Baby's First Wedding

On Saturday, Peapod attended her first wedding. Our dear friends, Tula & Steve, wed in style at the hip Marvimon House in downtown Los Angeles.

We enjoyed a delicious Chinese banquet and had a splendid time with close friends, eating, laughing and dancing all while celebrating the marriage of a couple very much in love. Watching others drink wine was a bit torturous for me in my condition, but I did steal a few whiffs here and there. Also, it felt so crazy to dance with a little person inside of me. When my moves got a little rough, it felt like I had a swallowed a submarine sandwich whole and it was just rocking back and forth in my belly. Weird! The bride has a very cool design blog of her own, www.whorange.net, so you can get a sense of the wonderful & stylish vibe of the wedding.

Memorial Day Weekend

We enjoyed a nice holiday weekend in town for a change.  A lot has happened in the past year.  A year ago today, we were on a plane headed for Tokyo, and then to Hawaii to celebrate our first anniversary.  Now, we are sticking much closer to home - saving money we'd spend on flights and vacations for our little pea pod and trying to nest as much as possible.  It still feels so early to start getting the nursery ready, but there is a lot of home organization that I need to take care of before the tiny infant arrives.  

Luckily, this weekend I was able to make some headway cleaning out my closets and our desk area.  Those that know me well know I am a bit of a pack rat, especially when it comes to sentimental items or clothes.  If it still fits, it's just hard to get rid of, but I am getting more ruthless lately and my "to donate" pile of clothes is growing everyday,  possibly thanks to the pregnancy nesting hormones.  

We wanted to make sure we had some fun this weekend, too.  On Sunday morning, we enjoyed brunch at Duke's in Malibu with our friends, Justin and Kelly.  We were so excited to learn that Kelly is actually pregnant with her first baby, too, and she is due about a month before me, so naturally we had tons to talk about Sunday morning.  Sitting by the water at Duke's, eating waffles and fresh fruit and trying to spot dolphins in the Pacific was a great way to spend the morning and made me appreciate living in Southern California.

Palm Springs for Jessica's Birthday

This photo was taken last weekend in Palm Springs.  Kiko and I ventured to Palm Springs on Saturday for our friend Jessica's 30th birthday celebration.  Some day we'll tell pea pod about the wild and crazy party it attended while in utero, but I think we'll save the full story until it's in college.  I actually managed to stay out until midnight which was amazing, and it was wonderful seeing some friends I hadn't seen in a while...and since I was one of the only sober ones, I can now fill them all in on everything that happened that they might not remember...

I think this picture makes me look more "pregnant" than I really am.  Kiko is urging me to take photos of my belly, but I haven't given in yet...I am sure by the time I really "pop," I'll regret not documenting what I looked like before...we'll see...

Dado

Today is the anniversary of my maternal Grandmother's death. We called her "Dado," (pronounced dad-oh) and even though the name sounds similar to "dad," she was 100% lady. My oldest brother, Robbie, named her that when he was about 2 years old and the name stuck. I never knew her as anything else. Even friends and neighbors that had known her for years referred to her as Dado.

I could write for days about her and what she meant to me, but for some reason, now that I have a little person growing inside of me, I find myself thinking about her more and more in a different way than ever before. She was so many things to so many different people, but at her core she was a true southern woman who just wanted to make those around her happy. She brought me so much joy as a child and always made me feel special. It was a gift to spend time with her because she showered me and her other grandchildren with attention. One of my favorite activities we did together was making doll hats out of Styrofoam cups. It was a simple, and probably highly toxic process: we'd melt the Styrofoam cups in the oven until the bottoms of the cups curled up like little hat brims, then we'd dig into her sewing box for scraps of ribbon, silk flowers, loose sequins, buttons, and other treasures. Each hat we'd make would be unique and I don't know what was more fun - making them with her or putting them on my dolls later to admire our handy work and creativity.

We also loved making mud-pies (out of dirt, not coffee ice cream), doing Shrinky-Dinks, playing the piano, watching "The Fall Guy," and taking outings to the 99-cent store, Fed Co, and Mc Donald's. She sewed doll clothes for all my dolls, got me hooked on cream cheese on raisin bread sandwiches and used to get mad at me when I'd say, "I have to pee."

Her pat response when I'd use a vulgar word like "pee," would be: "Tootie, that's not very lady-like. You should say 'I need to use the restroom.'"

We also had to refer to "farts" as "fanny burps," which in my opinion is way more tortuous to a little kid than just getting the short word "fart" out and over with. Fanny burp just seems to linger on the tongue. Yuck.

