A Year Ago . . .

I had a meeting scheduled for 3:30 on a Wednesday. I sent a friend an instant message. 

"I'm getting laid off today. I just know it." 

Like all friends would, she said something along the lines of "You're paranoid. Don't worry about it." 

3:30 rolled around and my stomach flipped over. My editor led me into a back room, where the HR person was waiting. I sat down, heart pounding, but resigned to the inevitable. It was the economy, they were very sorry, now here's your forms to sign. 

I had about a half hour to collect my things and clean out my desk. Not a lot of time. I hadn't driven that day, so I couldn't carry everything home. They couriered my things to me. I'm sure it cost them a fortune. 

I worked hard the years I was there. I worked 24-hour shifts, teeth unbrushed, still in my Monday clothes when staffers filtered in at 7 on Tuesday. Seven times in one month. Not to mention the regular 12- and 14-hour shifts in between. Lesson learned? Never work a 24-hour shift again, let alone many 24-hour shifts. It won't save your job. 

The economy had already shifted enough that my layoff was not a surprise with job market in general. And there had been some meetings that had led me to believe layoffs were coming, so I wasn't totally surprised. But man, the timing was good as it could be in the situation. It was at the beginning of this seeming freefall. In hindsight, the wedding did distract me (when I wasn't crying over how I was going to pay for it), and I really got out early. Journalists all over this town have been purged from the newsrooms . . . it makes me worry for the future of journalism, especially in such important times to have good journalism. 

The continuing frustration is my two-year noncompete, which is enforced even though I was let go. Today, I've served a year. 

In that time, I have been able to strengthen my resolve to see the positives, working on becoming financially savvy, finding a new job, thinking about goals and dreams, learning about me, and even strengthening my relationship with William. 

When I woke up the morning after, I had a good cry. Then I laid there, thinking, god, what the hell am I gonna do? A little part of me—which grew over time—thought, "You never know where you'll end up." 

Classic Conversation

Kat: Hey, are you going outside anytime soon? (It's 11:30 pm)
Wil: No.
Kat: Are you sure?
Wil: Yes.
Kat: But...my phone is out in my car.
Wil: So you'll have to wait til morning to get it.
Kat: But...what if someone tries to steal it?
Wil: You're worried about someone stealing a six-year-old phone out of your Hyundai?
Kat: Well, you never know...
Wil: Yes, you do. No one wants your piece of crap phone.
Kat: They don't know it's a piece of crap!
Wil: Yes, they do. They can look at it and know. Next thing you know, they'll be trying to steal some trash outta my car. I think I have a half-chewed piece of gum in there they might want...

Five Months Ago....

I did not have as much love in my heart as I do today, something that I would have thought impossible.


My honey. My love. His face as he turned around and saw me walking down the aisle.


A most handsome man, the first man in my life, who taught me that men should respect me and above all, I must respect myself. My dad did not give me away this day. My dad showed me the way. He will always be my dad, and I will always be his girl.


These rings are blessed by our Hawaiian Ohana, a circle, which never ends. We promise.


I feel like our minister's face says what we are feeling as we kiss.


I felt a mix of adrenaline, anxiety, happiness in the morning, but after we sealed the deal, an enormous sense of relief. Saying those words, even in front of close friends and family, was hard. I was emotional and cried through nearly the whole thing.


We're "going Hollywood" here, to quote the minister. The videographer made his rounds with the photographer and caught this moment, where I can just feel our joy leaping out of the photo. I was so happy that he married us.


This face expresses how I felt inside, too.


Everyone. Thanks again so much for coming. It meant so much to us to have you all there.


Our moms and dads. Who, literally, made all this possible. Thanks for raising us right. Thanks for supporting us. Thanks for letting us be who we are. Thanks for loving us. And thanks for letting us join each other's families so well. We are so grateful.



Check out my grandma!


My best girls. Who have taught me a thing or two about friendship, love, patience, kindness, generosity, and how to have a damn good laugh.


My handsome devil.


Rapture.


I still can't get over my flowers. They were SO BEAUTIFUL. I love how vivid our wedding was.


A whole new horizon, together.



Aw, yeah! Sassy!


My honey.


A photo with a hidden treat. If you look closely, you can see our reflection.

I can't believe it's been five months. I swear life has been on fast forward. And on this chilly fall day, I'm totally feeling sunny just looking at these photos. It's like it was one hot, sunny, gorgeous dream. Only I get to keep living in it.

What Would You Do If I Sang Outta Tune?

