It's 7:03 AM, do you know where your Daniella is?

Well, she's not sleeping yet again. No, your Daniella cannot seem to sleep as she is plagued by anxiety nightmares about the wedding.

All the bridesmaids get deathly ill the night before the wedding!

The dress is invisible, so everyone thinks she's naked!

The groom at the end of the aisle isn't John, but she has to marry him anyway!

She doesn't know any of the guests!

John is wearing a powder blue tuxedo with a ruffle front shirt!

The guest are all of her ex boyfriends and no one else!

Eeeek. It makes a girl unwilling to go to sleep at all.

On a brighter note, I'm off this afternoon to see Manchester United play AC Milan at Giants Stadium. Of course we're tailgating. Did you really have to ask? Then, after the game John and I have plans for dinner and drinks with the Donkey and a certain de-lovely mystery blogger.

Perhaps I'll get more than three hours of sleep tonight.

BFF

Do you ever meet someone for the first time and just click? When Kara and I finally met the other night, it was like one of those great first dates. You know the kind, where the words just tumble out of your mouth faster than you can think and in a matter of minutes, you can finish each other's sentences.

She was my first reader who was a stranger. She was the first person on my links who I read every day. I had never met her before, but I felt like I had known her for years.

It's weird, when I was single, I looked forward to meeting a new romantic conquest so much. Now that I am no longer single, that first-date feeling has been replaced by something else.

Something better.

The excitement of meeting someone you just know is going to be a good friend. A real friend.

I'm not going to go into any more detail about it. Some things are better when they're just between friends.

Good friends.

Bloggaggle Date Full of Bloggity Good Times!

My Absolutely Favorite Person Who I Don't Actually Know is in town. Yes, that's correct. Tomorrow yours truly and hers truly will meet.

For the first time.

Lock up your children and hide under the bed.

Daniella and Kara are going out on the town.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Nevermind....

Y'know below, where I asked for help in addressing my wedding invitations and I said we'd be doing it all week....?

Yeah, um, well.... I obviously don't know myself all that well. See, they're all done. Yup, eight hours after my first post. Eight long, grueling hours later... all 186 invitations are addressed (in caligraphy no less!), stuffed (invitation, tissue paper, reply card, inner envelope, outer envelope) and stamped and ready to go.

No, I'm not insanely anal and a ridiculous overachiever. Nope, not me....

Things I learned from addressing 186 wedding invitations:

Caligraphy really, really sucks. It's hard and it takes a lot of practice. Thank goodness we ordered a boatload of extra envelopes.
Paper cuts really, really suck.
People with long names that don't fit right with my goddamn caligraphy style really, really suck. Even me. Yes, my name is waaay too long. Thank goodness I wasn't sending myself an invite or I would have to hate myself.
Tissue paper really, really sucks.
Inner envelopes that are almost exactly the same width as your invitation may look nice, but they are a humungous bitch to stuff. And they really, really suck.
Cosmetic sponges don't work to moisten envelopes. Cotton balls are a much better bet.
You should drink at least two glasses of wine to deal with addressing and stuffing this many goddamn invitations.
My fiance is soooooooo worth all this hassle and I'm going to live happily ever after.

I really, really am.

Um, a little help, please?

If you have good handwriting and have nothing better to do, feel free to come over to address wedding invitations. There will be plenty of yummy wine (yes, that's the official name. Yummy Wine!) and we might be able to persuade my darling fiance to cook up some grub.

If you are even remotely interested (ohmigawd, are you really that bored?), give a call or drop and email or a comment. We'll be doing it all week.

The Management

Don't be proud of your eensy weensy toothpick thighs

The other day I was on the PATH train heading into the city for a cocktail and a catch up session with my girlfriend who just got separated from her husband. As I'm strolling purposefully through the train station, I spot a skinny, skinny, skinny woman. Not nicely shaped. Not tall and gangly. No, boys and girls, this chicka was ano-f@cking-rexic with a capital A.

Her thighs were so thin, they had the circumfrence of my forearm. And I'm a size 8, y'know... not exactly a heifer.

She got on the same train as me. I couldn't help but stare. The clavicles that could cut glass. The way her elbow bones jutted out like they were about to poke through her crepe-y skin. At first I felt bad for her. She's sick, I thought to myself. She has to be this neurotic because she's had a traumatic childhood. Then I noticed her eyes,.

They were darting around the crowded train, making sure everyone was checking her out. Every once in a while, she would encircle her upper thigh with her fingers (yes, she could do it one-handed) and smile dreamily. She thought that the looks were of envy, not of pity.

