Don't expect a lot from me in the next few weeks, kids

I know I've always been there for you. I know you and I... we have this special bond. Me and that great big ol' internet thingamabob... we're like this. I know you've come to count on my daily posting. My pithy insights, my sharing of my (ahem! bullshit) fabulous life.

Well, kittens. Darlings. Internet dwellers, bloggerati and bloggeriti... I may not be posting so much for the next several weeks.

See, in case you haven't figured it out... This Girl (oh,my... not That Girl you imbecile!) met this nice young man. See? They fell madly in love. Truly, madly, crazily... those kooky kids. See? Now in just over SIX WEEKS those two crazy cats are getting married, and well, This Girl is really, really anal retentive and well, the wedding is taking up all of her time.

Where does that leave us? Well, I love you, Internet. I truly do. I just kind of need to prioritize. And, well. My perfect dream wedding comes first.

So, I'm not saying that I'm not going to post. I'm not. Really. Stop crying. You know how I hate it when you cry. I am just saying it may not be as much. You can handle that, right? It's only a few weeks. We'll be OK, you and I, Internet. Our love is strong!

So, here's a picture of my cat in a box to tide you over for a couple of days.



By the way, I'll be gone for about five days for my Girlie Weekend in New Orleans. Note: I did NOT say bachelorette party, what do you think this is, a cheesy blog? I think not.

The good thing about insomnia...

You know what's cool about not being able to sleep because you dream that your husband-to-be's family is at the wedding in their pajamas and your mother is mad at you because of it?

That your husband-to-be will get up with you at 6:00 AM on a Sunday and make you raspberry pancakes from scratch.

Just because.

We all live the glamorous life...

I know you are all reading along at home and thinking that I have more fun than you. Well, usually not. I work hard, I struggle, blah, blah, blah...

Ok, I admit, my life is pretty damn fabulous sometimes and tonight, well, kids, tonight was pretty fantastic. Let's set the scene:

It's 3 PM, I'm at the office, trying to send out a communication to 4,000 financial advisors, who aren't going to read the piece, but instead are going to call me to ask me questions that are answered in the second paragraph of the email. They never read past the first paragraph. I can guarantee that.

The phone rings. It's John and I assume that he's calling to tell me that he has to work late (this happens nearly every Friday).

"Can you get out a little early today?" he asks. Oh, hell yeah!

It turns out, his company is considering doing a promotion with the Jets and we have been invited to go to the Jets-Giants game tonight, courtesy of the Jets marketing staff. Thanks, Jets!

We have VIP tickets to the big bubble thing at Giants Stadium, where there is free food, free booze and a party for former Jets players in full swing. As we're settling down wih some food, who do you think I see about five feet away?

Um, yup... Broadway Joe.

We got to meet and hang out with Joe Namath (my digital camera battery conveniently chose that time to die!). Both John and I were extremely disappointed that he did not try to grope me in any way. We then were escorted out on the field as the two teams warmed up. I was about five feet away from the players as they stretched and ran sprints and drills. It was amusing to watch a bunch of them play some sort of version of "hot potato" with the football.

We then were escorted to our seats just above the 30 yard line. All in all, a fairly cool way to spend an evening.

Hopefully, the Jets people we were with will remember to send me the pictures that were taken of me and Broadway Joe (since my camera was dead) and I'll post them for your viewing pleasure.

The way to a woman's heart...

In case you were wondering, my man really is the best guy ever. I know, I know... I've bulldozed the point into the collective minds of the internet a couple of hundred times already. But really, can you blame me?

He not only cooks fantastic meals all the time, he usually cleans up after them as well.

Behold, Exhibit A:


A few weeks ago, that was his amazing sauteed scallops, broiled asparagus and risotto (from scratch, not from a mix!)

Here's a closer view:



Yum, right? (oh, and I meant the man as well as the food!)

Um, okaaaaay....

I'm serious, people. John and I are sick, sick, sick individuals.

We're getting a lot of gifts on a daily basis. So, what do we do?

We make cool outfits out of the packing materials....

Behold:

John, The Bubble Wrap Cyber Chef:





Yes, I know... we're total geeks. Shut up.

Here, to make you feel better, here's a picture of my cats hugging:



Shut up.

Blood, Guts and Needles... oh my!

I am one tough chicka. No, really... I am. I am fierce and strong and bold and all those thinsg I'm supposed to be to be a grrrl.

Or whatever.

But I am a huge puss when it comes to blood. I get woozy and shaky and quakey. I have to sit down and take deep breaths. I am pathetic.