I felt the need to follow up with this Wonder Years post, due to the comments that were left to me, and I just don't have the juice to write something to follow up the first piece I've written in a while that I feel is rich with detail and possibility.

I've been feeling pretty nostalgic lately.

It's a few things: the changing of the seasons, for one. A cold front swept through Minnesota, and while usually we get some warm, even hot, days here in the fall, it feels like things have just Changed, with barely a warning.

On my way home from work the other day, I drove through the campus where I attended college, and drove past the dorm I lived in freshman year. There was a "Welcome Home" sign in the yard, and although I have no desire to repeat my freshman year of college--full as it was of angst, hatred for my roommate, and undiagnosed thyroid disease symptoms (although there were fun moments, too, don't get me wrong)--I felt sad. That isn't my home. Hasn't been for quite some time now. I wouldn't fit in, even if I wanted to. I still miss college.

I had a pretty sweet childhood. I ran around outside, not just with my neighbors, but with other friends, who lived two blocks away (we're still the closest of pals). I could ride my bike wherever I wanted, climb up into the trees at the park and read my books, lace on my skates and cruise around on the ice in the winter. I never felt scared or confined in the town I grew up in.

My parents were cool parents. They rarely imposed much ruling on me—mostly because I think I was so straight-laced as it was—but they also allowed me to develop my own interests. Never was a book banned, a piece of music tossed out, or a hobby laughed at (at least to my face). My parents and family let me be me. And I am so grateful to this day for it.

I know everyone looks back at their childhood—at least people who had good ones—with the lens that polishes everything to a golden sheen. But I do feel that my peers grew up the last of a certain generation. After old-school Nintendo faded out and Sega invaded, life became different. The world wide web snared everyone and their homes. Everything is virtual, more accessible, and it seems, more obscene. (Doesn't every generation think so?) A lot of kids aren't kids anymore. Ever. I rarely see kids out running wild. One, because it's too scary most places, and two, because they prefer the high score to the high of riding your bike down the steepest hill in your city. Kids are lured by posers online, whereas we were trained to just look out for the stranger with a lollipop.

My last post made me a little sad, too. I think of myself, almost frozen in time. A little sad that's all done and gone. There are definitely days or weeks where I'd love to travel back and just be 5, 8, 10, 12.

But then I think...if I were able to time travel, I'd tell Katie D., age 10:
Don't worry, but don't hurry. It gets harder, but it also gets really good.

The Wonder Years

A couple of days ago, I was talking about old-school Nintendo with a friend. And I was telling her how I used to play Mega Man with my next-door neighbor until we were bleeding from the eyeballs. And it opened a dam of memories for me, even though I've had those brief "I wonder what they're up to" thoughts from time to time.

We were an unlikely combo--he, two years behind me in school, and a boy to top it off, I functioned as he and his sister's babysitter. Yet, we had so much fun together. Plus, I could beat Snake Man, and so I was useful to the cause.

When I babysat, it was like playtime to the fortieth degree. I would let he and his sister (four years younger than me, as I recall) stay up til midnight--if they made it that long--and we would have a literal midnight snack. Then when the headlights appeared in the driveway, I'd yell "run! goodnight!" and they'd hop upstairs and feign sleep. One time they went to bed a normal hour and I heard a scary noise by the backdoor. I woke him up to check it out. Some babysitter.

I remember calling the local Top-40 radio station and requesting "7" by Prince—while I was making pancakes, no less—and the DJ playing the song. The kids thought I was a celebrity--my squeaky voice made it on the radio--and we ran around the house screaming and laughing after Tone E Fly played me.

Other times, we created whole new worlds with our imaginations—the swingset was sinking ship, we were scientists saving the world with our potions, or, more often, we pretended we were the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and I was always April, the reporter (some things never change, I guess).

My bedroom and his bedroom faced each other, although he was upstairs and I was downstairs. But all it took was a well-timed whisper or a blink of a flashlight, and we could chat away the evening long after we were supposed to be in bed asleep.

We raced down the street on our bikes, played ditch in the connecting backyards, set up a school, opened up a business selling lemonade. We pooled my babysitting money and our quarters and chewed grape Bubblelicious and ate Slow Pokes til we were sick.

The weekends where he and his sister went to his dad's house were pretty quiet for me. There weren't many kids in the neighborhood—and the ones that lived there, I didn't like. No imagination in those kids.

