I feel like I don't even know myself anymore

So, there are a few things I've capitulated on while planning our wedding. For one, I always said I'd never have a ring bearer and flower girl, because how pointless are they? Most of the time, the ring bearer isn't even really carrying the rings (uh, if Frodo could make it all the way across Middle Earth, surely your three-year-old can make it 15 feet), and the flower girl starts screaming, terrified, halfway down the aisle like someone's making her watch the decapitation of the family pet. I thought both were just pointless traditions people followed because everyone else did (the ring bearing and petal tossing, not the hero's journey and pet decapitation), and I vowed not to give in to the Wedding Industrial Complex and its oppressive, mindless conventions.

Fellowship of the Ring: CJ and CocoThen came my turn...and to my own horror, and in indisputable, shameless hypocrisy, I asked my sister if my niece and nephew could be my ring bearers. Why? BECAUSE THEY ARE FRIGGIN' ADORABLE. And that's it. Simply because it was an excuse to buy them fun outfits (orange hi-top Chucks? yes please!) and parade them about like the precious little things they are. Though, in my defense, Coco won't be tossing anything (she's just supervising CJ), and CJ *will* actually be carrying the rings...and not on a pillow, but in a little bird's nest. But still...total hypocrisy. Sigh.

Wedding Convention: 1, Melissa: 0.

Then I was considering self-catering our wedding (DIY taco bar! Easy, right?), but was roundly disabused of that idea by my horrified family, whose job it likely would've been to do said catering. Apparently cooking and serving for 120 frightened them a bit. So we're having food catered in, but...BUT! It's a Korean-Mexican taco cart! How cool is that? So really, we split the point there. Wedding Convention: 1.5, Melissa: .5.

But NOW I'm wrestling with the fact that we aren't having a videographer, especially after watching this amazing video, which I'm sure cost the couple about what our entire wedding will cost when all is said and done. The scenes from their ceremony actually made me cry they were so sweet:

So amazing. Great music, gorgeous photography, poignant documentary style...I always said wedding videos were cheesy and no one ever watched them again after the first time, but a video like this? Timeless and beautiful. Do they sell these at Target? Macy's? I'm so adding "Art Film Wedding Documentary" to our registry.

Of tacos and toilets

Internet, I'm getting married!

Does this explain or justify my absence the past few (okay, FOUR) months? Not really. That I blame on a debilitating case of writer's block and an inexplicable hatred for every idea and sentence that I tried to string together. Also, I moved. Twice. And I'm lazy.

But I digress -- I'm getting married! You are reading the future Mrs. Vander Wilt, blushing bride of one Mr. Damian Vander Wilt (who I would introduce to you online in some form or fashion if he weren't such a social media recluse, hiding behind the impressive facade of his punk rock public service site, the Portland Show Guide). We work together at ISITE and are still blowing minds with the fact that we're getting married. Some lucky coworkers even found out that we were dating AND that we were getting married at the same time. See? Blowing minds.

And no, I'm not pregnant. This isn't a shotgun wedding. We just fell quickly and hard, and didn't want to wait until next fall. Ours is an impatient love. :) But it's also a healthy love, a silly love, a passionate love, and we're beyond happy. Just ask anyone who's had to spend more than a minute in our presence. It's a little disgusting. (Sorry, guys.)

So come September 12, 2009, we'll gather in a wee clearing on my parents' property to publicly declare our disgusting love and devotion to one another in front of our friends and family, followed by the most good-timin' wedding reception seen since the Kolmers' back in aught 2. Now, this is where things get interesting: Backyard weddings are much easier to put on in many respects (no astronomical venue fee! no time limitations!) but a bit more challenging in others (no parking! 100 people sharing one restroom!), and my two major concerns at this point are 1) we still don't have a caterer (we're having a build-your-own-taco bar, which you'd think would be easy, but you would be SO WRONG), and 2) I need to rent a couple of porta potties, but they are laughably expensive. (And I'm sure I don't need to stress the importance of providing porta potties to a group of people stuffed full of tacos and beer.)

Oh, and did I mention that I refuse to pay more than $5k for this wedding? YEAH.

(Related: Adolescent marijuana use is believed to deplete brain cells necessary for healthy cognitive function and decision-making skills in adulthood.)

Something up with which Hitler would not put

Heee-larious:

Satire and one stoned kid

I am so in love with The Lonely Island right now. First, it was "Jizz in my Pants." Now? Now they've given us "I'm on a Boat" featuring T-Pain, and I'm just not sure it gets any better. Here's the video for those of you who haven't yet seen it (or for those of you who have and can't get enough of Akiva in a captain's outfit...me-OW):

(Earmuffs on the kiddies...it's awesomely explicit.)

Then there's David After the Dentist (kid-safe, though it might make older kids suddenly want to go to the dentist):

Real post coming soon. No really.

America, F**K YEAH!

PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA.

Holy crap.

