The wedding festivities were last night. Ceremony on the beach as the sun set. Reception following on her parents property under a gorgeous white tent, dazzled with white lights, excessive amounts of wine (they had enough wine alone for everyone to get drunk with), a DJ who insisted on changing the songs every 30 seconds, and a lovely bride and groom.
Rach, the bride, wore a gorgeous, off-white Cinderella gown. We bumped into each other on the dance floor at some point in the evening and I told her how thrilled I was to be at their wedding, how fantastic she looked (every bride always looks radiant) and that everything was amazing. (Probably one of the best weddings I’ve been too in a long while.)
Rach pulled me off the dance floor to “tell me a secret.” Since I see her a few times a week I know about her pre-wedding jitters and concerns about the wedding itself, so I assumed this “secret,” was wedding related.
Wrong-o. It was about TDH.
“So, after your first… no, maybe second date. Yes, it was the second date. TDH, he RSVP’d for two to our wedding.”
Don’t ask me why but that statement is quite possibly one of the sweetest, most adorable things I’ve heard about TDH since we started dating. Sure, TDH and I discuss our first thoughts when we met each other (his: “Damn, she’s hot!” Mine: “He brought me FLOWERS!!!!”), what our favorite quirks are about each other and so on, but I never would have guessed that TDH liked me that much early on.
Later in the evening TDH told me that he’s falling for me… and I, well, I am clearly falling down what I like to call the Rabbit Hole from Alice In Wonderland. Amazing. Scary. Full of twists and turns, with no idea what’s at the end, but the adrenaline rush, you can’t beat it. So, with 24 hours left in Canada with TDH, I am continuing my fall.
My friends joke that I should live in a bubble, you know, like Jake G. did in Bubble Boy?
Reasons for Nora living in a bubble: I’m allergic to fruit, tree-nuts, soy products and now certain vegetables. I used to put away a canteloupe a day. I can’t eat touch it anymore. Almonds, pecans, walnuts, pine nuts, coconuts all cause me to bloat and swell while turning a lovely shade of bright red, during which time my eyes, ears, nose and throat close up. I’m also allergic to every tree, grass, mold, mildew, weed and plant that we have in Missouri, which isn’t a problem 9 months of the year.
According to my doc, my outdoor allergies have translated into oral allergies, so when I eat anything that grows on a tree or potentially in the ground, it is as though I’m shoving fistfuls of the deadly pollen in my body at intoxicating levels. It makes total sense.
What is annoying, however, is how my life has changed since I was diagnosed with these darn food/oral allergies a year ago.
If I’m going to a dinner party I have to be the pain in the butt guest who asks what is in each dish. More than once I have had to politely pass on the entree and settle for salad and sides as my dinner.
When people notice my lack of eating they of course want to know why, so I begin to explain, as succinctly as possible, my rationale. Conversation goes like this:
Friend: “Why aren’t you eating the chicken with almond sauce?”
Nora: “Ah, well, I’m allergic to tree nuts.”
Friend: “Really? What happens?”
Nora: “I swell up and can’t breathe.”
Friend: “Are you sure your allergic to all tree nuts?”
Nora: “Yes.”
Friend: “Interesting. So, how do you avoid eating them? Don’t you crave them?”
Nora: “Oddly enough you don’t crave something that might kill you.”
Friend: blank stare and silence.
Nora (to herself): That always works.
In all honesty it’s a much safer world if I stick to meat, cheese, bread and dairy, all products I know I can eat. I carry massive amounts of Benadryl with me and whoever I’m out with is alerted to the location of my EpiPen, just in case. I’m learning to deal with the fact that asking what’s in my food isn’t rude or picky, just being a lifeguard for myself. It’s not hard to avoid the poison foods, most especially when one false move or unnecessary bite could your life. I’m Italian and I love food, but not that much.
The running joke, however? Is that as my allergies get worse, as they are, that I’ll only be able to order a glass of water when I go out to eat with my friends. I’m sure a whole new onslaught of questions about my eating habits would arise, but at least I’d be in the best shape of my life.
Having been an independent, strong-willed and physically strong girl, I told TDH I could help him move my red couch to Darling & The Boss’ house, no problem, despite a recent twinge of pain in my lower back from the move two weeks ago. (For those of you in the StL area you must come check out my parents living room. The red couch is PERFECT for their house and the room looks great.)
We get it all the way out the apartment door, down two flights of stairs, and then I lose my grip. So, naturally, I squat down to pick it up (ManMate would be proud), but the angle was bad and a shooting, electric, firey pain made it’s way up my lower back and into my eyes, causing tears to well up. TDH eyed me over the couch not saying “I told you so,” but I knew he was thinking it.
I couldn’t move. I was totally frozen in place. I admitted defeat and TDH called one of his friends to assist, so I watched pitifully from the borrowed van as they finished the job.
Of course I planned to cook TDH dinner on Sunday night for all of his help with moving but that plan was no longer going to happen. Hardly able to walk, stand with my shoulders in line with my hips, the white Nora flag was waving high.
TDH stepped up to the plate, walking Jack, making me chicken fajitas with margaritas to dull the pain, helping me upstairs. Doesn’t it sound so sexy and romantic? Me, crawling on the floor as it hurt to move, only able to find one comfortable position in which to watch a movie, having to throw myself into his car and grunt as I got up to get out of it. Yes, sexy is the word…
He helped me Sunday and Monday being the fabulous boyfriend that he is, but last night I drove out to Darlings and have made a home there until tomorrow. Besides, the chiropractor I’m seeing is a whole five minutes from their house so it makes sense not to waste 30 miles worth of gas twice a day unless I have to.
