Shaby's back/tell a friend

Hiatus over. Was I missed? I suspect the answer is "You were gone?"

It was a much needed break, as I was beginning to-- and I am not making this up-- develop hives regarding my wedding status. But much has been accomplished, both wedding-wise and un-wedding-wise in the past ten days.

Wedding-wise:

*Bought wedding bands
*Bought sassy new wedding shoes
*Picked readings (one by David Sedaris!) and readers, and vows and other ceremony jargon
*Chose, ordered and approved invitations
*Tentatively chose favors (which are shockingly uncool, but still very cute, and their having been chosen immediately eliminated all signs of hives and irregular stomach issues)
*Fired DJ and hired Rocco
*Worked on registry (An issue: how many more things could we possibly need? This is why there is now a memory foam leg-separating pillow on my registry.)

Un-wedding-wise:

*Rediscovered fervent passion for shandies-- half light beer, half lemonade, all delicious
*Watched copious amounts of TiVo, including old favorite "Home Movies" on Adult Swim
*Read half of "The Little Friend" by Donna Tartt before mysteriously stopping
*Got weak little tan at beach
*Listened to the song "Dance Tonight" off Paul McCartney's new album 800 times

Now that the wedding stuff is a little more under control (until the invitations arrive, I guess, and I have to face the agony of either doing the correct thing of hand addressing 125 envelopes or printing snazzy labels instead), I intend to proceed through life with more of a Don't Worry, Be Happy, Bobby McFerrin-esque attitude. I also intend to e-mail the people I have been ignoring for the last three months, and possibly fall into a Harry Potter based coma. All in all, a nice, relaxing hiatus.

But I'm back, bitches. So be warned.

Devil Pants

Some of you may remember the shopping spree I went on earlier this year, in an update to delame my wardrobe? Well, on this shopping spree, it happens that I found the perfect pair of black pants, made of just the right fabric to repel dog and cat hair, and with just the right leg flare, so as not to look too librarianesque. And, they are a size six, which is most definitely not my size. But if I were to die in a horrible work-related incident, when they came to take my body away, they would find that I was wearing size six pants, and probably would have that figure engraved on my tombstone.

But these pants, I tell you, were sent here by Satan himself. Oh, yes, they're alluring, as many of the devil's creations are. And I totally do look foxy in them. But they deceive you with their good looks and pet-repellant surfaces into a false sense of security, because these pants want to kill you.

I say this based on the fact that in the two times I have worn them, I have nearly fallen to my death seven times, due to snagging my heel in the descreet cuffs that ring the bottom of the legs. Today alone, I did it in the bathroom at home while applying make-up (leading to horribly misplaced pink eyeshadow), in the bathroom at work, and right in front of my co-worker's desk, causing her to announce loudly, "My God, are you okay? What's wrong with you?"

It's the pants, Ann. The pants want me dead.

So be warned-- if I turn up the victim of what appears to be a routine slip and fall, smeared with eyeshadow and missing a shoe heel, you'll know who did it. Because I'm not going to stop wearing the pants. No. They make my ass look too fine. But please, make sure whoever finds me there checks the label in front of everyone before carting me off to my final resting place.

What's going on

Okay, so I know I haven't been the best blogger lately (although traffic on my site is way up, which I find both exciting and sort of creepy), but since it's Sunday, and I'm home alone and sitting on top of the washing machine, as is my custom, I thought I'd redeem myself with a short recount of my latest activities (or non-activities, as the case may be).

1. Remember a few weeks ago, when I was called for jury duty? And how I was totally panicked about having to drive downtown, and made Ben do like three trial runs with me to the courthouse, and became convinced that I was going to be gunned down by a rogue defendant, like I saw in this one episode of "American Justice"? And wept openly over it at work, because I was so freaked out that I would get called for some sort of OJ case, and be sequestered for months and months, and then everyone would expect me to write a book about it, only I was afraid the book would be totally boring and no one would buy it?

