I like to think I’m pretty good at telling stories. I have a good sense of timing and rhythm and can make something slightly amusing into a must-tell party anecdote. It’s one of the reasons I like blogging so much, because I get a chance to tell so many stories and really take my time writing them up in the most entertaining way possible.

In high school, I had a friend named Matt who was eightybazillionty times better than I will ever be at telling stories. He could make anything funny, and even after retelling the same story over and over and over he could still have us rolling on the floor laughing over that one time he walked into the wrong hotel room and yelled at a total stranger. Or the time he was canoeing with the Boy Scouts and the younger kids ran their canoe into a dead cow that was floating in the river.

I swear, when Matt told it, the cow story was the FUNNIEST STORY EVER. And he told it so many times I could have (and did) repeat it word for word. But I’ve forgotten most of the context and all the funny parts. Now it just sounds sad and kind of gross. It seems I’ve forgotten tons of those anecdotes over the years, stuff I thought I could never lose from my brain, the same way I thought writing “Today C and I met J at the ice rink, but SHE was there and made me mad” in my diary would still mean as much to me today as it did in 1995.

So in the interest of never forgetting, today I’m going to share two stories: one that happened a long time ago but is still one of my favorites (although it’s truly much funnier in person) and one that just happened recently but is too good not to be immediately added to my collection.

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Although I didn’t exactly go to a Serious College, I at least picked one that didn’t make my guidance councilor cringe. And although I didn’t exactly take College Seriously I was proud to graduate in the standard 4 year/8 semester time frame without ever getting into trouble that involved police involvement or parental notification.

It was finally the week of graduation and I was attending mandatory ceremony rehearsal. My school graduated everyone together, all walking one huge stage, in a beautiful outdoor extravaganza that hasn’t changed at all since the school was founded in 1770. Except for in 1905 when they started allowing in women. Or 62 years later when they integrated (South Carolina is not the most progressive state, y’all). The women wear white sundresses and carry red roses and the men wear formal white dinner jackets and red boutonnieres.

It’s very, very Southern.

Somehow, thanks to pure luck, a major in the most common concentration at the college (Communications, WHOOOP!) and a last name that started with a “G”, I ended up sitting in the very front row. Since the stage is raised above the audience I was in pretty much the only seat that made my parent’s presence worthwhile – every student in rows 2-infinity was invisible until the moment their name was called to walk. It also meant I had to sit like a Lady in my skirt and pretend to be interested in the most boring 90 minutes of speeches EVER.

Towards the end of the mandatory rehearsal, the head of campus security got up to make a few announcements about the behavior he expected from us as Ladies and Gentlemen of a Certain Quality. We were not allowed to make spectacles of ourselves during graduation. We were not allowed to make condom balloons. We were not allowed to show up late. We were not allowed to show up DRUNK.

“Because,” he said in his most serious rent-a-cop voice,”If you show up intoxicated, I WILL be arresting you and I WILL take you to jail. You’ll be happy to know the Charleston County lock-up serves Rice Krispies for breakfast.”

The girl sitting next to me rolled her eyes. “That is so not true!” she scoffed. “I’ve been to jail TWICE and all I got was toast!”

During the ceremony later that week I made her wave to my parents. I wanted them to see how worthwhile that education they just finished paying for was.

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In case you’re new here (or you forgot), my friend Erin got married a couple weeks ago and I was one of her bridesmaids. Erin was actually one of MY bridesmaids back in prehistoric times when E and I got married, which I thought was really special. I also thought it gave me the right to be Mrs. Bossy McBossypants when it came to offering advice, whether it was asked for or not.

At the rehearsal, as we practiced lining up and walking (two things everyone learned in kindergarten but requires 2 hours of practice before all wedding ceremonies), someone mentioned that after the ring-bearer brought down the pillow he needed to give it to the best man, who would in turn put it on a little table, because when it came time for the exchange of rings they needed to be available.

“Oooooh” I said doubtfully, “You’re putting your REAL rings on the pillow? Maybe you should use fake rings. We used fake rings, like from a gumball machine. I mean, I’m not saying your ring-bearer {who was at least 12 and not at all irresponsible} can’t be trusted but those rings are important.”

I was assured the rings were fine on the pillow.

“Well. Ok. If you say so. Although I don’t think anyone would NOTICE the fake rings and then your best man dosn’t have to worry about untying them or anything but if you want to do it your way that’s good too. I’m sure it will be fine.” I was really annoying about it. I think I followed up my comments with a story or two about lost rings at various weddings, although they might have been stories I read on the internet rather than anything that happened to anyone I know.

