Wedding Diet 101

I've never had, nor will I ever have the perfect body.  Nobody does.  Well, except those people - you know the type...lean, muscular, less than 5% body fat, perky everything.  I have a few of those real life perfect body friends, and while in general I love and support them, today we are not friends.  For today is an ode to the not-so-perfect ones of us who had to work for 4 months to look fabulous in their wedding dress.  Today is a chubby girl party, and you are not invited.

 

It all started on June 17th, 2012 around 8pm.  It was approximately an hour after becoming engaged to the love of my life, and the realization that I was going to get married was starting to sink in.  I was getting married.  In a tight white dress.  In 4 months, 2 days, and 19 hours.  Game on. 

 

Having always been somewhere between average and chubby, and fluxuating often between the two, I made a conscious decision that I was going to shed those 10 annoying pounds that had been lingering on and off around my thighs for the past 6 years since I graduated college.  At 10 pounds lighter, I would look so svelte that I would probably get offers from bridal magazines to be on their covers.  But no more than that.  On my 5'1 frame, losing even as much as 11 pounds would probably make me look anorexic.  Now concerned that I'd have to answer endless "are you eating??" questions after my 10 pound thinner self debuted, I decided to look up my ideal weight on the BMI chart just to make sure I wasn't about to get too thin.

 

Oh. My. GOD!  That can't be right.  That CAN'T be right.  According to the BMI figures I had just googled, I was not only overweight, but I was 7 pounds from OBESE.  OBESE!  That has to be wrong, I thought.  Who came up with this equation?  Is there a glitch?  That's it, there must be a glitch.  Or maybe they're just bad at math...who among us hasn't been off by 23 in an algebra problem?  After re-examining the situation, and by re-examining I mean using every search engine ever created in hopes of finding a more favorable result, I came to the conclusion that perhaps I had put on a few more than 10 lbs over the last few years.

 

New plan: lose 15 pounds and don't look like the Michelin Man in a veil.  During my various seasons between average and chubby over the last 9 years, the only weight loss plan that ever worked for me was Weight Watchers.  Why?  1.) If you tell me I can't have carbs, I will eat pasta in my car at 7am just to spite you, 2.) Given the option, I would literally rather cut off a limb to drop quick weight than exercise for 5 minutes, and 3.) I call the shots - if I want french fries for lunch, I can have them as long as I ration my points for the day.

 

After deciding that Plan A (fattening Ryan up so I looked thinner by default) wouldn't work, I grumbled my way over to the weight watchers website (just the point counting - I didn't feel the need to sit in a circle and discuss why I give potatoes power over me) and started toward my 10 *ahem* 15 pound goal. For those of you out of the loop, the new Weight Watchers system, Points Plus, not only gives you more daily points to use, but all fruit is free!  Yes, I know it is a psychological ploy to make me feel like I'm getting away with something while actually making healthier choices, but I happily submit to the mindgame warfare if it makes me thinner.

 

The first 10 pounds seemed to melt right off of me, and the 15 pounds seemed more and more attainable. Once I hit 15, I decided I would stretch my goal to 20 lost, but that would be it.  At pound #22, completely pleased with my progress, I decided to treat myself to a day of eating junk food and then had ice cream for dinner.  The next morning, cringing as I stepped on the scale and nervously awaiting the results, I almost yelled with delight to see that I had lost another half pound the day before!  The euphoria of having lost weight while eating junk food was quickly replaced by the sinking realization that if you can eat junk food all day, have ice cream for dinner, and still lose weight, you're too fat.

 

So I continued my point counting and saw a dramatic slow down at pound #30, but pushed through to a final weight loss of 35 pounds for the wedding, landing me in my ideal weight range (the top of the weight range still counts as IN the weight range) on what I still believe to be the incorrectly calculated BMI chart.  And while I am certain that my sweet, loving, charming, wonderful husband would love me no matter what size I was, every uneaten french fry from June through October 20th was worth looking fabulous in my dress on our wedding day.  And I did look fabulous.  We don't have the original pictures yet, so please don't let the watermarks distract you from admiring how thin I am... 

