Monday, June 30, 2008

Why Isn't This More Fun?

Ah Wendi,

I love how your keen sense of ladylike decorum comes through in your writing. I will never think of my protein shakes the same way again.

Hope you had a good weekend though. I miraculously survived another training session with Colossus and am anticipating another successful cleaning date with my beloved Dyson this morning.

But, alas, I'm feeling a little down. About this wedding planning stuff.

You know, before I met The Lawyer, I never allowed myself to visit Well, ok, fine. I might have typed the address into my web browser a few or dozen or so times, out of sheer boredom and desperation and inability to think of anywhere else to surf. But I never allowed myself to set up a profile.

I just knew it would be worth the wait. The BF would propose, I'd have my Ring of Dreams on my finger, and the sun would be shining and angels singing on the day I opened my laptop and logged into The Knot as a bride-to-be.

Things didn't exactly turn out that way, not that I mind. In fact I kind of love that the BF and I are doing things a bit inversely, booking our dream location before actually getting engaged (not that the event manager knows - sshhh!). Plus, it makes sense for me, since I will be starting my MBA in September. Best to get this stuff done now, as a Lady of Leisure, before I become a Student of Stress. I feel secure and happy and excited to get engaged and I think our family and friends will get a kick out of the fact that we booked everything before our actual engagement. I mean it's cute, right?

Me to family member/friend: "Guess what? I'm ENGAGED!"

FM/F: "That's great! I am so happy for you! Have you thought about a date?"

Me: "Yup! And a time, and a location. Invitations forthcoming. And there will be fabulous mini grilled cheese sandwiches passed during the 4:30-5:30 cocktail hour."

I mean, that's cute, right?

So why isn't this more fun?

We booked our date a couple weeks ago, and I had the green light to start planning, so off I went… and then I stalled. It wasn't until recently that I was able to sit myself back down to look at some caterer's websites. We also received our lengthy contracts in the mail, but signing them (and the deposit check to go along with them) was more painful than joyful.

Don't get me wrong. I was listening when EVERY bride EVER declared that planning a wedding is stressful. But this is, like, one of the only things on my docket right now. I could browse wedding sites all day, every day, la dee da, without a care in the world save for my aching legs courtesy of Colossus. And I am determined to have fun with it, dammit! Who cares if I don't have my Ring of Dreams tossing glorious rays of light around my kitchen as I type? Who cares if I am completely financially dependent on my fian - excuse me, boyfriend - right now and thus feel twice the pressure of a lack of liquid funds with which to consider satin linens over polyester and butternut squash soup served in a wee carved out pumpkin over a plain old bowl?

Oh - I care. Crap.


Thursday, June 26, 2008

Protein and Poop


I can't wait to hear about your future bowel movements (or lack thereof), with all the protein you'll be eating! Have you ever noticed how you get constipated from eating too much sushi or sashimi? If not, you'll soon discover the wonders of being all stuffed up from too much sausage. Sadly, I'm not talking about The Lawyer's.

Just remember the following before you workout: keep carbohydrates to zilch up to 2 hours before you workout. If you eat carbs (and this includes the good carbs, like apples, my friend), it signals the pancreas to secrete insulin. This is all fine and normal, but when there's insulin in your system, you can't burn fat. And, while I know you want to be shaking that fine bum for Colossus, it's imperative you burn the bubble butt your entire workout! I always work my glutes from all different directions every time I workout -- it's the largest muscle in the bod, so it'll help rev up the metabolism quickest. Plus, it just makes it so much more spankable for other activities.

In terms of how terrible you feel during your workouts, this'll all subside. When I started strength training, I wanted to knock myself out. There were times I was convinced I was going to crap my pants if I did another leg press. But now I can press 600 pounds and discuss whether we should raise interest rates to help the US Dollar with no problems whatsoever! Speaking of leg pressing, the other day I watched this woman do the leg press with her poodle on her lap and her trainer by her side. Ah, New York.

Keep pushin' on the pot and on the weight, DG!



