Hot Off The Press

Because I share a wedding anniversary with Anne Hathaway but have no publicist of my own, I thought I would make my own publicity, and then rightly flee to my honeymoon in about 2 hours.  Read the original article here, then read my "Mad Libs" version.  Here we go...

Angelina Ford marries Andrew Stearns

Forget "Anne Hathaway Marries Adam Shulman" - this weekend it was Angelina Ford's turn to tie the knot!

The Michael Goldberg, D.M.D. staffer, 31, wed her love of three years, 28-year-old master electrician/Black Bear Hydro employee Andrew Stearns, in scenic Eddington, ME on Saturday afternoon, according to multiple reports.
The ridiculously fast ceremony took place at the North Brewer-Eddington United Methodist Church overlooking the Penobscot River, while nearly 125 of the couple's friends and family members (who were taken to the venue via their own vehicles) looked on, according to the bride, who was first to report the happy news.
Angelina and Andrew kept the location of their wedding very public prior to the big day, and required guests to RSVP to the ceremony, she reported.
The newlyweds kicked off their wedding weekend with a rehearsal dinner at Paddy Murphy's on Friday, and chose to adorn their wedding locale with roses and white bows.  They like to keep things simple.
The stunning bride, who will soon be trying to figure out how to change her name at the social security office, wore a flowing, strapless white gown designed by Someone (she forgets who and is too lazy to go to the closet to check), complete with a mid-back length veil to hide any back fat that may have erupted.
Angelina and her now-husband began dating in September 2009 and announced their engagement in September 2011.
A rep for the bride confirmed the news to Facebook at the time and revealed Angelina's engagement ring was "wicked nice."


--Angelina Stearns

Copyright 2012

Greetings from the Hellcatacombs

Geary:  Mama has been unusually silent on her blog, so we felt it best to wage a hostile takeover and devote at least one posting to ourselves.  I'm sure there will be many more to follow.
Rocky:  Brother, I found my tail again!  (Chase, chase, chase, chase)
Geary:  Forgive Rocky.  He's often sprayed with the naughty water bottle, or as I've re-named it, the "No Rocky!" Water Bottle.  I'm just repeating what I hear my parents say.  Little pitchers, people.  Anyhow, Daddy is at work and Mama is probably crap-fishing in our litter box, so I thought I would upload a photo of each of us and a short biography.  You're welcome.

Does this couch make me look fat?

I was originally named "Sheldon" by the people who found me, and "Geary" was just a nickname that stuck because I lapped up some of that fine ale that was carelessly spilled by The Cat Whisperer, who is a friend of my parents and the person who gave me to my parents.  Daddy didn't like the name "Sheldon" anyhow.  
I am more like Mama, as I will push people out of the way if there is food to be had, and I have a hard time jumping up onto high surfaces due to my girth (I mean, it gets done, but there will be some hesitant noises discharged from my Fancy Feast-hole.)   My most recent Act of Terror was breaking an Eiffel Tower plate in the entryway which held lots of paperclips.  Messy, messy.  Mama was none-too-pleased as she loves French things and hates when I break her crap.  Ah me, c'est la vie, Mama. Ce chat est très vilains!  I prefer snuggling with Daddy but will take Mama as the back up option.  Or the pink blanket.  I'm not so picky.

I do Feline Yoga...this is called "Kitten's Pose"

 Rocky is my brother.  I don't know our birth order, but I'm pretty sure he just might be adopted.    The Cat Whisperer named him because he will sit up on his hind legs and bat at things like a boxer does.  
Rocky is a lot like Daddy.  He's very adventurous and will climb up onto (or into) anything.  Past adventures include finding his way into the refrigerator and using his nose to open up the bathroom cabinet.  His most recent Act of Terror (which, by the way, put the parents into Code Red status) was leaping from the kitchen table, using the laptop that Auntie Rachel gave Mama and Daddy as a springboard.  It fell, opened, to the chair, then the floor.  The screen was cracked badly and became inoperable.  In an act of solidarity, we both avoided Mama and Daddy for the rest of the day...just in case they were planning to mail us to China.


Rocky:  Brother, it's almost time for Wet Food...that means we'll have farts that only rival Daddy's in stinkisciousness!
Geary:  It's true. With that, dear readers, we will free you from your required reading.  Enjoy your pets and forgive their trespasses, as they forgive yours when you forget to give them fresh water, or don't give them 15 treats when they clearly meowed for more.
 