Yesterday, I had to go with John to get a huge shot in his spine. He has a bulging disc from shoveling snow this past winter and it has gotten consistently worse. He did three months of physical therapy which made it worse. So, we finally went to a pain specialist and he suggested a series of Really Big Shots to The Spine^TM. Yesterday was the second in the series.

So, I went because, even though the doctor assured us John can drive himself home afterwards, I know that when I get Really Big Shots to Any Part of Me^TM, I am in no shape to drive afterwards. Last week, the nurse and doctor invited me in to hold John's hand as he got the first shot, but I got so freaked out by just seeing the big needle in the room, I had to go back out to the lobby. Yesterday, for the second shot, I didn't even attempt to go in to the room with John.

And for good reason, too because, apparently, this time there was a lot of blood.

John's blood. Holy shit. They spilled my man's blood!

When the nurse told me that, I nearly passed out.

Then, today, I wanted to go give blood (there's a blood drive in my building), but since no one would go with me, I didn't go. Why? Because I couldn't handle going alone.

So, am I the biggest baby ever or does anyone else have this problem?

Courtesy

This is to the 99.9% of the American population that has a cell phone. If you must yap on your cell phone on the train while I (and most other riders) am trying to read, can you try to do it at a reasonable volume?

And by reasonable, I mean DON'T YELL!

Because, honestly, I don't really want to know about how the new girl at the salon did a terrible job with your Brazilian bikini wax and how all those ingrown hairs really hurt.

I. Don't. Care.

So, please shut the fuck up.

Thanks!

I don't need no stinkin' house. I don't need no stinkin' car

...Just put me on a boat, on a perfect, sunny day like today, cruisin' through the waterways of southern New Jersey. Sippin' a ginger ale and all is right in my world.

Had an amazing time at the beach. Actually, we never set foot on the beach. We didn't end up leaving until Saturday morning and it stormed all day Saturday. We hung out with John's parents, went for a drive, saw a play at the Spring Lake community theater and generally relaxed.

Then today, some friends of his parents took us out on their boat. Such a flawless day! Just slathered the two of us with SPF and everything was just right. I even thought I looked pretty good in my bikini. That's the first time I've said that in at least four or five years! (and no, I forgot the camera.... )

The only downside? That little sliver of my belly that I apparently missed with the sunscreen. I have a perfect pink "smile" just below my belly button. John thinks I look like a happy cyclops. So, I guess I am!

Girl... Delayed

I love my fiance.

Uh-oh, you know something's wrong when I call him my fiance, don't you? When all is good and I'm in the throes of he's-the-best-guy-ever I call him by his name. Or, rather, I call him by a lot of pet names, but that's neither here nor there and really, as much as I open my life up for public consumption, some things are kind of for me and him alone.

Anyway, he's late. Again. Every fucking Friday. I sit. Waiting.

I know, I know. It's not his fault. Friday is deadline day and it's not up to him when some damn Veep will finally sign off on an ad or something. I really don't blame him. It's not him I'm upset with.

It's just that I am not the most patient girl. Um, duh.... you knew that, didn't you?

We have manicures scheduled. His first. (I know, I know... my life is so hard. I may miss my manicure. The world might end. It's just that he's a biter and I'm trying to get his nails into some sort of passable shape before the wedding. I'm just having his cuticles taken care of and his shape defined. Shut up. It took me literally six months to convince him to get a damn manicure. Don't you dare change his mind!)

Either way. Here I sit. Typing my pissed off mood and my impatience into the cyber world. See, I feel better already. I may even be un-pissed off enough to call him by his name when he finally does get home. Late.

Oh, by the way... I got my first pair of glasses. You like, no?

Beach, beach, beach!!

John and I are taking time out of busy schedules of work, more work, soccer, hockey, more soccer and the never ending wedding planning to spend this weekend doing nothing at the beach. Only up here, it's called going "down the shore." I refuse to accept that. It's the damn beach. Except a whole lot more crowded than I am used to, with much colder water and grainier (is that a word?) sand.

Don't expect updates as John's parents, where we are staying, are in the Stone Ages (as are my parents!) and have dial up internet.

And I know that "patience is a virtue" and all that, but it's a virtue I simply ain't got.

Have a great weekend.

Let's all join together to say "Eeeeewwwwwwww..."

You know how my office is under a heightened security alert? Remember? No? Read all about it here 'cause I'm sick of thinking about it.

Well, anyway, part of our new security measures is that you have to wear your employee ID badge everywhere.

Well, guess who just accidentally dropped her employee ID into the toilet before she flushed it?

Um, yep.

Um, time flies when you're having... gasp!... fun!