Anyway, if you can forget all that, I would appreciate it, because I never got summoned. I called the jury hotline today, and was thanked by a recording for completing my jury service. And I have to admit, I was totally bummed. Mainly because I had worked myself into such a retarded frenzy over it for no apparent reason, but then also because that meant that I myself would never actually get to appear on "American Justice," which (when not documenting cases of gunned down jurors) often features them as key performers.

2. On Friday, our dog pooped herself. This was not acceptable, as all of our furniture and carpets are white or beige. (Not that it would have been acceptable had the furniture all been brown, but I admit, it might have eased my worry a little.) Nine pre-wetted paper towels and a day-long confinement to the basement later, Che is now socially acceptable again, only now she has pronounced dingleberries, which makes me wonder if the people in the neighborhood think I'm a bad dog mom when we're out on walks.

3. Fed up with my horribly librarianish wardrobe, I went on a shopping spree and am now very fashionably dressed (except right now, with my unshaven legs and "What Up, Dog?" t-shirt, but I feel that I can afford to be poorly dressed in my own basement). My favorite purchase-- a pair of footless lime green tights, which I don't actually think I'll ever be able to bring myself to wear in public, but which are really fun to run around the house in.

4. Ben and I met with the florist and picked out our wedding flowers, which are totally awesome (my bouquet will have wheat in it!). I never thought I would be the kind of person who would care at all about flowers of any kind (other than a heartfelt hatred of carnations, especially in unnatural colors), but apparently, I do. Next weekend, we're meeting with our minister for our first marital counseling session, which will most likely reveal that I am tired of walking the dog all the time, Ben is tired of doing the dishes, and neither of us really wanted to go to premarital counseling in the first place.

So as you can see, I have been very, very busy

• worrying needlessly about things that didn't happen
• chasing the dog with scissors to remove the offending dingleberry
• running around in footless tights
• being wedding-y

I hope you will forgive my lapse of blog activity, and I do hereby solemnly swear to be a better blogger. Keep in mind that I could have posted dinglebery pictures, but I didn't, because I have that kind of restraint.

Santa's little helper

Despite the 60 degree weather and the the decidedly un-Christmassy feelings it inspires, I have begun, in earnest, the purchase of this year's Christmas booty. And this year, I'm doing it with a budget, which is serving no purpose whatsoever other than

a) to give me a reason to write in my new "I Heart AU" notebook and

b) to drive me absolutely insane.

But my Real Simple magazine said that using a budget was the best way to shop for Christmas without going broke, so I'm going for it. This is in stark contrast to last year, in which the theme was Buy Everything, No Matter How Much People Will Scorn Its Lameness, So That a Large Portion of the Presents Under the Tree Are From You, Even If They Suck. This was both expensive and unfulfilling, mainly because the vast majority of Christmas 2005 presents with "Kim" on the "from" line are now defunct, if ever opened at all.

That strategy itself was a large revolt against my previous previous shopping plan, which was Be Cheap and Blame It On Being Poor. Which I actually was poor, but, coming from a family with very generous relatives, I felt downright chintzy. So now that I have a real job (sorry, Day Spa!), I feel it is my duty to buy the very best. Or at least, to buy something that isn't from the Mikasa outlet at the Aurora Farms. (Or, I shudder to mention, from The Paper Factory, where the majority of Christmas 2002 was born.)

So far, the budget is going well, even if it is frustrating (I have a ledger AND charts explaining who got what gift and how much it cost). In another very un-Kimmish move, I have completed at least half my shopping in just the last two days, using nothing but the Internet (and, in future days, the friendly nature of my office's front desk receptionist, who will be thoughtfully receiving my packages for me, as I fear that whoever broke into my house this summer will be lurking around to swipe whatever the hapless delivery guy may leave on my porch). I'm kind of bummed that it's looking like I'm going to miss out on the Mall Experience, but at the same time, how can you not like something that involves Super Saver Shipping?