The Games Begin

Friday morning I went to pick up Colgate bff,  Laurie, from her hotel and we walked around downtown Portland, ate some breakfast and then went shopping. We went to Pioneer Place Mall and visited J. Crew and Victoria’s Secret (ooo la la). As we were walking into the mall, I mentioned to Laurie that usually there was a silver guy on the sidewalk outside the entrance we were using. She asked “sterling?”

Um, no! Hello Laurie! You’re not in Boston anymore!

A. Silver. Guy.

You know like a guy that is totally silver and stands motionless for hours so people will give him money.

Portland’s silver guy.

We then headed back chez moi to await tent set up. The tent guys were pulling in as we arrived. They set up the 20×30 tent and delivered linens, glasses, forks, plates and a heater. In the days before the wedding I checked Portland’s weather around 47 times a day. Google would show me the amalgamated (no it’s not the right word but I’m still too tired to think of the right one). Google gave me the weather.com, weatherunderground, and accuweather forecasts combined and I would check that one and then each of the three separate ones, pick the best one and realize…oh it’s gonna rain.

I sent emails out to let people know where to park and to bring play clothes to change into after the ceremony. I got this email back from my divine friend AVC:

It will be perfect, Maggie, regardless of the weather!  And if it does dare to rain, it can be considered a stroke of luck.  Rain symbolizes blessings, cleansing, unity, and a new day.  When you ‘tie the knot’ and then wet the rope, the knot is so much stronger then when left dry.  Can’t wait to celebrate with you, Deren and your family and friends this day filled with love, excitement, hope, joy and bacon.

AVC made bacon wrapped dates…one of my most favorite things ever to consume. And not surprisingly, her words of love and wisdom put a smile on my face. If it rains it rains. I will be with the man I love, surrounded by all the people I love the most. I don’t need no freakin’ umbrella!

The tent went up. Tables were arranged for worst case scenario…food and music in big tent. Put up smaller 12×12 tent for the bar area. That was one of the times I wish there had been video so I could show you action shots of me and Laurie getting the 12×12 tent up. Apparently Laurie’s husband can do this on his own but it took Laurel and Hardy 20 minutes of synchronized pacing and lifting and twisting to get it up. That’swhatshesaid.

Laurie is an organizational, cleaning machine. She asked what she could do and I said clean out the two refrigerators and Ta DAH!!! 20 minutes later, two clean refrigerators! Then Laurie and I went to buy pavers and more extension cords.

Derwood came home and we all went downtown to meet Colgate bff, Lucy, and her beau, Rob, for dinner at Clyde Common. I made a reservation for six at Clyde because they won’t take reservations for less than six and I really wanted to take my East Coast pals to a Portlandia style restaurant. I decided to pretend there was a sixth joining us and then act surprised when no one did! Wha? I had NO idea!

We walked in to this bustling hot spot and waited  to be seated. Laurie pointed at a table and said that must be ours. “Why do you say that?” It’s the only open table with six spots, she replied.

We’ll see.

The hostess arrived and turned to a table by the window with six open seats at one end. The rest of the table was filled with a dozen strangers or at least strangers to us. Welcome to Portland, the land of communal dining. The East Coasters were rather confused…”we’re sitting with people we don’t know.” Ahhh, yes we are. Don’t you feel really hip?

The hipness that is Clyde Common. Photo by Oyster.com.

No? Well you will begin to feel the hipness seep in once you get a load of the menu.

Of course we ordered the deep fried pig head, not kidding.

Then we went through the menu vocabulary list.

“They cook with nettles? Aren’t nettles things that hurt you?”

“What are ramps?”

“What are fideos?”

“What is whey granito?”

I dunno. I’m having the salmon.

Lucy is a foodie and she got a bit too adventurous and wound up with some weird over-salted pasta dish which she sent back.

But now they know. If you watch Portlandia, it’s not a joke…that shit really happens. And full disclosure, Clyde Common is one of my favorite restaurants. The food and the people are delightful, just a bit colorful!

