Bridesmaid Story 4

And here we are. Last, but most certainly not least.

Whitney Morris.

My new sister.

The thing about getting married is that you get a whole new family. The better thing is if you actually feel like your new family includes people that you have something in common with or will look forward to seeing at holidays.

Whitney and Laef have always been close and in the beginning I am pretty sure that she didn’t like me because I was too short for Laef. And, not Too $hort as in too gansta for Laef. Literally, I did not meet the height requirement of the family.

Which is actually a good point. I look completely out of place in family photos and I think there’s some sort of code about short girls taking tall boys off the market for tall girls.

In the beginning when I was dating Laef, it was hard for me to establish a relationship with Whitney. We didn’t meet in person until Laef and I had been dating for almost a year. And on the night that I did meet her, I had been waiting at a bar for Laef to show up for nearly two hours. I was pissed he was late and drunk from waiting.

Bad combo.

And that was her first impression. Which took me at least two years to recover from.

Laef and I broke up about a month after that first meeting with Whitney, so things weren’t exactly the greatest.

What I have always appreciated and valued about Whitney is how much she cares for Laef and vice versa. So it kind of makes sense that I had to prove myself.

Which was hard because we were never able to hang out. She lived in Indy and we lived in Oregon/LA.

And then one weekend in 2007 it all changed. Whitney came to visit Laef in Sacramento, but he wasn’t back from a work trip yet. My friend, Amy L. and I were heading to San Francisco for a girls weekend and I decided to ask if Whit wanted to come.

So we headed to San Francisco, sat VIP with a couple of crazy characters, got free drinks all night, ordered way too much room service, drove all over SF with some randoms who went to their hotel room and put all of the alcohol from their mini-bar into a pillow case to bring to another hotel, in which the room was a delux suite that overlooked the city.

It was one of those nights that you can never plan and become epic slowly, but surely.

Since then, we have gotten to spend more time together including Christmas in Missouri, Whitney enjoying Art’s pink chicken (or at least the site of it) at my parents house, Whitney visiting LA and bringing a cactus leaf home from the bar, a visit to the Master Baiter – Bob’s Bait Shop, visiting her at The W hotel in Westwood where we ran on the treadmill for like 12 minutes and decided that was plenty, my bachelorette party and most importantly our wedding.

Mostly over the past two years, our relationship has grown over the phone. That is how we have gotten closer and realized that we come from different places, but at the end of the day, we’re both just two girls trying to figure out our way in the world. I listen to her stories about dating and some of the complications with that. She listens to my stories about living in domestication and fending of being stagnant in life.

The truth is, I wish she lived closer. I drag Laef to sushi or out for a post-work glass of wine to unwind and I think he’d rather be at home relaxing. If Whit was here, I bet we’d spend hours talking about everything from how much she loves The Little Couple to why guys play sick head games.

We’d talk about whatever sisters talk about.

Bridesmaid Story 3

It's hard to know where to begin with this one.

I mean, the first time I met this girl I am pretty sure her husband tried to make us kiss and I sat on her lap the whole night.

I met Annett Malone through her husband Ben, who I have known for about 10 years.

I remember when Ben started talking about a girl he was dating and I was dying to know what kind of person could possibly handle his non-stop sarcasm and insane devotion to the Chicago Cubs.

Turns out she's the sweetest kind of girl you'll ever find and she quickly softened Ben.

I should probably remember the exact location of our first meeting, but the first 10 times we hung out are all sort of blending together. From the minute I met Annett I felt like she was a friend I had known for years.

We would drink and chat the night away, always outlasting our men. I only got to see her a few times in the early years as I was still living in Oregon when she and Ben started dating and they lived in San Diego.

But through Oregon softball and football road trips, I'd cross paths with them at least a couple of times a year.

I have always appreciated her carefree look on life and her positive attitude. I honestly don't think I have ever heard her utter a negative thing about a single person. From time to time I would vent to her about Laef and I and would ask if Ben ever acted like a complete shit-for-brains only to have her smile and giggle.

