It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Ya ain't neva had a friend like me! Yrrgghhrrrrrghhryyyy!

It's a typical Thursday night in December: I have Hanson's "Snowed In" album on blast, and I'm singing along, louder than Taylor, while forcing my dog to dance with me. Husband has escaped to the kitchen, to pour yet another glass of wine (Was that a shudder?). It's Christmas time!

Last holiday season, I overloaded my calendar by saying yes to every invite that came my way. The dates were smothered in gatherings, obligations and so much "holiday cheer" that I was ready to choke someone out with a holiday doily.

Now that I'm older and wiser (and married), I'm being a bit more mindful of my sanity (because we all know that affects husband's sanity, and we can't have two Grinches during the holidays). I still want to get all merry and shit with everyone, but I also want to prioritize "us" time, since this is our first Christmas as husband and wife.

So I decided to host one holiday party with our friends this season, and that's it. I’m making folks come to us, rather than running around and trying to make everyone else's Christmas parties (sorry friends - your turn to run amok). And we're not just having any holiday party; we're having an Ugly Sweater/Wine and Cheese party! (And get a load of these earrings I found to match my sweater - practically stolen off the lobes of your Nanna!)

The only time of year to hang felt balls from your head. That's the next rule after: Don't wear white past Labor Day.

The result? I’m actually enjoying the holiday season rather than counting down until the New Year. I’ve even tuned the radio in my car (and Husband’s) to the 24-hour Christmas music station. Yup -- I’m that obnoxious.

But I can’t say Husband isn’t enjoying the holidays -- he actually participated in decorating our Charlie Brown tree for the first time this year since he finally had some of his own ornaments to display. His mom was very quick to send Chewbacca home with us so that it never touched the limbs of her holiday foliage again. Chewy's displayed on our tree right next to the childhood ornament my own mother loathed for years -- Genie from Aladdin.

Now, Chewbacca and Genie are best friends and are total Christmas staples in our household. They can experience the holidays in a home that not only accepts their holiday status, but also celebrates it. And the best part is that we'll never have to vote on whether or not they have the right to unite with the tree.

This holiday season is full of acceptance; acceptance of previously shunned ornaments, acceptance of limits, and accepting that saying yes to everything is the fastest way to become a career alcoholic.

Fun fact: In writing this article, my browser history would have revealed Google searches for doily, nanna, chewbacca, and "how to spell wookie sounds." Only that combination could ever be found on this blog.  Merry Christmas! 

What I Did During My Three-Month Blog Break

Why hello, Sticks and Stoners! First off, my apologies for taking a three-month hiatus from this blog without warning. Life got a little too hectic the closer I got to my wedding and it hasn’t really slowed down since. But today, I’m taking a breather. It’s the first and probably last time I’ll ever have Black Friday off  from work, and I’m happy to report that I’m not out shopping, but working to catch up with you (whoever you might be)!  

This year has been absolutely hectic and absolutely wonderful. I can’t possibly fill you in on every little detail of my absence, so in true Sticks and Stones style, I’m going to give you a drink from the fire hose:

I married a unicorn ;)

My wedding was absolutely the best day ever! In addition marrying my most favorite person in the whole wide world, nothing went wrong. Not a single thing. We were so blessed to have so much help from our friends and family, and so many people came out of the woodwork to offer their services for free (why hello  there, day-of coordinators, beer brewer and videographers)! Did I mention that we were having unreasonably warm weather in Seattle and I got a 70-degree, sunny day for my October wedding? And my favorite part is that everyone had an absolute blast. I had a lot of people tell me it was one of the most fun weddings they had ever attended, which really made me feel like all of that planning paid off. AND I didn’t turn into a bridezilla, which means I accomplished my ultimate New Year’s resolution (I can only thank yoga for that, really)!

Husband (he’s got a new blog name!) and I flew to Cabo San Lucas for our honeymoon! Minus the unexpected delay in getting there (thanks a lot, Alaska airlines – I’m not even going here because I’m still irked) and the mini-hurricane we experienced there (we went there because I thought Cabo didn’t get hurricanes), we had a blast! My favorite activity we did was ziplining, but we also had fun riding ATVs and camels.  And of course, tanning, swimming, eating, drinking and being honeymooners.

Bandita!

When I went back to work from my honeymoon, I returned to all kinds of craziness. In addition to being unexpectedly short-staffed, I got asked to fly out and write a last-minute story on how Hurricane Sandy affected our employees and our company. I’m going to write a separate entry about my Hurricane Sandy experience because it’s too much to fit in this catch-all post. But all I can say, is that it was very humbling to speak with the victims, and it really put a lot into perspective. Seeing others hurting after this storm was pretty emotional for me, nevermind the people who are still living through it. But I’m thankful for all of the humbling experiences, because I have come out of each one with a clearer view on what is important and not important in life. They have all taught me to focus on the people (and puppies) that I love, and nothing more. At the end of the day, it’s all about taking care of ourselves and each other.

Speaking of story writing, I feel that my hiatus from this blog has caused my day-job writing to suffer. Granted, I’ve had a million things going on the past few months, but it felt like all of my creative energy wasn’t being let out and so I could only create word vomit at work. So one of my resolutions for the upcoming year will be to focus on my writing, more specifically, writing for me, and that will certainly give you more blog candy to gobble!

I promise, I'll never fly out again - Woohoo!!!!

So in a nutshell, that’s what I’ve been up to. Of course there’s more detail to it than that, so stay tuned for some more regular posts! I’ve got a few up my sleeve. Including another rant about hating Black Friday…

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but taking blog hiatuses quells my inner-creativity. 

The Five People You Meet in Yoga - And Wish You Hadn't

He must be The Show-off

Ah yoga: The pinnacle of relaxation, fitness and meditation. I’ve become a yoga monster lately and the studio I go to is pretty keen on sticking to true yoga traditions; every pose is called out in the Sanskrit term rather than the translation, we Om at the end of class, she teaches us about yoga philosophies as we practice asanas, and she explains the stories we tell with our poses.

I love it. I feel completely relaxed, I’ve shed pounds (welcome back, high school weight!), but I can tell I’m doing something that means much more than getting healthy. Shit if monks do it, I must be on some path to enlightenment right?

I call it my hippy yoga and it’s helping me ward off bridezilla as we enter the final weeks of wedding planning. I promised I wouldn’t turn into her, but I’m finding I have to battle her often so I don’t lose my shit. Bridezilla is a mad god like Lilith in True Blood, for any fellow truebies out there.