Domestic Gimp Seeks Sue Wisdom


Ok, so you were my original fitness guru, before I was cast into the big, beefy, brawny arms of Colossus. And now here I am, hobbling back to you for some girl-guru-to-girl-gimp advice.

You see, as embarrassed as I am to admit it, I am still sore. I worked out with the man FIVE DAYS AGO and I am still sore. What is wrong with me??? I thought I was fit! I mean, I've run two marathons! Come on people! You know I was fit. Heck, even Colossus admits that I'm fitter than I look (thanks a lot, mister). And it's nothing mayjah - I didn't injure myself or anything. It's just that this is a record of patheticness for me, if I do say so myself. Still so sore I can't walk like a normal human being five days after a training session?! Ridiculous. It only took me 48 hours to recover from running a marathon, for goodness sake! Not to mention the fact that this is really putting a damper on my domestic duties.

So, guru, what do I do? Besides popping Motrin like it's the candy I can no longer eat because all I eat now is protein. Do I stretch (which really hurts)? Do I take walks? Is there something wrong with me?

Oh, and speaking of protein? Colossus says to jumpstart Bridal Boot Camp I have to be eating 1g of protein per pound of body weight. Which I did a few days ago, and, well, all I ate that day was protein (eggs, meat, nuts, protein powder shakes). How can this be good for me?

Help me, wise Wendi!


*Domestic Gimp, obv.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

The Most Gorgeous, Glorious Gown Ever


Behold my latest and greatest obsession (now that Nutella has been banned from my kitchen):

Photos courtesy of, which were courtesy of OK! Magazine.

I know you probably just threw up a little in your mouth, but be honest and try to have some fashion sense: have you ever in your life seen anything so glorious?

In case you don't know, the beacon of gorgeosity pictured above is Coleen McLoughlin, high school sweetheart and now wife of famed and fab English footballer Wayne Rooney. Coleen is a big style icon over here - a title of which I was dubious until she became Mrs. Rooney in that garment of delight and perfection.

I am shocked and disappointed that Coleen and Wayne's $10 million Wedding of the Decade has not gotten more press in the States, but then again perhaps that increases my chance of getting my hands on a dress like that before every bride in America does. I mean, not that I could afford the $200K Marchesa price tag, or that Georgina Chapman would get on her knees to make my dress by hand... but still. I. Love. That. Dress.

Just look at it in profile!


There are no words.

So yes, I was one of many who guilty forked over $6 of the BF's hard earned pound sterling to purchase last week's issue of OK! Magazine - deep guilt that was assuaged as soon as I returned home, plopped down at the kitchen table, and opened the Souvenir Special Biggest Ever Issue to the incredible pictures. That gorge Marchesa gown! The bridesmaids' white and gold Marchesa dresses and custom-made gold Christian Louboutins! The "mini-me" flower girls in tiny dresses that looked just like Coleen's! The only disappointment was the lack of other hottie English football stars in attendance. I mean if the Beckhams had been there I might have just keeled over. I'm not sure I or the rest of the world would have been prepared for such a level of fabulousness.

This dress has eclipsed my memory of anything else we were talking about. Sigh.

xoxo and Marchesa dreamz,

Monday, June 23, 2008

Domestics and Diapers


How I long to be by Colossus's side, with a martini on one hand and a dominatrix's whip in the other, telling you to quit whining and squeeze your glutes a bit harder. Just keep in mind that the more you practice your frontal and dorsal kegel exercises, the better it'll be for your bod and The Lawyer's rod.

Who just said that?

Meanwhile, I left the Domestic Partner alone in our apartment in the Village to attend The Mermaid Parade, so that I could spend my weekend hiking with the family in Vermont. As a Health Consultant, of course it's absolutely imperative that I have flat abs that one can eat sushi off of 24/7. (Hello, didn't anyone see Samantha in Sex and the City: The Movie yet? How I long to be 50 and dating a 29 year old in real life.)

Anyway, you can check out some of the military hikes I took the fam out here: The first one, Button Bay, is where my friend got married when we were 19 and I played the piano in her wedding. It's so nice to have worked my way up to Mistress Minister from Stereotypical Asian Pianist.