But now that I am going to give my own parents a grandchild of their own, I can't help but get excited over how they'll influence my own kids. I know their relationship will be special and I know they will share something far different than my relationship with them.

Grandparents are just special, and today especially I remember Dado with love and fondness. She is always a part of me and even though I wish I could have made her a great-grandmother, I know somewhere she will be looking down on me, making sure I teach my kids to speak like proper young ladies and gentlemen, and encouraging my own crafty activities with my kids. Her gentle-loving spirit calms me when I worry about the future. Somehow I just feel comforted knowing that she loved me and remembering what she was like.

It's Friday...I'm Pregnant

Oh, the many joys that come with being pregnant. Yes, it is a beautiful thing but there are so many things about making a little human that no one tells you. And luckily, I am not going to tell you either...because most of those details aren't fun to read or write about. But it is just amazing how my life is affected already by this unborn child.

For instance, the timing of popping my prenatal. Ask anyone who takes a multi-vitamin, and they will likely tell you that you should not take a vitamin on an empty stomach unless you are hoping to feel junky and you enjoy puking. Being pregnant only heightens this sensation of dizziness and nausea. And you are always hungry. So not only do I have to remember to eat my Wheaties, some fruit, AND yogurt before I swallow my pre-nate to keep from ralphing, but I have to keep continually eating throughout the day otherwise I start to feel sick. (not the vitamin's fault, I don't think...) If I don't eat every couple of hours, I start to feel dizzy, and it's like the little pea pod is sitting upright in my stomach, with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, banging the utensils on the imaginary kitchen table in my uterus, chanting "Me want food...me want food..." Okay, little guy. Tranquilo...1 Gala apple and some Sun Chips coming up.

Now I am not complaining, actually. I love food, but there are just so many things you have access to in a Century City high rise that sound good. Why isn't there an ice cream man in the vicinity of my office? Oh, to hear those bells chirping down the street.

Luckily, our office manager keeps a stash of Ritz Bits, Sun Chips, and granola bars on hand in our office, but when I really want a cup of mashed potatoes or a mini-pulled pork sandwich smothered in bbq sauce, what's a working pregnant girl to do?

I have been very fortunate with the nausea and have only up-chucked once so far, and I am positive it was because I took the vitamin on a mainly empty stomach, so I am not complaining. It's just that who knew someone could feel hungry ALL DAY LONG...and I still have 6 more months to go...

Too bad I work at A&E and not the Food Network...would write more but need a snack....

Peapod / AKA Alien Baby

Foreword: Okay, first off please note the previous two posts were written in late February/early March, before I knew I was exepecting....

Here's our baby timeline:

3/13 - The day after I got back from being in NYC on a business trip, I found out I was expecting.

4/8 - First prenatal doctor's appointment where we saw the heartbeat & had the first ultrasound.

5/8 - We heard the heartbeat the first time, which sounded like a freight train. Crazy!

5/13 - Then today, we had our second ultrasound and Kiko and I were both in awe of the little dude or dudette as we watched it on the monitor. We saw the little peapod actually moving around, which just made it seem so much more real. For the most part, he/she was sleeping but the dr. kept moving the machine around trying to wake it up so he could see it from other angles. It really does look like an alien (but a cute alien!) because of the big, buggy eye sockets. Ah, the miracle of life...
Most of the time today, the doctor said it was sleeping. We saw its little legs which were crossed at the ankles, almost like it was in a meditation pose. A couple of times it waved its arms and the doctor said it was doing the Macarena. Lord, let's hope not! Ha!
The only bad thing from today was that the nurse told me I needed to stop wearing high heels...Hmm...I think NOT.

I want an Oompa-loompa....NOW...

I want a baby. It’s hard not to obsess over something once you’ve decided you wanted it. Whether it’s a certain job, a man, or a new pair of shoes, I like to set my sights on a goal and then work hard till I achieve it. Maybe the same will be true with the process of trying for a baby. I know it’s not always easy and it doesn’t always happen right away (or ever, sometimes, I need to be realistic.) But it’s important to make the process of trying to conceive fun.

Side note: I like to get lost in thoughts of what my baby will look like. Will he have dark beautiful curls and smooth tan skin like my husband? Or will he inherit my family’s prominent nose and deep set eyes? What will his voice sound like when he cries, because I am sure occasionally he’ll cry….and what if he is actually a she?