However calming yoga may be, in my practice I’ve encountered personalities of all types, many of which are completely obnoxious to practice with, taking out the whole relaxation aspect. Before you yogis out there start bitching, I know that yoga is supposed to be all about non-judgment; non-judgment of others and non-judgment of yourself. But this is Sticks and Stones and not a yoga blog, so you’re going to let me have my bitch sesh and deal. I accept that this blog post in and of itself is not very yogic.

With that said, I discovered the worst yoga personality of them all in last night’s yoga class. It was so bad, that it actually inspired me to carve time out of my insane schedule to update my blog and tell you all about it. So, I’ve compiled my shit list of yoga personality profiles in order of least to worst offenders. Last night’s personality takes the cake, so he’s the last on the list. Enjoy.

The “Don’t Look at Me I’m New” Person

Every class has one. And I’ve been that person. The beginner, new-to-the-studio gal is in a ball in the corner, dying of heat exhaustion, ready to pass out, questioning why the hell she came and why the fuck didn’t she drink more water beforehand. Not every beginner has this experience, but it’s not uncommon either. It gets better. Trust me. Don’t let this one experience ruin it. Prepare better next time.

The Show-off

This classmate shows up at least 20 minutes before class starts, and will start flowing the second the mat’s unrolled. Hand stands are flying, limbs and spines are being contorted, all to prove that he can do it. The teacher will never go into these complicated poses with the group, so he needs some kind of audience. Once class begins, he stands right next to the teacher. It’s the yoga version of teacher’s pet. I can’t say I’m not jealous of these abilities, but the arrogance just kills.

The Loud Om-er

Now we’re getting to the good stuff. And this one is weird. I’ve only encountered it twice, so I imagine it’s a rare breed of yogi. This person will breathe very loudly during the duration of class. And when I mean loud, I mean he's competing with Beats by Dre. Every inhale seems to suck up all oxygen from the room and every exhale makes the entire room smell of their carbon dioxide excretion. They make fun sounds as they get in and out of poses. At the end of class, when we’re closing our practice, this person, forgetting that yoga is supposed to be about relaxing, yells Om at the top of their lungs, rather than letting it gently vibrate out of their mouths. Forgetting they’re in a yoga studio and not a Slip Knot concert, their Om is not only louder than the teacher’s, it’s off-key, screeching and lasts longer than anyone else’s. It’s a perfect way to end yoga on a sour note.

The Schweaty Guy

Let’s face it- everyone sweats buckets in hot yoga. But you contain it to your own mat and area. That’s why yogitoes were invented. I’d rather be next to the loud Om-er than the Schweaty Guy. This person (which every class has) manages to flick their sweat in every direction their limbs point. With sweat, comes stench. The entire room starts filling with the sharp odor of one brand of B.O. They leave a puddle in their wake after class has ended. I’m not exaggerating this at all. The worst is when there are back-to-back classes, and you accidentally roll your mat out in a puddle from the previous class’s Schweaty Guy (speaking from experience). God forbid if you end up next to this one in a crowded class, and manage to accidentally touch a foot or hand. Shower with acid immediately.

The Farting/Humming Guy

Practicing next to this guy makes yoga impossible to enjoy. It will start off with the loud breathing, but when the music starts, he also thinks he’s a yoga singer and starts trying to emulate the sounds and spastic note range in the song and fails. Hard. That alone eliminates all chances for relaxation. You’re supposed to focus on what you’re doing and nothing else. But if you have some Yoga Idol wannabe next to you, it’s hard to let your mind go when you’re eardrums are being actively assaulted.

But please take note: If you dine at a taco truck, or consume a Costco hot dog before doing yoga, do not come to class. This guy farted at least seven times in class last night, one of which was when his ass was near my face and I was ready to turn the yoga class into Tae Kwon Do. I was so mad! If you can’t control your bowels, you need to do a yoga DVD at home, near your bathroom so you can handle emergencies as they arise.

One of my favorite poses is shavasana, or corpse pose, because it elicits the most relaxation and signals the end of class. By principle, you are to be silent during shavasana, breathe quietly and shallowly and did I mention be quiet? The Farting/Humming Guy starts humming and trying out for Yoga Idol again, during one of the most meditative and relaxing poses, and I just laid there holding my breath so I didn’t inhale his ass scent. I also couldn’t relax my face muscles since I was frowning so hard.

"It was the worst shavasana ever." - Witness

I had just begun to sort of relax when the teacher said, “Wiggle your toes and fingers and come back to earth.” What a waste. He also happened to be a loud Om-er. Go figure. He was the trifecta of bad yoga personalities and I promise to move if he tries to practice next to me again.

So now that I’ve convinced you never to do yoga, just know that as long as you don’t get stuck next to any of these, yoga really is a wonderful practice. I love it. I’ve just burned the faces of the above offenders into my memory so I know never to roll my mat out next to them again.

And now, I will forsake my typical sign off with a simple, Namaste.

Consumerism and the Wedding Registry

So cool. This was soo much better than sky diving.

Of the many struggles one encounters in wedding land, one of the toughest for me has been our wedding registry. By now you may have gathered that I have some issues with consumerism (if you haven’t been a reader all that long, see this post, and that post, and this one too).

Among the many pressures a couple faces during the planning process, it turns out, there's a whole other set of expectations for wedding registries too. Monogrammed china, five million thread count organic cotton hand towels imported from Borneo, silver china that will gather dust in the attic for like...ever, and all the expensive kitchen appliances that you'll use once and then retire as counter top decorations. No thanks. Like many wedding options Fiance and I are choosing, we’re not going a traditional route with our registry either.

Fiance and I have lived together for nearly three years, so we have what we need for the most part. I've also been a pretty mindful shopper after I got myself into a bit of a financial pickle from which I just crawled out.

For these reasons, we are not doing a traditional housewares registry. Sure, it’d be nice to upgrade all our towels, but I can’t shake the angel on my shoulder who keeps screaming about how wasteful it is. What happens to our perfectly good old towels? I don’t have space for everything, and I’ll be damned if I throw perfectly good items in a dumpster. Okay – maybe, another pair of sheets would be handy for our king bed and perhaps we could put a new pair of kitchen tongs to use. Aside from that, I am drawing a blank. The aforementioned items would make a pitiful registry, and they’re simple enough for us to buy on our own.

This article on apartment therapy (which is quickly becoming a fave blog of mine) expresses my struggle with the want/need aspect of a wedding registry to a T.

What our generation wants are experiences. I want to see the world. This NPR article explains so much about my values and what I want for my life, and I don’t think I’m out of line for expecting my registry to reflect that.

So, Fiance and I are opting for a honeymoon registry. Experiences are the best gifts and you always have a fond memory to look back on. For those that prefer to purchase a non-experience gift, we have a gift card registry. That way, we can save the gift card for when we actually need something, or for when we buy a house. No wasteful spending here!