I guess that's a no. Or if it was a yes, she certainly wasn't going to say it.

Sweet girl. But I totally know better.

Anywasted.

When Laef and I moved to Manhattan Beach in 2007, Ben and Annett were our only friends. They were a quick 1.5 hour drive away and we spent many weekends watching college football, going to the Manhattan Beach 6-Man, lounging around, going out for sushi and getting all sorts of crazy.

Well, Annett and I got crazy. Ben and Laef watched.





We've been to Dodger games, Karaoke, had Thanksgiving together, celebrated her wedding with a fabulous bachelorette party in Palm Springs, walked through the Carl's Jr. drive through, rocked The Powerhouse in LA, kept each other company with a dinner of Halibut and grilled artichokes while Ben and Laef were in Tahoe, gone dancing with WAY too many shots at Beaches in Manhattan Beach and generally just encouraged each other to have the best possible time always.

She is one of my crafty friends who made the shoe bags for the wedding favors and who will be helping me make the bouquets on the wedding day.

Annett is always smiling or laughing.

And she makes me smile and laugh. Especially when she calls me today - a mere 8 days before the wedding - to inform me of a thumb injury.

I know it's not funny and I shouldn't be laughing at her pain, but if she is rocking this down the aisle, I will laugh. :)



But, let's be honest. Angie Sit and Annett will bedazzle the shit out of that thing if she is still wearing it come wedding day.

Bridesmaid Story 2

These are supposed to be in alphabetical order.

But seeing as I'm the host and I've pretty much lost my brain, we're mixing it up today.

Happy Birthday to my bridesmaid, Angie Sit.

If only I had remembered when I called her bright and early at 8 a.m. this morning.

I am sure she was thinking that I was calling to be the first to say Happy Birthday.

But, no.

I rattled off 2 million ideas about flowers, photos, wedding schedules, make-up, and who knows what else.

Everything but her birthday.

So you can imagine how far my heart sank when FACEBOOK reminded me of what I had forgotten. Yes, I have been too scatterbrained to even check my day-planner as religiously as I did two months ago.

Horrible feeling for many reasons.

I met Ang when I worked in Media Relations at Oregon and she worked in Marketing. We didn't hang much when I first started working at Oregon. I was way too preoccupied with going to Rennie's six nights a week and acting a crazy fool.

I am pretty sure that A. Sit wanted nothing to do with A. Ross.

As the years went by, we both worked at all of Oregon's sporting events and eventually we shared a room on the Oregon football road trips. We also shared some of the same frustrations related to work and I would often trek to her office for good conversation.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she had a TV and candy in her office.

I loved rooming with Ang because she had the best make up and she was super neat and organized. I tried to pack my bag just like hers and have my make-up bag look all neat and pretty. Am I the only one whose make-up bag has blue eye shadow and lip stick stains all over?

Hers had none of that.

I slowly learned that even though Ang doesn't drink much (I know what you're thinking, WHY would she be friends with me) and doesn't come off as a crazy party girl (or someone that would want to hang out with a crazy party girl) we have a lot in common.

We shared stories of boy troubles on our road trips, went running together, watched college football from the minute we woke up on Saturdays, suffered through the game-day drive to whatever stadium we were visiting (no matter what, we always got lost or my boss always almost crashed on the way home) and had tons of laughs.

I was constantly amazed at her ability to come out to the bars with the Oregon crew and tolerate all of the drunk people. She never crapped out, and always stayed until the bitter end.

She is one of the first people that helped me realize that even though I might think I'm too clustery, none of that stuff really matters if you meet good people.

Angie Sit is one of the most solid, caring, crafty, hilarious, in shape, die-hard Florida Gators fans I have ever met.




I don't have crazy tales of us being lushy together, but I have plenty of memories of the Holiday Bowl (pretty sure Oregon went 10 times when I was there), riding with the top down in Aaron Fentress' convertible, sushi dinners, softball press box weekends (Ang REALLY loved it when the softball players yelled up to the press box to tell her what songs to play) and dancing to Scott White Band at Sharks Cove.