Speaking of all things Asian, have you given more thought to who's going to be your photographer at the wedding? I'd give an 80% tip to anyone who can guarantee our all-around-hotness. Um, I meant, you and The Lawyer's all-around-hotness, not mine.

While you cry over strangers' wedding albums, I continue to build up what I hope will be a strong investment portfolio with one of my broker's. I thought of you, my darling DG, only because I bumped into a tres pregnant classmate of mine while in his office this morning. She was obsessing over not knowing yet how to put on a diaper, and I continued to cross and criss-cross my legs, hoping to not get pregnant from her overabundance of hormones. Yes, I'm still in my anti-kid phase. I do promise, however, to spoil rotten your triplets.


Auntie Wendi

Bridal Boot Camp Begins...

Dear Wendi,

Holy crap. I started Bridal Boot Camp yesterday, on what otherwise would have been a perfect Sunday. And by "perfect Sunday" - also known as "life before Boot Camp" - I mean this:

Sleep in.
Wake up refreshed and ready for a little romance (if you know what I mean).
Homemade brunch (using items purchased at the Notting Hill farmers' market the day before): blueberry pancakes, bacon, sausage, chocolate croissant, full-fat Greek yogurt with honey and granola, fresh-squeezed OJ.
Vegging and snuggling and possibly back to bed.

Instead, my Sunday consisted of this:

Wake up to alarm.
Tired and mildly cranky.
Workout nerves + fatigue = no, um, romance.
Pre-Boot Camp breakfast: one scrambled egg, three pieces of broccoli, small handful of almonds.
Ass handed to me by our new trainer, who will hence be known as Colossus.

I know it will all be worth it when I look hotter on my wedding day than I have ever looked in my life, but man. Life without carbs, chocolate, cheese, and - wait for it - ALCOHOL?! Just. Wrong.

Granted, we are only going carbless and boozeless for two weeks. Then we can slowly start adding these necessities back into our diet. And I must begrudgingly admit that since the BF and I started eating more protein and cut out the wine/beer/port/cider/champagne/Jaeger (kidding - I haven't been able to drink that since the Drunken Archaeologist Campsite Laundry Incident of 2000) a few days ago, I am feeling pretty good. Well, or, I was. Until this morning. Well, actually, until the middle of last night. When my soreness started waking me up every time I rolled over.

Today is not much of an improvement. I am already two Motrin in, with plenty more to go. I am hobbling around like I have a dumbbell up my tuchus, and my soreness almost - almost - kept me from my favorite sacred domestic ritual: my Monday morning date with Dyson.

TG I was able to rally.

Hoping you're sore this morning for a better reason than I (if you know what I mean)...


Friday, June 20, 2008

All Choked Up and Nowhere to Go


Ok, first of all? I cannot believe I was not invited to your Domestic Partnership ceremony at the local post office. I mean granted I am like thousands of miles away, but still. This is momentous! And even though you probaby just wore your typical DP uniform of tank top, brown pants, and brown boots, please tell me you at least made the effort to wear your water bra. Until I hear confirmation of this, I will choose to believe it was so.

As you know, Minister, I have commenced my wedding planning with ringless elation. I am trying to take it slow, as we still have over a year before the big day, and I want to savor each and every bullet point and tickbox on's wedding planning calendar and interactive checklist. But I have a confession. And now that you're going to be our minister, you will hear my confession, right?

I just spent about an hour poring over four - count 'em - four online wedding-related photo albums for a couple I don't even know. A cute young couple from Illinois. The bride went to high school with my cousin/maid-of-honor-to-be, and so my cuz forwarded me the link in case I'd be inspired by their tasteful fall nuptials. I started with the wedding album, since it was the only one that was relevant to me. But it sucked me in. Easily. So I went back and watched all four of the albums in order, witnessing their photographic journey from engagement to wedding to reception to honeymoon. Although I felt like a bit of a voyeur during the honeymoon slideshow, so I washed the dishes. But I still let it play. And I still got choked up. Choked up looking at photos of a relationship and wedding of people I don't even know! Is that weird?

