Random Updates, the "I'm Still Here" Edition

Wow. "See you in September," went straight to, "I haven't seen you since September!"

My life has centered around work, which I don't talk about for ethics/common sense reasons, and wedding planning, which is excruciatingly dull to anyone who is NOT planning a wedding. My colors are black and white with red and yellow accents, the flowers will be Gerbera daisies, and the menu will be....HEY! Come back here!

See my point?

Also, my fiance moved in with me a few months back, which has provided a lot of entertainment. He's borne witness to the hoarder machinations of Marvellous. Also, the blasting boiler heat in our building has meant sleeping with the windows open, which leads to a lot of local color. Like the dude vomiting/coughing/violently ejecting his lungs below us, or the couple arguing, or the lady honking...and honking...and screaming out her car window...to pick someone up for church. Because nothing says "Jesus" quite like, "Get your butt down here!"

Most importantly, a great mystery has been solved. Have you ever wondered, "What happens when two people who buy disaster-ready, bulk quantities of toilet paper move in together?" Easy. They buy shelves, display their collection with pride, and dub it: The Tush Mahal.

Have You Hugged a Bridezilla Today?

Opinions on weddings are like dead salesmen under the staircase: everyone has a lot of them.

Or is that just me?

Anyway, the moment you say you're engaged, you will absorb opinions from virtually every corner of the Known Universe. Weddings are too stuffy nowadays. They've become tacky and gauche. Registries are a courtesy to your guests! Registries are gauche! Dollar dances are fun! Dollar dances are gauche! (Note: I hadn't even heard of the 'dollar dance' until recently, and let me just say I am not combining an open bar with people safety-pinning money to my dress. It sounds like a great way to get stabbed.) And the saddest, most common opinion of them all: weddings are stupid and lame and expensive and everyone should just elope.

Killjoy, party of one!

I want a wedding. I love to throw a good party. I just don't want to throw a good party that is filled with people I don't know or care about, that adds up to years of debt.

But I'm just a few weeks in, and I can see why some brides lose their headpieces altogether. There are very strong, and often conflicting, expectations on How Weddings Are Done. And you feel like virtually anyone will hurl the word "bridezilla" at you for virtually anything, from demanding your bridesmaids get matching haircuts (yes, 'zilla) to not wanting their single guests to bring a random date because it will shoot the budget to hell (no, not 'zilla).

One bride on the wedding forum I frequent (shut up) asked the group if what she was doing was bizarre and unheard of or totally inappropriate.

At this point, I thought she was going to enter the reception on a carousel horse that had been mounted on a giant Pogo stick, to the strains of "Babalu." And I was ready to applaud her unique vision.

No. The poor lady just wanted to have a dessert buffet with cannolis and tiramasu, instead of a standard cake. And for this, she fully expected to be shamed and hassled. And, honestly, I am sure some nosy, badly-in-need-of-a-life old biddy relative will lay on the guilt because she expected to see a flavorless mass of white fondant.

Ultimately, I don't agree with the people who say, "It's your day! Do what you want!" Because if that were the case, wouldn't we just do away with guests altogether? But it's a feat of tact and class to balance what you want and what your intended wants, all while making sure your guests will be pleased and the expenses won't haunt you for years to come.

Now, this post isn't me complaining. I have a long and storied history of not giving a damn about what people think of me. But if you have an engaged friend who left her better senses somewhere in a pile of tulle, cut her some slack. She's probably just stressed and doing the best she can.

In the comments, tell me the fine line between bride and bridezilla.

Etiquette for Urban Couch-Crashers

Whenever I read an article about houseguest etiquette, it always includes suggestions about "keeping the guest room neat" and "not monopolizing the washer and dryer." Of course, these laws are quite welcome in the McMansion fairyland of the outer ‘burbs. But for urban dwellers, they're pretty laughable. My "guest room" is an air mattress, tucked in a nook between the stereo and the balcony. And I drag my laundry to the basement, as our good deities of rent control intended.

But that hasn't stopped me from running a highly unprofitable friends-and-family youth hostel out of my apartment. (My current visitor/college roommate is my fourth houseguest of the month.)

