Left out to dry

So, apparently it is really difficult to get a wedding gown cleaned.

My adventure began on Monday. I called a few places to price the actual cleaning. First of all, everyone was baffled that I wanted the dress cleaned before the wedding. Secondly, the employees had difficulty understanding that I didn't want it preserved, I wanted to wear it. Thirdly, the prices spanned from $90-$130 depending on the dress. Fine. That was what I was expecting.
After doing my homework, I found that every place I checked was around the same price. Because of this fact, I decided to save myself the driving time and take the dress to the cleaners near my apartment. Andy uses this establishment and has never had a problem. I drove up and was met by a very nice girl who really was trying to be helpful.
"May I help you?"
"Yes, I need to get this dress cleaned."
"Is that a wedding dress?"
"Yes."
"Um, I don't know anything about those. You should come back tomorrow around 10 so you can speak to my supervisor."
"I work all day. I can't come in at that time. May I leave the dress here and call your supervisor in the morning?"
"Sure!"
So, I left the dress with the girl and told her that I would call in the morning.

Next morning: First call made to the cleaners, 10:00: "Oh, our boss isn't in yet. She was supposed to be in at 10, but you can try again in a half hour or so."Second call, 10:30: "Yeah, she's still not in yet. No, no one can help you except for her. Try again in an hour or so." Third call, 11:30: "I don't know where she is. She hasn't called or anything." This is the point when I told her that I had no confidence in their business and that I would pick up my dress that afternoon. "That's a good idea," said the employee on the phone.
I picked up the dress around 5:30 (realizing that they had stolen my nice strong hanger and replaced it with their crappy, flimsy hanger) and decided to take it to the dry cleaners up the road that calls themselves 'the wedding gown specialists.' I figured they would at least be able to point me in the right direction. I pulled my gown out of my car and walked it into the cleaners. I was greeted by a nice old woman.
"May I help you?"
"Yes, I need to get this gown cleaned. The last place I took it to had no idea what they were doing and they stole my hanger."
"Oh that's too bad! Of course we can do that for you! The total will be $247.43. If you want it boxed, it will be another $150."
I almost fell over. What the hell?
"May I ask why you charge that much?" My dress is not complicated nor is it adorned with lots of crap.
"Well, our guy is really good at what he does."
"I'm sure he is. That must be one heck of a steamer. Thank you for your time." With that I picked up my dress and walked out of the store of rape. Strike two.
As I drove home I came upon another dry cleaner. I pulled in, left my dress in the car and marched up to the counter. The adorable sixteen year old looked up at me.
"May I help you?"
"Do you clean wedding dresses here?"
"Yes"
"How much do you charge?"
"$95 hung or $120 boxed."
"Great." I walked out to my car, grabbed my dress, and hoisted it onto the counter. "I would like it cleaned and hung. I don't want it boxed and I will be back one week from today to pick it up."
"Sounds good," said the teen.
I will let you know if anything happens when I pick it up. For now, I am a believer that third time really is a charm.

Through the Shredder

My darling friend Hilary is letting me borrow her Jillian Michael's 30 day shred (known to me as 'The Shredder'). This workout video from hell is 20 minutes long and is guaranteed to kick your ass.
When Hilary first told me about it, I snickered...after all, work out videos are a piece of cake. No. I learned my lesson. The 20 minute video includes a warm up, cool down, and three cycles of 3 minute strength, 2 minute cardio, and one minute abs. The video offers three levels which get progressively harder. Not too bad, right? Wrong. Give me a five mile run anyday.

I experienced the Shredder for the first time last week. I was smug and used my 5lbs hand weights instead of the suggested 2lbs hand weights. I began the video and quickly found that Jillian is a force to be reckoned with. About 1.5 minutes into the strength training...I had to take a rest. Obviously my deltoids aren't where they shoud be. Fair enough. I continue, my body kicking and screaming the entire length of the video. Every time Jillian told me 'You have to want it!' I had to restrain myself from putting my fist through the television. Truth be told, by the time I got to that point, I didn't have the strength to put my fist through the television. After that work out, I showered. I was ashamed and embarrassed that I did not have the ability to raise my hands over my head to wash my hair. Pitiful. I gave up the Shredder.
After a 7 day hiatus from the Shredder, I decided to try again. I jazzed myself up all day at work and decided that it would just be degrading if I was bested by a workout video. Screw the results, I just want to say that I can work out for 20 minutes without turning into a limp, crying mess. I could do it! Especially with the help of my very kind fiance.
Andy's reaction was similar to mine when I told him about the video. He had no idea what he was in for. I didn't hide anything from him. He heard me cry out in pain for four days after I finished the video. He knew but didn't really know. That all changed last night.
About 30 minutes after a delicious dinner at Red Iguana, Andy announced that he was ready to attack the Shredder. Note to self for future reference: DO NOT do this workout with a full stomache.
I gave Andy my hand weights and I grabbed a bottle of Ice 101 and Bicardi Rum. It served a purpose. The video began. It was just as bad as I remembered, though, I was able to make it all the way through without stopping. Andy was a trooper and stuck with it; however, he mentioned that the video was terrible and he never wants to do it again.
I plan to continue with level one tonight...with Andy. :)If you are wondering how I feel today? Shredded.

The World According to Mort

In honor of Mort Goldman's (assumed) six month birthday, I thought I would write a blog about him.

My quirky little kitty lives his life by a very specific list of rules that may seem more or less retarded to the average passerby.

