A Wedding Dress Shopping Adventure

This Saturday I went on a wedding gown shopping excursion. I brought my dear pals Allison and Jamie, and my mother. It was an interesting experience. We went to 3 shops, and we found one that just might be it. I need a bit more time to ponder. I learned a lot about wedding dresses this weekend. Some new knowledge for me:

1. I wear a size in wedding dresses that is a couple of sizes larger than I usually wear. I know this is traditional sizing, but geez. I didn't enjoy this part at all.

2. Wedding dress boutique owners/consultants are painfully honest. For example a direct quote, "You have a nice body, but girl, you do have some HIPS." Thanks, lady.

3. Wedding dresses have tags. Lots of them. There were paper tags, satin tags, tags in my armpits, along my waist, and against my back. I had to practice yoga breathing and go to my happy place in my head. I felt that a tag-induced anxiety attack might be a bit embarrassing.

4. Wedding dresses take a long time to arrive once they are ordered. This means that I really need to move on this decision soon, and I am not the best decision maker.

5. All of the other women trying on wedding gowns have heinous taste. Ha ha! This is a huge overgeneralization, but at least the women who were with me at one boutique fit into this category. It was BAD. BAD. We're talking more beading than JonBenet Ramsay and all of the Li'l Miss Texas pageant contestants combined.

I didn't want to post any of the gowns, but this was the most comfortable thing that I tried on all day.

Sweet T's First Decision

This past weekend when Sweet T was in town, he said something interesting. We woke up on Saturday morning, and I was greeted with "Bets, what are we going to do about that BMW?" Through our conversation, it was revealed that he hated Fraulein more than I did. We needed a more dependable car, and Ze German was not it. We had visions of Shelley Long and Tom Hanks in The Money Pit, and decided now was the time to do it. Since Sweet T works for Nissan, it was time to get his sweet discount, and I am now the proud owner of a new Altima. She drives like a gem, and she has a nice little warranty. The folks at the dealership now have a lovely BMW, minus the MW(see a previous post.) We are both happy with the decision! As with all of my things, she has been named. She is all the way from Japan, so I present to you...

Baby Mimoko

Cadillac Margaritas

Mom and her gal pals came into town for a girls' night out, and Sweet T was also here. We decided to meet up for some Cadillac Margaritas, which I do love!

We also had lots of tortilla chips. I wore a very summery top, it was my way of protesting this weather.

I got to see Molly, fabulous pilates instructor, childhood friend, and daughter of Leslie, one of mom's dearest pals.

The two Sweet Ts decide to do a shot of straight tequila. This was taken right after a spur of the moment, tightly choreographed, pre-tequila shot dance.

Court was there in spirit. You see, she too has turned into her mother. Teri=Courtney, Courtney=Teri.

A Very Clever Coworker

I am so lucky to teach with a lot of fun girls. One of my dearest pals, Marinda, is a literacy coach with me. One of our jobs is to order books for the classroom teachers to use with their students. We are always getting huge orders, and many orders of books come with strange things. One of our orders arrived in a giant, zip around portfolio-type thing. Once we unpacked the books, Marinda and I talked about what we should do with such an odd contraption. We decided we would leave it out in the hallway for a teacher to take. As I left yesterday, I casually mentioned that Sweet T would be visiting this weekend, and that wedding planning would be in full swing. When I arrived at school this morning, I saw that Marinda had "repurposed" the portfolio for my use. I'm thinking of bringing this to meet with a wedding coordinator. I think it would be a great way to let some poor soul know just how sarcastic I am.

An Engagement Story

This post will be a departure from my usual sassiness and sarcasm, as I am simply smitten, and gloriously happy. This weekend I got engaged to the most wonderful man I have ever met. I am so blessed that he came into my life, and I must say that it was after many years of praying and hoping that there was someone out there who would love me just for me, and with all of his heart. Thankfully, that person is Sweet T, and on Saturday, February 13th, he told me that he wanted me to be his wife.

He took me to the Opryland Hotel in Nashville, for a special Valentine's Day getaway. We checked into our lovely room, overlooking the Delta Atrium, and Sweet T promptly told me to take a nap, that I would not get my gift for bit. He brought out some champagne, and started to put it on ice. I was very thrilled, as I love champagne!

Here he is, preparing to ice a bit o' bubbly.

Here I am, enjoying the view, after surprisingly refusing to nap. I wanted to enjoy the view, and have 2-6 glasses of coconut rum and Diet Coke that we brought from home. I was completely oblivious to anything at this point.

Fast forward, this is the aftermath of the question. After begging for my gift, which was a big red box, I was told to put on the dress I brought for dinner and then got sit on the balcony. 5 minutes later, Sweet T arrived with that little glass of candy hearts. I went to snag one, and inside was a sterling silver heart with "Marry Me" engraved on it, and my fabulous ring tied to it with a ribbon. I would love to say that I listened as Sweet T poured out his heart. Actually, as he was bent down on one knee, I grabbed his face, squeezed it really hard, and then starting shaking and shrieking. I said "YES!!!!" and then shoved that ring on my finger. We were hugging, laughing, shaking, etc. and then he brought in the red box. It was actually a set of lovely champagne flutes from his parents, along with a handwritten toast from them. We got out the champagne, and sipped as we looked at this view.