 

 

 

Anyone else want to have some ice cream??

 

Bridezilla Doesn't Care.

It finally happened.  I cracked.  I became the bride I swore I'd never be.  A fuming, tantrum-throwing, at times sobbing, this-is-my-day-not-yours bride. And the best/worst part?  I still don't think I'm totally in the wrong.

 

While I was never the girl who dreamt about my wedding day, when I got engaged to the love of my life 3 months ago and it became clear that my vote to elope was being over-ruled, I quickly started making up for lost time.  I planned EVERYTHING.  And then I had to start defending my plan.  For everything.

 

Let me make a disclaimer.  A very large, heartfelt and 100% accurate disclaimer.  I am SO BLESSED to be surrounded by family and friends who care, and I know that everything that I have taken so personally was said/done without the intention of making me crazy.

 

Good intent or not, though, it IS making me crazy.  This day should be about Ryan and I.  Period.  Our love, our engagement, our life, our marriage, OUR DAY.  Where you sit should not be up for discussion.  Who I select to be in my bridal party should not be up for discussion.  How I wear my hair, what we serve at the reception, what color the silverware will be, and what dead relative's "something old" I will or will not be using should not be up for discussion.  They shouldn't, but apparently they are.

 

I never had any idea that so many people felt it was their place to question a couple's decisions, tell them they should be doing it differently, and/or make their own plans and expect the bride and groom to do it their way.  With all the love, respect, and maturity I can muster, I would like to scream at the top of my lungs that this is NOT YOUR DAY.  You either had your day already, or you will have a day some other time, or maybe you don't get a day.  That's not my fault, and I shouldn't be expected to change my wedding to please you.  Not. Your. Day.

 

If I want to wear a purple polka dot dress, put lipstick all over my face in the shape of unicorns, and serve cotton candy and peanuts for dinner, it is your role as a guest to tell me I look beautiful and get your own damn dinner on the way home if you don't like what we chose.   I have been to a lot of weddings, and there have been a lot of things at said weddings that I didn't love.  Did I feel the need to tell the bride or groom that I would have done it differently?  Nope.  Sure didn't.  I wore a color other than white, sat where I was told, brought a gift, and congratulated the newlyweds on their new life together.  Because aside from seating charts and cake cutting, I'm pretty sure there is a bigger point to this day.  What was it again?  Oh yeah - a marriage.  Our marriage.  MY marriage.

 

I have a dj who may or may not show up (don't even get me started on the e-mail I sent that resulted in a 20% discount!), I have people who mean a WHOLE LOT to me who can't be there, I have people who WEREN'T INVITED who have told me that they will be there, and I have spent a crap ton of money on this day only to feel like I am under attack for every tiny detail that we have decided about this day.  And the conclusion I have come to?  I don't care.  I don't care.  I DON'T care.  I. DON'T. CARE.

 

While it is not now nor has it EVER been my intention to hurt anyone's feelings, the fact that their feelings are imposed onto this day in the first place still baffles me.  It is our day and the ONLY detail that I even remotely care about is that when it is all said and done, I will walk out as a married woman.  So while I may seem like a self-centered, spoiled, monster of a bride right now, I can promise you that on October 20th, I will not stress over one thing.  The cake can collapse, the electricity can go out, and my hair can be set on fire, and if I walk out of that church as Mrs. Sloan, it will still be the happiest day of my whole life.

 

If nobody likes the music, or my dress, or the food, or any other detail that people so boldly invite themselves to be concerned with, I don't care. If that makes me a bridezilla, then I guess I don't care about that either.  

"Yes!" (And a few other phrases...)

Yesterday, my life changed forever.  Yesterday, I said "yes" (and some other things that we'll review in a bit) to marrying the love of my life and my best friend. Yesterday was without a doubt one of the best days of my life, and it all started out so routinely...