But more than that, we’re not getting married to get gifts. I’m getting married because my fiance is the love of my life and I want to hang out with him until one of us dies (to put it frankly). If you’re invited, it’s because we want you to celebrate with us (and feed you and make you drink beer so somebody’s out there dancing with us).

However tacky or non-traditional you deem it, just know that every wedding is unique to the couple getting married. At the end of the day, what matters is that they are kicking off their marriage as happy as they can be. And history has proven that you don't need a Keurig to do it.

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but I’d rather go swim with some mother effing dolphins than stay at home watching my Kitchen Aid attachment make ground beef.

What's Up



One of three photos I took on my whole Vegas trip. We were too busy sinning.

I’m back, kids! I must apologize for my hiatus. This year has proven to be difficult in maintaining my blog, but rest assured, I’m not abandoning you. We’ve had something going on every weekend since I don’t know when, and we’re pretty much crazy busy until after our honeymoon. So bear with me – I promise after October I’ll have some juicy posts for you to enjoy.

Here’s an update on life:

VEGAS: We just got back from celebrating Fiance’s dirty 30 in Vegas! We had an awesome time and met seven other friends in Sin City to celebrate (two of which were also turning 30) so you can imagine that we had so much fun, that we would like to not return to Vegas ever again (okay maybe just for a few years). Oh – and I won Best Future Wife of the Year award by surprising Fiance with a Ferrari driving experience. I told him we were driving Go Karts so he wouldn’t get wasted beforehand ;) Seeing how happy he was after getting out of that Ferrari made me not feel so bad that I lost nearly $200 playing slots.

WEDDING PLANNING: Well, it’s mostly done. Now I’m starting to look at all the shitty details I don’t really want to contend with, like logistics. Okay I’m done thinking about this now. Next!

HOT YOGA: I’ve been getting my zen on. I’m in love! This has been keeping me balanced and sane, and in shape. I’ve been trying to slim down before my dress fitting next month. I’ve lost 15 lbs since the holidays and I’m nearly at the weight I was when I was running half marathons – granted I’m not as muscular or toned as I was, but I’m trying to get there one asana at a time ;)

5K: I signed up for a 5k! Don’t get so excited – I’m not running it. But I am walking it with my pups and fiance!

SHOWS: I’ve seen some pretty sweet shows since May – Radiohead (my absolute fave band!), Black Keys, and I’ll be seeing Fiona Apple next week! Speaking of Ms. Apple, what the hell is up with her new stuff? I absolutely love everything else she’s put out, but I don’t think I’m tortured enough to appreciate the wailing and screaming that assaults my ear drums on her new album. It has gotten rave reviews and I’m just listening to it with a confused look on my face. Maybe if I listen to it while slitting my wrists with a pink bic razor I would finally understand it. There are a handful of tracks I can get into, but I sure hope next week’s show delivers. I ruined the last Fiona Apple show I went to by getting so drunk that I almost got kicked out of the Chateau St. Michelle winery. Moving on… I’ve also seen Anjelah Johnson and Aziz Ansari live. I swear I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. It’s been an amazing year for entertainment so far!

BABY SHOWERS: This Sunday will mark my third shower this year and I know a few others who are preggers. Eerbody’s makin’ babies. I’ve been playing that celebrity baby name game so much that I will ban whoever throws my baby shower (if I decide to have kids – don’t excited, Mom) from playing it. (BTW, did you know Mike Myers named his kid Spike? And some actress I’ve never heard of named her baby Audio Science? And I thought I was screwed having to correct people on pronouncing my name.)

READING: I’ve been reading some amazing books lately. Right now, I’m enthralled with Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (or really anything by Barbara Kingsolver). She’s quickly becoming one of my favorite writers. This book has been getting me in touch with my inner hippy, and making me realize how disconnected we are from the source of our food. So I’ve been inspired to purchase organic, local, in-season foods, and eat healthier as well. I went to our local co-op with a new eye and appreciation for produce. My mom likes to tell people I once brought home a zucchini for her when she asked me to pick up a cucumber, and that I put cabbage on my sandwich instead of lettuce by accident. I’m learning, and this book is helping. And this is why Fiance does most of the cooking in our house. You can check out Barbara’s message by visiting the book’s website, although I highly encourage you to just read the book. The stories she tells are simply beautiful.

SAD NEWS: Poor Chika is getting spayed tomorrow :( I’m dreading it for her. Bowser was so miserable after he got neutered and was crying all night. I stayed up with him like a good mama and just cuddled with him. I hope Chika isn’t hurting that bad tomorrow. It makes me upset just thinking about it.

That's all for now. I have more blog posts pending...if I ever get around to editing them...

Home Repairs

Killer chinchilla is hiding in your shower drain.

Since we have illegal four-legged friends residing in our home (Really? Pet rent? We refuse to notify them based on principle), I try my darndest to fix things in our rental rather than call the maintenance guy. If the repair guy really needs to come, it involves having to find dog sitters, hide every dog-related item in the house, including the huge photos on our wall, or calling the vet to find out if our dogs have the right vaccines for a last-minute doggy day camp trip. It’s a hassle. It’s just easier not to bother the maintenance guy if I can do it myself.

So, our shower drain has been clogged for a good two weeks, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I’d been putting it off, and putting it off and finally I got a wild hair last night and declared, “I’m handling this problem once and for all!”

I triumphantly found a Phillips screw driver, some gloves and charged upstairs to tackle the drain. I felt all Rosie the Riveter and shit about doing what I consider plumbing. “We can do it!” I shouted in my head. I was only missing the red bandana.

Then I got to the drain.

I took out the screws, removed the drain cover and peered in. I saw something that resembled hair and attempted to pull it out. It just broke off. This wasn’t looking good.

“FIANCE!!!!” I had to scream fourteen times before he realized I was trying to get his attention. My Japanese heritage was tingling, so I asked for chopsticks to help with the plumbing issue. His dude brain heard BBQ skewers, which only broke off when I attempted to pull – it was foreshadowing of the mammoth substance I was dealing with. Once he realized that I seriously needed the girth of the chopstick, he obliged and brought me the tool that I’m sure most plumbers keep in their belts.

And then I dug a bit more. The chopstick started getting it out, and once I had it to a point where I could grab it with my gloved hands, I pulled. And then I gagged.

A Guinness World Record-sized wad of hair, covered in a year’s worth of soap scum emerged from the drain. It was about the size of a chinchilla (nearly a foot long, not including tail). And. It. Smelled. Like. Ass.

I immediately started gagging, and my eyes began watering. Even Fiance got grossed out.