I let a huge milestone in my life pass completely without notice. Just over a year ago, I turned my life upside down, took a leap of faith and moved to New Jersey. Here's a recap of the road trip up here.

So, I picked up and chose love over safety. I chose love over my family. I chose love over my friends. I chose love over my career.

How's that going for me, you ask?

Well, there were some tough times. If you read through my archives, there are tales of loneliness and heartbreak that still make me hurt inside. There were weeks when I cried myself to sleep every night. There were months when I doubted that I would ever make friends. There were people whose yankee manners hurt my feelings--leaving me bruised and battered and vowing to go home and never look back. There were catty women, wives of some of John's friends, that made me feel very, very unwelcome. (Needless to say, they aren't in our circle of friends anymore!)

There were nights, sleepless and alone, that I thought I had made the wrong choice. Lying there in the dark, feeling small and unloved, I would think to myself that the happiness that I had felt with John was a product of a certain mix of ingredients, the most integral of which being New Orleans, and that I could never feel that happiness in this cold, impersonal, joyless place. And I would lie there and cry and wonder what was wrong with me. Why could other people pick up and move and be fine but I was so... so very, very miserable.

Where was John through all of this? He was his sweet, patient self. He was there beside me, but I don't think he knew how to reach me through my fog of sadness. I was sad every moment of every day. It was so hard and I couldn't see it getting any easier.

Then, so gradually that I didn't even notice it happening, it got better. I was making friends. Through this blog and through my soccer playing, I started meeting people who had similar interests. All of the sudden, my social life started to happen. I had plans every weekend.

The weather turned nicer and nicer. There were hikes to go on, neighborhoods in Manhattan and Brooklyn and the Bronx to explore. There were parks to picnic in and people to do it with. I got a raise, John got a promotion, money wasn't quite as tight. We had things to do and we were getting along really, really well.

And fast forward to today.

It's a year later, I have a life here. We're going to start looking to buy a house soon. I am pretty happy with my life and I know, in every way that matters, that choosing the man I love was the right choice after all.

Is it perfect? Absolutely not. I miss my family and my friends terribly. The new friends I have made will never take the place of the amazing women that have been in my life since we were 8 years old. And they don't need to. They are amazing too, in their own ways. And I am not looking forward to another horrid winter. But I am OK.

As Gloria Gaynor so eloquently said, "I will survive!"

It was one year ago today....

That the Big Power Outage of 2003 happened. Read my take on it here.

So, what's on the agenda for today? A tropical storm watch as the remnants of Hurricane Charley make their way over Northern New Jersey. Maybe we'll have another power outage.

Who says you can't go home again?

Vows Discarded

Because I know you never tire of hearing about my wedding….

Here is a list of vows John and I considered and discarded. Feel free to leave your suggestions for vows in the comments section.

I, Daniella, promise to:

Always be there to peel your back after you get sunburned
Be the yin to your yang (this has to be said with a twangy drawl)
Watch the Stanley Cup without rolling my eyes and trying to switch the channel when you get up to go to the bathroom
Always be there to make fun of your appreciation for whiney brit-rock


I, John, promise to:


Listen to you sing even though you are the worst singer. Ever.
Not complain when I stumble over your shoes, which are everywhere
Be happy that I have five square inches of space in one of our three closets
Massage your feet, your back and your neck after your soccer games even though you are stinky
Love you even though you will always scream louder than everyone else at Saints games

What do you think?

Narcissism

My mother thinks I write too much stuff about me here. Well, this isn’t a political blog, though I know you are all aware of how I feel about Bush and the Christian Bible Thumpers hijacking of the Republican party (remember that thing about the Republican party being for balanced budgets and smaller, less intrusive government…? Yeah, me neither.). This isn’t any sort of issue blog.

This is a blog about me. ME ME ME ME ME.

MEEEEEEEEE.

Aren’t all blogs narcissistic to a large extent? Isn’t that why we do it? It’s a helluva a lot cheaper than therapy.

Now if you’re here to look for my insightful political commentary, well… that’s not really what this is about. I’ll be happy to debate with you about whatever you want to debate about. Trust me, I’m extremely opinionated about almost everything. Just not here.


Remember, me me me me meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

That’s what this is about. That’s why I called it Daniella’s Misadventures.

And no one says you have to read it.

Oh, won't someone please, please, please buy me this?

Everyone, take a look at the Daniella Wig.

News of Note

Last night a stupendous thing happened. Spurred on by the parade of beautiful people on HBO’s show The Entourage, I decided to try the PANTS TEST.