Man, this girl was far gone. Look, if the circumfrence of your upper thigh is small enough that you can circle it with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, you need help. Please, go get it. Start here.

That which does not kill me?

This faux-motion is kicking my ass. When do I get stronger? 'Cause I just got home from work and I was still only about halfway through my Things I Have to Get Done on Thursday list.

Cool Future Father-in-Law Alert

John's dad sent me the following email. Is it wrong that I'm flattered that he didn't copy anyone else, even John?


Subject: Political Fundamentalism

Things you have to believe to be a Republican today:

Saddam was a good guy when Reagan armed him, a bad guy when Bush's daddy made war on him, a good guy when Cheney did business with him and a bad guy when Bush needed a "we can't find Bin Laden" diversion.

Trade with Cuba is wrong because the country is communist, but trade with China and Vietnam is vital to a spirit of international harmony.

The United States should get out of the United Nations, and our highest national priority is enforcing UN resolutions against Iraq.

A woman can't be trusted with decisions about her own body, but multinational corporations can make decisions affecting all mankind without regulation.

Jesus loves you, and shares your hatred of homosexuals and Hillary Clinton.

The best way to improve military morale is to praise the troops in speeches while slashing veterans' benefits and combat pay.

If condoms are kept out of schools, adolescents won't have sex.

A good way to fight terrorism is to belittle our longtime allies, then demand their cooperation and money.

Providing health care to all Iraqis is sound policy. Providing health care to all Americans is socialism.

HMOs and insurance companies have the best interests of the public at heart.

Global warming and tobacco's link to cancer are junk science, but creationism should be taught in schools.

A president lying about an extramarital affair is an impeachable offense.

A president lying to enlist support for a war in which thousands die is solid defense policy.

Government should limit itself to the powers named in the Constitution, which include banning gay marriages and censoring the Internet.

The public has a right to know about Hillary's cattle trades, but George Bush's driving record is none of our business.

Being a drug addict is a moral failing and a crime, unless you're a conservative radio host. Then it's an illness, and you need our prayers for your recovery.

You support states' rights, which means Attorney General John Ashcroft can tell states what local voter initiatives they have the right to adopt.

What Bill Clinton did in the 1960s is of vital national interest, but what Bush did in the '80s is irrelevant.

Feel free to pass this on.

Friends don't let friends vote Republican.

I know, I know... I am marrying into a very cool family.

The Tragic Mart
 
Last night, John and I were doing our regular Sunday gig—relaxin’, contemplating the week ahead and watching Six Feet Under. As we got into the episode, during which David picks up a guy whose car has run out of gas and ends up being kidnapped and severely beaten, I found myself nearing hysterics.
 
Why was I freaking out so much about a TV show? I do not watch a huge amount of television, but those shows that I do watch (Sopranos, The Wire, Six Feet Under, The Shield and Law & Order), I tend to become emotionally invested in the characters. Nonetheless, this reaction was completely disproportionate to the action at hand. So, what’s my deal?
 
I have been assaulted three times in my life. I’m a city kid and grew up in New Orleans when it was “Murder Capital, USA” so I guess that is to be expected.
 
The first time I barely remember. My memories of it are colored by mom’s recollections. It’s as if I don’t have any of my own memories of the event. My dad was away on business, and my mom and I were coming home from some extended family gathering. I was about 11 or 12 years old, so this was like 1984 or 1985. I think it may have been Thanksgiving, but I’m not certain. Mom and I got out of the car and there was a man in our driveway. He had a gun (or maybe a knife? I really don’t remember.) and took my mother’s purse. Looking back now, we were extremely lucky that the purse was all he wanted.
 
It was the third time that triggered my reaction to the TV show last night.
 
It was in the early 1990’s and I was living in the ‘hood. I was really proud of it. I was pioneering! I was fearless! I lived in a ramshackle house that was falling down around me—I was a bohemian! Actually, the house was gross and we had rats, but the rent was only $275 a month. I guess at 22 years old, I was too excited about the freedom and the boho cachet of living in squalor. Around the corner was a Magic Mart gas station. I would go there to get cheap gas (usually 10 or 15 cents cheaper than anywhere else!) and cheap cigarettes.
 
One night, I was coming home from work at about 9 PM. I stopped for gas. As I was getting back into my car after pumping, a guy ran up and leaned into my car, across me, and grabbed my purse from the passenger seat. I immediately grabbed hold of the strap as he pulled it out of the car and began to tug.
 