She wears Florida Gator socks every Saturday during football season. She loves Jason Taylor and has finally realized that Ryan Reynolds is alright.

By far, she is one of the most thoughtful people I have ever met.

Put it this way.

One year, football was at a bowl game over Christmas break, including Christmas Day. Ang brought me a mini-Christmas tree with lights and a few presents to put in my hotel room.

She handmade me an apron for my bachelorette party.

I can call her at any hour of the day and talk about anything. We've both been through some ups and downs over the past 5 years, and I am so thankful that I have her to lean on.

Ang, Happy Birthday.

Heart.

Bridesmaid Story 1

The Bridesmaid's stories are in no particular order.

OK, I lied. They're in alphabetical order.

So, Missy Koke is up first. Which could also mean that I am doing the bridesmaid's blogs in order of height.

Shortest to tallest.

Missy K. grew up in Eugene. She played softball at Oregon while I was a student there. Her dad drives the Duck on the back of a Harley before Oregon football games.



Missy was around Oregon athletics. I worked in the Oregon athletic department from 1999-2007.

I did not meet her until 2006. Which was 1) a total bummer and 2) un-effing believable considering the size of Eugene and the quaintness of Oregon athletics.

And, it was a total crapshoot that we even met.

It went something like this:

I went on a date with a guy.

The date didn't go all that well. We went to the movies and watched Kangaroo Jack. I wrote a blog about it. But, I never mentioned him by name.

I then got a call on my cell phone one evening from Missy (I am still unclear as to who she got my number from).

Missy: "Um. I know who your blog is about!"
Me: "WHAT?"
Missy: "I know who Kangaroo Jack is!"
Me: "Meet me at Rennie's in 10 minutes"

So, we met up and it turns out that she was actually dating this guy when I went out with him, but I had no idea, and she laughed it off because they were in some weird on-again off-again thing.

Anywasted, from that moment on, we were inseparable.

Two peas in one clusterfuck of a pod. She is the one person who might be more clustery than me.

If she wants to argue this, I will simply remind her that she just booked her flight for the wedding.

Today.

July 1.

Which means she paid a crapload for the ticket. She also did not book her hotel room and the deadline has passed. So rooms were no longer cheap.

Thus she is going to be sleeping with me for two nights, including the night before my wedding.

TOTAL cluster. Which is why I heart.

The truth is that Missy uses me. She calls me "free entertainment" which I am still trying to figure out is a good thing or a bad thing.

I also use her. To feel tall.

Because I moved to California in 2007, I only got to hang out with her for about a year.

We managed to squeeze a lot fun into that short time, capped by an epic trip to Portland in December 2006.

Which was precluded by Thanksgiving 2006 at Jane Moseley's dad's house. The night ended when Missy and I were scolded by Laef at 2-something in the morning.

Laef: "Seriously. Missy and Allison. You need to come inside and stop shotgunning beers. It's 2 in the morning and it's Thanksgiving."

I think Jane was very appreciative of Laef's words as she hadn't envisioned Thanksgiving turning into Beerfest '06.

Two clusters in a pod.

She also pulls shit like the following. Just before we were to leave for Portland one weekend this is what transpired:

Friday - 4:12 p.m.
Missy calls me.
Missy: "Hi. As soon as I find my ID, I'll be by the Cas to pick you up."
Me: "You better not be one of those friends that's going to back out cuz you 'can't find your ID.'
Missy: "No, I'll find it. I'll be right over.

4:20 p.m.
A text from Missy: I'm heading to DMV and I'll be right over.
A text to Missy: Are you fucking kidding me?

We were the dark-haired divas until I moved to California and completely screwed that up.

She is one of those people that I felt like I could always just be myself with (which is a common theme amongst my bridesmaids). I feel like deep down she appreciates me for the person I am. I have never felt that she judged some of my more idiotic decisions.