A Day At The Races

Mom and Shannon may have been a little uneasy about going to the Bridal Show at Spectacular Events with me last night.  But an offer to pay their way in was the best negotiation tactic.  Let's do a quick review of the wedding-related recon I've had to do thus far:

• The last (free) bridal show I attended had me downing champagne flutes and being quite terse with some of the vendors, who (surprise surprise) were also at last night's event.  
• The first venue I looked at for my reception was in complete disarray.  And they knew I was coming.  I couldn't even speak to the Events Coordinator for all my anger.  Subsequently, my mom apologized to her last night for my bad behavior when we visited their location.  She said they have since stopped booking weddings at their venue and have contracted with a location close by for their wedding functions.  Squeaky wheel, people.
• The second time I tried on wedding dresses, I had a meltdown and became mute by the end of the afternoon.  The (invisible, made-up) pressure of having more than one person there observing me (and my potential for back fat) sucked.  All I want is to look shapely.  It's gonna take an army and an Ativan.

Clearly, I have a track record of being calm, cool, and collected.

The first vendor we came across offered some sort of "90 day challenge weight loss by drinking our shake" product.  Allegedly, it tasted like cake.  Clearly she doesn't have the vodka I have at home.  That tastes like cake, milady, and I won't be thinking about your weight loss shake when I'm having Wedding Cake martinis in my double digit wedding dress.  Plus, when I told her I'd already lost 148 pounds and I wasn't really concerned with the last 30, and she couldn't hear me the first time, I had to yell (in my loud, Ford voice) that I had gastric bypass.  And she was pissy when I told her one of the girls looked better in the before picture and she really needed a sandwich in the after picture.  I should have offered to make her a sandwich.  I bet that's why she was so crabby.  But don't think I didn't sign up for their drawing of a VS gift card.  Somehow, I don't believe my name will be drawn...

Oh!  But can we back up a second....because I need to tell you about the PEOPLE who somehow scrounged up the money to get in to the show.  Nearly every bride and groom set looked like they were from Township 3.  One conversation in particular left Shannon and I feeling that our judgement would reign fast and severe over the next few hours:

Bride:  There is going to be a lot of ignorant people here.

Groom:  Aren't you glad I'm not half in the bag?

Oh sweet Wedding Cake.  The stupid people find me.  It cannot be helped if their idiocy is my fodder.  I live off of it and I will never stop pointing it out.  

Back to the vendors.  The Mary Kay rep hates me because I filled out her form but refused the free facial.  I saw my sister-in-law attempt to remove a Mary Kay lady from her house after a free facial.  I've had internet stalkers with less stamina.  I wanted no part of it.  Also?  I'm sure it's not your fault, sketchy tuxedo and overpriced photography place, that your place of business is located next to one of the two fine methadone clinics in the Queen City, but there's no way on God's magnificent Terra that I'm getting my man gear there...I've been junky-free for 30 days (I'm taking a 90-day challenge, you know) and I've just hit my stride. If I see state-funded doped out ne'er-do-wells while I'm trying to talk Beloved out of a camouflage cummerbund, I will have no choice but to go into a blackout-style rage and use all of my sweet Body Combat moves on you.  

Hence, I will be renting whatever I finally decide the boys will be wearing from Henry's.  They have been great.  Even when I went mute.  Even when I told Molly I wanted to try on a mermaid-style dress.  She didn't blink once.  I couldn't hoist myself up on to the display pedestal for all the tightness!  Molly must have started combination therapy for all the time she saw my business end trying to wriggle its way into those dresses.  And I'm gonna do it again today and she'll be right there, treating me like Princess Katherine and not The Bride of Chucky that I am. They had a dress on display last night that was less costly than the reception site (which was way affordable...what up, Black Bear Inn?!) and I'm hoping it will be mine.  We will see today.  AND I got to sample food from my caterer (BBI is so great because they have Montes.  I told Carmen I'd have my wedding in a back alley as long as she was the caterer.)  Oooh!  And Sea Dog had these amazing cream puffs with some sort of fruity cream filling.  AND I won a gift certificate to City Drawers in Belfast.  I can get lingerie (but will mostly likely buy Spanx) and look at all their great jewelry and Tokyomilk products.  Mmmm.  Milky.

The great thing is, we get in for free to the show today with our wristbands from last night.  So cross your fingers and say a prayer for the vendors.  I'm wedding dress shopping today, going to the show to hopefully win some wedding bands (or more door prizes!) and then calling it an afternoon with a family get-together.  Sprinkle in some crying and a glass or three of Reisling, and it will be any other Angie-centered day.