While it is fun to daydream about what characteristics our love child will have, first we have to get him here. So what’s the best way to do that? Well, duh. I know how…but how often and when? Is there any truth to a special fertility diet? And positions? How do you get “to work” without actually making it feel like a job? I feel like it's something you just "let happen..." but we'll see...

My good girlfriend suggested getting my female parts checked out before we really get into it, like taking your car in for a tune-up before a cross-country drive…but do I just need to give it a try and then check our progress? I've never really been into to preventative autocare. I like to be more reactionary...

Bitten by the Baby Bug

“Beautiful linen crib sheets…100% organic cotton bumper...Ooh, click for alternate images. Wow...” Repeat after me: I will not look at nursery bedding online. I will not look at nursery bedding online, while I am in my office and need to be working. I will not look at nursery bedding online…and fantasize about my dream nursery…My dream nursery with Wedgewood blue colored walls, hand-painted animal silhouettes on the wall above the white wooden crib painted in lead-free paint, and the cozy eco-friendly glider strategically placed by the window…I will not do any of this…before I am even PREGNANT.

My name is Susan. And I want a baby.

Let me back up. I wonder if there are other women like me: young(ish), professional women who have always dreamed of having a family but have never actually been certain about when the right time would be to take that next step. I always figured the steps would be fairly simple: I’d have a stimulating, fulfilling career, marry a handsome, hard-working and compassionate man, and eventually we’d just know when the time was right to begin having a family. (Side note: I was raised and married in the Catholic church, so technically the time to begin having a family was right after the honeymoon, but that was never our plan.)

In this moment, I am more concerned about my own decision as a woman to know when the time is right to become a mom. And I am beginning to think that, like other things in life, there is no predetermined “right time” ---it just happens and you feel it and it’s right. And I think that time might be now. The signs are everywhere. About a year ago, my doctor started gently nudging me as my 30th birthday approached, hinting that I should really start thinking about starting a family. I was aghast. Was she joking? I didn’t feel like I was in the right place professionally or financially to take on the responsibility of motherhood. Then, she looked at me with her warm brown eyes and poker-face medical professional facial expression and said “Susan, it will never be the right time financially or professionally to have a baby. You just have to go for it. It will always mean sacrifice and it will always mean juggling priorities, but it will always be worth it.” Her words stuck with me as I left her office, but it wasn’t until now, almost a year later, that I began to think that maybe I am starting to believe her.

The strangest thing now is that while my husband has been ready since about 2 months after we said our vows, I have been the hesitant one. Because it is my career that will be most affected. Because though I know he’ll be a wonderful, hands-on father, I also know that ultimately a bulk of the responsibility will fall to me. I’ll have to figure out how much time I can take off work. I’ll have to obsess over whether we let the baby cry it out. I’ll have to decide what to feed him (or her!), etc. There are just certain things I think always fall primarily on a mother’s shoulders.

So without a lot of forethought, suddenly, incredibly, I feel like Ally McBeal with that damned dancing baby…I am suddenly and completely obsessed with the idea of having a baby. It started off gradually when I would notice myself becoming inappropriately overly enthusiastic when I’d learn that an acquaintance was expecting. I’d want to know all the details – how long before they knew they were pregnant, what symptoms they were experiencing, were they going to find out the sex, what style did they want for the nursery décor, etc. Then this excitement evolved into longer stares at strangers’ babies at the mall or in restaurants, detours at the book store to the maternity aisle, quick browses through informational sites like babycenter.com and thecradle.com. Gradually, I started positioning myself to be spending more and more time with my friends who had babies and I was growing ever more inquisitive and bold with each visit. When I stayed with a friend and her three month old for a week and I found myself pleading with her to let me change his diaper I knew something was going on…something that I hadn’t consciously thought about or something that I hadn’t really decided on, but it just happened.

Something awakened inside of me and I can’t put it to rest.

It manifests itself in the endless online searches for the perfect nursery bedding and the tireless research of how to chart my basal body temperature. And while a lot of my desires to be a mom seem to present themselves through the urge to spend money on material items like baby clothes, bedding, books, etc. what I really realize at the heart of everything is I just want a baby to snuggle. Some little creature who will be a part of me and my husband, who I will care for and raise into (I hope!) a creative and compassionate human being. When I dream of the perfect nursery it is only because I picture myself in it, rocking my little one to sleep, looking into his or her squinty eyes and hoping the kid knows just how loved and adored he or she really is. And when I picture those walls it’s not because I am obsessed with home décor, but it’s because I love the idea of a home filled with busy toddlers and dogs, bustling with energy and intrigue and just generally full of life.

