Monday, July 29, 2013

Name Change Game Changer

Bad news, guys. I think I may have to change the name of this blog because the government is making me change my name. Okay, FINE it's really only my last name, and they aren't really MAKING me, but STILL. As part of getting married, I, a woman, have to completely change my identity all because of a MAN. Ugh. Damn the Man. 

So yeah, I decided on a whim while completing the marriage license application to take Geo's last name. I guess I didn't so much TAKE it as I did cut-and-paste it after my own last name. Oh, and I just tossed out my middle names like they were yesterdays Lean Cuisine trays. See ya later, Eve Louise. It's been real having a piece of each side of my parent's family as my identity, but I am not a Queen so I can't really pull off the Five Names thing. Bye, Eve and Louise. I love you. 

And suddenly I realized that changing my last name (and ditching my middle ones) means so much more than just being put way earlier in the alphabet during high school graduation ceremonies. A lot changes with a name:

For starters? ALL MY EMAIL ADDRESSES. Oh, not to mention all my user names and my name plate at work. My Facebook info. My Instagram account. The initials on my competition cheerleading bag that I still have from when I was 17. See?? EVERYTHING will change.

I don't know what to do with my new identity. Should I be good or evil? Should I be the kind of person who separates her laundry and gets a cat? Or should I cut my own bangs and pledge allegiance to The Pixies? Who, exactly, am I now? This must be how existentialists feel. Oooh, maybe I'm much smarter with a new last name!

Quick Pharon, what's 6 times 8? 

Orange culottes! 

Nope, not smarter. Definitely not smarter. 

Well, we'll see how the whole thing goes when I actually go to hand in my marriage license forms. Maybe I will end up changing my mind and pulling a Phoebe Buffay (Say hello to Mrs. Princess Consuela Banana Hammock!) I guess we'll see. Until then, I better live it up with my current, Scandinavian last name. Maybe I'll get monogrammed towels for myself or go to Sweden and see if I know anyone and can get like free lefse or something. Maybe I'll go wait in a voting line or two. Like I said: Live. It. Up. 

So this is a big deal. I have a feeling I will not handle it like an adult, so that should be interesting. 

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Naked and Obsessed

I had a few hours this weekend when my brain was in desperate need of a vacation. I'm now less than two weeks from the wedding and I'm getting more than a little annoyed by my brain. It keeps overthinking things and freaking out and being downright annoying. "Oh, hey. You wanted to sleep through the night? Tough break. I'm going to wake you up with a rush of fears and anxieties and mental checklists. Have fun!"

Anyway, so I gave myself a break for a bit and turned on the ol' boob tube this weekend. My dearest form of distraction. And what I tuned in to couldn't have been better. Have you guys seen that show "Naked and Afraid"?? It's bonkers. BON.KERS. It's just a man and a woman dropped into the middle of nowhere with nothing. Including clothes. They have to survive in nature for 21 days. They are, very often, afraid. And always and completely naked. I'm obsessed with this show.

So yeah. I caught a bunch of episodes during a glorious marathon. It really made me think: I could never even get to the point where I would agree to be naked in a jungle. Or a desert. Or the bayou. Or even my own living room. Even the thought of those situations puts me into a sweaty panic and makes me very, very Afraid.

I tried to think of whether or not I could ever even survive in the wild, clothes or not. I don't know how to hunt, build a fire, construct a shelter or decipher which poisonous spiders are edible and which will give me malaria or whatever. I'm also very afraid of mice, fish and anything that crawls, slithers or walks on more than two feet. I do, however, have SOME skills which may be useful in the wild.

1) I can go days - DAYS - without showering and be okay with it.
2) I could be very well rested since I am a heavy sleeper. Hyenas nearby? Never heard them, but thanks, random stranger, for saving my life.
3) I could probably make, like, a rope or something because I'm suuuuuuuuuuuper good at braiding.
4) I can make a loon sound with my hands. And everyone knows that loons are nature's bodyguards.
5) My fingernails grow SUPER fast, so I could like carve them into a knife or spear or shiv or something.
6) When I was little, I used to eat birch bark, grass and the occasional ant. I'm pretty sure that could come in handy somehow.
7) And while I have no sense of direction whatsoever, I DO know that the sun sets in the west, which I think could be important.
8) I could probably make a cute outfit out of some palm fronds.

