Detour into zilladom.

I'M REALLY EXCITED TO BE GETTING MARRIED!!!!

Wow. It just hit me the other day. *Happy dance.*

I'm almost as excited about planning the wedding. I've gone from being ostrich-head-in-the-sand overwhelmed to hurry-up-and-book-the-date so I can start planning in earnest. My current state of waiting has led to an unhealthy perusal of wedding blogs. However, it's all good: I'm building up a list of things I won't have at my wedding.

I won't:

Pose pressed up against a mirror making a pucker face at the camera. It's my wedding day, not a glamor shot session at the mall. After hours.

Have a bird cake-topper. They are super cute, you are right. All 5678 of you who have displayed them on your blog-featured wedding cakes.

Smear cake on each other after the cutting. I just don't like it and never have. You know what, I also don't think I'm going to have a garter removal and toss. I don't want to offend those of you who did have that; I just don't think I'll be comfortable with it.

Have cupcakes instead of cake. It's sweet, but too trendy. Plus, I like cake. A lot.

Have all-black bridesmaids dresses. Nothing against them; just have seen them frequently.

Taking advantage, for once, of the city.

Saturday was Chris's birthday, and on Friday night I surprised him at dinner with tickets* to the Tony- and Pulitzer-Prize winning play August: Osage County. We haven't been much of theatre-goers, despite living in NYC**, but after that show it just might change. Drama? Comedy? Soap opera? Who knows! **I think one reason we haven't been into the theatre is that most of the last several things we've seen, separately or together, have been terrible: near-amateur productions, drama class recitals, horrifically bad comedy improv, Young Frankenstein. August: Osage County made me realize just why the art of theatre has stuck around at all, and just how far a play is capable of carrying you. If it comes to your city (unfortunately, I think it's going to London next), I recommend it.

On Saturday we went to Jones Beach and I fell asleep on my back with my arm over my face and now my entire front (sans two blindingly white spots where my swimsuit was) is purplish red. It hurts to put on deoderant. It hurts to BREATHE. That'll teach me!

*I used a work discount and my cc points...I'm not totally spendthrift, yet :)

THE MOST EXCITING THING IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD:

TARGET IS OPENING FOUR MANHATTAN DESIGNER-LINE LOCATIONS.

There goes my lunch hour...

Surrounded by flowers.

I needed a happier post at the top of my page. As I write this I was greeted at my office by a beautiful bouquet of creamy roses, orange lilies and daisies, and purple...fluffy flowers (I did not inherit the green thumb that runs through my maternal line) that Chris's mom kindly sent to me, not to mention I left a similarly gorgeous bouquet also from Chris's mom as well as his sister on my living room mantel. Not quite sure what the occasion is, other than just a general "Happy August!"

Happy August back!

That's just sad.

Just now I thought to myself, "Why don't you send yourself an Outlook invite and set up an appointment to sit down in your apartment with yourself, a notepad, your wedding magazines, and some scissors and glue?"

My mouse was moving to click my work computer's calendar before I realized what I was doing.

You might be disturbed by the fact that I have internal discussions with myself.

Me, I'm more sorry that half the reason I DIDN'T set up an Outlook invitation wasn't because my brain doesn't have Microsoft Office uploaded into it but because I don't know when on earth I could schedule it for.

October?

Email from LB-L.

"Another sign I work in a small town. The crop duster is getting too close to our building."

Publishing job applicant advice.

There is a difference between "editorial assistant" and "assistant editor"--usually a minimum of two years as the former and above-and-beyond hard work to achieve the latter. Don't use the two phrases interchangeably when you are applying for the former.

My Fug Lady.

I had a great time in Iowa! Erika and I watched girly movies, ate ice cream from the container, played with Punkin in the park and at the children's museum, took him to see Wall-E, went to the Daiquiri Factory (sans Punkin, who had a sitter) for her birthday...all in all it was just what the doctor ordered, at least for me.