So here’s to the realization that maybe my life is about to change, if I am so blessed. Maybe someday soon my online shopping sprees will shift from shoe sales at Saks.com to burp cloth sales at Babies R Us. Either way, it feels good to acknowledge what is really going on and that somehow, slowly, I’ve been bitten by the bug…that pesky, persistent, want-to-be-a-mom bug. . .

What is fat?

What is fat? Who is fat? Is the woman who eats 3 Big Macs to console her depressed, unsatisfied existence on her way home from her telemarketing job fat because she weighs 250 pounds?

Or is the woman fat who maybe wears a wears a size 6 pair of jeans when really she should be wearing a size 8, and thus the jeans hug her hips so tight that it pushes all her extra "skin" over the top of her pants making her belly appear perhaps larger and more jiggly than it normally is fat just because she is not rail thin?

Americans are crazy about fat and thin. Everywhere you look, people are sadly and unhealthily at both ends of the body fat spectrum. It seems extreme cases of obsese and skinny are all around us. Take a trip to any amusement park on a weekend and you'll see gobs of overweight adults and children, indulging in too large of portions and sugary sodas and fruit juices. But open any magazine and the images on the pages are so different from the real world that these women barely look like people. Stick thin models who on a bad day wear a size 0, most of whom aren't older than 21, also have been airbrushed so that even the tiniest dimple or flaw vanishes with the click of a mouse.

Focus for a second on Las Vegas - the land of healthy living - and the MTV VMAs where one controversial pop star's attempt to make a come back had a very bad choice of an outfit. Or, was it an inspired choice?

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let the record reflect that Britney Spears IS NOT FAT. She may not boast the wash board abs and toned - from -dancing -all day bod she once sported during brighter days in her career, but she is not by any means, fat.

It is appalling for me as a woman to read and hear all the attacks accusing her of being fat. Click here to find just a sampling of these attacks: Britney Backlash. I'd like to see the majority of the people making those comments put on a black sequined bikini and strut around on stage in front of millions of people and then we'll talk about who's fat and who's not.

Now I am not saying I like Britney, or even support her lazy attempt to make a big come back, but what I do support is people promoting healthy body images.

What people should be talking about is her substance abuse problems, her neglect of her children, and the fact that she is so freaking lucky to be in a position where the world is watching her and she has the ability to touch people's lives and influence them, and she is too damn sick or blinded or whatever the excuse to realize the impact she could have on the world. Most people would die to be in her position - to make money singing and dancing and wearing sexy clothes. You've got a position of power - or at least a position in the spot light - use it to do something other than just hook up with college boys in the Downtown Standard pool, topless...

What Britney needs to do rather than spend time doing 1000 crunches a day like she used to, is do some serious soul searching and spend some time being a Mom to her children. Think about them first for a change instead of partying every night. And hey, maybe if she lays off the booze some of that extra belly flab will melt away and she'll look more like the toned sexpot that everyone praised her for before.

But even if she doesn't do this, let's lay off the fat jokes. If for no other reason then there are far better and more important things to criticize her for than her non-stick thin body and her poor outfit choices.

http://news.aol.com/entertainment/music/story/ar/_a/britneys-body-gets-brunt-of-insults/20070911064009990001

Hairspray - The Movie (2007)

Last night, I had the great pleasure to see the film version - of the Broadway version -of the John Waters' film HAIRSPRAY.

Can I just say I LOVE QUEEN LATIFAH? Long live the queen. She is "big, blond, and beautiful" as ever in this movie and her singing is fabulous. Some of her best lyrics are: "Bring on that pecan pie. Pour some sugar on it, honey don't be shy. Scoop me up a mess of that chocolate swirl. Don't be stingy, I am a growing girl. I offer big love with no apologies. Why should I deny the world the most of me? Why would you want something that only offers the least when girl we're serving up the whole damn feast?"

And Christopher Walken. His dancing... His singing... Even when he's not saying a word, brilliance oozes from the screen. He runs the "Hardy Har Hut," a Baltimore joke shop and is the father to chubby dance sensation and desegregation spokesperson, Tracy.

And the new-comer, Nikki Blonsky as Tracy Turnblad is a dazzling delight, with darling facial expressions and sassy dance moves.

I could go on and on...The film had me smiling the whole 2 hours. Sure, there were moments where John Travolta seemed to shamelessy rip off Mike Meyer's "Dr. Evil" voice, and other times when you wanted to leave the theatre to call Michelle Pfeiffer's agents pleading with them to get her to a buffet immediately, but overall, the film did not disappoint.