So what are some etiquette rules for urban houseguests? Well, I'm glad you asked:

1. Determine arrival and departure dates well in advance. As much as it's wonderful to see friends and family, I want to know when I can go back to my usual routine of eating Popsicles on the couch, clad in nothing but Underoos and cowboy boots while watching Xanadu on an endless loop.


2. Ben Franklin apparently coined the expression, "Fish and houseguests stink after three days." I would like to update it to, "Guests who remain longer than three days get a pair of kitchen scissors to the neck, and their carcasses thrown over the side of the balcony.” A long weekend is plenty, especially in a small space.


3. Don’t scatter your crap. Keep your belongings in neat piles in one or two places in your host’s home. Bonus: Don’t unceremoniously shove/move/dump on the floor any of your host’s belongings to make room for your stuff. Need more space? Ask.


4. Respect household timing and routines. You’re on vacation, but your host might not be. Don’t stay up late cranking music, and don’t wander into the bathroom to take a shower right as your host is trying to get ready for work. (That is, unless you have a burning need to flash your host. I shower at 7:15, come hell or hot water, and I personally don’t care if you’re already in there or not.)


5. If you’re driving, make parking arrangements with your host in advance. Cities are not car-friendly, and you probably cannot just pull right up and park anywhere you want. You may have to get up at the butt crack of dawn to move your car to a metered space, you may have to pay for it to be garaged, or you may have to cruise for an hour to find a spot. None of these things are within your host’s control, so please keep your frustrations to yourself.


6. Speaking of keeping things to yourself, don’t criticize your host’s cleanliness, décor, neighborhood, food, or, really, don’t criticize anything at all. If you’re that picky, you can have things however you want at the Holiday Inn.


7. Back to cars…cities are not car-friendly. Most of your destinations will involve walking and public transit. Wear appropriate footwear and don’t insinuate that your host should be driving you everywhere. If they offer to drive you, accept their kind offer graciously. (Especially don’t insist your host drive you to Adams Morgan on a Saturday night, in fact, don’t ask them to take you to Adams Morgan at all. It’s the Howard the Duck of nightlife districts.)


8. Don’t forget to thank your hosts for their hospitality. A bottle of wine, a dinner out, or even just a nice note or email will do.

Of course, hosts have responsibilities here, too:

1. Your home doesn’t have to be immaculate, but stay away from gnarly. Give the kitchen and the bathroom a once-over, and if your guest room is an air mattress, sweep the floors. Nobody wants to wake up next to last month’s tortilla fragments. While you’re at it, try to clear a little closet or luggage space for your guests. They’ll be a lot neater if there’s a designated area for their stuff.


2. Chill. Out. Don’t program every minute, or freak if a vase gets moved two millimeters to the right.


3. Find out if your guests have any dietary issues or allergies, and make a small grocery run. You definitely don’t have to cater every meal, but do keep coffee, a few breakfast items, and maybe some snacks on hand. And if your guests are anything like mine, triple up on the booze.


4. Sometimes, tourist traps happen to good people. Be a good sport if your visitors want to go somewhere odious, like the Air and Space Museum. However, if your guests want to go to Ben’s Chili Bowl, cold sober in the harsh light of day, and wait in a ridiculous line for watery chili, you have my permission to tell them it’s an overrated tacky tourist trap that only tastes good after the bars close.

In the comments, tell me about your houseguest rules. Or, tell me about your worst houseguest ever.

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Bridezilla?

I usually keep my spring cleaning pretty hands-off and metaphorical. But this year, I've decided to conquer the hall closet.

The hall closet is pretty well piled up with old school reports, a leopard-print Snuggie, more overcoats than seems strictly reasonable, party supplies, and my wedding gown.

*insert annoying cliche sound of record skipping*

Yeah. I'm approaching my fourth annivorcery and I still have my wedding gown. I just plain never got around to selling it. In fact, I even moved apartments with it. But it's time to evict this gown, if only to make room for my fantabulous collection of Pez dispensers.

To that end, I propose: Project Ditch the Dress.