Meh. I'd be terrible in nature. Especially if I had to be naked. I'd be all self-conscious and giggling and mad at the plants and animals around me for judging the size of my hips. It'd be the worst thing ever. What do you think? Could you guys survive out there?

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

A.C. is ruining my life

Well, my worst nightmare came true today. In all my years of acting like a grown up in public and doing an amazing job of hiding the fact that I can barely take care of myself as adult, the whole thing has come crashing down.

Today, while I was at work, maintenance came to my apartment unannounced.

This wouldn't sound like a bad thing for most people. Most people don't leave dirty socks and empty Lean Cuisines stuffed in couch cushions. Most people don't have piles of sequins and craft projects laying on the floor next to a hair dryer, dead batteries and 6 empty plastic bags from Michael's. Most people don't, I'm pretty sure, have 13 shoes, 4 pairs of underwear and 3 pairs of pants lying in the entryway of an apartment and a sink full of dirty Tupperware and coffee mugs. Most people don't have these things laying around, and I KNOW this, which is why I am VERY careful about who I let in my apartment.

So I have loved the fact that apartments are supposed to give you 24 hours notice before coming into your place. It gives me 24 hours to put my life back together. But turns out? My building ain't all cool with those rules. I came home today from a long day of being an adult and wearing clean clothes to discover a note in my door:

"Maintenance was here. We replaced a.c. vent and removed your pie tin from the wall. If leaks continue, contact us."

Allow me to explain: Like A WEEK ago, I called my property managers being all "The a.c. unit is leaking like a banshee." (The a.c. units in my building are in the wall and so all the stuff is hidden behind this vent. When it leaks, it goes into the TINY LITTLE bowl and the world's most annoying alarm is set off to tell me there is a leak. It's quite possibly the worst system of all time.) I said to them, "I'm sure it's the condensation because of the humidity, but it's leaking a lot, so I just threw the alarm away moved the alarm and have just been emptying the tiny bowl more often."

They were all "Gotcha. It shouldn't be a problem. If it is, we'll let you know."

Then I got SUPER annoyed emptying that tiny bowl 100 times a day, so I replaced it with a big ol' pan that I haven't ever used and don't know what it is. It holds waaaaaay more drippage. I felt so MacGuyver-y and efficient. All was good in PharonHood. I was totally coping as an adult. Until today.

Today, I came home to that dumba$$ note. Some dude had been in my apartment without any warning and without any reason, as far as I'm concerned. He took out the mysterious pan I had so thoughtfully and responsibly put in the wall vent and laid it - almost purposely - on top of an empty Coors Light can next to my TV. Like, what a jerk! And I can't be sure, but I'm almost certain he did a few dishes while he was here.


Anyways, I feel pretty violated. I had no idea this dude was showing up and I have a LOT of things laying around that I would have put away had I been expecting "guests." Not just like the dirty socks and wigs and old wine bottles, but, oh I don't know...the WEDDING rings and my COMPUTER and my KATE SPADE glasses?! HELLO!?

What do I do? Am I supposed to be all "Um, 'scuse? Don't let strangers in my apartment!" or is that only giving my property managers the opportunity to be like "Oh, hey, we're pretty sure you're a hoarder or a child so we can't allow you to live here anymore."? And what if they're like "Um, so we're worried that you have 11 half-empty shampoo and body wash bottles in your shower, so I really think you have some psychological issues that you need to deal with." Listen, I don't need my PROPERTY MANAGER to tell me I'm lazy. I'm well aware, thankyouverymuch.

Anyway, it was a horrible invasion of privacy and now I have a random pan on top of a beer can AND the judgement of some anonymous maintenance dude to remind me that I have a long way to go in my journey to becoming an adult. But hey! I'm pretty sure my a.c. unit works again! Huzzah!

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Polishing a turd

I do not know how to put on makeup. That's a fact that most people know. I swoop on bronzer all over face, slap some teenage-brand blush in the general area of my cheeks and then put on waterproof mascara and call it a day. Someone once told me that it looks like I'm trying to polish a turd. Then, to take off all that cosmetic goodness, I simply lay my head on my pillow, fall asleep and wait for cotton/nature to take it all off during the night. Sometimes, it doesn't remove all the makeup, which is okay because then I have less makeup to smear back on in the morning.

Needless to say, my makeup routine is...lacking. So I obviously opted to let someone else make me purdy for my wedding. I hired a pro. And these people are LEGIT. They even make you do a trial run so they can figure out how to make big things look small and small things look big before the big day. That trial was today.