I had a new lipstick in there! I had photographs I had just picked up from being developed! I had my driver’s license and I knew what a pain it would be to get another one! I was young and cocky and stupid. We played tug of war for what seemed like hours, though it was probably thirty seconds. His hot breath was on my face. His elbow was pushing on my clavicle. Finally, he pulled back and punched me in the face. I was so stunned, I dropped my hold on the purse strap. My eyes were stinging with tears. My lip was burning where he had hit me. He laughed, and ran.
 
Only I was young and cocky and stupid. I ran after him. I was yelling.
 
“Get back here, you cocksucker! Get back here, you pussy! Motherfucker! Motherfucker!” I was crying and running deeper and deeper into a really bad neighborhood. Suddenly, he turned around and started back towards me. I finally realized what was happening and I turned and ran faster than I have ever run in my life.
 
I ran back to my car, which I had left at the Magic Mart, with the driver’s door open and the keys still in the ignition. I got in the car, locked the doors and cried. I must have sat there and cried for twenty minutes. Finally, I got out of the car, walked to the kiosk and asked the woman if I could come in and call the police.
 
From behind her bulletproof glass, where she had sat and watched the whole incident, the woman pointed to the pay phone on the corner and said “no.”
 
The police took two hours to get there. They had told me to wait, so I had waited alone, with a split lip and a black eye at that Magic Mart.
 
Later that night, I had called my parents to tell them my purse had been stolen and that I had a couple credit cards in there that were on their accounts, so they needed to cancel them. I never told them how stupid I had been. I never told them how close I came to getting a real beating or worse, had the mugger had a gun or a knife. I think I managed to avoid my parents until my lip had healed somewhat and my black eye had faded.
 
Last night, as I watched the TV character get beaten, I cried for my own stupidity and I cried with relief that something far worse hadn’t happened to me.

The best thing ever....


Ohmigawd. This is the funniest thing I have come across in a while. It's G-Dub and John Kerry (what are we calling him, by the way?) doing "This Land is Your Land." It's freaking hilarious. Click here. If it is down because their servers are overwhelmed, keep trying. It really is very funny.

Found via Chris DiClerico (linky love to the left).

His Purple Highness and Other News

I know I haven't posted in an eternity (at least in blog terms), but I've been busy. What have I been busy with, you ask? Well, I've been working like a dog, even earning a faux-motion (just like a promotion, but pending human resource approval to actually get the title change and raise!).

But more importantly than that, my amazing, brilliant fiance, through his connections, was able to get us THIRD ROW seats to last night's Prince concert at Madison Square Garden. How, oh how, did he score us third THIRD row seats? Well, here's a hint... his name's Craig and I hear that he has a list!

Anyway, I have a passion for live music. I go see a show about two to three times a month. Last night's concert was among my ten all time best. Prince is a genius and he played for three full hours. And we were close enough to touch the stage. So close that we got to watch the inevitable "Hoochie Mama Parade" before the show. You know, when scantily clad women shamelessly throw themselves at the road crew and the bouncers hoping to score backstage passes.

At one point, while sipping the champagne that the waiters were circulating on the floor level, I looked at John and said, "I could get used to this! I bet if we never had any kids, we could live this lifestyle more often!" Oh, well.

What, you don't believe me? Let the pictures speak for themselves (note, no fancy zoom here. This really is how close we were!).





See all the pictures of PRINCE 7-13-04

The fabulousness of the fabulousity is, well, fabulous

Ok, ok. It was so much fun. So. Much. Fun. Got to hang out with a bunch of people I already liked and a bunch more people who I just met who are imminently likeable. So, notice I said "likeable," not "linkable", because some people's urls I simply cannot remember. Please leave a comment so I can add you to my blogroll and look forward to reading all your future bloggity goodness. You people all ROCKED. So, without further ado, let's get on with the pictures and the link-whoring....

First, a shout out to our dearly departed:



Here are your hosts:


(that's The Donkey, The Wolf and moi!)

Next up, The Gorgeous Women of Blogland (Gentlemen, start your engines!):


That would be Steven (not, technically, a woman of blogland, but there nontheless), the delightful Kambri and the Delicious Blogger X (who will be getting a call from me in the future to make a time to do this again, my dear!)


There's Kambri again with the ever fabulous Stephanie Klein, who, in addition to being funny and charming, is a great photographer and will surely have better pictures than these up shortly.