He and his sister were my buddies. His sister was a darling little girl, all giggles and dimples, who I loved to dress up and put makeup on (again, some things never change). She was a little sister to me, something I craved as the baby of the family.

Hide and seek. The Game of Life. Fresca. Taking pictures with my purple plastic camera that used disk film. Trips to the Science Museum. Jumping in piles of leaves, cartwheeling through the sprinkler, walking to the city pool, biking to the park. Ice skating. Renting video games and eating bomb pops til our mouths were blue.

We wouldn't go home for dinner 'til we were called by our moms at least twice. For some reason, my memories of those dinner bells were always in the fall, our hands like ice, our faces reddened from the wind.

I'm Not Gonna Do What You Told Me

This is what my home looks like right now.

This was right outside our windows on Sunday.


Riot police!


Riot police with riot horses! (I'm more scared of the horses).


Anarchy today (well, Saturday). They also smashed in the windows at Macy's.


A woman after my own heart.


When I was driving home tonight, I happened to be listening to the radio (unusual for me). And I caught that Rage Against the Machine was going to make an appearance at a free concert at the Capitol which is just blocks from my house. I anxiously awaited William coming home, since he loves Rage and I knew he'd want to go. He got home, all sweaty from riding his bike, and we quickchanged and ran to the Capitol, Molly in tow.

As it turned out, the police wouldn't let them play although they allowed the other (unknown) bands to play. It sucked. People were chanting for the band by singing the lyrics. If you ask me, they would have had a docile enough crowd, more so than the angry fans who wanted to see Rage (they also play tomorrow night in a more typical venue, but also for $60). We were surrounded by some seriously patchouli smelling hippies that were practicing synchronized meditation, so I figure we would have been pretty safe. :) Anyway, we waited and waited, with an antsy crowd. Eventually a bunch of cheers went up and they asked everyone to be really quiet and sit down. So we did.

And then we saw this:


That's right. De la Rocha and Morello with a megaphone. Despite teh fact that people had even done the soundcheck for them (and I spotted five guitars in the little rack, so I imagine they would have played a few songs), they werent' allowed to take the stage. So so so lame. In any case, they treated us to Bulls on Parade and Killing In The Name. De la Rocha did the raps and Morello sang the beats. The crowd helped with both.


And then:


I feel it necessary to note that I beat Tom Morello in Guitar Hero. Just sayin'. I do a wicked wah-wah-chicka-chicka-wah-wah, what can I say? (Please tell me you know what sound I'm making over the net.)

Molly doing her part as a concerned citidog. (in my excitement I forgot to put on her Dogs for Choice t-shirt).


Then as we were leaving, we inadvertently joined a peace march.


It was just described on the news as a "bunch of anarchists". It was totally peaceful and within its rights.


There were tons of these, and they're quite intimidating in person.


When they came out, the Fox cameraman I was standing next to said, "You might wanna get outta here, honey." Are you kidding? This will never happen again here! I mean, I'm not into getting tear gassed or pepper sprayed or anything.... I kept a safe distance but I wanted to drink it all in.

We rounded out our walk by checking out Chris Matthews, broadcasting from downtown, outside. Pretty fun. I hear that he Daily Show people got locked inside due to the escalating protesting. We missed the fire hoses, firecrackers, and gas.

I have to say that I love protesters. I'm not in favor of destroying property, especially when it has nothing to do with the issue at hand, but I love people who exercise their right to protest and who express their opinion. It brings an energy that I just love. I love seeing the people who care to a point to get out and do something, rather than just complain (which is something I'm guilty of).
I'm torn about the RNC. It's good for the Cities, financially and put us on the map as more than some kind of igloo country, but I'd rather it was the other ticket in town. We're typically a very progressive state and I feel like hosting the RNC doesn't represent the majority opinion here.

But I gotta say. I love the political process, messed up as it may be. And I'm loving this. Even if it means having riot police right outside my door.

Keep Going

I love politics. I love Hillary. I'm a little sad that she's not making the acceptance speech.

But damn, that was a good speech. She knocked it out.

If you hear the dogs, keep going.

A Rose By Any Other Name

A while back, I met a man who was the head of a very, very large hair-products corporation. He sold the corporation to Estee Lauder and has launched a new, smaller company, which was the reason that I met him--to interview him for a story I was writing.

William's firm was also working on this man's New York penthouse at the same time, so I used that as a way to break the ice at the beginning of the interview.