The girl who is doing my makeup came with, like, LUGGAGE. She had three bags on wheels which she splayed out on the kitchen counter at my parents' house. She had more eyeshadow than, I don't know, someone with the most eyeshadow in the world. And then she put on this belt thing with approx 660,000 different makeup brushes inside.

She asked me for some pictures of what I usually look like. I pulled up Facebook and tried to find some good pics of me looking normal with regular makeup. I literally scrolled through dozens of pictures of me making faces and me in various costumes before I found one that was even remotely useful. Then she was all "What do you WANT to look like?"

So I opened up Pinterest and showed her what I liked. She was like "Um, okay. These ARE super pretty. However, these are all completely different faces from yours and they eyes are the opposite shape of yours. Like, theirs go up on the outside and you can see their eyelids when they open their eyes. Yours point down and your eyelids are...not seeable." Ouch.

Anyway, she took the reins. She put a bunch of stuff on my eyes, sprayed my face with airbrush foundation, glued on some false eyelashes and then was like "What do you think?"

I looked in the mirror and was like "Oh! THIS is what I should try and look like more often! It's pretty and not obnoxious!" As the girl was cleaning off all her billion brushes and packing up her 12 suitcases, she encouraged me to look at myself as much as possible in different lights at different times of the night to keep checking out the makeup. Gee, be self-involved for an evening? How will I ever manage to do that when I'm soooo busy mentoring young kids and thinking about others and sewing clothes for naked homeless people? I guess I'll give it a shot...

I also walked extra slow from my car to my apartment building to see if a few seconds of sweating would disturb the look. So far, so good.

Although, now I have a pretty major problem. How the eff am I supposed to take this stuff off? DO I take it off? I mean, I'm not sure that my pillow has what it takes to remove the semi-permanent foundation and the gluey eyelashes. Meh, guess I'll figure that out in the morning.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Maid of Spade

Ladies, can we dish for a sec? I LOVE jewelry. It's just so puuuuurdy! Amiright?! I've only gotten a few pieces of jewelry that I've held on to for dear life over the years. There are the super amazing earrings Geo gave me before we were engaged one Christmas (in a jewelry box the size of a ring box, which was just a cruel, cruel trick.)

Oh, and there was a necklace that I bought my damn self from Kate Spade. It's a pair of binoculars on a gold chain called the "hang in there" necklace, which I bought when Geo moved away to Alabama. I bought it because it made me happy, and because it reminded me to "hang in there." And because it was just quirky enough to be the best necklace of all time.

But just in the past year or so, I've gotten a a couple of the most important pieces of jewelry ever. There was the engagement ring. Then the wedding ring. Two things I'll have forevs and forevs. And they are just so sparkly and amazing.

But this weekend, I got a couple more amazing pieces of jewelry. One was the penis necklace Padrin and Prinna bestowed upon me at the bachelorette party. It wasn't in a jewelry box, but you bes' believe I'll hang on to that gem.

And just before that, I got a piece of jewelry that DID come in a box and made me SO HAPPY that I cried when I opened it. It started with a card from my lovey, my BFF, my long-lost partner-in-crime, Madeline:
At first, I assumed it was a fun gift for me. That's the way things start working in your head before a wedding. Present? Card? Yup, it's for me. Yes, I KNOW it's messed up. I know that. But that's the way it can work. Anyways, so I see the fun card, assume it's all about me and open it up.

I read it like 3 times in the matter of 1 second before it hit me. Madeline was giving me the greatest/hardest/most honorable position in a girl's wedding: The Maid of HONOR. I screamed bloody murder and started bawling. I was shocked but I was so incredibly touched that she chose me for the job that I was seriously beside myself.

But back to the jewelry.

I had nearly forgotten that the card had been tucked inside a Kate Spade bag. I opened it up and found this guy:

It's the Bridesmaid Idiom Bracelet!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEE! It's got all these perfect phrases to describe the two of us engraved on the outside, like "peas in a pod," "perfect pair," "two of a kind," "birds of a feather," "sidekicks" and whatnot. Then on the inside, it has "BEST FRIEND EVER" engraved. Well, I bawled all over again. In the midst of my worst, most self-centered thoughts, Madeline found a way to shake me loose and be all "Listen lady, it's totally about you. Right now. But then it's sometimes going to be about other people." It was the best reality check ever. And then she said the words every bride-to-be dreams of: "Don't worry, I won't ask you to do anything until after your wedding!!!" YAY!

