air matress and the screaming kids.

Like I mentioned, the next night my mom cooked a pre-marathon feast for both families. This was all of us - can you imagine?

Me and my BFF Anne-Marie. How cute is she? MAWWWAAAA! (that's me giving a big kiss!)

As I mentioned, the following day was marathon day - this is me and Ellie on the train down to ChinaTown to see my sister Devin, who was running her 672nd marathon. Just kidding, but seriously, that girl loves to run this one! She ran with her friend Dave, who struggled a bit, but they stuck it all out together, finishing in 4:47. The heat again hit the upper 80s yesterday, but I guess it was less of an issue than last year.

/

So there you have it - the whole story. Cheese's family left this morning, and then we took a really long nap. I have toyed with the idea of going to the gym, but that may have to wait one more day.

/

A huge thanks again to Stronger for that awesome post! And thanks so so so so much for all the awesome congrats from the blogger world - If it wasn't for this whole blogging thing, my life would not look like it does today. As my little brother told Cheese when he called for the blessing, "I never thought I would see the day that my sister would get married."

/

Now, about that Vegas elopement...

Mother of All Weekends

Well, I may not have run the Chicago Marathon, but I sure got my "bling."


Oh yeah. That is what you think it is. Cheese lost his damn mind and wants to marry me.

This is us, goofing off, trying to get a decent picture of this thing. And you all know me - I own virtually no jewlery except for a pearl necklace my sister got me, I couldn't tell you the first thing about diamonds (including what carats mean) and am about three steps BELOW "low maintance"- but I gotta tell you - I love this ring. I mean like, I can't stop staring at it. When he opened the box, I damn threw up from blindness. It's so sparkly! Please bear with me, 'cause I have a feeling I will be slobbering about this for while, and trying to post a picture that does it justice. I know that's tacky as hell, but fuck it.

So, the brief run down is this (because it will likely be a good day before I can properly post).

His family arrived Friday monring at 4AM. Yes, AM. As in, the morning. After some sleep, we lal hit the ground running, withthe surprise proposal Friday night (details next post), followed by a joint family dinner, the another full day of festivities, and a pre-marathon dinner for my sister and her friend Dave.

It is now after midnight on Sunday morning, and while 45,000 runners sleep soundly just hours before "game time" in Grant Park, I am sitting on a cooler in my kitchen while seven people slumber around my apartment - wondering what the hell just happened.

Tomorrow it will be a day of spectating, then a visit to the zoo, and wrapped up with a pizza party at Devin's.

A million pictures and details to follow in the next day, but before I go, I need a couple of back slaps -

First, this weekend would never have happened without my family. Ellen, Devin and my mom were the key figures, and nothing would have gone down without you guys.

For Nat and PAtrick, two brother-in-laws that are beyond gracious in dealing with the tornados of having me and my sisters always around.

For Nolan, who couldn't be here but sent the most wonderful text this morning.

For Anne-Marie and Colin, who came toight to celebrate - it meant the world. And yes, Anne-Marie, you can carry flowers in the wedding, and yes, I will ask you properly.

And of course to Cheese - are you sure? I mean, like, REALLY sure? 'Cause if you know me at all, you know I am a handful, and loving me is like living in dogs years - everything seems to last that much longer.

More later. I got a marathon to cheer for in a few hours.

GO DEVIN, FRIED CHICKEN DAVE, and JOE!!!!!!!!