This man happens to be from an Eastern European country that Schwartzenegger also hails from--and has a similar, marble-mouthed (though decidedly less manly-sounding) accent. He's a total riot--and I think a total genius, so please don't get me wrong. He just happens to be a real character, of the Willy Wonka variety.

Anyway, once I told him that William and I were together, he appraised me, tilting his head and staring down through his glasses. I was a little unnerved, and a little amused, unsure of what was coming next.

"I think you and William will have beeee-autiful children," he says to me with a grin.

Taken aback and most definitely blushing, I could only manage to say, "You think?"

"Yes, yes, now let me see--where is the rose essence--" he snapped his fingers. A girl appeared at his side.

"Go get a crystal container and fill it with the Bulgarian rose essence," he tells her. "And bring it back here for this woman."

Uh.... OK.

We move on with the interview. The shopgirl eventually reappears with his requested items.

"This is for you," he says, telling me that it's extremely expensive, rare, and a really wonderful aphrodesiac.

Then he makes matters even more awkward by telling me that all one needs to do is pat a little under the nostrils and breathe in the scent—and then other "wonderful" things will happen.

I quickly change the subject, and he's easily distracted, so the attention shifts to the greening (or lack thereof) of the cosmetics industry.

I come home and tell William. He smells it, and we both pronounce it fairly gag-worthy. We laugh over our perception that it won't be very effective.

It sits on the dresser for a good length of time--weeks or months, probably.

One morning, I'm still sleeping and William wakes up early. He takes Mo for a walk, and on the walk, he wonders to himself if there wasn't something to the Cosmetic Giant's comments. No harm in trying, right?

While I'm still asleep, William dabs on a little of the rose oil. He cleans up and gets all handsome for me. I wake up.

He gets in close for a good-morning kiss. ...And something, or someone, smells funny.

Not wanting to be rude, I figure it's something in the loft that's gone bad. I sniff around, trying to figure out what it could be. I can't seem to find it....until I'm close to William.

"Ughhhh....why do you smell like that?" Just thinking about that overpowering rotten-sweetness makes my throat close up as I write this.

"Like what?" I sort of remember him playing the innocent, hoping the fumes will--I don't know exactly—intoxicate me into thinking I want him, even though it smells like garbage.

I pushed him away. "Oargh. You smell disgusting! Did you PUT ON that rose stuff?" I realize now this is some sort of amorous advance in my early-morning haze. He tried to continue the innocent act, but it turned to amusement and a little bit of embarrassment as I figured out his plan—that he was willing to smell like garbage to get some action.

He keeps trying to get close to me, and I keep pushing him away, and we both have fits of giggles over how seriously awful it smelled. As far as its efficacy at being an aphrodesiac? It was like magnets that you try to put together the wrong way—me propelling across the room any time he came within ten feet of me.

I think he tried to wash it off. It's been a while, so memories are a bit hazy. Eventually, we headed out for the day--sans William meeting his goal--and get in the car. Even that much later, with attempts to rid himself of the smell, I gagged when we were in close quarters. "I can even smell it in herrrrre!" I whined.

And when we got home, the smell hung in the air a bit. In clothes. It wouldn't GO AWAY. This shit is powerful!

Anyway, the bottle has stayed tightly corked and in its place on my dresser since then. If anyone's looking for some repellent, let me know. I've got $200-an-ounce rotting rose up in here.

The Fight in the Dog

About a year and a half ago, a 17-pound, apricot-colored, furry, Muppetish, four-legged, curly-fluffed pal wandered into our life. She walked through the door at the Humane Society, just as we were about to leave, and William and I pointed to her in unison, and breathed out that "ohhhhh" like the Martians in the Crane Game in Toy Story.

She was ours in our hearts from that moment. We didn't buy her that day, but the next day we went back and scooped her up in our arms.

Not a month into owning her, (we think) she ate some of the poisoned dog food--remember that recall that killed so many innocent dogs?--and she had a very scary diarrhea-laden incident, one that led to a trip to the emergency vet and a diagnosis of "possible multiple-organ failure."

But she pulled through the night and continued to get better as the days wore on. After about two weeks of hamburger-and-rice diet, she was back to good as new.

Since then, she has brought us so much joy. So many laughs on a daily basis, so many comforting head-butts and snuggling on the couch. Protecting us from the wind and fellow dog-walkers, blowing trash and scary noises (her own leash unspooling from the handle). She has completed our little family. She is our Momo, like owner, like dog--a little blond anxiety-prone goofball. Like she has always been a part of us.