And a fabulous cameo from John Waters as the flasher, and one from Ricki Lake as an agent in the audience for the Miss Teenage Hairspray Competition, just proves that the film is layers upon layers of fluffy chocolate & vanilla fun!

S'more-coholic

Just a quick thought...

If drinking alone is a tell-tale sign of being an alcoholic, then what does it mean if you make S'mores alone?

You've got a nasty sugar addiction? A deep, desperate desire to go camping?You're entering starvation and have a serious need to shop for groceries?

S'mores making is a group activity, much like fondue, shabu-shabu, or those restaurant dishes that arrive at your table underneath a tower of blue & orange flames.

S'mores treats are not things you should enjoy alone...but they do taste mighty damn good, whether you're indulging late night in your kitchen or around a packed camp fire with your closest compadres...

First Post as a Married Woman & A Homeowner...

Yes, it's been a long time since I've written. Planning a wedding leaves little time for blogging...or at least that's what I liked to tell myself.

Is it weird that I am spending my first Saturday night as a married woman post-honeymoon on the computer blogging while my husband watches the Dodgers and plays his Play Station Portable (PSP, as I will refer to it from here forward) in the den?

Or, is it perhaps weirder to think that this afternoon we attended a matinee showing of the new Disney Pixar flick "Ratatouille" and we don't even have children yet? Ahh...married life.

No, but seriously, I couldn't be happier. Nothing is better than waking up on a Saturday morning with a moderate hangover from chugging the leftover bottle of wedding champagne outside of the Greek theatre before hearing the fabulous music Alison Kraus and Union Station... then tasting some fresh squeezed OJ that was made from oranges that grew in your very own backyard. Fabulous!

After a very satisfying breakfast prepared with love using newly gifted appliances (a secret materialistic perk of getting married - getting lots of great gifts, like electric juicers and waffle irons), we took our dog, Coconut on a long hike in the San Gabriel Mountains. By 10:00 AM it was 80 degrees and the sweltering sun and dry and thirsty chaparral landscape was still beautiful despite the occasional graffitied rock or plastic soda bottle littering the trail....

But what's most amazing as that as I sit in my house overwhelmed with all the changes in my life I truly can't stop thinking about that concert. Was I born in the wrong era? Were we the only ones under 40 in the audience? Perhaps...but while many girls my age may have been sauntering their way around Area or some other hip Hollywood hangout, I was sitting under a semi-starry sky in Los Angeles listening to the intoxicating voice of Alison Kraus and fantasizing about quitting my job and dedicating myselt to the dobro. That instrument speaks to me...it's does to your ears what the smell of homemade cornbread baked in a cast iron skillet does to your nose...makes you feel like you're in the deep south and everything is just....as it should be.

I knew the rest of the crowd was digging the music, too, when the elderly woman sitting in front of me with the teased white hair and taut face-lifted cheeks decided after the third song that it was safe to take her ear plugs out and groove along with her husband, who was already dancing and enjoying every note that poured from the stage...

When the show was over, I serioulsy felt sad, like I wasn't ready for it to be over...

Just for fun, here's a review of the show that we saw, only because I really loved it and I would encourage the three people that read my blog, if you like bluegrass or country music even a little, check out Alison Kraus...you might not want to run out and sign
up for dobro lessons but I guarantee you won't want to insert ear plugs...

http://backtorockville.typepad.com/back_to_rockville/2007/06/concert_review__8.html

Dado & The Jacarandas

In June in Los Angeles, they are everywhere. The bright violet blooms of the Jacaranda trees. They smell fragrantly, and when they cover walkways like rose petals on a wedding aisle, they provide a slippery surface for the bottom of your shoes. But they’re gorgeous.

Dado and I played a game “count the jacaranda trees.” How many could I count on the way to Hughes market? Six? Eight? When I’d spot one from a distance down the street I would get excited and feel proud, and have to remember as I approached the tree and its vibrant blooms, that I already counted that one from far away.

I miss her. Every time I see a jacaranda tree I think of her, and right now, in June in L.A., they are blooming all over the city. It’s never like I actually forget her because I think of her all the time, but when the trees are blooming, I can't escape thoughts of her and I feel her presence even more intimately when I see those trees. In Burbank as I leave the Warner Bros Ranch where my office is, I see the trees and I see her. They frame the road next to Starbuck’s and remind all the network and studio employees to take time out to enjoy the changing of the season.

