Friday, February 25, 2011

Photos_A Raych Arles Crafternoon

Countdown to my dear friend Rachel's wedding vows: 50 days 
Rachel's Crafternoon Shower (in lieu of a traditional bridal shower): 33 days ago
Crafternoon Agenda: To make four different kinds of wedding decorations and get fat while doing it (thank you buffalo chicken dip, cheese dip, spinach dip, salsa and queso dip)
What I said when I arrived: "I will do anything BUT stamping. I suck at it."
Craft I was tasked with: Stamping
Lesson Learned: I conquered my fear of stamping

And of course we had to take a peek at Rachel modeling her wedding dress! 

Until April 16th...<3

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Photos_End of February Playlist

If you ask me, I would love to get this in the mail... 
If anything, please bless your ears with #9. 
Trust me, it's quite a treat.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Words_Weddingness, Shortness, Godness

For shame! Bad blogger! Bad blogger! I just gave myself a virtual spanking. *Pause* I'll never say that last sentence again. To attempt to redeem my BBB (bad blogging behavior), I should give you a chance to win... (looking around my room for something valuable) an extra copy of the movie Robin Hood Prince of Thieves! ("What do we need that the forest cannot provide?") But instead, I'll just give you a two week recap. (Unless you really want the extra copy and I can send it to you.) (Seriously.)

As you may or may not know, I'm going to be living with a boy for the rest of my life pretty soon (cooties fo life b's) and when something like this happens, the next steps are usually pinning down how much alcohol I'll be consuming leading up to when I walk down the aisle. Totally totally tote. Tall. Lee. Joke. Allllll joke.* Seriously though, it's probably good to start with when and where this great event will take place. Right now we know, well, neither. Apparently you have to be either a gazillionaire to throw a decent wedding or you have to be perfectly happy with your guests eating out of their hands or feeding them Rufio-style where they just imagine the food and it somehow appears (an imagination wedding...not a bad idea). The good news is that throughout this discouraging process, Robbe and I still love each other (right, Bobby?) and I have had the most amazing help from dear friends and family. The bad news is that we haven't actually done anything yet and the stress is looming...mounting...pressing...I see something shiny...*gasp* a knife! It's stabbing me!!!


The only things we DO know are:

1. who we're marrying (check)
2. who our bridesmaids/groomsmen are (check)
3. who we want to photograph our wedding: The Amazing Brandon Werth
* Beware of mind being blown if you visit his Web site

If you are bored, healthy, funny, sad, rich, silly, hungry, stupid, good at singing, like coupons, are double-jointed, mildly athletic, and good at making sentences, then we would like you to pray for us because we need it. Or you could also just send us money.

The Future of Short People
I recently had dinner with dear friends Katie and Nikki and shared with them how Robbe and I have been making a mental list of professions our children could have when they're grown. You might be thinking, 'What are you talking about? Your kids can be anything! Anything at all!' Well, guess what, you don't know me or Robbe at all then. Robbe and I suffer from a little something you might call, "We short" thus drastically limiting our hopes and dreams for our children.

The list we've made so far that we believe they could excel in are:

  • badminton
  • tennis
  • music
  • writing
  • track
  • photography
  • crossword puzzles
  • soccer
  • dance
  • baseball/softball (until they're 13)
  • corn hole (only if they don't excel in any of the above)
  • thumb wrestling (until they're 11)
  • origami
  • Did I already say tennis?
Things they cannot excel in because of their body limitations:

  • basketball
  • modeling
  • football
  • weight-lifting
  • WWF
  • winning fist fights on the school playground
  • being at the bottom of a cheerleading pyramid
Katie eagerly threw in her two cents, suggesting they could be a jockey (hey, thanks Katie, I'm 5'2" and a quarter--don't you ever forget that quarter--and Robbe's 5'6" so I'm banking on my kids not falling below 4'11" but thanks for the vote of confidence!); a wrestler (hey, thanks Katie, I can't wait for my kids to have cauliflower ear and jump into skin tight leotards while appearing as if they're getting violated by another equally short, leotard-clad wrestler); and finally, her most passionate suggestion: an actor. "Actors are short, they could totally be actors!" I'm not sure how many actors Katie has met but I'm guessing it was someone short which completely justified her repeating this adamantly a few more times throughout the night. Her best suggestion was sent to me via text, post-dinner a day or so later. My phone buzzed and there it was, a shining beacon of light for my future children: "Your kids could be divers!!!" Yep. Annnnd it's added to the list.

Faith and Love
God is all around and working so specifically, even when I'm not personally acknowledging him or devoting time to prayer and studying his Word. The Bible study I "attend" (my attendance is atrocious) had our pastor come speak this past week on a new series, delving deeper into what our church believes and the thoughtfulness behind how each service is constructed. One of my favorite and most striking things he said was how every service is orchestrated to 1. preach the gospel and 2. if anything, make people say to themselves: "I'm forgiven." What a ridiculously amazing gift and promise. He threw out the question, what would it look like if we really lived like we were forgiven? I'll be thinking about that for awhile.