That's Krissa (who I had somehow never met before tonight, but have read for a long time. Krissa is the epitome of true love and has the bounce in her step and the sparkle in her eye to prove it. An all-around lovely woman), the glorious Fishie and Stephanie.


There's the sweet and pretty Dahlia, who is always a pleasure to see.


The beautiful Lady Crumpet, who I had the pleasure of sharing mangoes and sticky rice with at the post-BABB thai dinner. Too bad she lives in Atlanta and we won't get to hang out more.

Now, if you think the Wonderful Women of Blogland were good, just wait until you see the guys...

You already saw Steven above... and, for some reason, I didn't get as many pictures of the guys.



This is Jesse. It took us a long time to figure out Jesse's blog name. Brian thought it was something having to do with masturbation, but I thought it was "blinded by the light." It's actually fashionably late. Only he was on time. Jesse rocked, but had to leave way to early. Stay longer at the next one, Jesse!


One of these cuties is named Henry and I didn't catch or can't remember the other guy's name. Nor did I get their urls. I'm a bad blog party hostess. Hey, Henry... leave your url and the other guy's name in the comments, please.


This is Mike. We love him. He listens to too much Elvis Costello. He is nuts.


that's my man. I have no idea what I did to make this picture come out like this. It must have been the vodka.

There were some very accomodating bartenders at Siberia. Not only did we surprise them with a party of about 50 people, but they not only rose to the occasion, but even joined in the fun.


Kieran


Richie

Random Party Pics:







There were a lot of people there of whom I did not get any pictures. Especially Brian (actually I have a picture, but it's supremely blurry), who I hope has learned his lesson that one does not twirl a girl in three inch mules on an uneven dance floor!

All of you bloggers are not only fantastic, witty writers, but fantastic, witty people and I am so glad to have made some new friends and met you all. Till next time, I leave you with this:

Great Button

See you tonight and please don't mention the suitcases under my eyes

First of all, I'm looking forward to seeing you tonight. Yes, you. The whole internet. I know all the darling bloggers will be out in force tonight. If you need additional information, you can click here.

That being said, didn't I warn you, plead with you not to let me read books at bedtime (#35)? Well, you didn't stop me last night, did you? So, because of your lack of supervision, a certain someone stayed up until 3 AM polishing off a trashy summer novel. So, if I look like hell with bags, even suitcases, under my eyes at the party tonight, you'll know whose fault it is. That's right, it is totally your fault!

Crappuccino

Instead of heading to my usual place for my 3 PM latte, I decided to check out the new smoothie place near my office. I ordered a frozen cappuccino. The lady behind the counter handed me a cup of white stuff.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It's a cappuccino smoothie!" she replied.

"Is there any actual espresso in it?"

"No, it's milk, vanilla yogurt and cappucinno powder!"

Ewwww. What the hell is cappuccino powder? I guess it doesn't matter because I had already paid.

Never again.

Gimme an 'O" for OBNOXIOUS

Email waiting for me at home this afternoon:

Hi Daniella,
Hope this email finds you well! We met at the Great Bridal Expo and I just wanted to touch base and see if I can be of any assistance in helping your plan your honeymoon or any vacation needs. Below is just a sample of vacations I can offer you. Whether you want an all-inclusive, cruise, Caribbean, Mexican, Hawaii, or another exotic romantic destination, let me know and I'll be happy to help you! Hope to hear from you soon!
All the best!
Peggy Knipp

My response:

Hi Peggy, I didn't go to the New Jersey Great Bridal Expo, so you didn't meet me. I think cruises are cheesy, so take me off your mailing list immediately.

I signed up for one of these horrid bridal expo things because they were giving away a bunch of prizes. I had no intention of going and, in fact, didn't go. But these bastards whored out my address, my phone number and my email. I now get about a ton of spam email, junk mail and the occasional phone call.

But never had one of these assholes pretended that they had actually met me! I guess the marketing rationale was that I was too polite to say I didn't remember meeting her and would, therefore, respond.

Well, guess what, Peggy Knipp? I am not that polite and I don't appreciate being lied to. So, go fuck yourself!

Oh, and the lying bitch's email address is peggy@honeymoonsgalore.com -- feel free to send her lots and lots of spam!

Come one, come all

What are you doing this Friday, July 9th? Well, if you are in the greater NYC area, you should be doing this.

Go ahead, click the link and RSVP. If you go, you will not only get to hang out with the fabulous moi (which in itself should be reason enough for you!), but you will also get to meet and mingle with some extremely cool, wonderfully intelligent, fantastic people. Some of us are quite comely to boot!