I said, “We’ve been showering with water backed up from THAT! It touched us!”

It seriously took about an hour for the smell to leave our bathroom, and that was after I took the garbage out containing the beast. It smelled like raw sewage. I couldn’t believe something that behemoth was in our drain. Next time, the maintenance guy is totally getting called.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but some home repairs are best left to the pros.

Happy Birthday! I'm unfriending you.

You didn't get cake, because they forgot it was your birthday, because you didn't allow your facebook friends to see what day you were born. Really, it's your fault.



I bought into the facebook hype early on and I've witnessed the site’s transformation every step of the way. Before there were timelines, news feeds, photo albums, and options to upload the video of your first child being born, there were just a few personal questions to answer, and the option to upload one profile pic (you read that right: one).

There were no status updates, no cover photos, no photo albums of the last five epic vacays you took, no way to tell the world that you had the best effing burrito of your life, and no way to announce that you’re getting married so nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-boo-stick-your-head-in-doo-doo. Just a freaking photo, the name of your school, and the option to tell a closed network of college students that your favorite band was Hanson.

You still had to call your friends or have face-to-face interactions with people you wanted to keep in your life.

Even in its most simplistic format, I thought facebook was pretty darn cool. I loved browsing the profiles of my classmates, finding fellow recovering Hanson addicts, and connecting with high school friends who were attending different universities.

While I still login everyday to see what people eat, smell and think every five minutes, I have definitely changed my user habits as facebook has expanded. Most specifically in who I decide to “friend.”

“Friending” someone on facebook used to be as invasive as saying hello to a passing stranger. There was very limited information you shared with your “friends” and of course your true friends knew only what you ate for breakfast, what you’re thinking of naming your firstborn, and what time you put in your headgear last night. I used to friend anyone I met - random partygoers, guys I thought were cute, co-workers I worked with for five seconds. It didn’t matter - They didn’t have access to my life story with the click of a mouse.

But as facebook has grown, it has cheapened what information we determine intimate, and what friendships we consider valuable. Our connections have become increasingly artificial. Now any “friend” can discover the most intimate details that were once reserved for those in our closest circles. It’s to the point where we tell our true friends stories, only for them to interrupt and say, “I already read that on facebook.”

I’m still “friends” with people I wouldn’t normally give two shits about if facebook weren’t an option. So I began asking myself, why? If it doesn’t make a difference to me if your status says you “got caught picking your nose in the office” or that you “just had a baby,” we probably shouldn’t be “friends.”

I had “friended” so many acquaintances that I didn’t remember how I was connected to all of them. That’s when I knew it was time to purge my friends list. I went on an unfriending binge a few months ago (which felt so good - it was like hot yoga; the toxins were being released!), but a few stragglers remain.

And you know how I’m reminded to unfriend those stragglers? Their birthday pops up on my newsfeed. I think, “Oh wow. I didn’t unfriend them months ago?” Happy Birthday! I’m an asshole and I’m unfriending you! Honey badger don’t care.

My new criteria is, if I feel uncomfortable wishing you a happy birthday because we’re not that close, you don’t need to know that my dog lost a tooth yesterday, or that I got sick from the burger at a chinese restaurant, or that I hung out with my family over the weekend.  

And why are we hooked on such nonessential statements about life anyway? We are not only intrigued by sharing the inconsequential events of our day, but reading about others’ as well. The little things are what ultimately comprise our lives and some are certainly more interesting than others. We enjoy the voyeuristic aspect that facebook provides. Facebook has somehow tapped into our inner creep and made it all okay.

People willingly share all kinds of information about their lives, from birth to death. I have friends that have passed whose facebook pages are now tribute pages. Imagine that! We’re still connected on facebook in the afterlife.

I feel too far invested in facebook to pull the plug, and I do rely on it to stay in touch with even my closest of true friends, but I certainly understand other’s hesitations for not wanting to join the biggest social media network in the world.

Some have predicted that facebook is just a passing fad, while others tout its ingenuity and claim it's the wave of the future. I’m more apt to side with the latter, but I can’t do so without my criticisms.

Facebook is a great way to stay in touch with people you care about, and a great way to stay in touch with those you don’t. Ultimately, Facebook harbors artificial relationships and makes us feel more important than we really are. And who doesn’t love flattery?

People can like your statements, your political beliefs or the fact that you just farted. And with each like, it makes us feel more important, more popular. Facebook promotes a false sense of worth and importance. Just because 42 people liked that you thought the guy sitting by you on the bus smelled like ass, doesn’t mean that 42 people want to actually hang out with you and hear your thoughts in person. Seventy people liked that I was engaged and I can guarantee you that not even half of them will get wedding invites (and it’s not because we’re on a budget).

Truly befriending someone used to be saying, “I enjoy your company. Let’s hang out and have conversations in person and do fun stuff together.” In the online world, “friending” means, “I want to know what you ate for dinner.That’s all.” Facebook has turned us all into miniature (or in some cases, big time) stalkers.

Being my “friend” on facebook means that you get to see that I ate the best effing burrito of my life, in addition to all of these awesome benefits of a real life friendship. If you’re my “friend,” I want to hang out with you. And I don’t mean in Google+. I mean, hang out, like...for real. I would not be put off if you asked to go get coffee or do things that friends do. Facebook should be an added bonus to being my real friend - not the basis for our entire relationship.

So in that sense, if I unfriend you, see it as a favor (or birthday gift). I’m not wasting your time or invading your privacy, and I am preventing you from doing the same to me. Life is too short to harbor useless relationships. And facebook sucks up enough of our time as it is to realize we’re spending it stalking people we don’t care about anyway.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but facebook “friends” should really just be friends.

"This is My Skin Color."

I want these.

Behold – a super post! Sorry for my absence. Life got hectic. I’ll spare you my excuses. The bottom line is that I’ve written a post to satisfy your Sticks and Stones cravings:

I had some of the most jarring conversations about my ethnicity that I felt compelled to share. Recently, after meeting a person for the very first time, the first thing he said to me was, “You have such a nice tan! I wish I could get that dark.” (Note: I haven’t gotten a tan yet this season, being as I live in Washington. Twilight was filmed here for a reason.)

I replied, “Well, it’s natural. This is my skin color.”

He said, “Oh really?”

I said, “Yes, I’m black, Japanese and white.” End of conversation right? Wrong.

He says, “It’s totally the Japanese that makes you tan.”

I said, “Uh…or the black.”

He said, “Oh yeah, I guess that too.”

Unfortunately, that was the umpteenth time I’ve had that conversation. Most people stop right there and make some stupid comment about me not appearing black, or not “acting like it,” or “wow I never realized.”