Pretend You're My Therapist

It goes like this:  I ended my long and complicated relationship with the company I worked for and moved in to a private, for-profit job (no one likes profit more than me, my friend) which gave me almost two weeks off for Christmas (and Hanukkah) after only working there two weeks.  This time off has also coincided with Beloved's regularly scheduled week-off-per-month. This is the second time this year that we've been able to have dedicated time off together.  In this time, we've managed to have a fantastic Christmas (I'm proud to say my blog garnered me a fabulous vacuum, but sadly, no nose-hair trimmer) and we were able to unload the ol PT Cruiser in favor of a vehicle that won't ensure my untimely end. 
What we haven't been able to do is find internet service.  Every single company I've called does not provide service to our area.  We live on the main road.  Spitting distance from the town line into Eddington.  Eddington has service.  All of my Clifton jokes are coming back to haunt me.  It's like living in the third world.  I have started sending out "$3 a day can provide all the luxury essentials this girl would need" to friends and relatives (look for yours soon...or provide me with your email address if you'd prefer to do a Paypal transfer.)
As for the wedding front, we've secured a reception site.  It wasn't without tears (me) and F-bombs (Beloved), but we took the first place that didn't make me want to punch someone.  If you're going to show off and try to entice me to have "the most memorable day of my life" in your location, please clean the effing carpets.  And know where the light switches are.  And take down the ramshackle Christmas decorations.  And take my body size into consideration.  I come from big people.  There is no way we would fit into the room you so confidently feel will hold over 100 people.  And no one will dance on a 3x3 dance floor.  My personal space is larger than that.  Next up is trying to secure DJ, photographer, and a wedding dress.  I'd be a cash-cow for a show on TLC if they only knew enough to film me.  Mad props to Beloved for jumping into the helping with both feet.  He still doesn't feel like we're under any time crunch...he's just happy he doesn't have to wear a tuxedo and that no one will make him do the Electric Slide.

Things I'm Doing At The Moment: A List

• feeling excited for wedding planning (had to post it publicly)
• having a '40's dance party in the front office, alone
• visioning a blog for my new employer called "Notes From the Gumline"
• ordering lunch for our worker bees (I'm getting what I like to call "meat cinnamon rolls" (cause that's what they look like))
• using all methods of restraint to not order Beloved more Christmas presents, even though he is wonderful and patient and blows me kisses and wears the good smelling man cologne* to put me in a better mood (I think it's what klonopin smells like) and changes my windshield wipers and makes the bad engine light disappear and generally maintains the Evil Beast (that would be the car, not me, though at times we might be twins)
• dreading my hours at the second job (please play roulette and try to call to get me!  I'll take your order!!) 
• sending out straggler Christmas cards, picked out by Beloved (a message on the inside of one says "you'll feel better if you give me more presents" (my interpretation) so I sent that one to my parents)

What are you doing at the moment?

*They make a cologne called Woods.  This is not the cologne Beloved has (he has Fierce.)  But I think it's HILARIOUS that the men who fit the profile to shop at A&F would buy something that would make them smell outdoorsy.  Because obviously it's not in their nature to actually go into the woods.  They'd be more likely to go Into The Woods.

There Are No Bad Gifts (Besides Backgammon)

My intention was to post about our Charlie Brown Christmas tree.  But, alas and alack, my camera and computer are fighting.  As soon as I can get to a computer that's as loose as the female celebrities my age, I'll make that post happen, complete with pictures.  Until then, here's some thoughtful insight on gift-giving.  To me.

***

MSN published an article citing eight bad gifts to give, along with their reasoning.  I'm here to refute that and tell you why you could give me all eight of these gifts (and my mailing address, if you aren't able to see me in person to deliver.)