So, what are you waiting for?

Yea, she surveyed her work and saw that it was good

The Great Stuff Accumulation of 2004 has now begun in earnest.

We were happy when we first started getting engagement gifts. It was exciting. Now the trickle has become a flood. And it is good. I am grateful. I love coming home every day to see what new and lovely things Mr. FedEx and Mr. UPS have brought me. I wanted these pretty things. At my age, isn't it about time I had matching flatware? Isn't it finally time for us to have eight wine glasses that aren't mismatched?

Only I have a big new anxiety...

Holy shit, where am I going to put all this stuff?

You can call it what you like, but I'm gonna call it one of the best days ever

Yesterday was perfect. Not good. Not great. Simply perfect.

The day started inauspiciously, with me waking at 8:00 AM for no reason. After coffee and a yogurt, I got dressed and went to soccer practice. Practice was hot and sweaty, but ultimately rewarding as we practiced some difficult turn maneuvers. After practice, some of the girls and I went for Starbuck's frappucinos (I felt that I deserved one after non-stop running for two hours!). While I was at practice, John had hit the Montclair Farmer's Market, so I came home to fresh cherries, blackberries and other yummy treats.

After a shower, we all (John, Susan & Sharon, my soccer gal pals) headed into the city to meet my cousin Melissa and her boyfriend Sam. We met at Zabar's and created what can only be described as the ultimate Central Park picnic feast-ival. There was brie, there was Chimay beer cheese, there was prosciutto, there was edamame and tofu salad. There was fresh squeezed orange juice, assorted olives, key lime and pear tarts, there were stuffed grape leaves, there was Ghirardelli chocolate. There were baguettes. There was Bonnie Doon Vin Gris De Cigare and Big House Red. Then, when we could consume no more, there was the Great Frisbee Challenge of 2004.

Then, we walked through the park, catching a drum collective doing their thing. Finally, we settled at the Sheep Meadow, to enjoy the sunset behind the Dakota. On the way back, we did our karmic duty and helped some confused Michigan tourists find their way back to their hotel.

All in all, a blissful, perfect New York day.

Gentlemen, listen up

Now, I am by no means a fashionista (well, maybe just a little bit)... BUT... I have been witnessing so many egregious fashion errors by the rougher sex that, without further ado, I present to you:

*****Daniella's 10 Fashion Rules for Men******

1. If you are wearing black pants and a black belt, do not wear brown shoes. Just 'cause it was a fashion rule in your grandpa's time, doesn't mean it doesn't still hold true today.

2. If you are large around the belly area, do not tuck in your t-shirt, golf shirt, etc--it merely serves to emphasize your giant gut (of course, when you are wearing a dess shirt, it should be tucked in). Additionally, be sure that your shirt covers your entire belly area, no one needs or wants to see that sliver of hairy, distended belly hanging out the bottom of your shirt.

3. Do not wear tapered pants. Tapered pants are not flattering on anyone, man, woman or child. They make all men, even the skinniest, look like they have hips. Do wear straight leg pants or jeans that fit properly. Tight pants on men are not sexy, they're cheesy.

4. Do not wear a gold chain nestled in your protruding chest hair. Yes, the Seventies were briefly back in fashion, but that look wasn't even stylish the first time around.

5. Do not wear shorts after dark unless you are at the beach or participating in an athletic event (notice I said participating, not viewing in a bar or attending!). Grown men do not go out in shorts. If it's hot, invest in a nice pair of linen pants -- you'll stay cool and look stylish to boot.

6. Trim that shit! No one needs to see what looks like insect antennae coming out of your nose and ears! Buy a groomer and trim it. REGULARLY!

7. Do not bathe in cologne. If I can smell you and I am not nuzzling your neck, you are WEARING TOO MUCH. Scent is subtle. Less is more.

8. Get a decent haircut. I know you've been going to "Joe the Barber" since you wore knickers, but invest in a good salon. A good haircut makes you look instantly more attractive.

9. Jewelry is for the ladies. A man should wear a nice watch and wedding ring. That's it. Leave the bling-bling for someone else. Or better yet, buy something sparkly for your wife, girlfriend or mother. If she's putting up with your unstylish ass, she probably deserves it!

10. And finally, iron your clothes. The rumpled look has never been in style.

Now, you don't have to follow my rules, but I promise, if you do, you'll look a whole lot better.