Minutes of bliss passed before I jumped up and ran screaming into the room, "I have to call my mom and dad! I have to call Katie and Chip! I have to call Robby." Sweet T laughed as I ran inside to grab my cell phone.

My precious.

Here I am discussing the situation with my brother, who was thrilled. I couldn't reach my parents, since they were ironically at a wedding. I quickly learned that they already knew.

This is me talking to my brother in law, the one and only Chip Kenworthy. "I'm getting married!!!" I screamed. Chip, ever cool and collected quipped, "Bets, congratulations. I can honestly say that I never thought I would see this day." He is a hoot, you see.

First photos as an engaged couple taken with the self-timing camera.

We met Rusty and Mary Fran for cocktails, and MF was completely shocked, as her husband knows she can't keep a secret, so she was not informed. We are very similar in that regard.

We had a wonderful dinner at the Old Hickory Steakhouse and were treated to a lovely meal by Rusty and Mary Fran and Rusty's parents, Tom and Carol.

This is the next morning, the first of many phone calls from my mother, Jane. Let the planning commence!

Forever 21

I did something today that I have been thinking about for a long time. In lots of my magazines there are cute little tops and dresses, and those items are usually listed as "Budget Friendly" and come from stores like Forever 21, Charlotte Russe, and H &M. Where were this mystical places that sell trendy clothes for a fraction of what I would normally pay for duds? It turns out these stores reside in my city, so today I set out to try my hand at Forever 21.

I was a tad nervous walking into the store. The girl who greeted me appeared so youthful that she must have been dropped off for her Saturday job by her mom. She had a smug look on her face. I know this look because Jane used to drop me off at the Dairy Queen when I was 15, and I wore a similar expression that could easily be read as, "I'd totally rather be with my boyfriend right now, engaged in some heavy petting."

As I quietly skulked around the store, I tried to remain inconspicuous. Hopefully there were no scanners that could read age from a distance.

I found a cute striped top and went to reach for it. "Excuse me," said a little high pitched voice. I had not touched the hanger, but had instead brushed the hand of a CHEERLEADER. Yes, complete with a tight short skirt and a face painted with the initials of her high, possibly middle school. I was getting spooked.

I found a couple of tops and headed to the solace of the dressing room. There was no reprieve from the endless barrage of juvenile comments in that cubicle. To my left I heard, "Mom, when are we going to go shopping for prom?" To my right, "My roots are gross, I have to get them done before our composite pictures are taken next week." These girls were so busy. My life of paying my mortgage, combing my cat, and sipping soy chai tea lattes suddenly seemed so inadequate.

What should I do? I was left with only one option. I had to take dressing room pictures modeling the two tops, send them to Courtney, and wait for the verdict. Her response? "The tops are cool, but you look like a serial killer with that expression." Ah, at least my BFF is still in high school with her sassy attitude. I left with 2 tops, valued at $27.92. I can afford those on my DQ salary.

A Random Act of Cartwheeling

I was at work today, and had a funny little experience. I was sitting at my desk, which is right by the door and looks out into the 3rd grade hallway. The position of my desk leads to unavoidable greetings by children throughout the day, which can be annoying after about the 50th, "Hey Miss ..., what are you doing?" "Well, if you must know, child, I am shopping the mid day dash sale at Neiman Marcus.com, and hoping the school district isn't monitoring my computer usage."

But seriously, when I was working at my desk around 11 a.m, I witnessed a hoot of an incident. A very vivacious and free spirited 3rd grader named Rubi came bouncing down the hall. I watched as Rubi did a quick little scan of the hallway. She surmised that she was its only occupant. She did not see me perched behind my desk, sitting there just like a spider, ala Scarlett O'Hara. A smile spread across her little 8 year old face as her hands shot up by her ears. Drum roll.....CARTWHEEL!!!!! Oh, and a very poorly executed one at that. She rose back to her feet, looking quite triumphant until she locked eyes with me.

My first reaction was to roll out of my chair in laughter. No, no, that was my second thought, right after running out and challenging her with a round off backhand spring. I had to resist both urges and remember my role as a model of good choices. The disciplining went something like this:

Betsy: Rubi, come in here please.

(Rubi sheepishly enters my room.)

Betsy: Rubi, did you just do a carthwheel?

Rubi: Yes.

Betsy: Why on earth did you do that?

Rubi: I dunno, I guess I wanted to.

Betsy: What are our hallway expectations?

Rubi: (verbatim) To not do cartwheels in the hallway?

Betsy: Well, no, that is not one of our hallway expectations. We like to keep our rules simple, so our expectation is that you walk in the hallway. If you are walking, you can't possibly be cartwheeling. Save those for recess.

Oh, sweet, sweet Rubi. I don't often do cartwheels anymore, but sometimes my 29 year old brother plays with toys.

I do interpretive dances with hippies.

I also pretend to bird watch sometimes.
I also wear tutus.
I do not judge you, Rubi.