Last night, I thought Momo was leaving us, permanently. I was lying on the couch, watching a Johnny Cash documentary on PBS, William was at his computer. I looked down, and she was sitting strangely, her head hanging at an odd angle, her stomach heaving in a slow rhythm. I thought perhaps she was going to puke, so I asked her: "Mo, what are you doing?" She turned her head slowly, with a glassy-eyed stare. William also thought she was going to vomit, so he threw on his shoes and coaxed "outside!" to motivate her to go to the door. She managed to drag her little Muppet body over to the door, but while he was hooking her leash, she began to crumple, losing control of her bladder, her front legs stiffening and sticking out in front of her. She fell against the door. I was afraid she was choking, so I tried prying open her jaws, which were tightly clenched. I got my hand in her mouth, searching for something to pull out, anything, goddammit, what the hell is wrong what am I supposed to be doing?

I kept yelling her name. "Molly, Molly, tell me what's wrong, tell me what's wrong!" As if she'd respond. Her eyes rolled around in their sockets. That's when I really lost it, yelling and crying and shaking.

Then, she sort of roused, just as I was convinced she was dying an undignified death, in our hallway, at the hands of her helpless dog-parents. I was shaking like a leaf.

William guided her outside, where she sat in the grass, dazed, head hanging, dead-eyed. I called my sister, in hysterics. She couldn't even understand me at first. Eventually I managed to explain what happened, while William calmly petted Molly and spoke to her softly. Susie thought that she maybe had a seizure. She waited patiently with me on the phone while William and I watched Molly slowly come around.

A few minutes later, William walked her around the block. I stood on the corner, still shaking like crazy, heart pounding, holding a roll of paper towels (to clean up her accidents on the way downstairs) and alternately crying and laughing on the phone with Susie, like a crazy person. Adrenaline was coursing through my body and I felt totally and completely unhinged. Then, finally, William appeared with our Molly, and she looked every bit like the Mo we saw that first day, from that first "Ohhh."

"Is she ok? Is she better?" Molly pranced around my feet, panting.
William says, "Well, she flushed a rabbit out of the bushes and chased it, tried to fight a dog and peed where it was standing, and kicked up the grass afterwards. I think she's fine."

Even then I couldn't calm down, although the words hit me with a wave of gratefulness that I'm unable to properly describe.

She's seemed totally fine in the 24 hours since. As I told my brother on the phone later that night, I think I'm more traumatized than she is. Right now I can see her, splayed out on the wood floor (it's cooler) snoozing away now that snacks are put away, dinner is eaten, and we're just relaxing in front of the TV, like any normal night.

Tuesday afternoon: the Vet. Please don't cost a fortune. Please don't get more bad news about our poor cockapoo, who just deserves to live out her life cushy-style. Please don't let me or William have a nervous breakdown (me really being the please in that one).

I don't know if I've ever felt so desperate, so responsible for a being's life.

What I do know—Molly is our furry baby, she completes our family. I know she won't be here forever, but 9 is too damn young for a small dog. Too little time spent with two people who love her like crazy—plus her grandparents who take her almost every work day and love her too. Plus everyone else. Molly makes people happy. And Molly has a lot more happy-making days in her. I have to think that. There's a lot more fight in the dog, as they say.

Even in Our Sleep

Last night, I had a terrible nightmare, full of things that were dear to me and were being demolished, killed, and ruined.

I woke up, sucking in breath violently, lifting my head off the pillow, convinced my nice life was forever gone, that I was in the same terrible place I'd dreamed. (Mostly because I can't fathom how my mind considers these things at night.)

The green glow from the alarm clock caught my eye. 4:05 a.m. My heart still racing, despite this reminder of all things normal. I hear Molly snoring on the floor beside the bed. Normal normal. I lay back on the pillow. Calm down, calm down, I keep thinking. It wasn't real.

William rolls toward me, slides his arm around me. I don't think he's awake. He just senses it. My heart's still racing. But in this silent conversation, I agree with him. It's all normal. Just go back to sleep.

