My New Gig

Not even a week of joblessness has gone by, and I’ve already snagged a new gig! My new title: Aunt Tessa Bug. You can call me ATB, or just point and say “Hi, Kitty!” or “DaDa!” or “Mapple!” or “Nana!” like Alekzander does. I’ll take you to the park, swing swings for hours, impress you with my basketball skills, feed you nanas and mapples, read book after book after book, teach you the "h" sound, visit the duck ducks, spray you with a hose, and let you knock down all of my sand castles without getting my feelings hurt. If you’re really good, I’ll even let you have a frozen strawberry fruit bar and continuously wipe your hands, belly, face, and legs because you are strangely concerned with being messy:

Doesn't it sound fun?  I’ve loved my three days of play with this almost one and a half year old. Plus, I like to think that I’m basically his favorite Bug ever.  So now you can call me ATB the FBE.  The end.

Mustache Day

Today is Mustache Day. Please, since I know you have questions, just allow me to show you what this means.

Heck yes. This is for real, people. Mustache Day is an official thing. If you work, shop, or live at Trader Joe’s, that is. And if you live there, let’s talk, because you have 24/7 access to the best oranges in the history of Charlotte, NC. My sister and I stumbled into Mustache Day on accident. It was after we ate Yoforia’s taro flavored frozen yogurt. Let me clarify: 1) Yes, taro is the purple-ish potato-ish thing that Brixx Pizza makes delicious chips out of … 2) Yes, taro frozen yogurt is nothing short of amazing … 3) I know, Mustache Day and Taro Yoforia happening in the same hour of the same day is also nothing short of amazing.

You can read (and see) more about Mustache Day here. We laughed so hard that we cried. Mainly, I cried out of my right eye, which may have just been watering from accidently stabbing it with a mascara wand earlier. It is really hard to keep a straight face when you are taking pictures of yourself with a mustache, but I encourage you to try. No word on why Mustache Day exists or if/when it will come back, but I’ll do some research and keep you posted.

In Transition

I am officially in transition. Please also see: unemployed and homeless. But happily so, and actually I’m technically neither, although it is starting to feel that way. I’m packing up my life into neat stacks of teal, gray, and blue bins and then sticking them in storage until I return from my five weeks of training in Mississippi and have a new home here in Charlotte. Life is funny and never happens the way we want it to. Then it does, and we get scared of leaving. And by we, I mean I. Although I’m very excited to start this new chapter of my life – especially knowing that this is absolutely the right thing for me to be doing – quite frankly, the whole thing just makes me want to vom. Big time. But for some reason, I think that is okay. And I suppose I can carry a bucket around with me … just in case. PS: I won’t really vom. I haven’t done that since my parents made me go to gifted school every Friday. And also maybe once on a tree outside of Fuel Pizza uptown, but that’s a story for a different day.

Basically, this makes me happy, and provides a small satisfactory calm in the midst of my chaos:

Please bring your attention to the "fragile" and "super fragile" labels. I love organization. And, I have it. Rex likes it too:

A Perfectly Perrywinkle Winner

Congratulations to giveaway winner Sarah K! I hope you love your new Perfectly Perrywinkle headband! I’m sure whichever one you decide on will look perfectly sweet on your daughter (or you!).

For all the other ladies who entered the Golf Week Giveaway, don’t forget to take advantage of Perry’s buy one, get one free deal. See, everyone’s a winner!  Right now, I'm really loving the new Royal Blush look on Perry.  Fabric for this headband is limited, so go ahead and order yours now! 

The DF of 2011

So, just as I was thinking we were wedding failures for not taking any pictures, a whole album full show up in my inbox! Unfortunately, since I didn’t really know anyone, I feel super weird about putting their faces all over my B, so you are stuck looking at us.