At Kiko’s apartment, I feel her. There’s a huge jacaranda tree on the property of his apartment building that scatters the otherwise drab driveway with glorious purple petals. Most of the tenants just drive over the beautiful blooms, smashing them deeper into the ground so they spread out like flowers in a press, without even realizing how gorgeous they make the black asphalt. Thank you, oblivious drivers for leaving small signs of Dado on the driveway for me to feel close to her.

I want to gather all of the fallen purple petals I see, put them in a zip lock bag and preserve them in the freezer. I want to make a quilt of these jacaranda buds made of a color so vibrant it would feel like spring all year round, and cover me in her warmth. I’d scatter them across a white table cloth for pops of color, or use them to spruce up bath water if they smelled fragrant or seemed clean.

Some people can’t stand the mess they make on the sidewalk and sweep up the gorgeous lilac blooms the minute they drop from the tree. Others go about their daily routines, practically not paying any attention to nature’s wondrous rouge coloring the skyline and the sidewalks. But I notice. And Dado notices. She always noticed, which means I will never forget to notice and remember…

Panty Conventions

"Susan, you got like a panty convention goin' on in here..." said my friend Tyrone as we stopped off in the laundry room of my old apartment while giving him a tour of the place. Four years later, and when ever I do my laundry, I still have "panty conventions" as Tyrone called them, and I revel in every single minute of these conventions...

I love doing laundry. There is something methodic and soothing about sorting all of my dirty clothes. It is very orderly. Darks in one pile; whites in another; medium colors and everything in between in yet a third grouping. Sometimes you have to make tricky decisions, like to which pile should a t-shirt with multi-colored stripes go? Many of the colors are dark enough to make them qualify for the all-dark cold-water load, but there might be just enough white or light pink in the garment to make it a perfectly viable contender for the medium load. Most of the time, there is only one lucid choice. And sometimes in life, that's a relief. Knowing there is really only once place for something feels better sometimes than having too many options...(Does this mean that when it comes to laundry, communism is good?)

I tend to wash almost all my clothes on the delicate cycle. There is just something comforting in knowing that my clothes are getting a little extra TLC, even if maybe they don't need it. My undergarments, or silkies as Steph used to call them, make the prettiest displays when I dry them. While they are on the drying rack, they are still sorted by color, thus creating the foundation for a panty convention, which is a bunch of panties (10 pair at least) all laying down side by side in color coordinated rows, or rainbows of different colors, all drying together. They must be laid flat, and of course they must be clean to be eligible for the convention. Full-back bikini briefs get their own section, and g-strings occupy their own space, and they never comingle.

Perhaps the best thing about doing laundry is the memories that flood from the past weeks or days when sorting through the clothes. Even smelly sweatshirts seem beautiful when I remember that the reason the sweatshirt got sweaty and dirty was because I took a long beautiful hike in the hills surrounding San Francisco with a friend. Or, those extra strands of dog hair on my jogging suit are welcomed souvenirs of some good snuggles with my parents' dogs. Dirty clothes mean I've been living my life and doing things outside to get me dirty or make me sweat...and I like the idea of that.

My least favorite part of laundry is putting the clean clothes away after they've been folded...but I suppose if I just think that putting them away makes them one step closer to being worn again, and thus to being primed to take on some memorable dirt then it's not such a bad step in the circle of my laundry after all.

Finding THE Dress

You're standing there, naked, in front of a stranger. It's a female stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. You're thinking "did I get a good shave?" and "are my tan lines super scandalous?" as you step your bare feet into a cylinder of silky white heaven. The strange woman helps you step into the massive cocoon of fabric, and she slides it up your torso. Then comes the zipping, the cinching, and the sucking it in, so she can fasten the dress with her huge metal clips that look like the ends of jumper cables. How is it okay for such a beautiful garment to be touched and held together by jumper cables?

Wedding dress shopping is a wonderful event. I thought it was the most wonderful when I went to WATCH my close friends, future sister-in-law, and cousin search for their dresses...but it became an entirely new adventure when it was I who was looking for the dream dress...the perfect gown for me to wear on the day that everyone swears will be the best day of my life.

The first time I tried on a wedding gown, I wanted to cry. Not because I was so moved by how I looked in it, or because I caught a glimpse of my mom's quiet face and glistening eyes at seeing me in a white wedding dress for the first time, but more because I was simply overwhelmed by the sight. For many young women, our whole lives are filled with people speculating about when we'll get married, who we'll marry, and what our wedding day will be like. Society puts so much pressure on young girls to strive not for professional satisfaction, but for finding the ideal mate and settling down... and I guess I was not the one to question that aspect of social norms...I wanted a fulfilling career, BUT I'd also grown up staging weddings with my Barbie dolls, sketching gowns in lecture halls during college, and subscribing to wedding magazines much before I actually needed to...but only because I was "getting ideas for parties" or "scouting styles for a friend's wedding."