And, most importantly, Missy doesn't really bring the drama. The only thing that girl wants to do is watch football, talk about boys, drink beer and laugh her ass off. She likes MAC makeup, running marathons and wearing Oregon T-shirts. She has a penchant for spendy jeans and high heels. She even made the trek to one of infamous camping trips.

She sounds just like someone else I know.

The Matron Of Honor

Well, it's July.

Basically.

Which makes me nervous. I am excited about the wedding, marriage and seeing all of our friends. I am scared that the food will be cold or that I will drop my ring in the sand while fending off tears of joy.

Everybody tells you that at least one thing will go wrong on your wedding day. For the most part, I think I am OK with that. I haven't exactly arranged for a super fancy affair. So, for example, if something goes wrong with the cake, I will live. Mainly because the cake cost less than what I pay to have my hair done every other month.

Sick, I know.

I truly am most nervous about people having fun.

Thankfully, Amy Longeteig is my matron of honor. I might have just spelled her name wrong, but this isn't a fact-checking blog so...(I did check her Facebook when addressing her invitation. I'm not that lame).

Anyway, as we get closer to the wedding day, and I think about all of the people coming to spend the day with us, I get super excited.

Not a single one of my bridesmaids lives in LA. Only one of them lives in California.

I rarely see them.

And they are my favorite people.

I emailed Amy today to remind her that she will have to give a toast. I almost started crying thinking about what she will say.

There are memories.

A LOT.

I met her husband first. Then I quickly realized who was the cooler of the two. Her, of course.

She was a New England transplant and she was not afraid to speak her mind to the more laid back people of the west coast, and, in particular, Eugene, Oregon.

Who the fuck orders a Cosmopolitan (it was 1999 people, they were cool back then) at a DIVE bar and then returns it because it tastes like shit?

Probably because the bartender farted on it due to the fact that she ordered a Cosmo at a bar that has Pabst on tap and peanuts on the floor.

I was always in awe of how she stood up for herself. I am a pansy in every shape of the word and if my food comes to me cold I will smile and say that it tastes great so as to not piss off the waiter.

Circa 2004, I was a girl who would let a guy treat me like shit and figure it was my fault.

Amy was the friend who would call him, give him a piece of her mind and then hide my cell phone until the next morning so that the vicious cycle of text-fighting would end and we could all sleep.

Her house was open to me morning, noon and night. Like the time I decided to walk 3 miles home from a party, but realized half way there that it was a horrible idea.

Luckily, the Longeteig house was nearby so I strolled up at 3 a.m. Sure enough the front door was unlocked and I quietly curled up on their couch while their guard-dog, Stella, gave me puppy kisses and asked if I wanted to steal the TV.

I woke up and left in the morning before they ever knew I was there.

There were the camping trips.

Killer Longeteig barbeque's.

Sunday's at Jerry's for Sex in the City, Six Feet Under and yummy drinks.

There was her wedding in Maine.

Dancing.

Strip Clubs.

That ever-memorable moment at a wedding when Amy said, "Who the fuck cares about college football?!", not realizing that Oregon football coach Mike Bellotti was at the table next to her. He smiled.

That one time Those 10 times that she has fallen down after a night out and been seriously injured.

Realizing that the stray cat she adopted and named Lucy was actually a boy, forcing her to rename him to Lou C.

Her late-night grilled cheese sandwiches.

The list goes on for years.

And so, when I think about having fun at the wedding, I remember that there will be people like Amy there to make sure fun happens.

That's her number one duty as MOH.

Bring the laughs.

There Are No Words

It's not often that I can't find words.

That's just who I am. Say things. Keep the conversation going. Make people comfortable. Make friends.

But, I can't find the words to say to my friend, Jo Gail. I don't know how to tell her that the sudden, unexpected passing of her father somehow has meaning.

I don't know how to tell her that she can do this. She can dig deep after supporting her mother - her best friend. Her mother, a two-time breast cancer survivor, who had back surgery and had a steel cage drilled into her spine after the cancer cells spread to her spine the second time around.