I have a Pavlovian response every time I hear or say it, but instead of drooling (well, okay, maybe just a little), a great big shit-eating grin spreads across my face. Finally. FINALLY. A president I can believe in and stand behind. Someone who represents and is dedicated to the ideals I believe in; humanity, equity, integrity, intelligence, unity, progress, peace.

A couple of my favorite passages from his speech:

"For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus - and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace."

"And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more. [...] To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West - know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist."

Yes. HELL YES. Finally, a president who GETS IT. His speech was incredible. Inspirational. And the Rev. Dr. Joseph Lowery? What a stud. His benediction was genuine, heartfelt, and inclusive of ALL (as opposed to Rick Warren's tribal ode to hypocrisy...bleh).

But forget Warren. He doesn't matter. Obama! President Obama! *drool, grin*

I've never said this before (and make of that what you will, I don't care): I am proud to be an American.

The biggest loser

Next time anyone hears me commenting on how it might be nice to have a personal trainer, slap me with a 2x4, because honestly? The pain would be fleeting and sweet in comparison to the hell I am suffering right now below my waist.

I recently joined L.A. Fitness in order to be able to play racquetball with my family without paying a ridiculous fee each time (seriously, $15 to wall myself into a 20x10 space and run around willy-nilly to avoid being laid out by an erratic, speeding rubber ball?). As part of their generous "welcome" package, I was invited to experience a 30-minute session with one of their personal trainers (or "sadists"). 

Now, I haven't worked out since like 2003 or something like that. I think I watched an episode of The Daily Show while strolling on a treadmill once last year, and I went tanning a couple of times at a 24 Hour Fitness, but that's the closest I've come to anything remotely resembling exercise since returning from Costa Rica in 2005, where at one point I actually turned and asked James, "Do you think I'm getting TOO buff?" (What. We spent four months surfing and swimming and sweating all day. I looked good.)

So when I met with my trainer, I made sure to emphasize the fact that I am a soft, weak creature quite possibly allergic to my own sweat, and certainly not there training for the Iron Man triathlon. I just wanted to tone up a bit. I know he saw my mouth moving -- he even nodded a few times -- but I think what he actually heard was, "Look, I'm training to run to the moon, and I need you to help me build muscles in my legs that will defy physics. Today. If you do this, I will give you head for nine straight weeks." Because what happened next was in no way an ease-into-it workout designed for a fleshy wine-swilling, chocolate-loving, web geek like myself.

We started with lunges. Have you ever done lunges? I bet if I looked up "lunges" in the encyclopedia, it would show pictures of the Romans torturing early Christians by making them lunge across the length of the Colisseum with 8-pound weight balls repeatedly. This is what the sadist made me do (only twice, but COME ON, DUDE). After the first set, my legs were shaking. I mentioned this. He was all, "Yeah, we gotta strengthen those quads!" It was then I realized I had descended into the seventh layer of hell. There was no inferno, no gnashing of teeth, no wailing...just shaky legs, an embarrassing lack of balance, and a douchebag in slacks and loafers walking beside me casually talking about selling his motorcyle on Craigslist while I tried desperately not to fall over with each step.

After the lunges, I hoped it was over. Great workout! Smell ya later! But no. He grabbed some dumbbells and situated me on a machine I will never again be able to look at without fearing that I might wet myself at the memory. It basically simulated wall-sits, but with weight pressing down from above. I squatted and curled and tried not to cry. (I'm not kidding.) Then we did real wall-sits and different arm exercises with the weights. I wondered if it was normal to feel the need to poop oneself during this exercise, and thanked myself for not having another cup of coffee before coming.

Then it happened: I started to see flashes of light. I felt like I was going to faint. I was nauseous. I told the sadist that I didn't feel well. He told me to rest (as if I were inclined to keep going). I must've looked awful, because a few seconds later, he actually asked me if I needed to run to the bathroom. I nodded, ran as fast as my weak-ass, wobbly legs would carry me to the locker room, and THREW UP. In hindsight, I suppose not eating for 16 hours prior to pushing my body to its pathetic limits had a lot to do with it, but I prefer to think it was all due to his merciless circus of pain.

I returned a few minutes later, admitted to having painted the handicap stall in the bathroom a lovely shade of death, and -- I can only attribute this to a lack of oxygen to my brain -- continued the workout. For one minute. Until I realized my body was probably trying to tell me something, and that that something was "STOP FUCKING DOING THAT."

So we stopped. I went home sore and humiliated and worked up a nice migraine to complement the brutal destruction of my leg muscles. I missed out on an epic party (and dance-off!) that night because of my condition, and have been hobbling around like a 90-year-old woman ever since. You have not witnessed pure physical comedy until you have seen me try to lower myself onto the toilet (or rise from it) these past two days. No amount of potassium can save me now; there aren't enough bananas in the world. My legs are lost to me.

On Sunday, the gym rep who signed me up called my parents (I was added onto their family plan) to express their condolences at having raised a total pussy, and offered to give me another session free of charge to make up for it.