“And just so you know,” I jokingly added, “I’m wearing my wedding bands today for the first time in like a zillion years so if it comes to it, you can always borrow mine.”

Fast forward to the ceremony and the moment when the minister asks for the rings. The best man grabs the pillow, unties the groom’s ring…and starts to look panicked. He glances at the ground. He turns over the pillow. The minister says “Do we have the rings?”

15 incredibly long seconds tick by while everyone stares at the ground uselessly.

The bride snaps around and whispers “Give me your ring!”  I hand my bouquet to the bridemaid behind me, yank my diamond band off my fat swollen finger, and pass it to her before anyone even notices.

Erin hands the ring to the minister, everyone thinks the crisis has been averted, Elliot puts my wedding ring on Erin’s hand and they are declared husband and wife. And lived happily ever after.

Personally, I think using my ring means I’M married to Erin. Or maybe E is married to Erin? Or we’re all four married to each other? I am fine with any of the above scenarios. And if you had to use someone else’s ring for your wedding ceremony, I ring that’s brought 6 successful years of marriage and 2 babies to the original user isn’t your WORST choice, right?

P.S. I did not say “I told you so” or anything similar to “I told you so”. Although several people said it for me.

P.P.S. It turns out the ring-bearer didn’t lose the ring at all – it was still tied to the pillow, just tucked under a ribbon. The best man just couldn’t find it and once he started to freak and assume it was lost no one thought to double check the pillow. So the person we should have been worried about messing up is the Englishman who had been drinking constantly for the previous week. Shocking.

What’s your favorite personal story?

Today I get to take the dog to the vet, something I’ve been seriously dreading because a) he is impossible to control in the presence of other dogs b) it always costs an arm and a leg and c) he has fleas. Now I HAVE to take him to the vet to get some of the real fancy flea medicine instead of the stuff they sell at the pet store and get a speech from the vet about how if I had been keeping up the regimen monthly the way you’re supposed to he wouldn’t have fleas at all. Thank you, yes, I know. I am sufficiently contrite over my lack of good pet care. Fleas are one of those things you forget the awfulness of when you haven’t had to deal with them in years and years. And then suddenly you notice the cat keeps scratching her neck and within hours you can feel them crawling ALL OVER YOUR BODY ALL THE TIME. BECAUSE THEY ARE.

And then you find a flea on the baby’s head and you are the worst mother in the whole world.

So I’m taking the uncontrollable dog to the vet to spend an arm and a leg and get the speech and buy buckets and buckets of Frontline or whatever it is that actually kills these damn creepy crawlies. The dog and the cat version. Then we’re all going to the aquarium for a few hours while we bug bomb the house, floor by floor. Because if we don’t do something soon the cat won’t be the only one scratching her skin off in an attempt to feel less itchy. EW.

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In less disgusting (but probably incredibly boring) news, we drove up to USA Baby yesterday to actually try out the Uppababy before buying it and…um…I don’t think I want it anymore. The rumble seat is not the magical solution to all our double-stroller issues. The whole reason I NEED a double is for Stroller Strides and/or sightseeing type trips to the zoo or aquarium or city and the rumble seat of the the Uppa only faces in. Not great for, you know, seeing stuff or keeping a toddler entertained during mommy’s workout. I think if I was buying a stroller for our first baby that had the ability to work for a 2nd (or 3rd) baby I would be totally sold but after actually putting my toddler in it and imagining how it would work with an infant I’m less in love. It’s more of a “single stroller that can accommodate more than one kid” stroller than a “works great for 2 under 2” stroller.

Plus, we got to try out the Baby Jogger City Select, one of the strollers from my original list but a brand no one I know seems to have any experience with. It’s…cool. Really cool. It works the way I had imagined the Uppa would – baby/toddler can sit in either seat, face all different directions, works with an infant up to a 45 lb kid – AND it can be a single stroller when you don’t need both seats. E loves it & is MUCH more excited about it than he was the Uppa. I was very impressed, despite not wanting to be impressed. I WANTED to love the Uppa and join the Kool Kids Who Have One Klub. I WANTED a pretty orange stroller. I WANTED to buy a stroller NOW, not spend another week thinking about it.

Also, even buying the Uppa from the (stupid) baby store on sale, it costs more than the Baby Jogger.

So the only thing keeping me from committing to the City Select RIGHT NOW is…it’s not orange. Tell me that’s the worst reason ever for making such a big decision.

Or how about this one: I don’t want to tell the baby store I’m not buying the Uppa they had brought over from the other store. Even though as of Sunday they STILL didn’t even have a rumble seat (hence driving somewhere else to try one). It’s that same feeling of dread I get when a salesperson in a clothing store helps me find stuff and then I have tell them I don’t want it after all. Shopping guilt. As if the inconvenience of helping me some how means I’m obligated to spend my money, even if they weren’t that helpful to being with.