I was explaining the bracelet to my pals later on at the bachelorette party, when Padrin goes "Ooooh, now you have to plan a bachelorette party." Yikes. Hope Madeline loves a bachelorette party with a bunch of girls in wigs and a pink party bus, 'cause I very well may just copy the one my sisters just threw me. I digress.

I'm super amazingly honored and touched and emotional by this jewelry. I mean, by this opportunity. It's such the best jewelry, I mean opportunity, and I really hope that I live up to the role.

Anyway, so clearly the way to my heart is with Kate Spade jewelry. Anyone want me to write about them in the blog? I am currently accepting gold Kate Spade jewelry to match my beautimous bracelet. :)

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Wiggin' Out

I woke up this morning in quite a state. I was wearing a dress and one shoe. My breath and mouth felt I had eaten an old boot and my contacts were glue to my eyeballs. I was in a hotel bed with only a vague recollection of how I had gotten there. My head was pounding, my right quad was seriously pulled and I had more than a few unexplained bruises on my legs. What happened!?

Oh, that's right. I had just had the world's best bachelorette party on the planet.

 My sister and maid-of-honor Padrin had been planning the party for weeks. I knew NOTHING about it, except that my two sisters and 14 of my friends were going to be there, and that I had to wear white. Padrin and Prinna threw me a few loops by "accidentally" giving me a few misguided hints, and Padrin kept saying that she didn't know how to plan a bachelorette party, so I had absolutely no idea what to expect.

It started at a hotel. I showed up and got ready with Kelly and Madeline in their room and then headed over to Padrin and Prinna's room. I couldn't believe my eyes when I walked in. There were decorations EVERYWHERE. X-rated confetti, banners, TONS of food, a cake with a naked doll sticking out of it and coolers full of alcohol. But it was my sisters who were the best sight. They had black dresses on and these crazy wigs. They handed me a hot pink wig and I turned around to see Kelly and Madeline had also put on wigs. One by one, my friends showed up, each wearing a crazy wig. It was THE. BEST. THING. EVER.

We did everything I ever wanted to do at a bachelorette party. We ate, drank, played games and then I opened so many adorable presents of the lingerie-variety that I won't have to do laundry for WEEKS. But the night was just getting started. Figuratively and literally: It was only like 7 p.m. I was informed that I needed to put my beer in a travel yard glass, put on a bachelorette sash and a giant Buy Me A Drink button and we headed outside. I thought we were getting on the lightrail to go downtown, but instead this was waiting in valet for us:

It was a HUGE, PINK party bus! We got on and there was music, more alcohol and a stripper pole in the middle of it. My dream ride. We set off on the trip which would end up being hours of incredible amounts of fun, stops at bars, a few ungraceful spins around the pole, and at least one tumble by yours truly when the bus stopped unexpectedly. (Ah, now I understand the bruising...) It was CRAZY.

Man, it was the funnest night I've ever had. Seriously. And other people at the bars didn't hate us, either. They loved our wigged out group and people were buying us drinks and giving us high-fives. It was amazeballs. We got back to the hotel and I was in flip flops instead of my sky-high stilettos, my wig was in my purse and I was drunk and insanely happy. All these ladies made it the absolute best time ever, and I could never thank them enough; especially Padrin and Prinna who put it all together.

I just want to do it all again. After I recover from this epic hangover. You know what they say: The best nights are the ones that take days to get over. And this could take at least a week. Thanks so much to all the bestest ladies who made this such an amazing night! Totally made this whole wedding thing worth it! ;)

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

31 days

Don't hate me. This is a post about wedding planning. But please don't hate me, because I hate myself enough already.

I got an email today. It was from TheKnot. I used to be so enthused and hopeful to get these emails of hope and inspiration and checklist items. But today it was all snarky and mean and rude. It was like "Hey! Great! One month until you wedding!" Really? REALLY, THEKNOT!? Thanks for the reminder. I had nearly  forgotten that I have 31 days left in this magical dreamland.

Here's the thing. I've tried to spared you all from the drama that is planning a wedding. In fact, I've tried so hard that I simply didn't have anything else to blog about and so I just kept skipping blogs. Sorry. But actually, I'm not sorry. If planning an amazing wedding was easy, everyone would do it.