But the first time I saw myself in a wedding dress, I realized "this is it." I am actually getting married. No more dreams about what the lucky man will be like. No more questions as to where I'll be living and what my career will be...well, that's actually not true. Those questions are more prevalent now than before...It's here, and I am the bride-to-be.

Still, what I felt was pure shock. It felt fake, like I was trying on my mom's dress when I was 7 years old, "pretending" I would actually wear a dress like this some time. But this was very real. I could feel the fine silk skimming my skin, and it was my own hips hiding beneath A-line skirt. With a veil on my head there was no question that I was the one preparing for marriage.

With each dress I tried on, and each bridal salon I entered, I gradually became more comfortable with the sight of me in a wedding gown, and by the end, I was actually enjoying it. Did I want to feel like a princess and wear a more traditional, poofy ball gown? Or did I want to feel more like a 40s movie star, in a slinky body-skimming silk charmeuse sheath with just a hint of beading? Each dress transformed me into a different kind of bride, but many of them evoked different sides of my personality. Trying them on became a sort of addiction. I wanted to savor each experience, because each one represented so many different possibilities and brought out so many different sides of my personality.

When I finally did find "the" dress, I knew it only because it became the gown that I measured everything else up against. I would say to my mom, "well, I wish it had blank like the other gown," or "didn't you think that the way that other dress hit me at the waist was just a tad more flattering?" and I began to realize that maybe my search was over. The other dress quietly became the dress with each not-quite-right gown I tried.

This was the dress that I could actually envision myself wearing on my wedding day. When I pictured the Spanish-style mission where our ceremony will be, the arched threshold, how my dad will look in his tuxedo, I could absolutely see myself wearing that dress. My entourage sighed in big-belly gasps when I walked out in that gown, and that was the only reaction of that magnitude. (My favorite reaction from my mom in other not-right-for-me dresses was "well, it doesn't look awful..." Thanks, Mom. She's always trying to let me down gently...)

My emotional roller coaster ride trying on dresses proved to be a blast and a once-in-a-lifetime experience. While modeling gowns, I was able to pretend I was a princess bride getting married at the Plaza in New York in duchess satin, a corset top, and tons of beading, and I also got to be a beach bride, in bare feet and body skimming silk. And then I found it; the one that fits me and my style (and hopefully, Kiko's...) perfectly.

Like everything else with the wedding, I wanted to savor the gown shopping. My wedding day is a little more than 10 months away, and my wedding dress shopping is over. But like all other aspects of the planning, it just makes me more excited for the big day...and hopefully the dress I picked will represent all the different facets of my femininity and personality...and hopefully it won't make me want to cry the day I put it on!

First Class First Time

What's the cliche - "ignorance is bliss?"

I think that's how I felt about flying coach. I never knew what it was like on the other side of the wall, the first class side, so I was content. I didn't know what I was missing.

While preparing to board a flight from NYC back to Los Angeles, a flight attendant asked if we'd mind taking a later, direct flight to Los Angeles, and she'd bump us up to first class. Why not?

What's so great about first class? The ample leg room, the cushy seats, the cup holder on the arm rest so that you can have a drink near you without having your tray table down the entire ride are some of the plush details I was impressed with during my first first-class flight. But my favorite part about it? The warm chocolate chip cookies and glass of milk we were served about a 1/2 hour before landing.

I could get use to the jet-setting life of being a first class lady...but maybe I'll have to wait a few years.

Central Park in mid-July

loud mouthed kids
shady trees
panting dogs
not so chilled drinks from street vendors
cool breeze
sweaty strapless bra slowly sliding down your wet rib cage in the heat as you walk

So Long, WB

(DEEP BOOMING VOICE:)
TONIGHT, ON THE WB...
A young woman says goodbye to the life she's known for three years...what will be the next adventure on her journey?

This is the last post I will ever write from my office at the WB...

Today, I packed up my little corner office on the Warner Bros. Ranch. I filled boxes with a melange of my personal junk: pictures, books, my West Highland terrier desk calendar, special pens, gifts from shows, receipts, etc. and stuffed the boxes into the back of my four door sedan.