Our Favorite Things

Inspired by WeeMo's request and Found Out About Me's post, here is a list of a few of my favorite things:

Cupcakes
Being married to William
The smell (and taste) of oranges
Molly's paws
Babies laughing
Fun snail mail
Fake eyelashes
The smell of line-dried sheets
Rock and roll
Protesters
Old photos
Trivial Pursuit
Big sunglasses
Sleeping in
Hawaii
Long conversations
Lilacs
Caffeine
Vintage dresses
Correct punctuation
Afternoons at Ikea
Thunderstorms
Blank books
Purple
Not using plastic bags
Mounds bars
Calvin Klein sheets
Target
Laughing so hard I cry; making someone laugh so hard they cry
Fresh lemonade
Letterpress stationery
Peonies
Bookstores
Play-Doh
smell of suntan lotion
making lists
The Bill of Rights
Nerds
Glitter (the art supply, not the Mariah Carey movie)
Feeling useful
Arguing politics with my dad
Driving with the windows down and the heat on in my car in the fall
Goat cheese
Home decorating
Tennis
Project Runway
J. Crew
Trees
Dr Pepper
Fishing
Simply Orange
Blog Friends
Hot days, cold lakes
Getting off airplanes
Listening to Liz Phair, Tom Petty, R.E.M., etc.
Chocolate mousse
Pineapple
William's egg sandwiches on weekend mornings
New socks (especially knee-highs)
Massages
The New Yorker
Good questions
Pretty paper
The scratchy sound on records
Animal prints

William's favorite things:
Laying in bed after a hard day
Pale Ale
Chips and salsa
Sound of blow dryers (hair dryers)
Warm laundry
Crisp fall days
Milk and cookies
All things Dutch
Snuggling with Katie and Molly on a do-nothing Saturday
First snowfall of the year (extra props if it happens at night)
Football
When my Katie sings
A new magazine
Good deals
Being in a boat
Sunflower seeds and fishing
Waking up second
Good graphic design
Riding my bike
RadioLab (New York Public Radio show)
Deep-fried turkey
Bacon
NewsRadio and Seinfeld
Tetris
Researching stuff online (esp. potential purchases)
Traveling: seafood in Santorini, paella in Barcelona, pomme frites in Amsterdam, mousse in Paris, naan in India
Right when the wheels leave the ground on the airplane
Doing Molly's voice
Saying "Caaaaats!!!" extra props if they are in "paaaants".
Robots
Legos
Chocolate
Chocolate again
Art supplies (all the hidden potential which may never come to be)
Seeing a sunrise (much better than a sunset)
Jumping on pillows
Jumping into water
Smelling Katie's hair
Smell of Molly's paws
When Molly huffs and puffs
Playing catch with a baseball or football
Playing basketball
Flipping Out (both the show, and just flipping out)

Our favorite things:
Thai food on Friday nights
Eating at The Sample Room
Weekend mornings at the Farmer's Market
Hawaii
Decorating
Vintage shops
Making each other laugh
Dogs
Teak furniture
The color pink
Corn on the cob and BLT's
The Bulldog bar
Setting goals
The Office
Arrested Development
Art fairs, especially Art-a-Whirl
Etsy
Each other

officially old

william and i just played guitar hero. and we ruled. for never really playing it before (well, he has). but i'll tell you what. two hours with guitar hero and we're both left feeling a bit sick to our stomachs. those moving notes on the fretboard... perhaps gave us mild motion sickness? kinda weird.
we are officially old.

morning

this morning, when i woke up, i rolled over, opened my eyes, and saw william looking straight at me. (he was probably willing me to wake up with his eyes.)
i have no idea what i looked like, although i imagine it was bleary-eyed and probably squinchy-faced.
he smiled at me. i maybe tenatively smiled back.
he said: "I love you. I love you so much I'm marrying you. I love you!"
we're getting married. it's getting more and more real as the time passes. which is normal i suppose.
we finished our save the dates for the most part. just a few stragglers left that i'm getting addresses for or some little detail for. but they're going out this week.
when we finished printing, addressing, stuffing, sealing. . . william said "well, it's real now! no going back!"
not every day is easy or perfect or sometimes even peaceful.
but most mornings, i wake up, and william is smiling at me. and we go to bed, and he tells me he loves me. i say it back, of course.
sometimes my heart just wants to explode.
he loves me even when i'm horrible and ugly in the morning.


*************

saw juno this weekend. laughed and bawled. loved it. had a VERY real dream that iw as pregnant that night. i got bigger as the dream went on, i broke the news to people, one of my best friends told me she would throw me a shower. i was nervous but happy. it's weird that i'm getting to a point where this could actually happen. it won't anytime soon, but it could. and that's weird. growing up.