But as THE KNOT has made crystal clear, I have one month. One month left to finally blog about planning a wedding. I've tried super hard not to turn this blog into a "Woe is me, I'm planning a wedding and it's hard" blog. I don't LIKE talking about it, but honestly it's like ALL I can even think about and I'm annoying the hell out of myself. I wake up in a cold sweat worrying about napkins. I spend hours at the gym and on Pinterest and flipping through bridal magazines so that I'm officially brainwashed and constantly prepping for The Best Day Ever. I'm drowning in wedding planning.

For over a year now, I've been trying to make one party mimic the lifetime of mixed-up thoughts I had in my head about my wedding. The lights, the drama, the magical dreamland of love, the choreographed dances, the collective sighs as I appear on a cloud from the rooftop with Nelly Furtado singing "Childhood Dreams" next to me. All I needed was the man. So once I found Geo, I thought it would just unfold in front of me. Like "Oh, okay, now that the groom is here, I can finally have the perfect wedding."

Ummmm. Never once in my Nelly-Furtado-dreamland did the concept of table runners, cake ribbon, RSVPs, ugly carpet or uplighting come into play. I didn't think about the details. I thought about the dress, the dancing, the fun, the love. But that all doesn't just happen on it's own. You have to plan.

And I thought "Hey, I love planning parties! This'll be soooo totes easy!" I thought they were fun, and as long as there was enough liquor, it would always be a good time. But now there's Pinterest and magazine weddings and fancy venues and elaborate themes and signature cocktails and horse-drawn limos or whatever to think about. It's literally TOO much. Plus, my beloved (gag, I've never used that word unless talking about bagels) has been away for much of it.

But the reality is this: Everyone who has planned or is planning a wedding is hated by someone. I've hated people, and I know for a fact that people have hated me. But finally I know why this is. IT'S HARD. It's something that you think should be so simple. "La la la, as long as we have each other..." Puke. It's not like that.

If you elope, people hate you because you didn't invite them. If you hire a wedding planner, people hate you because you took a shortcut. If there's a destination wedding, people hate you because it cost them an arm and a leg to attend. If you plan a "small, but intimate" wedding, people hate you because it's not big enough. If you have a casual wedding, people hate you because they wanted an excuse to dress up. If you get married on a holiday, people hate you for having it on a holiday. If you have it NOT a holiday, people hate you for not just having it on a holiday. And if you have a big ol' traditional wedding, people hate you because all you can talk and think about about is the bazillion details that go into executing such an event. It's literally a no-win situation. If you've planned a wedding, there is someone who hates you. Ahh...the magic of love...

It's not right, but it's true.

Anyways, with one month to go, I do want to say this: There are more wedding posts to come. Not many, because as The Knot has so helpfully reminded me, there are only 31 days left. But I'm going to embrace my crazy and pull you all along for the ride. One month. That's it. Can you handle it?

Monday, July 8, 2013

Suitable (or not)

I was all set to sit here and blather on about how I wore jean shorts today (which I NEVER do because I look...not right) but as I sat here, Geo walked in and said "What do you think about this suit?" I looked up. "Looks great!" I went back to talking about how jean shorts make my legs somehow both short AND angry when he came out again. "What about this suit? How does it look?" I looked up again. "Uh, fine. Didn't we just have this conversation? And he's like "Pharon, this is a totally different suit. This one is dark grey. The other was light black."

Exsqueeze me?

See, I kind of pride myself on totally understanding everything about men. You know, like how their attention spans are shorter and more selective than women's and how they can't remember my birthday, but they can remember how many yards Adrian Peterson ran for five years ago. But the one thing I just do NOT understand is all their suits.

Geo has like a billion suits. Each one more suit-y than the last. So, he started his new job today and he has to wear a suit to work EVERY. DAY. now, which I think is insane, but he thinks is "business formal." I consider anything but flip flops and a tank top "business formal." Anyways, so he has all these really nice suits that he has to wear on top of a nice long-sleeved shirt with a tie and an undershirt, which are all wrapped up around his neck with a TIE, not to mention socks AND shoes! What is this, medieval times!? That seems like a lot of armor for men to have to wear all the time, and I actually feel bad for them. Especially in the summer.

Plus, suits are WAY more complicated than "black" "grey" "summer" or "winter". Geo was like "Is the jacket too short on this one? How about the cuffs? Do the buttons look right? Are these pants too tight on my butt? Do you think I can get away with a blazer and suit pants? Is this black, like, tuxedo black or casual black?" I may as well have been in Greece for all the sense his questions were making to me.