Rules of Mort:

1. You may not touch me unless you are standing up.
2. It is my unwavering belief that human food tastes like poop.
3. If your toes come within five feet of the bed, they are fair game. I will attack as I see fit.
4.3 AM is the optimal play time for me.
5. I will only become cuddly while one person is in the house.
6. If two or more people are present, I will hide under the bed for two hours then proceed to sit as far away from the humans as possible. Do not attempt to touch me.
7. I maintain the right to sometimes forget who my owners are, thus become unbelievably frightened when a tall redhead enters the apartment.
8. If it rolls, it is fun.
9. I am often not sure of what I want. If this is the case, I will sit in a room of my choice and meow until you guess what it is that I want.
10. Anything round in shape that can be carried in my mouth must die a painful death of drowning in either the toilet or my water dish.

Mort’s law states that, “If it moves or can be considered new, I must encounter and watch it at least fifteen times before I know that it will not kill me.”

The real countdown

March 1st hit me like a bag of happy hammers. I say happy because it made me dance around, skip, and break into joyous song. March 1st marked the day when I realized 'I'm getting married next month.'
To many brides, this is the time of panic and last minute planning; not for this girl. Luckily, I have had a year to get the hard part out of the way so I can enjoy my last 52 days of being engaged. From here on out it is all about parties and payments.

Up to this point, when people asked me, "Are you excited? It's getting close!" My answer would always be, "Not yet." Not yet because I tend to get debilitatingly excited, so I tried to fend it off as long as possible. Well, friends, it is no longer possible. I have reached my excited state of mind where I have trouble functioning and focusing in a work environment. I have difficulty sitting through church without daydreaming about the wedding that will take place there. I wear my wedding shoes around the house and tell myself that I am not lame...I'm just 'breaking them in.' I practice dancing and clean my ring like a person with OCD. I have my invitation hanging up at my desk and I spend a solid amount of time of my work day looking at it. I obsessively look at my check list to go over and over what has been done and what needs to be done. What can I say? I'm just excited.
I fully understand that I am obnoxious at this point. My apologies.
Geez, I am this excited now. What will I be like when I realize that, not only am I getting married, but I am going to Australia four days later!

Valentine's concert

For Valentine's Day this year, Andy and I sang for a concert at Westminster college. The video below is the song Andy and I sang as well as a group number of Westminster alumni.

Enjoy!

A howling good time.

Andy and I have discovered what brings out the worst in us. We found out what reveals the inner bigot and what diminishes the conscience to allow unthinkable remarks to freely fly from our mouths. I am, of course, referring to the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show.

The Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show provided a very enjoyable and thoroughly inappropriate evening for us last night.

It began innocently enough, with the hound group. We oohed and ahhed over the adorable dogs until something caught Andy’s attention. “I think you have to be an unbearably ugly woman to show hounds.”
How true it is, too! Out of all of the different groups of dogs, the handlers of the hounds were, by far, the most pitiful. We laughed as each outfit shown became more and more atrocious. We questioned the handlers’ sexual orientation and settled on the idea that if the handlers look painfully terrible, their dogs would look better. No excuse. No excuse at all.

From that point on, our participation in the dog show increased ten fold. We began mocking the commentators and picking apart the gaits of the handlers. We decided which dogs shouldn't win and shouted our discontent when they did (damn standard poodles. I hate them).

When all was said and done, our evening turned out to be one which would make Mel Brooks proud. Not a single race was left un-offended. Not a single outfit went without severe ridicule (what with their Dr. Scholl's shoes and ill-fitting, shiney skirt-suits). Not an ugly dog was left unnamed (that’s right…we even attacked the dogs). However, amidst all of our negative comments, we were very happy that the 10 year old sussex spaniel won. Way to go, Stump!

We have decided that when we have a house, we will get a German Wirehaired Pointer named Beard Man and an English bulldog named Awesome Dude.

Sacrifice all of your blood.

I am notorious for talking in my sleep. Usually, I have harmless conversations with whomever may be present in my dreamland. I have experienced everything completely asleep from discussing foreign policy with former president George W. Bush to quoting random movies like 'Dave' and 'Labyrinth' with my good friend, Tope. I am vaguely aware of these late-night rendezvous but am never able to break my trance. I am aware that I sit up and have complete conversations with people in my dream, but I have never been able to just lie back down and go to sleep.
Last night, I was able to scare the bejesus out of Andy. He was just drifting to sleep when I rolled over and sang "Sacrifice all of your blood!" to the tune of a snappy jingle. Whether I laughed or not, I am not sure. When I imagine the situation, I imagine myself laughing maniacally.After realizing that I was not awake, Andy shook my shoulder.
"Candace," said a panicked Andy.
"Homanommmm," replied a sleepy Candace.
"Do you know what you just said?" inquired Andy.
"Yes," replied Candace. "I was sjkfjsjdhgf for the thing."
Andy laughed and realized I was completely dead to the world.
Just at that moment, my cat decided that 12:30 am was the time that I needed to wake up. With great gusto, Mort Goldman bit my toes.
"Ow, kitty. Stop it."
"Candace, are you awake?"
"Yes"
"Do you realize what you just said?"
I immediately felt the dread of finding out what I had said in my sleep. "No," I replied.
"You just sang 'sacrifice all of your blood'"
"Really." was the only response that came to mind. "I had a dream I was stirring a pot of something."

Hmm. Go figure. Thoughts?