But then I came back and was dismayed to see this:



You know, I'm one of the few staunch Keira fans I know. I thought she ... didn't excel in Atonement, but that's like the harshest thing I've ever said about her. I'm the lone person who even bought both of the Vogues she appeared on the cover on in 2007.

Um, if this is the best they could do for the cover photo, I don't think I'm buying this one...

Update: I knew the fug girls wouldn't let me down.

Breaking brain cells.

Gag me.

Don't even get me started.

Instead, just think: my three a.m. wakeup time is totally worth it since I'll be in Iowa with Erika before lunch!

Muleheaded.

After a few weeks of Googling, Chris found a wedding location online that we REALLY liked the looks of, and my mom and stepdad did us the favor of driving over and scoping it out yesterday. They raved about the grounds. It's in a beautiful historic town in Virginia, easily airport accessible. Even the price isn't so bad.

BUT (of course there's a but) the venue not only requires you to go through a specific wedding planner, the wedding planner requires you to use their vendors.

Perhaps I'm making things overly difficult for myself, but after those initial weeks of not having a wedding vision, Chris and I now have a very strong vision, and it involves doing a lot of things ourselves. We don't want to be strong-armed into our choice of a photographer, caterer, or florist. I think imported stone columns, three terraces, and a boxwood maze are just going to have to be the elegant backdrop to some other couple's nuptials.

We're still thinking about it, but it might be back to Step One in terms of locale-hunting...

Nitpicketline.

I shrugged to myself.
I nodded and said...
I winced.
I shivered at the thought.
I shook my head and said / I shook my head to myself.
I shuddered.
I raised my eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes.

I can't speak to books for adults--my non-required reading has recently been confined to re-reading To Kill a Mockingbird for the countless time, a book which commits none of these crimes (nor, let's face it, any other)--but when I find these phrases in a manuscript, my red pencil leaves bloody slashes across the page.

You could argue that once in a while these sayings are necessary, and I can see that it could be true. "Once in a while" being the operative phrase. But even then I'm still going to try to persuade you to get rid of it. (It's not just the first person use of these cliches that I object to; one could argue that "She shrugged to herself" is even more obnoxious. Have YOU ever shrugged to yourself? I didn't think so.)

The manuscript I'm reading now, while otherwise promising, used all of these and more within the span of ONE CHAPTER.

Behind the curtain.

Today my boss took an author and his wife to lunch and I got to tag along. Well, actually, it's one of my new authors, or I should say, I'm his new editor. Anyway, I was a little nervous. I'm his sixth editor at this publishing company in the ten or so years he's been writing for us. He asked me to stick around, please. But he was so nice, and so was his wife, and I went from feeling apprehensive to warm and fuzzy by the end of the meal.

We went to a hotel on the other end of our block. It's a schmancy hotel on the corner of Fifth Avenue, with doormen and a roof terrace and potted palms. They sat us in four pink armchairs at a small round table in the corner of the upstairs lounge, rather than in the dining room. I should have had a salad, but Caesar was the only option, and it's not my favorite. Instead I had grilled chicken with goat cheese and roasted red pepper on toasted ciabatta.

In the opposite corner a twentysomething woman sat by herself with a magazine, eating her own solitary lunch. A waiter in a white vest served her a Bellini from a tray. Must be nice, I thought.

Then I turned back to my own table and thought, This is as nice as a work meeting could possibly get.

Surface.

I'm not an artist...I don't often create anything besides memos...but for some reason I find arranging items in my home (I guess I have to call it "decorating") to be profoundly satisfying.

When I was setting up the bedroom, I was really inspired by these photos. Now I'm wondering if I want to be even more of a copycat and pull together white, cream, and beige bedding. We have a purply blue duvet cover and a green throw, which makes the room looks cool and springlike; but I just love the peacefulness in this photo. (I've also been on the hunt for those striped pillows, to no avail.) Chris's mom just gave us a cream fleece blanket, so it wouldn't be hard to test.