The church Robbe and I attend when we're in PA is the Harrisburg Brethren of Christ. Today Pastor Woody spoke on Revelations and one of the things he said that really stayed with me was how once we've died and entered the afterlife, we'll realize how much more we should have given of ourselves, of our belongings, of our money. I love and hate that because it's 100% convicting/depressing/humbling yet 100% mysteriously exciting/humbling at the possibilities of what God could do if we would just say 'Yes. Take it. Take me.' This is also something I'll be thinking and praying about for long time.

Thanks for reading.

*not a joke at all; actually very true 

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Words_The Final Chapter of The Little Droops That Could


Yes, this is Part III, which means that there is a Part I and a Part II and then a Part Tee at the end of this blog. All are welcome.

After some thoughtful discussion with friends (straight up gossip and slander) and accurate retelling of what transpired at the restaurant (Droops got wasted off of Romanian chocolate and served us drunkenly ever after), it was obvious that there was only one thing left to do. I needed to find out if Droop's abrupt kindness was temporary (on account of Maria) or if I was now mysteriously robed with a kind of chocolate-associated invincibility. 

Coworker Amanda and I decided to test the Droopshi waters while on a lunch break as we both had sushi on the brain. A week or so had gone by since the chocolate exchange. This was it. I was about to find out whether or not I was considered worthy or forgotten. 

We walked through the doors and faced our fate. There she was. The Droops, Droopshi Nazi, Droopy Doggy Dogg--in all of her sushi-serving, soap-opera watching, chocolate-loving, saggy-faced glory. A montage of all of our classic moments together flashed in slow motion before my eyes. I imagined Roxette's "It must have been love" filling the background as continuous clips of Droops ignoring me transitioned to us laughing hysterically together over piles of endless chocolate with our arms around each other while riding a rainbow-colored unicorn--or was it a unicorn-shaped rainbow? I was getting ahead of myself. 

"Oh, hi! Welcome," Droops smiled at us and grabbed two menus. I had never seen her move so fast in my life. (We. Are. SO. In.) She moved instinctively toward our regular booth by the window and then abruptly stopped and pivoted in the other direction. "It cold over here," she said moving away. "It warm here." (Um, there are warm and cold areas?) She led us to a table opposite of the window, behind the bar. "Thank you..." I trailed and then pounced on the opportunity to drive our fate home. "How did you like the chocolate?" I asked as we sat down. "I like very much, thank you." More smiles. She left us to look over the menus. I stared at Amanda, wide-eyed. She stared back. "So there's a warm section..." I pondered aloud noticing it was indeed considerably warmer where we sat. We looked over at our usual spot which had a couple sitting at the next table over. It made sense now. Droops segregated her customers into hot and cold which had both literal and figurative meaning. Droops then dropped off two glasses of water. With lemon. Without even asking us. Then she took our order while doing something she never did before: she engaged us; initiated conversation with us; it was like we were in a semi-real relationship with questions and answers that actually mattered. 

First, she suggested a roll to Amanda which made me a little nervous as Amanda preferred something else which prompted a mini speech about why she preferred that something else. I didn't know if this kind of independent behavior would drive Droops back to her old ways so I decided if I started to sense a bad regressive vibe from Droops, I would give Amanda a swift kick under the table. As I was assessing my kicking angle, I suddenly realized that Droops was looking at me for my order.
"You getting the Arnold roll?" (She remembered my usual?)
"Oh," I said, caught off guard. "Actually, I'm getting something new today," and pointed out one of the special rolls.
"OK," Droops said and then was gone. When she returned with our food, I realized we were missing soy sauce dishes, but she was already headed back to the kitchen.
"Are you missing something?" I heard a deeper voice say. I looked up and saw the sushi chef (Droop's presumed husband) looking at me from behind the bar. (Is he talking to me?)
"Uh, yeahhhh," I said slow enough so that if he wasn't talking to me, I would just pretend I was agreeing with the TV. It was tuned to 'Desperate Housewives.' I would somehow make it work. "We don't have dishes for soy sauce," I said. He shot off a rapid string of Japanese to Droops who turned from going into the kitchen to instead getting us our soy sauce dishes. We had not only won over Droops but her husband, too. We had everything we needed and more. Good food, good service, a warm setting, amicable business-customer relationship; it was just plain dreamy. 

After we were finished, we exchanged cheerful goodbyes and thank yous, bundled into the car, and marveled on our budding relationship with the little Droops that I thought never could. But oh she can! It still seems unfair to reap so much good from something so seemingly shallow but perhaps all she needed was a little love to get her going. And if that love is in the form of chocolate, then Romania, here I come. Unicorns, you're up next.