What is it that makes people not believe me? And what do all of those comments mean? Why is it so mind-blowing that I’m black? If I appeared to be “more black” would they ask these questions?

And the conversation went on.

“I thought you were Native American,” he opened his mouth again.

“Well, I’m not.” I said.

Even though there are rumors on both sides of my family that we are part Native American, this would have just thrown him for a freaking loop. I don’t tell people this for the same reason I don’t tell people about my Hawaiian heritage.

“You look Native American. Do you get that a lot?” he asked. Oh how rude. How effing rude.

“Yes, I have, but I’m telling you, I’m not.”

“Do you know what kind of black you are?” Uh…what?

“What do you mean by ‘what kind of black?’ I’m African-American…” I’m obviously showing that I’m annoyed at this point.

“So, you don’t know who in you’re family was black?” he asked.

“That’s not what you asked,” I said. “My grandpa was black. My mom is half. I’m a quarter.” Why the hell am I explaining myself to this person? I’m not grilling him on his skin color or demanding a family lineage. Why does this seem like an appropriate conversation to him?

But then he said something that really pissed me off:

“Oh. Well, you don’t have curly hair.” he stated, as though it were proof I was lying about being black. WTF?! Sound the alarms!

I said firmly, “It’s called being mixed.” Seriously. What the fuck.

This concept of being mixed was so foreign to this person. It was blowing his mind in the worst possible way. So he had to assign a completely different ethnicity to comprehend my skin tone. I was trying to be patient answering his questions, but this person just caught me off-guard and I was frankly not in the mood to be all Mother Teresa about it. I just wanted to kick his ass.

I don’t understand why there needs to be some epic explanation for the color of my skin, and why the truth just doesn’t suffice for some. I find it interesting to discuss heritage, ethnicity and nationality, but that was totally the wrong way to go about it. That approach gets me defensive and makes me summon Muhana Ali rather than motivate me to share stories about being mixed. This brings us to our first lesson:

Lesson #1

If you must ask someone about their racial background, please use the phrase, “What ethnicity are you?” or “What is your ethnic background?”

Don’t ask, “What are you?” It sounds like you’re asking about a different species or creature. My response to that question is, “Homosapien. What are you?” And whatever you do, please don’t make remarks about skin tone. At all.

I had similar conversations in Puerto Rico a few months ago, when I traveled there for business. The businessman I was touring with (whom I had never met before) awkwardly blurted out at breakfast, “You’re dark-skinned. Is that natural or do you fake and bake?”

Why do people assume I just tan a lot? I don’t look anything like this:

Holy shit.

To be respectful (even though the question was asked pretty disrespectfully), I had to tour the island with this person for the rest of the week so I tried to respond as politely as possible. “If you’re curious about my ethnicity, I’m Japanese, black and white.”

“Oh.”

And that was the end of it. I tried to frame my response in the way he should have asked it. But I never feel compelled to ask somebody about their skin color. Ever. This just baffles me.

If the conversation seems appropriate, or if I feel comfortable enough with that person, maybe I’ll broach the subject about ethnicity eventually, but, as Lesson #2 reveals…

Lesson #2

I’ve found that everyone has different comfort levels in discussing their race and ethnicity. Tread this water very carefully, if you feel the need to do it at all. I’m sure there are others who would have happily entertained some these questions. I just don’t happen to be one of them. It’s incredibly rude to blurt out something about someone’s skin color to someone you don’t know. Even as a white person, wouldn’t you find it rude if the first thing someone said to you was, “My, you’re pasty!”

Lesson #3

I also want to make this clear, that people of all racial backgrounds have said things that have upset me (not just white people). People of all walks of life have asked all the wrong questions, and made ignorant comments or assumptions. It leads me to believe that as a country, we suck at discussing race.

I’ve had black people question “how black I am” or I’ve had just the opposite response, where I’m suddenly being treated more warmly after someone finds out I’m also black.

On the same business trip, I also had Puerto Ricans assume I was Puerto Rican. One person was speaking very rapidly in Spanish to me, and when it was clear that I had no clue what they had just asked, they said, “Oh what – you don’t speak Spanish?” with a total ‘tude.

I responded in Spanish, in the way that only a “person who learned it college and hasn’t spoken since” could, but there was no conversation about whether or not I was Puerto Rican or Latina – just an assumption that I was a “gringo.”

Lesson #4


I don’t want people to read this post and come away with the conclusion that being mixed is “hard on the kids.” I hate that argument so much it makes me turn into the Incredible Hulk. While you may have to have conversations with ignoramuses every now and then, being mixed is awesome.

I didn’t have an offbeat life because of my racial background or some crazy identity crisis. I’m American. I grew up eating McDonalds, watching Gem, wearing slap bracelets and imitating Steve Urkel like many kids of the 80s. I also have a deep love for sushi, seaweed, miso soup, greens, grits and cheeseburgers. But you don’t have to be a certain ethnicity to love Japanese food, soul food, or American food. These aren’t indicators of ethnicity – just good taste in food.

We all hold biases and preferences – it’s just a matter of knowing how to appropriately identify them and deal with them. I can only speak for myself and my own experience, but being mixed has broken down barriers in a way that has made me appreciate others differences and individual life experiences. It’s my favorite part about writing for a living; I love speaking with people who live lives that are completely different from mine, and finding out what challenges other people face. Being mixed has made me embrace diversity in a way that I hope everyone will someday.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but even the smallest comments can be the most divisive.

Siri = Infuriating

A symbol of love and loathing - not unlike the Confederate Flag.

I wrote more than a year ago that I was coveting an iPhone. Well kids, I'm excited to announce that I've crawled out of the dark ages and have achieved that year-long dream. I know, I know. I'm not unique. I've merely joined the club of Apple Fanboys and I'm not looking back! I also realize that somebody else probably wrote this post months ago when the iPhone 4s came out, or even years ago when smartphones came out, but this is relevant to my life today, so I just shut up and read. 

Anywho, I was still using that barely-operable Samsung Gravity I griped about last year. It was so out-of-date, that when we ported my phone numbers over, it didn't quite work and I got carpel tunnel having to manually correct each person in my contacts. Since I was still learning, I also accidentally called about seven people in the process. Sorry to those prank call victims out there, namely, my boss and other people I wouldn't ever call at midnight. There's a smartphone n00b is on the loose! 

Being the type-A personality that I am, the first thing I did was set up my calendar. For years, I've carried a physical calendar with me, and even manually balanced my checkbook. By the weight of my purse, you would have thought I was carrying around a chisel and stone tablet. Life suddenly seems more lighter, brighter and easier with iPhone. It would all would be perfect, if it weren't for Siri. 