On any given Sunday, Ryan and I usually go out to lunch right after church, and like every other Sunday, that was our plan this weekend.  Early Sunday morning, he sent me a text saying that he was exhausted and since we had to be at my sister's house at 2 for a Father's Day celebration, could we do dinner instead.  More specifically, he said "I have a proposal to make.  Can we not do lunch after church and then I will take you to a nice dinner?"  He told me flat out that he had a proposal to make, guess I should have caught on!

Church and the family gathering and even dinner were all very routine, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.  I didn't even question the fact that he kept getting up at dinner to use the restroom...turns out that he had the ring in his left pocket and at dinner, I sat directly on his left side and kept putting my hand on his leg.  Worried that I would feel it and start asking questions, he went to the restroom to change it to his right pocket safely out of my reach, and then had to switch it back to his left before we got in the car so that I wouldn't find it on the ride home.  Poor guy must have been so stressed, but he played it incredibly cool.

Once home, at the bottom of my steps, he stopped me and said, "Heidi, I need you to put your purse down and close your eyes...your mom and dad and I all have a surprise for you."  At that point, I was beyond confused...why would all 3 of them have a surprise? Why did I have to leave my purse?  What could be happening?  I quickly remembered that I LOVE surprises and stopped the line of questioning so as to figure out what awaited me at the top of the steps.  He held my hand and walked me up what felt like 300 steps.  At approximately step #289 (or 11, it's hard to say), he told me to wait right there with my eyes closed for just a second.  After a brief pause, I heard his voice say, "Okay, keep your eyes closed, but you can keep walking."  Umm, hello?  I'm on steps in heels with my eyes closed...this is an accident waiting to happen!  I reminded him that I was temporarily blind and not sure where I was on the staircase, and he rushed back to help me up the final few steps.

On level ground again, he walked me into the loft area, and told me to open my eyes.  Standing in front of me and holding my hands, he brought me to tears with the sweet words he spoke about our life, our love, and our future, dropped to one knee, and asked me to marry him.  I was so overwhelmed with surprise and joy that I didn't respond as eloquently or as gracefully as I had hoped that I would.  I think I screamed "YES! Of course!!", asked him "Really honey?! No, seriously...REALLY?!!" about 5 times, and then, in a moment that I'm sure I will never live down, "Thank you!"  Yes,  I said "thank you" after he asked me to spend the rest of my life with him.  I spent $30,000 on a Communications degree and I came up with "thank you." What?  It's the polite thing to say!

Not having any grasp on my bearings, I hadn't noticed that my mom and dad were standing witness to the whole thing (and snapping photos), nor had I even looked at the ring.  Luckily, he had the presence of mind to take it out of the box and remind me that there was another step to this process.

After saying 'yes' (and 'really', and 'thank you') and putting my stunning ring on (it was EXACTLY what I would have picked!!), I turned to my left and saw that he (or more specifically, my mom and dad, at his request) had turned my kitchen island into a cinammon proposal with my all time favorite candy, Hot Tamales.

Crying tears of joy, sweating profusely (attractive, I know) because of the rush of emotion, and shaking uncontrollably from all of the excitement, we sat down and started making the slew of calls to family and friends.  Mom diligently documented the whole process.  I'm not exaggerating when I say she photographed nearly every call we made.  I'll spare you the other 44 of them.

Then the groom-to-be stepped in and took a few shots of me with my folks, his trusted accomplices.  They had known about this since he took them to breakfast last Friday (where dad proceeded to warn him that he was getting a "hard-headed woman"...thanks, papa...), and while they said it nearly killed them, they managed to keep it a secret from everyone until the big moment.

Color mostly returned to my face, heart still racing, and shock somewhat present, we took our very first self-shot picture as an engaged couple:

I'm overwhelmed with emotion still today as I write this.  A year ago, I didn't think that I'd ever get married.  Partly because I was so independent, but mostly because I didn't believe that a man and a love this great really existed.  I'm brought to tears every time I think about the fact that he could have any woman in the world, and for reasons unknown, he chose me.  He has completely transformed my world for the better, and for someone who never thought she'd get married, I can't wait to be called his wife.