**************

i actually had a rather romantic weekend with william. we went on a date on friday! dinner and a movie. went to great waters brewing company for burgers and beers--both were good. they are a microbrew downtown. we walked, and it was warmish outside, but flakes were falling. we don't live in our neighborhood enough; i was glad to walk somewhere, have dinner at a local joint, walk back. hearing the crunch-squeak-crunch under our feet, praying not to slip, flakes hitting our eyelashes, steamy breath in the air. it was just. nice.

****************

saturday was the save the dates extravaganza. i'm lucky william likes to be so involved with wedding planning. then no one has to feel put-upon to help me. they can just enjoy the festivities. he is also designing our invites, although the time we poured into the save-the-dates definitely convinced hiim that hiring out the job was far preferable than doing those. i am dying for letterpress invites; i'm obsessed with letterpress. i wish i had my own press!

******************

i have been doing more thinking about this new year's resolutions thing. i have done a little, but not enough, exercising. i took a fairly significant amount of money from my bonus at christmas to put toward my debt.
but i think the other resolution i should work on is being more in the moment. celebrating more good things. so often i let myself get preoccupied with the "little stuff". i should be done with that. after all, it's really bad for your health. seriously. too much cortisol in your body, too much anxiety...and for what? i won't worry less, but i'm going to try. or at least enjoy the hell out of the other stuff so that it far outweighs my stupid little worries.

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the budget bride continues. today i nabbed what i think will be my wedding clutch. it's hot pink! and has a big bow on it! it's from the hollywould collection that was at target. it was originally $19.99, but i even balked at that, and ended up getting it on clearance for $9.99 this morning. i'm kinda proud of our budget wedding. we'll splurge on some things, of course--we are going to hawaii after all--but other things we've managed to keep costs really reasonable. and get most, if not all, the things we've wanted so far. my two bridesmaids dresses and mine added together total less than $225. total. for all three dresses. and they were all $250 or $500 dresses. we did our own save-the-dates. we will get a good deal on our invites. so far, everything has been fairly manageable. one thing we're doing on our honeymoon, and subsequently part of the reason we did small, small birthdays and christmas this year, is that we're going to take a helicopter ride through the grand canyon of the pacific on kauai. but i was looking on line and found a great deal if you pre-book. it was much more reasonable than i thought . . . for an hour of helicopter ride. my only hope is that i don't freak. i don't like flying. actually it scares the shit out of me, and i usually xanax up for flights. but i can't do that for this! maybe a glass of wine or a half a benedryl or something. . . .or maybe i'll suck it up and maybe it will be so awesome i'll never take a xanax again.

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went shopping today. found the greatest pair of heels. i am in so love. will take photo. i owe a lot of photos, i realize. went with my girlfriends. it seems like it gets harder to carve out time for friends, but i seriously cherish the time we have together. we laugh, we shop, we talk. the talking's my favorite part. even when i find in-love-with-them heels. and i seriously respect their opinions.

wow! this is a long one, so i'm signing off.

more fotos!

sorry. . . i'm writing a lot at work and at home for wedding stuff, so i'm a little drained and/or blocked. and i still haven't done any more new year's resolutiony things or anything. or photos of christmas presents. okokOK! sorry!

anyway, for some viewing pleasure:

this is william and i dancing at our friend em and ben's wedding:


this is when it started to kick in that we were engaged:


here too:


RETRO TIME: here's a christmas picture, in keeping with the season. it's my mom and me, and my uncle jim, who dressed up like santa one year at my grandma's. as a child i was unnecessarily terrifed of jim and would hide under the kitchen table if he was at my grandma's. but. . . here he's santa, so we're friends. (I wrote a story about this for a newspaper I worked for a few years ago).

making sense

Just wanted to check in. Got some amazing deals yesterday at the mall. Will post pictures soon. Check this though: dark green trench coat with full skirt, black mod coat (both cheap, or on sale), beret, belt. Happy birthday to me!
Also awesome dinner was had: seared tuna, salmon, baked goat cheese, asparagus with balsamic vinaigrette, decadent chocolate cake. Sophia in a can for me. Summit Pale Ale for William. We had really great conversation. It felt like a date from a long time ago, that kind of energy, coupled with our history as a couple—
That's an interesting thought. We're really getting to a place where we have history. We have been together more than two years now. It'll be nearly three when we get married.
In the grand scheme, I know that's nothing. But despite the troubles we've both encountered in our short years together, we have gelled, more and more each day.
I never dreamed I'd move in with a boy six months after I met him.
Everything has moved so fluidly, so quickly, but also on this track that seems almost predetermined.
In any case, it was really just stars-are-aligned kind of day. We had fun, we talked about lots of interesting things, we flirted, it made me even more convinced that regardless of what other questions I might have about my life, William and I make sense. No question there.