And just as soon as I can walk again without looking like someone removed my legs, filled them with Jell-O and reattached them (backwards), I'm marching right in there to tell them where they can shove their lunges. Right up their perfectly toned asses.

(I dedicate this entry to Carrie, who has witnessed firsthand my physical inability to exercise (the 1/8-mile marathon, my 15-minute circuit training) over the years and who came up with the title. How I miss our post-workout skinnies and corndogs.)

2009: Year of the probiotics

I am typically not a violent person, but I think if given the chance, I'd like to bitch-slap the year 2008 around a little.

Let's all admit it: barring a couple of high points (Obama! and, um...Obama!), 2008 was a shit year. I can't pinpoint exactly what it was that made it so lame, but whatever it was, I don't seem to be alone in hating this particular Year of our Lord to death; in fact, a quick review of New Year's comments on Twitter and Facebook reveals that it seems the most popular sentiment (after the requisite "Happy New Year") is some variation of "Hey! Fuck off, 2008!"

(My favorite salute to the year's awfulness? "2008 sucked a bag of dicks." Uncouth, perhaps...but pretty accurate, assuming you find the prospect of fellating a large bag of dismembered penises as unappealing as I do.)

So why is this? What did 2008 do that was so god awful that it has us all so glad to see it go? Mercury in retrograde? Collective expiring patience for the Bush administration? Recession? Sarah Palin? I have no idea (though I'd love to rest it all on the shoulders of Sarah Palin, that boob). As for James and me, it was a combination of things that all just added up to a bunch of suck. We suffered financial setbacks, selling the newspaper, relationship challenges, deaths of family and pets, more financial setbacks, the tension of a pivotal presidential election we felt passionately about, still more financial setbacks, and the typical pressures of a young couple trying to live meaningful, interesting lives in the midst of greater suburbia. Oh, AND Warner Brothers postponed the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince from November 2008 until July of 2009. Assholes.

And all I know is that I feel the need to seriously purge 2008 from my system. I want to start fresh, on the "right foot" as opposed to this gimpy-ass clubfoot I've been hobbling around on. I want 2009 to kick 2008's ass in a big way. But mostly, I just want to FEEL GOOD in 2009.

So I'm doing a cleanse, hurray! And by hurray I mean "hurray," laden with heavy sarcasm and followed by that sad trumpet sound. Cleanses are neither easy nor fun. The one I'm doing requires me to radically reduce my sugar, caffeine, alcohol, dairy, gluten and yeast intake over the next 2-4 weeks and take a candida supplement to purge all the toxins and crap out of my system. This basically means I can't eat or drink much of anything that I love...but only for a few weeks. I can do that, right? RIGHT?! We shall see.

Why a cleanse, you ask? Am I entertaining my masochistic side? Turning all New Age cuckoo? Making yet another idiotic New Year's resolution I won't keep? No. I'm doing a cleanse because you are what you eat, and if you eat crap, you are crap, and there's a lot of crap out there, and I feel like crap. CRAP! I eat pretty well, but I do still eat a lot of pretty bad stuff (damn you, sweet tooth!), and some stuff out there is produced in a vat of LIES, foodstuffs masquerading as nutritious when it's really not (I'm looking at you, Vitamin Water)...and it all builds up in your system, and the more it builds up, the worse you feel, not just on a physical level, but on a mental and emotional level as well. Basically, our bodies are ecosystems, and we are not just the sum of our parts, but the parts as well. WON'T ANYONE THINK OF THE PARTS!?

So I'm cleansing. I've only just started this morning, so nothing major to report so far. But I'm struggling already with the no coffee part. BECAUSE DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE COFFEE? I've officially been cleansing for less than 10 hours and already I'm grumpy to not have gotten my usual couple of cups this morning. Instead, I drank some rooibos tea (no caffeine, lots of antioxidants) and ate a bowl of plain oatmeal seasoned with just a dash of salt and cinnamon (herbs and spices are okay while cleansing, thank god). A sausage scramble, breakfast roll and cup of joe it was NOT.

Obviously I don't feel any different yet (except for the lack of caffeine), but supposedly the first week is the hardest, when you experience the "die-off." This is when all of the crap lurking around in your intestines and blood start to die due to deprivation of all that they love: sugar, yeast, wheat, processed and refined ingredients. Apparently they put up a hell of a fight, and the result is that you feel almost worse at first. But once the die-off tapers, I should notice a marked improvement in mental clarity and acuity, more energy, less soreness and indigestion, improved sleep, and fewer random ailments. I'm also hoping to gain the ability to fly and read minds.

So we'll see how this goes. Anybody out there have experience with doing a cleanse? Advice? Menu suggestions? Because so far the list of things I *can* eat makes me want to cry: rice, grains, beans, veggies, soy.

Also, when the hell is someone going to invent a chocolate Hostess Cupcake that's good for you? Somebody get on that. Shit.