We’re STD-Free!
You have no idea how hard it’s been not to make incessant save-the-date/STD references. Really. Maturity is not my strongest suit. But I think I get one freebie: Brian and I are officially free of STDs! Yay! OK, I’m done now.
It may not sound like much, but getting those darn things off in the mail was a major accomplishment. I actually sobbed like Chris Crocker over envelopes last week. Twice.
All right, it wasn’t just over envelopes (I had a generally rough week), but still. Here’s a little timeline of the crazy.
Monday: I talk to the gentleman in charge at Sir Speedy downtown and determined we were go for launch. He has the design files, the Excel doc and font files for the mail merge on the envelopes and promises me a proof by the end of the day.
Wednesday: No proof yet. I’m now working with two new sales people, and somewhere in the transition the design files are deleted from the FTP. I let them know that Brian, my fiance who is fighting terror in Iraq has the design files and won’t be able to send them until later that night. I politely express my displeasure. Brian resends the files.
Thursday: There’s a problem with the Excel doc, and I end up having to make two separate spreadsheets. I have to approve a proof in person, so I drive downtown and spend 20 minutes cursing at businessmen and parallel parking like a mofo. I get back to work and see the envelope design file open on my screen. There’s a typo in the return address and I flip out like Jessica Stein. I call the printer and have them stop printing the envelopes (luckily they had only done 20). I have a breakdown on the phone with Brian… something along the lines of “Now they’re not going to finish the project by tomorrow and they won’t be done until next week and I’m terrible at wedding planning and I’m falling behind at work and I’m being a total bitch to everyone around me and I haven’t seen you in five months and I am failing at liiiiiiife.”
Friday: The project is done on time and turns out beautifully. I realize we left off our parents and my sister from the guest list and there are no extra envelopes, but I mostly shrug it off. I stop for gas on the way home and am verbally harassed by a charming young man who tells me, “Girl, you a white girl and you look like that? You got more booty than any black girl I know! My friend here’s a rapper. Wanna be in his video?” I try to make daggers literally come out of my eyes without success. I go home and spend 10 minutes examining my ass in the mirror. Later, I go to FedEx to ship the save-the-dates to Bri in Iraq (our plan was to have him send them out because he gets free shipping). I find out that sending the box to him will cost $156, twice as much as just mailing them from here. I have another sobfest on the phone with Brian, the most patient man in the world, this time mainly about the cost of postage and my fast-developing eating disorder. Poor Chuck makes the mistake of jokingly pointing out I got our own address wrong on his envelope. I don’t laugh.
Saturday: I mail the save-the-dates, go for a swim, get a pedicure and drink some wine. Someone please save me from myself.
10 comments
Baby, your STD is the hottest STD and I was so happy to catch it. You hang in there, woman.
Oh. P.S. I heart the Jessica Stein reference and would probably have her baby if she asked me.
Dude. Do I need to come down there? No, really, I will. It’s about 20 degrees in my apartment right now. Whose idea was it to move to Chicago, anyway?
Eat a sammich, drink some coffee and the next time someone offers you a spot in a rap video, inform him that your booty is actually half Chinese. That’ll really blow his mind. Or at least give you time to escape while he’s mulling it over.
(Out of curiosity, did you stop at that Shell station on Magazine? Because that exact same thing happened to me the last time I was in Nola. No joke.)
I second Nicole on the Jessica Stein reference. Your post totally brought this quote to mind:
Helen: What does your therapist say about all of this?
Jessica: Oh, I could never tell my therapist.
Helen: Why not?
Jessica: Because it’s private.
Haha, I was debating between saying “Jessica Stein,” “Katie Ide” or “Melia.” God, I love that movie. I feel like her quite a lot these days. That scene where she can’t do yoga because she can’t sit still and breathe that long…
Oh yeah, and by the way, jackass at the gas station, I’m not white! Well, not completely. I didn’t feel like pointing out the fine flaws in his argument, though. I was at the gas station on Claiborne right by the Superdome. Shoulda known better…
Oh, and please come down here, both of you! That cold crap will not stand. After four months of misery, it’s actually freaking beautiful here.
It’s good that you chose Jessica Stein, as I have never freaked out over STDs. Although similar things happpened to me at the paper…There’s nothing like finding an “I looked at that 500 times and never saw it” typo 3,500 papers into the run.
Oh God you’re making me want to watch Kissing Jessica Stein again! I love the part where she gets all those brochures on lesbianism and probably highlights and underlines, too…
This is so me right now:
Helen: Some people smoke pot, some people bungee jump, some people chant. What do you do to be happy?
Jessica: Nothing. I’m not.
Congrats on sharing your STDs with your closest friends and family!
Yay hooray theys done.
[…] You have no idea how hard it’s been not to make incessant save-the-date/STD references. Really. Maturity is not my strongest suit. But I think I get one freebie: Brian and I are officially free of STDs! Yay! OK, I’m done now. It may not sound like much, but getting those darn things off in the mail was a major accomplishment. I actually sobbed like Chris Crocker over envelopes last week. Twice. All right, it wasn’t just over envelopes (I had a generally rough week), but still. Here’s a lit Source: http://no-dowry.com/?p=75 […]