Had a great night. Derwood and I returned home. I had another good cry about my mother which was part of my long term strategery. If I cry enough before the wedding, I won’t get hysterical about my mom AT the wedding and I must tell you, it worked!.

On to Wedding Day…..

Where to Start?

I didn’t work Thursday, Friday (my company gives you two days off to get married), got married Saturday, did clean up and wine returns Sunday, took vacation day on Monday and yesterday kept doing that head-bobbing, nap jerk at work because I was absolutely WORN out. I went to bed before 8 and I’m feeling fairly human today. I have my new wedding clogs on because Wonder Dansko pal Kitty from Colgate brought me two pair of wedding clogs.

Here are today’s: This is going to be one discombobulated post.

We began getting the yard in shape on May 4. Here are some before photos:

Deck junk area

Weedy patio and rusty gross fire pit

Over run bank which Derwood will deal with.

Deren’s family came over and power washed and weeded and did other really nice things for us.  And then Derwood built raised beds for us. Two! In two hours! How amazing is that?

Middle bed all weeded.

Cleared for vegetable beds.

Derwood totally building something.

Derwood with one raised bed being installed

Raised beds!

Then I got a manicure, the kind that they bake on but I can’t think of what that’s called right now. The girl who did them was named Dian but I’m thinking Dian is not really her name. She was darling and happy and chipper and I didn’t understand anything she said but I nodded and laughed a lot.

And then we got pedicures. Brigid had to take her jeans off and wrap a toga around herself because her damn jeans were so tight she couldn’t roll them up for the pedicure. Skinny jeans should be causing epidemics of yeast infections.

My two girls and bff’ Trisha’s niece Olivia all sitting next to each other texting (each other) because they haven’t seen each other in so long.

Me having my garden troll feet put through the cheese grater.

Just realized. I had a Gel Manicure.

It’s Official!

Derwood and I are husband and wife!

Did I Mention I’m Getting Married?

Clearly I have hit the point where I’m going to blog because all the other stuff is so overwhelming I just don’t want to think about it or talk about it. It will all get done, that is what my mother always said.

Today’s the Day!

No, not my wedding day but today is four days before the Big Day.

Today is the day that Deren and I picked up our marriage license. I will save my heated commentary on our having to pay Multnomah County $60 for permission to get married for another time.

I have been crazy busy since last Friday. My little wedding notebook now has a page for lists of things that need to be done every day, each day has its own page. I’m manic. Deren is working all the time and we really haven’t seen much of each other as he was out of town last week for biz.

My daughter Annie is going nuts over her prom date which is the same night as the wedding so now the prom date is coming to the wedding, which is fine and then they will be heading out. Last night I’m coloring her hair and she can go from happy to sad to teary to laughing to grim in about 90 seconds. The teens in my life are causing me more stress than the wedding.

Deren came home from work and wanted to talk about my day which I thought I had already reported on earlier on the phone. We definitely are having a disconnect right now which I’m not at all worried about there are just to many other things to focus on; and we are back in synch this morning.

Last night I told him that I was going shopping on Thursday with a friend to buy Scuba Suit Spanx Support garments and he said….”do you think they have one for me?”

He then swallowed his tongue as my eyes narrowed and I said, “I don’t know. Do you mean do they make them for really thin people?! Gee, I don’t KNOW.”

Later as we were getting ready for bed, I told him I had been to the pharmacy to pick up Retin-A for Brigid and prednisone for me to reduce my red splotches that are like beacons to me but no on else seems to see them and he mumbled something. That was followed by three minutes of back and forth: What did you SAY? Nothing! Tell me! It was nothing! Tell ME!!! OK, I said, I would never put steroids in my body for no reason.

Really? You wanna go? You wanna take this outside???

Today is the day!