I am feeling much better today. A tad embarassed that TDH saw the vulnerable Nora. A tad aggravated at the explanations my clients and co-workers want when they see me standing at my desk.
The only good thing to come of this: I am wearing tennis shoes to work, my back feels better and TDH proved to me, yet again, what an amazing man he is.
Now to survive the airplane ride with this silly back tomorrow… which I can do. I will do. Because this back? Yeah, it’s going to Canada and it’s going to like it. Every minute of it.
(I’m taking my laptop with me as grad school work calls, so I’ll update the blog as I can. Pictures for sure to follow when I return!)
Mel and I, at the Dubliner, getting the bachelorette party off to a good start. (Side Note: The flash makes my hair look twice as poofy as it really is… I might be Italian but it’s not that voluminous.)
My handsome boyfriend
Pictured above: TDH. I figured it was time to put a picture of him up. (Those of you who know me realize he’s not my regular “type,” but man, is that a good thing!)
Totally Ridiculous Picture
I took this picture while we were waiting for Steak n’ Shake (yes, I know, awesome diet food, right?) after he met up with us and we decided that the mace situation was our cue to go home! I don’t normally stick my tongue out but after several rounds of “I’ve Never,” and a chocolate cake shot, it happens. Not my favorite picture of TDH and I, but I like that it shows I can actually be myself around him.
I have added to new “virtual friends,” to my blogroll —————->
S. Teague; she found me randomly via tagsurfing I suppose, left me a comment, so I checked out her blog. I find her hilarious. Check her out. She’s funny. I promise.
Kyla Bea: Thanks to TwentySomething Bloggers we’ve been “Friends,” and reading each other’s blogs. She’s talented (makes scarves, homemade jams and butters, and much more!), getting married soon and is from Canada. Kyla has a lovely way with words.
Something else to check out, if you haven’t heard of it yet: CommonTies. It’s kind of like PostSecret meets OneSentence, but in a more artsy way.
My bridesmaid streak is coming to and end. Mel is the last best friend of mine who is getting married and while I know I’ve complained about being a bridesmaid and all the details they require, I’ve come to enjoy and apprecite all the hooplah that surrounds the weddings, parties and etc.
I’ll spare you the extravagant details from this past weekend and instead give you a few highlights that are noteworthy:
Playing “I’ve Never,” (I’ve never kissed more than two guys in one night, I’ve never made out with a magician who had a gun, etc etc. You drink when you HAVE done these things) with 13 women is a bad idea. I will not share what “I’ve Nevers,” I actually have done but suffice to say I wound up drinking for 13 straight rounds. That managed to get me fairly intoxicated pretty quickly.
At one of my favorite bars from my past, I was asked if I could “offer service,” to a few guys. Yes, that’s right, service. Shocked and appalled, I walked away. Who asks that question and thinks its okay?
We got Mel a lapdance from a Brazilian man for the price of one Budweiser beer. He didn’t really know what a lap dance was and his consisted of a lot of finger pointing and dancing. The actual time he spent on her lap was about 30 seconds. We noticed he was married and he said “Yes, I’m married. Onl in Brazil though.” Alrighty then.
In an attempt to keep things interesting we hit up Lure, a new night club, only to be forced out about 10 seconds after we got in. Someone got into a fight and maced someone else so the pepper spray hung in the air in the tight club, causing hacking, nose-covering, sneezing and a mass exodus for the door. Welcome to downtown StL: a serious fight involving a knife took place across the street simultaneously. Fortunately Mel wanted to meet TDH so badly she invited him out around 11:30 pm so I grabbed his arm and we hit the road.
Bridal shower went well; there was a collective sigh of relief when people heard we weren’t playing shower games.
Two weekends ago Mel played a few songs she was contemplating as wedding songs to be sung just before the ceremony and the first dance song. We were all blubbering idiots at the Sunday breakfast table by the time she was done.
Since then, I’ve found this song totally and completely stuck in my head at the most random times which I take to be a sign that she chose the right song. Fortunately for me I believe this song will be performed before I walk down the aisle otherwise I don’t think any amount of waterproof mascara would work.
I know some of you don’t look at the videos I post, but this one is worth it, I promise. (Lady Antebellum & Jim Brickman, Never Alone.)
The more than likely first dance song, which I haven’t thought of as a love song until recently which also now draws tears to my eyes (I hope TDH is ready to see me cry! Damn weddings always get to me (Edwin McCain, I’ll Be):
And alternate, just for fun, Des’Ree, Kissing You, which has always made me cry even before Mel played it for us:
Bachelorette and bridal showers this weekend.
Dress fitting next Thursday for Bridesmaid Dress #7.
Wedding in four weeks.
I’m available as a professional bridesmaids to get me to “27 Dresses,” if you know anyone who needs help…
All of you know I’m completely infatuated with Dave Matthews Band and the music they produce. Yesterday, LeRoi, the saxophone player who has been with DMB since the beginning, passed away. Rather than post a tribute video from YouTube that is slightly depressing, I have chosen this song, entitled So Damn Lucky.
If you listen to the words it’s about surviving a car crash (depressing, I know) but he survives, reflects on being lucky to live… as we all should be.
I have seen LeRoi seven times in my life. You may not always notice him but without the saxophone there, there’s an undertone to the music that is missing. I will miss him at the next concert I go to…
While on the veranda finishing my SmartOne and engrossed in the Twilight Book, a lady steps outside on her cell phone…
“… Just because you bought me this cell phone does not mean I have to call you. I will call you when I feel like it. (Pause.) NO, I’LL CALL YOU WHEN I WANT TO, not when you want me to. It doesn’t work that way…”