Siri isn't as awesome as that Rock God commercial made it seem. In fact, I kind of down right hate her. 

We have such tense conversations. If she could just pronounce my name, it would solve at least 18 percent of the problem. It's only two syllables, really. But nope. She has to anglicize my Japanese name, and remind me of it when she's already talking me in circles. Take for example, a recent attempt at calling my mother. (Note: my mom was in my phone as Mom Cell. Oh. And her real name is not Roberta). 

Me: Siri, call Mom Cell. 

Siri: What is your mother's name?

Me: Mom Cell

Siri: What is your mother's name?

Me: Roberta

Siri: I cannot find a contact for Roberta. What is your mother's name?

Me: Mom Cell. 

Siri: I do not have that contact. What is your mother's name?

Me: Fuck you, Siri! 

Siri: Now, now, Hannah. 

Infuriating, really. So Siri has forced me to name all of my contacts by their real name. Who has their mom listed by anything other than "mom"? That seems blasphemous. 

My friend from Australia said they never use Siri because she can't understand their accent. Or they just turn on their best American accents and hope for the best. My friend Curtis also said that Siri calls him Cletus. Oh well. We can't all win. When they're high-tech enough, I'm going to make sure my next phone pronounces my name correctly, and speaks to me in Ebonics. That's going to be awesome. "What up, Han-dizzle?"

At my dogs' expense, I now understand why people get lost in the iPhone vortex. I also understand why my fiance has suddenly quit talking to me now that he has a new smartphone too. Normally, that would have irked me, but we just gchat next to each other instead. You can't use smileys and LOLs face-to-face. When else would I have an opportunity to use the secret poo emoticon?

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but at least Siri will help me find the nearest hospitable. Or think I'm asking for the latest hit from the Baha Men. Whatever. 

WINNING!

Soon I'll be living like a winner too. 

Charlie Sheen's catch phrase isn't something usually associated with me. I can lose your money in a casino so fast, you might as well just hand it all over to the bouncer before stepping inside. The only time I've won anything was was when I was eight, and I got a $25 gift card for winning a Safeway coloring contest. I was so ecstatic, that my dad has me on film running around the house screaming, "I won 25 smackers!"

Well lady luck was certainly on my side last week. It all started when I emailed a blogger at Seattle Metropolitan for a chance to win tickets to the Voila Wedding Show. I was ecstatic to find out that I was indeed the winner of these two free tickets (even if the total value was only $18), that I even told the blogger, "That's awesome! I never win anything!"

I attended the show with my future mother-in-law. She must be my lucky charm, because she helped me enter all the raffles and insisted there was a technique to folding the entry just right.

I entered all the contests my little heart desired and didn't think anything else of it. I already won the tickets there, wasn't that all the luck that was in store for me?

Well to my surprise, I got an email yesterday saying (drum roll please) that I had one the grand prize drawing, which was a free night's stay at the swanky hotel the show was held in! I was ecstatic! Free wedding night hotel - oh yeah! It's beautiful and the rooms look over Lake Washington.

But wait- there's more!

At the show, I was at a jeweler's booth, eyeing this beautiful wedding band that I didn't know I wanted until it entered my line of sight (oh and a ring for Fiance, I guess). Well, guess who just got a call with the news that they won a $50 gift certificate to the shop? Oh yeah! This guy! Free bling bling!!

My best friend was just telling me how luck happens in three's. Well, she was right!

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but take your mother-in-law with you anytime you have a chance at winning anything. Debbie, it's time to go play some Mega Millions!

Bowser and Chika's Cupcake Royale Adventure

What do you mean I'm a handful?

My favorite bakery hosts cupcake happy hour, where they sell a six-pack of cupcakes for the price of three. This joyous occasion only lasts for two hours, and is never on a consistent day, so you gotta go when they  announce it on their facebook page.

The magical words appeared online earlier this week, and because I swear they sprinkle crack into their baked goods, I've developed an insatiable addiction and had to go immediately. I had 30 minutes left before the deal ended. I didn't have time to force Chika into her crate, so I quickly threw the pups in the back of the car and sped off to the closest location 15 minutes away. Oh I wish I would have ignored the ad just this one time.

Chika and Bowser whined the entire ride there. Neither of them is too thrilled about the car. In fact, a car ride for them is as enjoyable as going to the lady doctor for me.

Once we got there, with only minutes to spare, they were out of the one flavor I had my heart set on. Strike one.

I got the rest of my weekly fix in a box, and got back in the car. I didn't get a mile down the road when I heard the dreaded sound of a puppy puking. I was driving our nicer vehicle so I immediately pulled over, knowing how meticulous my fiance likes to keep it.

I stopped to find what I feared the most: both puppies eating Chika's barf. It was all over their leashes, their harnesses and the door. I was trying not to freak out but I wasn't really doing a good job at it.

I had pulled into some decrepit apartment complex, and scooped the barf into the parking lot with the only plastic bag I seemed to have. The barf didn't really seem out of place there; it seemed expected in a complex of that caliber.

Luckily we had a seat cover in the back, so I cleaned it off as best as I could. With only one plastic bag, it got gross pretty quickly. I covered the rest of the backseat with the Mexican blanket.

Neither dog wanted to get back in the car, so their nasty, pukey leashes were getting all over me and my hands as I tried to wrangle them.

Once I finally got them in the car and got back on the road, Bowser decided to jump in the front seat with his pukey leash like a bad boy. I'm driving and screaming at him to get in the back, and of course, he is deciding to pull typical Shiba behavior and ignore me.

And then my damn foot cramped up. The worst it has ever cramped. It killed to push the clutch in, and then I hit rush hour. Strike fifteen. Murphy's Law just exploded in a matter of 30 minutes. All that for a box of $10 cupcakes.

Once I got home, I immediately devoured a cupcake out of stress. Oh well. At least Chika's so cute that she made The Daily Puppy today! She's internet famous!

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but no amount of cupcakes will negate car sick pups.

Cliffs Notes on Being Sleep Deprived and Drinking Wine

This bottle of cab quite literally had my initials on it. And it was worth the $10 extra I normally wouldn't spend on a wine (This $12 bottle is quite the deviation from my two-buck-chuck-filled rack. And dammit, I deserve it!). 

As you can tell, due to my lack of updating, life has been extremely busy. Since creativity has run dry and time is lacking, you will be graced with a cliff notes version of why I am running on E and using vino to refuel.