In the comments, please tell me the best way to divest myself of the final (albeit classic and lovely) symbol of my mid-twenties absurdity. A few caveats: Ebay is too much work, I've tried Craigslist, and I'm not paying to ship it anywhere (too expensive). I'm not keeping it or re-wearing it, as 2005 Shannon and 2010 Shannon have somewhat different bodily configurations.

OK, fine: the only way I am getting into that dress involves olive oil and a shoehorn - one of the many reasons why the model in the above photos is not me.

Ideally, I'd like to give it to someone who wants it. It's ivory, has a lace-up back detail and is a street size 2. I have more pictures I can email to anyone who'd like to see them. I'll throw in a veil and a box. Does anyone know a deserving (not to mention very short) bride? Or, can you come up with something really funny we could do with the dress (elaborate pranks in Adams Morgan, anyone?)

So, whatcha got? There might be a dress in it for you...

Changeling Booze Babies

My home bar is frequently the victim of troll-baby changeling booze swaps.

What? Exactly!

Let me explain. A changeling is more than an Angelina Jolie movie that mostly existed so she could tuck those big lips under a cloche and look all glamorous. Anyone with a respectable amount of dungeon master experience could tell you that. There's an old folk tale that trolls would swipe human babies and replace them with troll babies, known as changelings. As I have no children for the urbanite trolls to take, they take my wine.

My wine supply usually includes a variety of reds and whites of various brands and price points, a bottle or two of prosecco, maybe a rose or two. Then I'll invite my usual assortment of friends and enablers to stop in for drinks or dinner. The next morning, I prop my eyes open with toothpicks, fix myself a Bloody Maria and take a good look at the bar.

The number of wine bottles on the shelf will be unchanged. However, all of the original wine will be gone, replaced with Yellow Tail, Barefoot, and Korbel. Every damn time. Not that I have anything against those brands, I just find it weird that my bar has an exclusive Sunday morning contract with them. Deepening the mystery is that I have yet to see anyone drink, hide, or steal the original bottles.

Conclusion: Sometime in the night, the trolls change out my booze babies for Yellow Tail, Barefoot, and Korbel, and expect me to raise those bottles (or glasses full of them) as my own.

In the comments, tell me why no one ever drinks the Yellow Tail. Are they insulting my Australian heritage?

PS - Hi! I'm back!

In Which You Survive an Interrogation - and Get a Recipe!

Where were you on Friday at 7:50 am? Were you riding an Orange Line train to Vienna? If so, you just might be the jerk who swiped my cellphone and SmarTrip.

To be specific, the phone was Red Samsung T39 slider-cheapie #2. Red Samsung T39 slider-cheapie #1 came to a disastrous end in San Francisco, where it was dropped, trampled, and swept into the trash. I had high hopes and wild dreams for #2, which I have now transferred to Red Samsung T39 Cheapie #3, which was delivered today. My transitory cellphone affection is similar to the way parents assume their next-youngest child won't eat paste or open a crack-flavored lemonade stand.

To be very specific, the SmarTrip was serial number 0834293597579something-or-other. It was precious to me, well, as precious as any piece of plastic that is not an IUD, counterfeit Romanian driver's license, or American Express Plutonium Card.

I'm sure I'll have many stories to tell about my fun encounters with Customer Service, WMATA, the phone insurance goons and more, but in the interest of time and waning enthusiasm, I instead share my cure for a very, very bad day:

Bourbon-Spiked Honey-Mulled Cider
(adapted from the Five Ingredient Slow Cooker Cookbook)

3 quarts apple juice
2 cinnamon sticks, broken
1 tsp whole cloves
1 tsp allspice
1/2 cup honey
Maker's Mark (optional for some, mandatory for me)

Pour apple juice into a slow cooker. Place spices in a cheesecloth (tied with kitchen string) or a tea infuser and add to slow cooker. Stir in honey and cinnamon. Cook on LOW for 5 hours or HIGH for 2.5 hours.

Optional Step: Stir in a splash (or three) of bourbon into each mug just before serving. Continue until all drinkers are in a relaxed and horizontal state.