1.  An appliance.  I am a new homeowner.  I can think of three appliances I would replace this instant, gift-given or otherwise.  Our dryer is squeaky, though it dries clothes like that's its function.  The washing machine takes so long that I could probably beat the dirty clothes on a washboard down by the crick in less time.  And my vacuum spits the dirt back. At. me.  I would not pout if I unwrapped a Dyson.  I would plug her in and start vacuuming up the styrofoam bits that surely piled up by ripping open the packaging.
2.  The partial gift.  They reference Sirius XM.  Oh, how I would love this.  I would pay the fee for monthly service.  My boss lets me use his account (5 days and you get it back, boss) and I'm addicted to the Broadway channel.  If you see IV drug users humming songs from Annie, it's because of me.  AND THEY HAVE A NEIL DIAMOND CHANNEL.  I do believe I read somewhere that Neil Diamond makes for a happy marriage.  At the very least, he disclosed at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade that he's engaged.
3.  A nose-hair trimmer.  Granted, this is not something I would give, but I would take it!  Beloved has no known nose-hair issue.  But eventually, when he's 80, I'm sure he will (all the cute lil old men do.)  So I'd be prepared (take that, lame Girl Scout troop I dropped out of!)  Plus, I have totally plucked unruly nose-hairs from my own sniffer, and it killed!  I'd much rather take a machine to them.  Don't get me started on the chin-hairs...
4.  The 'improving' gift.  Ok, I can be a Judy Moody and take things to heart (just ask anyone who has spoken to me) so if I received any sort of non-cookbook 'improving' book, I'd double dose some Xanax.  But otherwise, I'm a cookbook junkie with a built-in taking up a quarter of my kitchen for just such gifts!
5.  The gift of exercise.  I was a heavy child.  I was the heaviest adult.  I'm now a less-heavy adult.  I have been gifted exercise often (hello, Exerslide) and it's always been welcomed.  It has even been talked about this year, as my Mom and I have developed a co-dependent relationship with each other and the gym.
6.  A puppy.  Last year I was given a puppy.  It ran on batteries and scared the hell out of me (watch for a future post of my irrational fears) and we named it Shitlet because it was a tiny Shitzu.  So furry friends of the AA variety would totally be appropriate.  But if the Duracell pet you give me talks, know for sure I will make you euthanize it.
7.  The generic gift.  When the thought doesn't count?  I want it.  That probably sounds a little hoarderish of me, but a gift is a gift.  And generic gifts re-gift fantastically!  I'm planning to have a re-gifting party once the dust settles in late January or early February.
8.  The misleading box.  My trust issues probably stem from the misleading box.  We take nothing at face value in my family (in regards to gifts and people.)  My mother suggested that my father bring home an air compressor box for me to contain one of Beloved's Christmas presents.  Since he really really really wants an air compressor, I thought it would be cruel to wrap my equally awesome present in that box.  I have a heart, however small and black it may be.

So, may all your days be merry and bright and all that.  And know that my preference for gift wrap is pink with lots and lots of bows, but I'm not above gifts wrapped in newspaper, paper bags, old boxed wine boxes and the like. 

I'm Thanktastic

Holidays are a good bookmark of time.  Last Thanksgiving, we were at my parent's house, celebrating the first Thanksgiving in the new addition of their house.  It was the first Thanksgiving without my grandmother.  This year will be the first Thanksgiving without my grandfather (her husband).  This will be Baby Jonah's first Thanksgiving.  The subtractions and additions to our life don't stop.  For that, we can be thankful.

***

Beloved has been voted into the Union.  That sentence sounds a little like he's the state of New Hampshire pre-Civil War, but I've been assured this is a good thing.  But it feels a little mafia-ish to me.

Picture these guys wearing Carhartts and driving pickups and it might be Beloved's Operator crew

Now, every time I've ever seen The Sopranos, it's been all stripper poles and curse words.  Will there be piles of cocaine and nighttime body drops in my future?  Hopefully no more than usual.  But for this secure job, this opportunity to work (and to work overtime when the Bat Signal is put out there), we can be thankful. (I'm also secretly hoping this job comes with me getting a super mafia accent and the right to stay home all day and cook for my unthankful, mafioso family.)

***

Our house has been nothing short of amazing for us.  The oddity of an upstairs kitchen:

I have it decorated differently.  But can you see why I fell in love with it?

The fantastic window seats in the kitchen, living room, and upstairs bedroom.  The pool.  The pellet stove:

Again, it looks different now that it's ours.  I don't even have a Kane.  But you can see the pool through the windows.  Deuces!

And Beloved would have me mention the biggest garage in Clifton.  

He will be in there in the dead of winter.  Because it's his.

Man-cave extraordinaire. Buying that little piece of heaven was hell.  But worth it.  And for all the lawn raking-induced blisters, the gray paint under the fingernails, the mouse traps working effectively, the hot meals, the old-school Nintendo games played at night, the quietness of the locale we picked, we can be thankful.