The PANTS TEST is a game I started about four years ago. For my 25th birthday, I bought myself a pair of beautiful black leather pants. They fit for all of about a year and half until they became too tight. No, the pants didn’t shrink, I expanded. They are a size 4. As I used to be when my diet consisted of cereal, carrots and booze. And when I used to go out dancing almost every night and looked like a stick insect with big boobs.

So, since I haven’t been able to even pull the pants up over my thighs in over four years, the PANT TEST is that I get a special reward whenever I cross several thresholds of being able to squeeze myself back into those leather pants. As I have lost about 25 pounds since Thanksgiving, mainly by eating healthy-ish and playing soccer constantly, it was time to play.

The first threshold is being able to pull them on all the way. I crossed the first threshold in March.

The second threshold was being able to zip them. I crossed that threshold last night. That’s right—I was able to put on, button and zip up my size 4 leather pants. Then, I was able to stand up and walk upright in them for several minutes. John was beside himself.

The next threshold will be to be able to sit down with them fully zipped up without splitting the seams. I hope to cross that threshold in the next few weeks. I think I am only about 5 pounds away.

The final threshold? You guessed it… being able to wear them comfortably.

When I cross the final threshold, there will be much rejoicing throughout the land as those pants are HAWT. Watch out, New York, I don’t know if the city is ready for Daniella in Leather Pants.

I'm dating again

Yesterday, at about 4 PM, my office phone rang. It was John (yes, I'm lucky enough to have caller id on my office phone, so if you always get voicemail when you call my office, take a hint!).

"What are you doing tonight?" he asked me.

"Oh, dammit." I thought. "he has to work late on another Friday night!" But I said, "I don't think we have any plans."

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" I swear, this is the best man in the whole world.

So we went on our date, sushi and movie. As I sat across the table from this man, this man who is going to be my husband in ten weeks, I thought to myself: wow, how different is he from everyone else who came before him.

I always dated the bad boys. The kind that made my mother squish up her mouth and try to be polite. The kind that borrowed money from me and never paid it back. The kind that borrowed my car and totaled it. The kind that took the ATM card to "get groceries and gas" and then spent everything in my bank account so that I had to borrow money from my friends to make my rent on time. The kind that cheated on me time and time again, until I thought there was something wrong with me. The kind that ate my soul and left me a quivering mess, hating myself, hating them and hating my life.

So, what did I see in men like that? I honestly don't know, but there sure was a lot of them. Was it that I thought that men with no responsibilities were exciting? Did I think that if I loved him enough, he might just love me back? Would my great love inspire them to change their ways?

Let me tell you something, people. Something I learned the hard way.

True love is inspirational, not aspirational. True love makes you feel alive. You shouldn't aspire to what your relationship will be like when he finally feels the way you feel. No, you should already feel that way. When you roll over next to him in the morning, you shouldn't worry about what fight the day will bring, you should know that when he opens his sleepy eyes, he's going to smile at you and be happy that you are there.

And you know what? It took me a really, really long time to realize this. That you have to want the man as he is today, not as you think he may be tomorrow. If you are the me of a few years ago and you spend all your time striving, striving, pushing and pulling to make your relationship work... stop. It isn't any work at all. Or, let me re-phrase, it's not that much work.

Or maybe I'm just really, really lucky.

Yes, of course there is a SYSTEM

Remember a while back when I told you that I had a System for everything? What, you don't remember? Ok, you can refresh your memory here.

Well, since the wedding invitations went out last Monday, I now come home to at least 5 or 6 response cards every day. I look forward to tearing them open and reading the nice notes inside. Our cards are foldover to allow for personal messages, and many people have taken advantage of that to write nice things to us.

But as this trickle will become a flood soon (the response cards say "the favor of a reply is requested by September 1st" and, no, I did not spell it "favour" because I think that is insanely pretentious unless you are british!), I needed a System to track, log and otherwise organize my RSVPs. Behold, The System^TM:

Step 1:After opening response card envelope, the one who is opening the envelope must announce the following information to the non-opening party in an important voice: name, whether he/she will be attending and how many in the party. Then, the opening party must read the nice message to the non-opening party. Both will now say, "how nice" and proceed to discuss their feelings about responding party.

Step 2: The opening party must log response on tracking spreadsheet by writing "NO" in red ink next to responding party's name if they will not be attending OR writing "YES" and the number in the responding party in blue ink next to the responding party's name.

Step 3: The opening party will place response card back into its envelope and place entire package into wicker basket next to computer until the opening party gets off her lazy ass and makes the Engagement Scrapbook that she's been talking about making for the last 18 months.