Today is the day when I write about Deren and how much I adore him. When we are off, he usually winds up saying something stupid but funny. I wind up just being cranky and crying and that’s not very entertaining. He can and does make me laugh everyday. When the last thing I feel like doing is laughing, he can still pull it off. And when I feel like laughing, we laugh till we cry. Deren’s laugh, when he can’t stop, is one of the best sounds I have ever heard.

Deren can change a flat tire in 20 minutes and never even swear! Last weekend he built two raised beds and installed them in two hours! That fascinates me. Men in my family don’t do things like that. He can fix things. Blows my mind.

If you believe Deren (and I always do except when I know he is making things up, like plant names), if you believe Deren, he fell in love with me the moment he laid eyes on me and knew we would get married. As we say to each other regularly, “you called it.” Well I say that and he says, “I called it”…What am I doing? You understand the way pronouns work.

I didn’t fall in love at first sight. I didn’t know we would get married. But I knew he was different. I couldn’t live without him and I tried. We don’t know how many times I have broken up with him. Nor do we know why I would always come back or take him back. I guess that is true love.

I have seen Deren in a room at Providence Hospital in Portland, completely loopy on Ativan while detoxing from the alcohol that could have killed him. He hadn’t showered for awhile, he thought there were kittens in the room, he wanted to take my car to go get some “stuff at home” and he’d “be right back”. He was a most congenial patient, everyone loved him but he was out of his mind. And all I could think was how much I loved him and how he was totally not taking my car anywhere. I told him then, “Don’t fuck this up. Don’t make me sorry that I’m sticking with you.”

Not that that is Deren but it is funny.

Deren never looked back. He has been sober for three years. He has a good job. He and I have built a life together and I think we have done it with our best interests and the best interests of our children at heart.

When I am with Deren, I am the best version of me. I understand love more clearly. I am better at puns. I laugh at myself more easily. I forgive quicker. I say I love you more frequently. All I want from Deren is to continue on in this life and make memories. I don’t ever want things from him…just experiences so when we are old and gray (God willing), we will be able to look back and say remember that trip? that store? that movie? that road? that moment?

I am so blessed by the mystery of finding the love of my life and I will be forever grateful.

Do You Feel Lucky, Boss Man?

I’m leaving work at 1:15 this afternoon to take my sister to have Lasik surgery so she won’t have to wear contact lenses anymore. After the 20 minute surgery, I will take her home and get her in bed, go pick up my 5-year-old nephew, Matt, and enjoy the rest of the beautiful afternoon and then spend the night with them before getting my hair cut and colored in the morning.

Yesterday I went into my boss’ office and said, “My sister is having surgery tomorrow and I need to pick her up at 1:30 and take her and then take care of my nephew so I have to leave early.” He said, “okay” and then started talking about my nephew.

See how I played that?

Some of the ladies may have caught it.

If a woman says “surgery” to her male boss, she may as well say “uterus” or “ovaries”. He’s not going to touch the word “surgery”….whatever it is, just go. The key is the delivery.

“My sister is having surgery.” And then just give him a level stare, lots of eye contact. Nope, I’m not going to elaborate, all I said was the word “surgery”.

Go ahead, ask me, “What kind of surgery?”

Could be an ingrown toenail, could be genital warts.

Do you feel lucky?

Could be Lasik laser corrective eye surgery. Could involve an anal probe.

You don’t know, sir, do you?

Do you want to discuss my sister’s reproductive organs with me, Boss? or do you just want to let me go on my merry way and you can go back to work and breathe a sigh of relief that you didn’t just hear me say “cervix”.

A Wedding Bouquet

Reblogged from Serenity in the City:

...for Maggie: Serenity in New York City style.

May your wedding day be glorious and the marriage be filled with Love, seasoned sparingly with tears (mostly of Joy) and spiced with passion (some of it as chocolate!).

To the Bride and Groom:  Here's to the happy beginning of a joyful journey together!