How can I tell a 23-year old who has a more impressive resume than I do at 35 to keep doing what she is doing. Keep pressing on. Keep your head up.

Jo's mom, Kate: Always smiling. Always trying to get Laef to marry Jo. Always Cheering. Always supporting Jo.

Jo: Always striving. Persistent after suffering a horrific injury in her second game as an Oregon Duck. Went to Washington and got her Masters Degree. Went to New York to work for the Women's Sports Foundation. Got a job in External Relations at Stanford.

Oh, and she played softball in the 2004 Olympics for Team Greece.

So, at this point, I have no words. I don't know how she feels. I don't know what it feels like. I don't know how to tell her that, at 23, with her whole life ahead of her that she has to continue to be the person that she has always been.

Jo, be that person for you. And for your mom.

You guys are a great team.

Make It Enough

That is what Smokey's mom tells him in the movie Friday when she gives him a crisp $1 bill to buy her a pack of cigarettes.

This is what Laef and I are telling ourselves after UCLA announced yesterday that all employees will take an 8% pay cut.

The good thing about us both working at UCLA: Nooners Having lunch together and carpooling.

The bad thing: When paycuts happen, it affects both breadwinners in our house.

I can't help but look at the bright side. I really think we are both extremely lucky to have not lost our jobs entirely. The economy has affected the entire country, and for some, it has been far more extreme that an 8% pay cut.

However, I do want to roll up to the Governors house and give him a big, fat: FUCK YOU, douchetard.

But, anyway, we're going to make it be enough and we'll figure out a way to readjust everything that we had pretty much just readjusted.

This is very exciting for Laef. This means even MORE extreme budgeting!!

We had already committed to seeing The Proposal tonight, but this might be our last movie in the theater for a while. And, we'll probably smuggle candy instead of paying $6 for Dots.

I am certain that Laef is SUPER excited that this will be his last theater experience for a while. I say: "We're going out on a high note, honey!"



I stumbled across this photo of Ryan Reynolds on one of the very intelligent web sites that I read everyday and somehow Laef looked over right then.

Laef: "Wait a minute. Is Ryan Reyonlds in The Proposal? Is that why...Fine. I get to look at porn for a week."

Me: "You look exactly like him. Seriously. Look. You totally have a hairy chest and a flat tummy. The ONLY difference between Ryan and you is that he got a heavy dose of spray tan. And, Scarlett's boobies. You don't have those."

And, just to prove to Laef that he could have TOTALLY been on the summer issue of Entertainment Weekly, I showed him this gem:



Eat your heart out, RR!

TGIF

Til WoW Do Us Part

I am pretty sure Laef returned from Arkansas just in time.

I was on my sixth night of drinking with The Sanch and eating Ruffles for dinner.

At least four days went by where I didn't wash a single dish. The good thing about eating chips for dinner is that you don't create many dishes.

So on Sunday morning when Laef called at 9 a.m. to say that he just landed at LAX, all of my motivation to do things like cook, clean and shower came rushing back.

I had gone to the grocery store on Saturday and got a few items that are never on our list, but that Laef probably wishes were. Things like cinnamon rolls and filet mignon.

Cooking makes me happy.

Cooking for one sucks.

Getting back to some sort of routine also makes me happy. We had all day Sunday to do nothing but eat cinnamon rolls in bed, take a long walk all over Manhattan Beach, veg out (me watching Legally Blonde, Laef rolling his eyes playing WoW), grill yummy food, watch the Cardinals game, watch idiotic Lakers fans celebrate by destroying their own city, finally get around to watching Gran Torino (loved) and falling asleep on the couch with Laef not 3,000 miles away.

Don't get me wrong. I can do all of the above perfectly fine on my own. But, it's really nice to have someone to do all this stuff with. It's nice to hear Laef say, "I can't believe you love this movie. It's horrible." Or see him scream at the TV as the Cardinals lose. Or listen to him laugh at his own jokes. Which may or may not be funny.