Now that you understand The System^TM, don't you feel much better? I know I do.

I have the coolest readers internet friends in the world

I want to thank all of you from the deepest place within me for the nice comments, the fifty or so emails of support and the (for the few of you who have my number) phone calls. I am really touched.

The past few days have been difficult, to say the least. But I am getting through this, as is everyone who works in my building complex and in the other buildings under the increased terror alert.

I don't care if it is a Republican ploy to get attention away from the Democrats or if there really is a threat. Whether the threat is real or not, it's real to me. It's real every time I look out my office window and see concrete barricades. It's real every time I see the men with machine guns or one of my co-workers complains about having to let them do a "random search" of her vehicle before she is allowed into our parking garage.

It's hard and it's scary. But it's the world we live in. Slowly, I am calming down. Slowly, my mind will wander to something other than the terror alert. Hell, today I even had enough wherewithall to stress out about the wedding instead of thinking about how we're all going to die in a ball of fire. I even slept an amount of time that approached a normal amount of sleep last night (five hours).

You know what? I will be fine. We will all be fine. I have the best family, the best friends, the most wonderful people in my life and there are only good things ahead for me. So, the terrorists can do their thing and I'll keep on doing mine.

'Cause mine is way, way, way more fabulous.

Anatomy of a (Virtually) Sleepless Night

I am awake, So very wide awake. It’s midnight and I am watching whatever I can get my eyes on. Something that is not the news. No more news. Please kill me if I have to see them mention my office again on the goddamn news.

So I flip and flip and flip.

Anna Nicole drinking shots on some beach. Flip.

Trading Spaces reruns. Flip.

Airline marathon on A&E. Flip.

How Do I Look on the Style channel. Flip.

Why isn’t there anything on TV on Sunday night? Don’t they know some of us can’t sleep?

It’s 1 AM. I need some rest. I give in and take a Tylenol PM. My eyes are heavy, but my mind keeps racing. Buildings being blown up. Flip. Running away from fires. Flip. Oh wait… did I just fall a sleep for a second? Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

Finally, I start to feel myself calming down. The muscles in my neck start to loosen a little. I glance over John’s sleeping body at the alarm clock. In the dark, it glows 2:06 AM. I start to drift.

Chirp.

What the hell is that noise?

Chirp.

Oh, what IS THAT?

Chirp.

It’s the low battery indicator on the smoke detector. Tonight? Why tonight? Jesus. I get up and try to reach the damn thing. It’s 2:43 AM.

After a few futile attempts to get the damn thing off the ceiling, I wake John up. He gets up, pulls the smoke detector off the ceiling and removes the battery. It’s 2:57 AM.

I lie next to him, listening to his rhythmic breathing. Once again, I begin to try to unwind.

Air sirens. PA announcements saying “this is not a drill. Please evacuate the building.” I have on high heels and I can’t run fast enough. Oh god, I can’t run fast enough.

Wait. I was dreaming again. I sit up in bed. I am drenched in sweat. It’s 3:42 AM.

I fall back asleep. I don’t know what time it was.

Crash. Bang. Yowl.

What the hell?

It’s 5:38 AM. My cat has decided that tonight would be a good night to knock all the liquor bottles off the top of the refrigerator where they are kept. I come out to the kitchen where there is broken glass and booze all over the floor. My cat has retreated to the relative safety of under the couch. I curse at her and start sweeping up the glass and mopping up the alcohol. John comes out of the bedroom to help me. My cursing has woken him up.

As I finish up and head back into the bedroom, the alarm goes off. It’s 6:00 AM.

Yes, that is where I work

I work in one of the buildings that they are saying is being targeted by Al-Qaida.

I know that the fact that this has been publicized makes it unlikely that the attack will occur. I know that this may just be a publicity ploy by the Bush administration to influence the election. I know a lot of things.

That doesn't mean this hard knot in the pit of my stomach will go away. This doesn't mean that each time they show my building on the news, a wave of nausea doesn't make me run to the bathroom. That doesn't mean I can be calm, cool and collected.

It's going to be a very long night. And an even longer work day tomorrow.

Update
Thanks, everyone for the emails, the comments and the phone calls of support.

It is very, very strange here. There are concrete barricades all around the four buildings we have here. There are national guardsmen with machine guns. There is a lot of media people walking around. We have to wear our employee IDs around our necks and carry them at all times. Everyone is a bit jumpy and everyone has bags under their eyes. I don't think any of us slept much last night.

It's going to be ok. We are very well protected. But it's still very scary. And it's sad that we have to live in times like these when people can have such a high capacity for hatred.