And while I may get teased for it for the rest of our lives, I'll say it again.  Thank you, Ryan.  Thank you for loving me, for making me laugh every day, for all of the ways that you show me how much you care, for being my best friend in the entire world, and for choosing me.  I promise to spend the rest of my life trying to be the woman you deserve.  I love you more than I thought it was possible to love someone, and I couldn't be more excited to spend the rest of my life being yours. 

Fundraising Defined

In light of the many 'What I Actually Do' posters floating around Facebook and my lack of graphic design talent (and also my newfound inability to think of ANYTHING interesting to blog about that doesn't involve my Cute Guitar Guy), I made my own de-constructed take on the world of being a fundraiser:

What My Friends Think I Do:

 

What My Mom Thinks I Do:

 

What Society Thinks I Do:

What Donors Think I Do:

                            

                                                    

What I Think I Do:

                                                  

 What I Actually Do:

Operation Sugar Daddy

Upon careful thought and consideration, I have come to the conclusion that I'm too pretty to work.  At a bare minimum, I'm too pretty to work full time.  So, in the words of my dear friend Rachel (she's very wise - check her out), I need to find a man to bank roll my rock and roll lifestyle.  With my 20s on a downward spiral heading into 30 like a freight train, I figured I should take advantage of my youth and good looks while they are still around. 

I know that this must sound a little overindulgent, but follow me here.  I bring a lot to the table, and am willing to negotiate the terms of our arrangement.  My staples are as follows: provide my basic needs (food, shelter, gasoline, etc.), 1 Diet Mountain Dew or Starbucks per day, 6 vacations per year (4 to Phoenix/Las Vegas where only a plane ticket and spending money are needed, 1 to Boston, and 1 tropical locale), and $200 per month wardrobe allowance; of which any remaining balance may be carried over infinitely.  Keep in mind that I am willing to work part time to help with these expenses. 

Ideally, I would like to stick to the terms of a traditional Sugar Daddy/Trophy Girl relationship: woo me, buy me nice things, take me out on the town to show me off, make a weekly or semi-monthly deposit into my checking account, and then go home to your house that is separate from mine.  Here's where the negotiations come in.  I'm willing to settle down and become a trophy wife with the added conditions that I get at least a 2 carat ring, my last name is hyphenated, bump that wardrobe allowance up to $350 a month, and I'm going to need 1 additional state side vacation of my choosing per year.

Sounds like a nice deal for me, I know, and I'm sure you're wondering what you get out of it, so I have taken the liberty of compiling a list of reasons why you should scoop me up and take care of me for the rest of my life.  This list is by no means meant to be exhaustive, and if you have any stipulations not seen below, please feel free to inquire about my willingness to provide.  Thank you, and I look forward to meeting you and your AmEx in the near future.

10 Reasons Why You Should Be My Sugar Daddy:

1.) I look great in formal wear
Have a fancy business dinner to be at?  A charity gala?  Best man in your brother's wedding?  I can rock a ballgown in any color.

2.) I am excellent with babies and small children
Don't get any ideas - none will be housed in my uterus, but if you come with them in tow, I can probably keep them alive.

3.) I'm not afraid of a theme party.

Cowgirl, sock-hopper, 80s cutie, some ill-advised college era 'bros & hos' parties that I won't post here, but I'm sure there is evidence of...

4.) I can hold my liquor.

My first three loves are: tequila, tequila, tequila, but I can down a Blue Moon like it's my job!

 5.) I'm a good hugger.

Handshakes are so formal.  Whether you hug back or stand straight as a board, I'm getting my loves in!

6.) I give good back rubs.

7.) I'm sporty.
Whether I'm running 13.1 miles, showing off my championhip miniature golf form, or dominating the batting cages, I'm basically awesome.


8.) I believe that variety is the spice of life.
You will never see me with the same hair style twice.

 

9.) I'm always ready for a photo op.

Catch me off guard when there is a camera around?  I dare you to try.

10.) I'm hot.

Let's face it.  I'm not going to look this good forever, so you should probably get me while the getting is good.  Go ahead, gentlemen, let the fighting over me begin...