 

Let’s talk about the Dress Fiasco of 2011. It happened. For whatever reason, every girl in the United States of Tessa wants to buy a new dress for every.single.stinking.occasion that it was ever appropriate to wear a dress to. And by the US of T, I just mean me, but maybe you are included in that as well? Here’s how the DF of 2011 went down:

Once upon a time, Ryan invited me to come with him to a wedding in Ohio. And in response, I said “Si, I do want to come, and no, I will not be a brat the entire time” (for real, I’m pretty sure this is the conversation that happened). So then the dress hunt began. I searched high and low, up and down, digging through racks and racks of dresses via the internet. Basically, I clicked on a few websites and decided that a certain mauve colored number would be perfect for the occasion. It was on sale for a few dozen pounds, and I’m pretty sure it was mailed to me from the United Kingdom. I eagerly tracked my dress as it landed in New York and then traveled its eight day trek down the east coast. Finally, it arrived in good old Cornelius, North Carolina where there is only one zip code to speak of. And then. It was not deliverable as addressed and was sent back to its UK home. Really? Tiny little Cornelius couldn’t figure this out? And I can’t type in my delivery address correctly?

So then I searched high and low, up and down, digging through racks and racks of dresses on the internet again. Basically, I clicked on a few websites and decided that a certain taupe colored one-sleeved number would be perfect for the occasion. So I waited patiently for its arrival.

In the meantime, I got super impatient and hit the streets to search high and low, up and down, digging through racks and racks of dresses – the tangible for real kind in the stores. I found a certain little black ruffled number in a Birkdale boutique while shopping with my friend, Krista. Although they didn’t have my size, the overly enthusiastic sales lady assured me that it would get to her store in time. And then I remembered that I wouldn't be able to pick it up in time, so Krista saves the day and rescues the perfect little black dress for me, and I love her for being such a good friend. And then. I hate the dress. I absolutely hate it.

Then on the night before going to Ohio, I see that the certain taupe colored one-sleeved number that would be perfect for the occasion has been delivered to my home. I beat the 5:00 traffic and slip into my dream dress. I love the dress. I absolutely love it. And then. I realize that my entire right breast is exposed because it is one-sleeved and is about two sizes too big. Seriously?

So, to end the DF of 2011, I wore a perfectly fine silver and black dress that I bought in 2008.  Lesson learned.

And I must say that Ryan looked smashing in his “I don’t know … earth?” colored suit, new shoes, and tie. I pretty much think he’s a stud.  Did I mention that we had a blast?

Feeling Gangster

Yesterday we went to Detroit. Actually, we went to a wedding in Ohio via the Detroit airport, but since we are failures and don’t have a single picture of the wedding or surrounding events, I’ll have to just tell you about Detroit. And since we only spent 20 minutes there – driving a rented Dodge – I honestly can only tell you two things: 1) The Detroit airport is really nice. Bueno. Si. And 2) Something about Detroit makes you feel gangster. You know, the good kind of gangster feeling. Like - Yo. I’ll listen to preset station #1 in our rental car (station #1, of course being gangster rap) and sing along. And by the off chance that I don’t know every single word, I’ll just make up my own. Really, that was Ryan. He knows about 80% of all the rap songs from the 80s and 90s, and I can usually fill in the blanks for some of the the early 2000s to today. We’re a team like that, yo. And when all of the rapping got really old, we listened to Jar of Hearts probably 17 times.

Here we are. Man it feels good to be a gangsta:

This picture really irritated my sister because she thinks I woke up at 6am to do my hair. Really, our flight wasn’t until 9:30 and this is a super easy hairstyle. I showed her how to do it, but she doesn’t listen.

We had a lot of fun at the wedding. I didn’t know too many people since the groom is a coworker of Ryan’s, but I made fast friends and I want them all to move back to Charlotte. As a bonus, the groom accidentally confused me for his new bride, and he laid a loving hand on my right butt cheek. We had nearly an entire conversation like this until I realized that by the directionality of the hand, it could not physically belong to Ryan, but belonged to the just married semi-stranger standing to the right of me. I asked if he meant to be grabbing my bum, and it was a very confusing and very funny moment – all with good intentions, of course. The bride was beautiful – stunning – so I was flattered to have my bottom confused for hers.