I have realized, and come to accept, that the closer I get to realizing my lifelong dream of being a bride, the more emotional I get about weddings. Real weddings, TV weddings, "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." I watched that one for the umpteenth time a couple weeks ago - even before the BF and I had set the date - and while I always used to choke up when the parents give that cute Nia Vardalos and Aidan (I'm sorry, but he will always be Aidan to me) a house, the other day? Tears. Streaming down my face.

And just yesterday I watched a video news clip of two lesbians, aged 84 and 87, who'd been together for 55 years, tie the knot (legally! yay!) in San Fransisco. They were totally composed and adorable. I was crying like a baby.

So there. I said it. I have become a voyeuristic crybaby wedding nut. Let's move on.


Wednesday, June 18, 2008

The Fake Joint Bank Account


Alas, I must admit that I’d rather have chronic diarrhea for the rest of my life than plan a wedding; however, I’m excited for you guys to get hitched and seal my karma. And, of course, I’m all set to get my online minister certificate with The Universal Life Church and wear a totally inappropriate hot red dress to your wedding. Did I tell you that they insist I sign an agreement saying, essentially, that all people are nice? Yawn.

Scott and I opened up a fake joint bank account yesterday solely to prove we’re domestic partners. Domestic partnerships = excellent health insurance = free medical massages for Wendi. Did you see the article in the NY Times the other week about how couples are getting married just for health insurance? They may as well have interviewed me during a shiatsu session.

Our appointment at the bank went as follows:

Nice bank lady: "How much would you like to start your account with?"
Wendi: "Could you just open it with this $5 bill?"

Nice bank lady: “Would you like an ATM card for your joint account?”
Wendi: “Nah.”

NBL: “Would you like checks with both of your names on it?”
Wendi: “Um, doesn’t that cost $20? No thanks.”

NBL: “Do you both want online access to the account?”
Control Freak Wendi: “I’ll be the only one accessing the account. Are there any penalties associated with closing the joint account within a few weeks?”

Confused but Nice Bank Lady: “You did say you wanted a joint account, right?”
Wendi: “This is really more of a formality.”

Tomorrow our bank account will be official, and then we’re going to the post office to have our domestic partnership proof verification notarized. Essentially, we’re getting married by the angry mail lady!

Beyond awesome. Scott wants to dress up for the occasion.

Your solemn and faithful future minister

We Booked a Date! We Booked a Date!

Dearest Wendi,

So not only is our wedding date almost a palindrome, but it's also exactly one month before my birthday. And not only is that cool in itself, but I will also still be only 28 when I get married! Woohoo!

Now is where I prepare to defend myself over the fact that I am not, quite, yet engaged. So I don't have the ring on my finger. And I haven't been officially proposed to. Because the ring has not even been purchased (and I know for a fact it has not). Whatev. You know that the BF and I are MFEO - you, after all, are responsible for our match in the first place! You knew it before I did! We just moved to London together. We have a joint checking account. We even have (adorable) names picked out for our children! And also? In case you are still going to give me crap about this? See below:

(Me diving into my MBA program in a few months)*(Having way less time to plan after September) + Planning a wedding from abroad + Booking a fabulous, popular location that is very meaningful for us = Admittedly inverse yet necessary order of operations

See? It's a mathematical fact that things had to happen this way.

The best part is that now I get to plan it! I have dreamt of my wedding my whole life. Now I can actually BUY all those bridal magazines instead of just gazing at them longingly from behind an US Weekly! I can surf all those wedding sites without being afraid the BF will see them in my web history! This is going to be fab. Ooh. I also need to decide on a ring ASAP. So much to do! TG I'm unemployed.

Just don't tell anyone, k? The BF and I are keeping this to ourselves (and you, and my cousin - she is after all the maid of honor, and probably my best married friend Sharon).

Yours in almost-engaged-bride-to-be bliss,
Your Favorite Domestic Goddess