it's my birthday too yeah!

they say it's my birthday today! i'm 27. i just woke up a little while ago and william is making me a red pepper and cheese omelette at my request. it is my day to do whatever i'd like. . . what shall i do? i'd like to visit j crew perhaps. maybe do some wedding stuff. and we're heading out to dinner tonight, i'm not sure where yet. we talked about the sample room, where i can get all my favorite things--little mini plates of food that are high maintenence (usually requires putting things together or lots of prep time in the kitchen), and they have awesome cheese plates, plus wine flights. we haven't been there in a while. . .
mmmm. not sure what to do with my whole day. . . what a good feeling.

foto booth!

check out our flickr page. it's updated.

space case

background: katie is sitting on couch, wearing pajama pants and tank top. william and katie are watching the hills.

william: [pointing at katie's pj pants] are those astronaut pants?

katie: [stares blankly, crickets chirp]

william: [undeterred] because your ass looks outta this world in them!

katie: [resumes watching the hills] ha.

william: this is what you learn when you take a vacation day—bad pickup lines!

july 8: two years!

william and i had our first date two years ago this past sunday. william started the whole thing; i have to give him the credit. except for a few exchanged looks and smiles, i had no idea that he had any serious interest in me.
after leaving the kilipino's house late one night, he walked me to my car, and i offered to give him a ride to his (it was parked kind of far away). as we drove, he asked me what i was doing that weekend. i told him i was going to my parents' cabin for the weekend. without missing a beat, he said 'so we'll go out to dinner after you get back?' i sputtered a super-not graceful acceptance back. later he said to me, 'not exactly a vote of confidence, kate.'
when i got back home, we did go out on a date. we had dinner at a swanky supper club in northeast minneapolis--jax, for those around town--where we managed to talk about how we both get stomachaches all the time. stimulating conversation! but i think we were both hooked. i remember my dinner--it was halibut covered in a malibu sauce. i got a keepsake--a matchbook, printed with a funny phrase on it that william chose, that goes something along the lines of "one nerdier than the next," since we were in steep competition to see who was the nerdier person. (still a toss up. william: captain of the math team, captain of the engineering team--he even designed the T-shirts. william editorial comment: we went to nationals with engineering team. give me props! also, i designed the french club T-shirts! me: band nerd, marching band lover, winner of spelling bees). we had drinks at the local, a bar in downtown st. paul, until it started raining, and then went back to my house, where we talked late into the night (i swear! it was talking!). although i will tell you that i kissed him first. but he will tell you that he kissed me first. yet another topic of debate between us.
it was a wonderful first date. after awhile you stop numbering the dates, but we've been together ever since--730 days worth of dates.
we still talk late into the night, we still laugh at each other like it's our first date, we still try to get each other's attention. and here we are, careening toward another anniversary. instead of counting up, it's a countdown, and the feeling i get is not unlike that feeling you get a split second before you kiss someone for the first time.

More praise for Nanette

So it turns out, I know how to link stuff. Only, I have to use Firefox to be able to see the little link button. . . And I was using Safari. Nanette sent me the link that is ON THE BLOGGER SITE to tell you how to link inside your posts . . . duh. Thanks for doing that without being like "hello, stupid..." And the little button, it doesn't show up on the one I was using, which I know that button in another program... anyway. It's that kind of month, people.
So now I will link to Say It because I can.
I will also link to my wedding planner (hopefully). I emailed them this morning and since they are on a five-hour difference, they are probably just rolling into work now. So I keep checking my email like a child waiting for Santa Claus.
Also, never buy Trolli Tropic-O's. HORRIBLE. I like myself some peach rings or apple rings once in a while, so I figured I could trust the tropicalness. Figured there'd be some mango or pineapple. Oh god. What a horrible assumption. Everything tastes like bananas. I have probably never discussed my hatred for bananas here. But I have a serious hatred of bananas. They don't taste that great, people. And besides, the texture is abhorrent. The stringy things, that sliminess in the inside, and then it's so thick, it feels like you can't swallow it and you will choke on the worst fruit ever...die of banana strangulation...Anyway, banana candy is only an extension of this very evil empire, worse than the real thing in taste, but probably better in texture... And my ginger ale is not really helping me get rid of the taste.
Also, for more link fun, here is our Flickr page.
OK, enough is enough. Time to put the lid back on the crazy can.