I went to Puerto Rico for a work trip last week! My photos are going to make it look like I was out vacationing, but these are the few I shots I can share that aren't work-related. While I was waking up at the equivalent of 2 a.m. PST everyday to start interviewing (I barely got to relax -- a true bummer), I got to see some amazing places, like El Castillo de San Cristobal. A "garito" is shown above, one of the sentry boxes that troops would use to spot enemy ships in the Atlantic. I also met some truly inspiring people, and got a chance to see a lot of the island in the short time I had. It was seriously one of the most beautiful and serene places I've ever been. Which is why I'm going back to explore the rest (one day)!

I also got to hike in El Yunque, the rain forest, which has a deep spiritual significance to Puerto Ricans. I guess not relaxing wasn't all that bad.

I had to celebrate the five minutes I did get on the beach by commemorating it with this photo. I got really self-conscious reading this book since I was traveling solo for part of my trip. Passersby probably thought I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Or that I was crazy because I couldn't stop laughing while reading it. I think Mindy Kaling is the Indian version of me. I was blown away by how much her life story resembled mine, all the way down to the Sound of Music re-enactments she did as a child. I recommend reading it while drinking a pina colada!

I also recommend getting a makeover to look like a true Boricua (the term for a native Puerto Rican)! Minus the stupid face. It was fun, but way more makeup than I'm used to wearing. 

  

In puppy news, Chika is on day three of being accident-free. Woohoo! Training the pups has been very time-consuming and my body is actually getting used to running on 5 hours of sleep and no more. 

 
Wedding planning is taking somewhat of a back seat only because it has to. My attention is split in so many directions, including planning events for my sister's wedding, that the last thing I really care to think about are headcounts and food. Although I do keep bringing home amazing cupcakes from Cupcake Royale (like the above Whiskey Maple Bacon...oh yeah. These are turning me into a frostitute). This bakery has been keeping me sane (but not skinny). 

 
Speaking of cupcakes, Weight Watchers has also been on the back burner too. Oops. Sorry Jennifer Hudson.  

Can you believe that's Bowser as a puppy? He looks like Chika. He's gotten so huge!

In more puppy noticias, I came home yesterday to find poop and diarrhea all over our house. My poor Bowsie got the equivalent of doggy food poisoning again. We're not quite sure what did it, but we did give him a pig ear for the first time the night before. It may have been that. I'm just glad it didn't take 4 hours to clean up and that the couch was spared (unlike last time). All I can say is, God bless the Bissel Spot Bot. 

Work has been super hectic, and staying on top of assignments is becoming quite the challenge, so I feel like I never escape the "go, go, go" mentality whether I'm at home or at work. Life just got a tiny bit insane. But hopefully it'll all calm down soon.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I'm going to quit writing so I can enjoy my glass of wine. Less blog, more wine! 

Pupdate

Best Buds...sorta :)

The pups are sleeping so I finally have time for a quick update! Man oh man did I forget how much work a brand new puppy is. Chika is super adorable, and her and Bowser are getting along better everyday. We got crappy sleep all week due to her unwillingness to adapt to her crate and/or hold it throughout the night, but it's getting better, and all part of normal puppyhood.

She is very sweet and loving, which was a stark contrast to Bowser who didn't let us touch him for months after we got him. But she is very vocal, barks a lot and absolutely abhors her crate. So much so, that she resorts to shiba screaming for hours while we're gone. We had to apologize/warn our neighbors, as we live in a townhouse and have shared walls. One day, it was so bad, that it incited Bowser's attack instinct and I had to prevent him from trying to kill her on Tuesday during my lunch break. Yeah that was a bad day.

Our wonderful trainer came the next day and told us that the pack instinct is to take out the weakest pack member, usually the dying, ailing or injured. If a dog even thinks it's dying it will wail, and can still incite this pack trigger. So Chika pretty much made Bowser want to kill her with her incessant wailing. We have a citronella bark collar shipping from Amazon so she hopefully pipes down while we're not home. The incident scared the bejesus out of me, but now that we have that settled, they get along well for the most part. I just have to be careful that their play doesn't get too mouthy, as she loves to bite his ankles. We certainly didn't get a submissive puppy - we landed another feisty Shiba!

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but cute Shiba puppies are lots of work (and lots of fun)!

Move Over, Jennifer Hudson

This actually happened to me this week. A happy dance ensued.

I've lost a little over 9 pounds since starting Weight Watchers! I noticed my big jeans were feeling very loose this week, even after throwing them in the dryer forever. So I decided to attempt squeezing into my old jeans that I was squirting out of over the holidays and I seriously did a happy dance in front of my fiance when they fit perfectly again. 

It's nice to know that a few diet tweaks can make a serious impact in losing weight - I don't have to work so hard lose it, like I did when I was training for a half marathon. It makes me wonder how skinny I would have gotten if I would have cleaned up my eating habits while I ran too! I was still eating pizza and all kinds of crap. 

I like Weight Watchers because I don't feel like I'm starving, and I can still eat most of the same things, just being aware of portion sizes and making healthier swaps when necessary. Only a little more than 3 more pounds until I'm at the goal weight I set for myself for my wedding :) Who knows - maybe I'll exceed it. 

So far, I've only had one week where I slipped up, and that was when I was indoctrinating my fiance in the ways of Cupcake Royale. We brought home a 6 pack of cupcakes, and let's just say, no crumb was left behind. That's why they'll be moonlighting at our wedding! 

In hip news, I went to my orthopedic surgeon this week for a follow-up. My left hip, which was operated on in September, is doing great, and I got the green light to bump up my activities to include the elliptical and training for hiking. However, due to the new pain in my right hip, I may be in the early stages of ANOTHER cartilage tear (#@$#$%%$&%%$#!!!). But it's not hurting as bad as my left one did, so I'm just going to deal with it until after our honeymoon and then see where I'm at. Oh well. Until then, bring on the hiking! 

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but getting healthy and losing weight can be done - even with gimpy hips! Suuuuun in the skyyyyyyy...

Here we go again!

She looks just like Bowser!

I thought about waiting until our new arrival was actually in our home, but I can hardly contain my excitement: We’re getting another puppy! Bowser’s sister to be exact. His mama had another litter and we’ve claimed the only girl as ours.

We have a list of names to choose from, so once we pick her up in about a week, we’ll announce the final choice then.

I’ve received a variety of reactions from people, mostly ranging from, “Whoa – a puppy and wedding planning, huh?” to “Are you nuts?!” to “Why don’t you just have real kids?” To which I answered “Yes!” and “Yes!” and “No!” (respectively).

The decision to add another dog into our family came by way of random email. Months ago, I had contacted the gal we adopted Bowser from because a friend of my sister's was looking for a Shiba Inu. She didn’t have any planned litters at the time so she said she’d contact me when she did.