Does that sound crazy or do you know what I’m talking about?

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I asked for advice this weekend on what sort of stuff you love/hate on blogs. If you have a second, can you offer me your suggestions?I’m getting all itchy to redesign stuff (or maybe it’s just the fleas) and don’t want to accidentally ruin a good thing.

And speaking of things you hate on blogs, they reset the Top Baby Blogs, which means I’m going to beg for votes for a few days. I’ve met a TON of other awesome bloggers through that list so staying in the top 20 40 50 100 gives me the chance to meet even more mamas. I appreciate it bunches and bunches!

I read a lot of blogs. A LOT. I probably read yours, especially because you have a really cute kid/interesting life/beautiful house/great taste in…whatever and you commented here once. I currently subscribe to 151 blogs in my reader and add at least one a day.

Wow, do I sound awesomely cool or what? I swear sometimes I do other things besides the internet. Although that probably explains the sink full of dishes and the baby currently entertaining himself with a McDonald’s cup full of ice. I wish I was joking.

Anyways, what I’m getting at is that I look at SO many blogs on a regular basis I sometimes forget to look at my own. And then when I do look at my own I’m always depressed. My blog is not elegant or beautiful or inspiring in any way. When I switched over to self-hosted WordPress I just picked a free theme and went with it, so the design is all Atahualpa and my itty bitty bit of HTML skill. I’ve considered changing it about, oh, a BAZILLION times but I hate to lose the parts I do like – I love the rotating photo, I love the blue & orange, I love my tag line – and I’m too cheap to spend $500 on a custom design when I don’t know EXACTLY what I want. Or really, I’m too cheap to spend $500 EVER. I already have one expensive hobby (hello yarn addiction!) I don’t need another.

So here’s today’s question: Name one thing you LOVE to see on blogs and one thing you HATE. You can say whatever, it doesn’t have to be specifically about my blog right now, but don’t feel like you can’t be honest. You can say you hate my rotating photo or my ads or the font or whatever. I won’t take it personally. Feel free to plug your own blog/blog designer/blog design business and leave me lots of links.

p.s. Don’t bother saying you hate blogs that auto-play music. That’s like saying you hate Nazis or lutefisk. EVERYONE hates blogs that auto-play music.

p.p.s. If you think maybe I DON’T read your blog, let me know. I promise I will. I like you.

So this morning, we all put on our Sunday best and went down to the Navy base, where E solemnly swore “that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”

So help him God.

E gets to spend the next 5 years at the beck and call of the US Government and I got a nice certificate that thanked me for my service. Little Evan got one too.

To celebrate we went down to Mystic.

Splashed in some puddles

Got a family picture with E in uniform

We went to buy my dream stroller (UppaBaby, baby!) but the people at the store were…less than knowledgeable. I felt sort of like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman – I am in your store, trying to spend obscene amounts of money with very little effort on your part, and yet you can’t be bothered to help? BIG MISTAKE. HUGE.

It was really confusing. We looked totally respectable and not at all hooker-ish. I’m visibly pregnant & carrying a toddler, so I’m obviously not lost. The lady BOTH sales women were helping was buying $30 worth of dresses. No one can stop for a second to help me with a $800 stroller? (Does that sound SUPER bitchy and entitled? Yeah, probably.)

Finally, they called the owner who assured me I could have my stroller, on sale, with all the parts by Sunday.

So boo and yah!

Since E is shockingly unexcited by dropping wads of cash on a stroller (geez, why not dude?), we went down to Clyde’s Cider Mill to get him a little present of his own.

Cinnamon sugar donuts and a bottle of hard cider. There are no pictures because we inhaled the donuts too fast and I told E he couldn’t drink the cider until after noon. We’re classy like that.

And now we’re spending the rest of the day doing errands and being lazy while the weather decides if it’s going to be sunny and warmish or rainy, windy and cold. Either way, it’s been a good day already.

Happy Re-Enlistment E! Your family & your country appreciates everything you do for us!

So, you guys, in honor of Baby Girl’s impending arrival and a year of owning my domain and the holidays and just my general love for blogging and the internet and YOU…I’ve got something exciting coming up.

This is all you get for now, but I can assure you it’s going to be worth your while to come back and take a peek every single day between October 25th and November 1st.

Although feel free to skip Sunday the 31st if you don’t like mouse dolls knit by yours truly. My knitting may not be up to the quality you’ll get from the rest of the participants. Seriously, I’m so out of my league in my own giveaway it’s not even funny.

I’M SO EXCITED!!!