It is a bittersweet goodbye. I am not sure how I feel, but I know it's time to move on. It would be easier to not look back if I knew exactly where I was going, but I am trying to keep my chin up and realize that change is good and healthy. I am anxious to find out what's next on my career path, and am encouraged by some of the possibilities...

So, Michigan J, it's been a good three-year run with you. Within your halls, I was promoted to my first executive job and I had the opportunity to work with many talented individuals, and for this I am grateful...but now it's time to say goodbye...

Those Dog Gone Dreams

Someone once told me that if you dream that someone dies, it means is that if you lost that person, you'd be devastated. You fear that person leaving your life, and leaving you alone on earth.

Well, I wonder if that same interpretation applies to the death of a canine in a dream as well? I have recurring nightmares that my favorite four legged friend, Murphy White, is dying or dies. I wake up feeling sad and guilt-ridden because I don't get to see her nearly enough since she lives with my parents two hours away from me. My parents have 3 acres of land, and wide expanses of lawn that she loves to roll around in, as well as several porches where she enjoys sunning herself throughout the day.

Last night I dreamt that she wasn't eating, and I was trying to hand-feed her anything I could get her to swallow, and my aunt told me "Susan, it's hopeless. She's dying..." And I woke up with tears in my eyes.

I know that death is a fact of life. I know that pets don't have the life-span that humans do. I know that eventually, everything and everyone passes, and that by dwelling on this fact, it just makes you consumed with morbid thoughts and takes away from the joie de vivre...but why can't I tell myself this when I am in dream-land...how do I stop these recurring visions of Murphy's inevitable (but possibly far off) passing on?

And more importantly, how can I be sure that little Schmurphy-Murphy knows how much she is loved?

Lady of Leisure

Manicures. Pedicures. 10 AM trips to the gym. Long leisurely lunches. Shopping excursions in the middle of the day. Coffee dates with friends at 4 pm on a Tuesday. Reading juicy novels for 3 hours at a time. Knitting baby booties. Wedding appointments. These are the types of appointments clouding up my weekly calendar lately. Well, this is not entirely accurate. But it's a possibility considering I am now learning to be a "lady of leisure."

What I should be is a "lady of closet-cleaning..."

It's hard to be a Lady of Leisure when you're used to being a Working Girl. You feel like suddenly, you have all the time in the world to do all the things you've always wanted to do, but all you think about is "what will my next job be?" If only it could be arranged so I was blessed with money AND time simultaneously.

It's strange how one's life can change so quickly. Just a few months ago, I was a single girl with a great job that took up all or nearly all of my time. My job demanded my time beyond the confinements of a regular 9 to 6 job, as I always attended tapings at night, early morning breakfasts, drinks and dinners, and there rarely was a night when I didn't come home at 10:30 pm to find one or 2 scripts waiting on my door step that would need to be read before 9:30 AM the next morning. The workload was significant and the pace steady and fast, but I liked it. I was accustomed to it. I never had time to be bored, or to really think "what do I want to do right now" because I always had something I knew I should be doing...

Now all that has changed. The only pressing task on my "to do" list is to clean out my office at Warner Bros. I have about 2 weeks left of "official employment" and though it feels nice to finally know that I will not be going on to the new company, what awaits in the future is uncertain...

As a working girl, I had a great boyfriend, who I'd been dating for years, but rarely spoke to about marriage. Now, I suddenly don't have a job, but I am engaged and am planning a wedding! Wow! How did I go from being an independent working woman to becoming a lady of leisure who doesn't work but just spends her days planning a big fancy wedding? I know one day I'll look back on this time and feel blessed that it worked out that I had this time, because when I do start working again, it is clear that I won't have time to plan a wedding...so maybe all this is a blessing in disguise...maybe there is a master plan.

Just trying to have faith in the meantime that everything will work out the way it should is the hardest thing...I know I will not be lazy and just expect things "to work themselves out." I will pursue every opportunity with tenacity. And I will also do some soul searching, because perhaps everything that's happened with the CW IS all for a good reason. Maybe I am destined to do something greater than just work at a fledgling TV network. Maybe I haven't even realized what the future is really going to hold...

All I know is this...being a lady of leisure doesn't exactly suit me. I can only best relax when I feel as if I've actually DONE something productive, useful, challenging...so whether it be cleaning out my closets, or going to the gym, damn it, I am going to earn my relaxing afternoons at the beach and weekly manicures. Hey, after all, don't I need to start taking care of my hands since I am going to be a bride in less than a year? :)