I completely forgot about it, and in the meantime, I made a list of specific conditions under which we could add a second dog to our family: it had to be a rescue, no way in hell were we doing the puppy thing again, we had to have a house with a yard, it couldn’t be another Shiba, etc.

However, once I saw the email, I thought, “I WANT PUPPY!!” This list went out the window, and the email didn't even make it to my sister's friend.

I thought long and hard for about five minutes before calling Fiance. I was preparing mental notes, getting ready to engage in a debate. I called his work phone and simply asked, “Want another Shiba puppy?”

In typical situations, Fiance is the one who brings me back down to earth, meaning, I'll get an adventurous idea and he puts the kibosh on it before it gets out of hand. He would have said things like, “Well we are trying to plan a wedding, and it’s another expense we weren’t planning. Do we really have the time and energy for all of the training? Blah, blah, blah.” But to my surprise, the only answer I encountered was a very enthusiastic, “Yeah!”

And so there it was – Bowser gets a sister.

I’m most nervous that they’ll hate each other, and I’m sure it’ll be difficult at first. But ultimately, I think it would be good for Bowser to have another dog to play with. I know eventually they’ll be two peas in a pod, because we're going to train them to be that way. And if I've learned anything about dogs, it's that you can train them to do anything - even if they initially launch themselves off the couch and try to bite your dog trainers face off during the first evaluation (oh yes. Bowser's first meeting story is legendary with my trainers clients. But he's a sweetheart now - a testimony to the great work she does).

Apparently, this little pup is a real love bug: sweet, and good with kids. She doesn’t easily fright, but isn’t overly dominant. She pretty much sounds like the perfect Shiba. It already sounds like we're going to have an easier time with her than we did Bowser. I’m not too worried about puppy training since we actually know what to expect since we’ve been through it. We are also now well versed in the mysterious ways of the Shiba Inu.

You'll definitely be hearing about more adventures from a crazy dog lady! 

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but dueling Shiba screams may break my ear drums.

Mixed Chicks Chat

I had the best time talking with New York Times best-selling author Heidi Durrow and Jennifer Frappier today! I was a bit nervous before the call, but they quickly put me at ease. It wasn't necessarily the interview I was nervous for, but the format - I've never been part of a live podcast before, and there's certainly no take-backs if you say the wrong thing. But, as with every experience I've had outside of my immediate comfort zone, it was wonderful and I'm so glad I did it!

Of course, I always think of things I could have said after the interview was over (I'm slow with come-backs too), but oh well. That's what this blog is for! Stay tuned for more stories on the mixed experience ;o)

If you have 30 minutes to spare, click the play button above to hear my interview on the weekly podcast Mixed Chicks Chat! And certainly check out their organization - all I can say is - amazing!

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but conversations about race are essential!

Tune in, Wednesday, February 8!

This Wednesday, at 2 p.m. PST, tune into Mixed Chicks Chat! New York Times best-selling author Heidi Durrow, Fanshen Cox and Jennifer Frappier, who run this wonderful organization, will be interviewing me on their weekly podcast about my experience as a mixed-race woman.

It’s not something I’ve talked about a lot on my blog, but you may remember my hyper excited blog post about making this connection with Heidi a few months back, spurring from my post I Am American. Hear Me Roar.

I’m really looking forward to chatting with them. Since I write for a living, I’m used to being the interviewer and not the interviewee so this will be a new experience! Race and ethnic relations have always intrigued me – I even focused on it in my sociology major.

I won’t say much more – you guys will just have to tune in! In case you have to miss the podcast due to something lame like work, I’ll post links right here on Sticks and Stones after it’s published.

Happy listening!

A Rant About the Wedding Industry

I'm weird. You're weird. Let's get married!

Since planning our wedding, I've been glued to sites like weddinggawker.com and shows like Say Yes to the Dress and Four Weddings.

These are fun to watch, but I can only handle them to a point. I can't help but notice the ridiculous expectations these shows and sites tend to put into bride's heads. Say Yes to the Dress makes brides think that they need to have several thousand dollars to find "the" wedding dress, which is completely not true. I found mine for $550 (which still isn't chump change, but certainly nowhere near what these gals spend)!

The only thing I was really super picky about for our wedding was the photography. While we're not done planning, it's the biggest expense of our wedding thus far. Having amazing pictures to look back on over and over again was really important to me. But everything else? Meh.

As we discussed this expense in particular, my fiance said, "You know, if we spend this amount for photography, we're going to have to sacrifice it somewhere else. Like catering."

I said, "I'm okay with that. I just want really nice photos of us eating corn dogs." I laughed. He didn't. Okay we're not really going to serve people corn dogs, but I was just trying to make a point.

The show Four Weddings is particularly heinous. It involves four brides, who attend each others weddings and judge everything from the ceremony, to the napkins at the reception. It takes away the entire point of a wedding, which to remind some of you Bridezillas (another show I can't watch), is about the union and celebration of the couple. These shows make weddings all about having the right centerpieces, stemware and the perfect cut of USDA Choice Prime Rib.

While I understand that your guests should have a good time, all of that stuff is pointless. And that's the stuff that people start stressing about the most.

I want my guests to have fun. And guess what? They're going to enjoy themselves whether they drink out of plastic cups or crystal stemware, whether they have to get up and grab their food from a buffet line, or if it's served to them. We've even mulled over the idea of having a food truck come to our wedding. If I was on Four Weddings, I'm sure they'd deem that trashy, but I call it fun and unique!

Both my parents and my fiance's have expressed how surprised they are at the way weddings have evolved since they tied the knot. My parents had a simple church wedding, with a cake and punch reception, and fiance's parents had something similar. Both of our parents have been married for more than 30 years and they didn't need a lavish celebration to kick off that kind of longevity.

Now? The average wedding costs upwards of $20,000. And most couples don't have that kind of money. So what do they do? They go into debt to have the right stemware, glassware and USDA Choice Prime Rib. On top of that, there's a 50 percent chance that in five years, the couple will be filing for divorce. What a waste.

Sorry friends and family, we love you to pieces, but not enough to go into to debt for you. Our budget is about half of the average and we're saving every dime.

I've been enjoying sites like greenweddingshoes.com and offbeatbride.com which have some great DIY ideas that look nice and cost a fraction of other wedding items out there. Regardless of our budget, our wedding is going to be uniquely us, and a load of fun. I'm excited to walk down the aisle, eat some corn dogs, have fun with friends and family, and shake my groove thang until I can't shake it no more.

And if that's not your idea of a good time, you probably shouldn't attend our wedding. It'll help us stay within our budget anyway.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but our wedding will not succumb to ridiculous industry expectations.