Read more… 37 more words

Thank you Margarita for my beautiful bouquet. I'm so blessed to have made such wonderful friends on WordPress, a blogging side effect I never expected. xoxo

Mother's Day at Mt. Calvary

Reblogged from Someone Fat Happened:

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Mother's Day wasn't sad for me this year. I had some twinges last week reading blogs about Mother's Day and mothers. Because I am from a twisted Irish family, we are known to say things like "My mother's dead" when anyone asks about Mother's Day and we will do the same for Father's Day in June. It makes us laugh and makes whoever else is around pretty uncomfortable.

Read more… 1,275 more words

I'm reposting because I feel so out of it because I'm frantically prepping for the 18th. I have to be frantic to get things done, that's how I operate. Mother's Day is this weekend and I will be up at the cemetery visiting my mom so here is a reblog of last year's visit.

Winery confidence...how not to be that guy, sort of.

Reblogged from don of all trades:

I knew I was drunk because I had my bare ass freshly pressed against the back window of the rental van aimed at a convertible corvette that may or may not have been in sight of the van at this point. Showing my ass literally is not a part of my usual MO. Figuratively, yes, but I do normally keep my bertcheeks where they belong.

Read more… 1,567 more words

I'm starting to hyperventilate about the wedding so I can't post. Here's from my pal Don, who is me in a man costume.

I’d Really Like to Punch Anna Wintour Right in the Vogue

Anna Wintour is the editor of Vogue magazine.

Anna Wintour

Meryl Streep’s character in The Devil Wears Prada is based on Anna Wintour. I couldn’t read The Devil Wears Prada because I kept thinking, “no one is actually like this.” I did like the movie because Meryl Streep’s character is so over the top. Then I saw the documentary, The September Issue which tells the story of Anna Wintour and what Vogue goes through to get out the GIANT September issue. Apparently Meryl Streep was being charitable in her portrayal.

Anna Wintour gives new meaning to the word “perfectionist”. She has a critical editorial eye and a glacial personality, she doesn’t appear to have a sense of humor nor much body mass.

You may well ask, “Maggie, what has Anna Wintour done to piss you off so royally?”

I will tell you. I’m mad at Anna Wintour because she is at the top of the food chain. Vogue sets the look and the “look” trickles down to Women’s Wear Daily, Cosmo, Glamour, Elle, Mademoiselle, Marie Claire, Seventeen, and so on. I stopped reading women’s fashion magazines decades ago because I didn’t need to pay money to feel bad about my body. Of course back then I was minute and didn’t realize how good I had it.

I’m not the first woman to decry the fashion industry’s and society’s warped view of what a “thin”, healthy female should look like; I just happen to be the one that was in American Apparel (by the way great store and all product is made in the U.S.) with her 13-year-old daughter last night when said daughter melted down because she didn’t look good in the shorts she was trying on, her stomach looked “bad” and we had to leave the store in tears.

This is a photo of my chunky daughter in Palm Springs last month:

You can see why she would be unhappy with her appearance.

Here are some models from Vogue’s Spring 2013 runway:

These pictures don’t portray feminine beauty, they portray hunger.

I’m not going to attempt to address eating disorder issues that stem from this “ideal”. When I was in high school in the early ’80s, anorexia and bulimia were just coming into vogue (pun very much intended). I played with barfing and got myself down to 98 lbs so I was the thinnest girl on the tennis team. I then decided I was hungry and just went back to my normal eating habits. One of my school chums died at the ripe old age of 32 from multiple organ failure due to anorexia.  There are many writers on and off WordPress who can speak knowledgeably about the causes, behaviors, and therapies for eating disorders. I just know one of the causes is the fashion world telling us that being 5’10″ and a size 2 is a reasonable size for a woman.

For a couple of months now I have been thinking about shutting this blog down and starting a new one. Once the wedding is over, that is exactly what I’m going to do. I don’t write much about weight issues or dieting and it punched me in the face yesterday that I’m not fat. I’m a small framed woman with big boobs. If I want my girls to not hate their bodies, I must lead by example. Enough is enough.

I talked Miss Brigid down and we got her some shorts last night.  She is so beautiful and has no idea. Thanks Ms. Wintour.