I raised an eyebrow and said " Don't you just, like, put a winter coat on top of an already-nice outfit and call it a day?" I was wrong. So wrong.

Oh well. The good news is that Geo understands suits. I think he asked me out of both pity and concern because I was laying on the couch with one shoe on, the pair of jean shorts I was trying to pull off but wasn't and a sundress I had spilled soy sauce on. casual.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

I'm Back! (I think)

I'm sure we're ALL getting tired of my apologies for lack of posts lately. And yet, still I feel inclined to explain myself. Like, the principal has called me into his office and I start apologizing for skipping class when all he wanted to talk about in the first place was why I forged my parking permit.

Oh, high school...

Anyways, yeah, I'm sorry for being such the worst blogger lately. But you guys? UGH! I need some help. Probably of the Professional variety, but you'll work in a pinch. I'm CRANKY lately. Not just like "I-woke-up-with-a-hangover-and-there's-some-weird-incessant-beeping-outside-my-window-so-I'm-going-to-punch-someone" cranky, but like, CRANKY. I tried explaining myself to Geo this week when he was like "I feel bad that you're so stressed out about life lately" and I literally responded with "Wouldn't YOU like to know!" He was like "Oh...that....totally made sense."

Not only am I cranky, but I'm also going insane. Double-whammy.

The worst part about being cranky is that I'm worried that I'm losing my childlike sense of humor. In the past 5 days, the following things have happened: Ally and I hatched elaborate (and still unexecuted) plans to break into our friend Kim's backyard pool, I saw a rabbit eating what appeared to be another rabbit and only briefly considered if that rabbit was like "Meh, tastes like chicken," I almost farted in front of Geo, I thought I saw Flo from the Progressive commercials and got excited, but it turned out to be a man (ouch), I ate a grilled cheese sandwich that was NOT grilled (meaning it was a piece of bread with unmelted shredded cheese on top of it), and I think I got a sunburn on my top lip so now it feels like there's a caterpillar snuggling into my skin.

And yet, none of them prompted me to write a hilarious, enjoyable post.

But I swear: I will change my ways and regress back to a time when I found things like this not only funny, but worthy of a 300-word blog post. I will not let the cranky get to me anymore. I will take back control of my life, my sense of humor and my uncanny way of making people laugh because I have convinced myself that dogs like me so much because I have an ulcer or something and they are trying to warn me before it ruptures.

And for the record, I DIDN'T forge the parking pass in high school, I simply utilized the technology at my disposal to make a clever copy and highlight the vulnerabilities of the system. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Monday, July 1, 2013


Geo and I had to take a trip to Crochester (a.k.a. Rochester) tonight. Geo seems hell-bent on moving there for the job he got at Mayo and is trying to convince me that I'll ALSO have to live there at some point. You know, because we're kind of committed to each other. Anyway, I've been doing an amazing job of living in denial that I may have to move away from my beloved Minneapolis, so the process of actually GOING there tonight was less than amazing.

I will spare you the details of my emotional roller coaster and seemingly endless supply of tears, and skip right to car ride back to my dear, sweet Minneapolis. Luckily, I documented the entire journey.

Here we are driving out of Crochester and into some place called Oronoco:

Pretty. And here we are making our way through the next city, Zumbrota:

Oooh, and he we are at about the halfway point in exotic Cannon Falls:

Now, don't be jealous, but we then were treated to luxurious Farmington (Or wait, maybe this is Rosemount? Inver Grove Heights? I literally took 3 pictures that look identical, and failed to label them properly.)

OMG. What is that? A HOUSE? Near the road!? We must have just entered the Minneapolis city limits!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand here we are! Back to my sweet baby love: Minneapolis. (This is obvs not the picture I took, but the one I have was way too dark because it was already night when we got home.)

I was so relieved to be back in the city. I can't explain it. I'm trying to be a grownup about this whole process, but so far, I'm pretty sure I hate it. I'm not going anywhere for at least another 2 months, but even the thought of being further than 5 minutes away from, like, 10 of my favorite people in the world makes me very, very bummed. And I'm pretty sure that Geo is starting to think my tear-filled proposals to live in separate cities for a couple years are not nearly as adorable as they used to be. 

But I digress. There are houses and town homes and apartments in Crochester and we looked at them and then, mercifully, we returned back to Minneapolis. And that was that. Now, back to staring blissfully out of my window at the city...