Now that track season is officially over and the wedding is FIVE weeks away, we can press on together.

Yay!

M-O-R-R-I-S

Listen. I have never claimed to be the world's most perceptive person.

So, it should come as no surprise that when one of Laef's coworkers gave us this wedding present, I didn't act as excited as she probably thought I would.



Don't get me wrong. I totally was excited.

But, I was saying things like, "Ooohhh! It's so cute. Beach images to always remind us of living in Manhattan Beach! I love it. I love the coloring. Thank you!"

When I should have been saying, "Holy Fuck! You strung together my new last name with various photos. That is simply A-M-A-Z-I-N-G!"

Yeah. Totally didn't see it for like the first five minutes.

Whatever. I wasn't expecting to take some kind of Ishihara Test after four glasses of wine on a Saturday evening.

To make matters worse, earlier in the evening I was trying to be all badass and telling the girls that I had contemplated not changing my name. Not to try and be all feminist or something, but because I'm hella lazy and am NOT looking forward to going to the DMV, requesting new credit cards and getting new checks.

Laef's coworker (the one who spent days trying to find a light post that looked like an "r") was totally giving me the death stare. She is married so I figured that she thought my laziness was pathetic and I should honor Laef by becoming a Morris.

Turns out she was just mulling over the countless hours it took to find all the letters AND a picture frame that has SIX photo holes. Not to mention how the photo doesn't say Morris-Ross, and how it would look totally weird in our house if that wasn't my name too.

Apparently, you can find frames that have four photo holes anywhere and everywhere.

Which is why Laef should become a:

R-O-S-S.

Just sayin'.

We Are 1.

Today I am 35.

For fucks' sake.

And, after a Happy Hour session with my coworkers and fighting with The Sanch for bed space all night, I don't feel a day over 87.

My mom left a message saying something about the world's worst thunderstorm on June 4 and how that is so weird.

I'm surprised she's not used to June 4 being a shitstorm.

The day you brought the world's largest clusterfuck into the world, mamacita.

However, I would like to point out that it was one year ago today that Laef got down on one knee on the Manhattan Beach pier as the moon was shining and the waves were crashing. He muttered something about getting married. I didn't hear too many words, only the ocean singing to me that I had somehow finally found my way. I saw sparkles brighter than the stars, and spent the next two months staring at my left finger.

And so, forever, from this day forward, June 4 will be about the day I became a little less of a cluster.

Today, we are 1. Today, I am a person who, since meeting Laef, has paid off two credit cards, has a savings account with more than $5, doesn't need to skip a car payment because of spending too much money at Rennies and has followed through on running two half marathons.

I am a changed clusterfuck, my friends.

And, it all happened on June 4.

It's just that it was in 2008, not 1974.

From this day forward I will never age without being reminded of that moment on the pier. I will remember the gritty sea scallops I ate for dinner, the white wine and the crème brûlée . How, as usual, Laef's dinner looked (and tasted) SO much better than mine. How I ate off his plate as though it was just any other day.

Of course, it wasn't just any other day.

I got diamonds, yo.

Which scared the crap out of me. Because let's be honest. Every pair of earrings I've owned: LOST. Every watch I've owned: BROKEN.

The odds were stacked against me.

Just like when Laef and I met. He was 22 with his whole life ahead of him. I was 30 with baggage that could have taken me to Europe and back.

We were never supposed to become anything. And, slowly, we did.

Then he left Eugene.

Long distance.

Hard.

Then I left Eugene.

No friends.

Hard.

We lived in Sacramento where there was plenty of family, but no job for me, and a job that required Laef to work 15-hour days.

Hard.

We moved to Los Angeles where rent will make you barf, the 405 will destroy whatever patience you once had and the jobs pay better, but push you harder.

Hard.

We settled into a cute little house near the ocean, got a fluffy white kitten, and open our eyes to sunshine almost everyday.

Easier.

And then one day, after rising above enough obstacles: Will. You. Marry. Me.

Bliss.

Today, we are 1!