I Blew It

So I finally made it back over to the Red Cross. I didn’t make an appointment, I just showed up. I don’t think I spent much more time there than I would if I had made the appointment. And I don’t know if I mentioned a prior post that you can’t really donate in someone’s name. You can donate for yourself if, for instance, you are undergoing surgery and may require a transfusion. But for the rest of us average Janes they just take your blood and some of it goes to hospitals and clinics for patient use and some of it goes to labs for experimentation, so who really knows where mine is going. Regardless, if it’s possible that I’m replenishing the overall blood supply on behalf of a loved one who has drawn from it in recent months in some rough estimation, that’s good enough for me. My primary reason for this tangent is that I really blew it this time. What’s the first thing they tell you to do when going in to donate blood? DRINK LOTS OF WATER. What did I fail to do today? DRINK LOTS OF WATER. In fact, in retrospect I drank very little over the course of the day, so besides a cup of chai this morning and some turkey noodle soup for lunch, I really didn’t consume much fluid at all. And boy did I pay for it. I’m slowly rehydrating but I felt pretty lousy when I left the donation center. And my arm actually hurts. That's never happened before. I suspect I'll have some fancy drug-shooter-looking tracks in the days to come. Thankfully, I’m off to loaf on the couch with a big stinky mutt dog any moment now. That usually fixes most things wrong with the world.

All joking aside, the moral of this story is DRINK LOTS OF WATER. Especially if you are charted to donate blood. Regularly drinking lots of water and donating blood are things you should be doing that anyway.

Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving!

As we speak I have just taken the bird out for its first basting-- 16 pounder (and change). Our guests are due to arrive in 2 or 3 hours. A small gathering this time around-- last year was my first meeting of the Dunn/Konigsmark clan in Atlanta. It was only a short year ago but seems like soooo much longer. We will miss seeing the Dunns, although we will not be the only ones absent from that reunion. And of course we will miss the Aalens who are gathering in San Marcos, TX for fried turkey at Uncle Ace's house. Lots of people scattered this year. Rachael and Andy will be in Cleveland, Damon & Pam in Chico, CA.

Much love to all who, if not at our table, will be in our thoughts and in our hearts.

Cheers!

And This One Time, At Band Camp

I tried to make another appointment to donate blood today, but they were booked. I could’ve wandered down to the Red Cross after work and hung around until an appointment was open, but I had to pick up the girls at daycare by 6:00, and there was no guarantee I would be back in time. Let me clarify when I say ‘the girls were at daycare”. We don’t have human children. I’m referring to our two lab/heeler mutts going to doggie daycare. It’s just occurred to me that I’ve officially become a yuppie. Not that I’m any more or less a yuppie than I was, say, a year or two ago, it’s all just become more apparent now. But hey-- least I make my own café latte at home on the Via Veneto instead of buying Starbucks. Wait….

We got a maid service for the house, too. We haven’t even tied the knot yet and it has already saved our marriage. We really don’t have anything to argue about anymore---we have come full circle. We’re only in a year deep and nothing to bicker about. This could get interesting.

Thanksgiving is only two days away and it’s 63 degrees outside. Now that is phenomenal. Oh, and worth mentioning is that we almost had a random crisis today. Our travel agent emailed to tell us there was a glitch with our honeymoon itinerary. As I scanned the email in an almost full-on panic, I relaxed as I realized what the problem was. Apparently, New Zealand Air has changed their scheduled flights in and out of Rarotonga to certain days of the week. As a result, we will have to stay an extra day and night in paradise. Needless to say, we are both crushed.

Finally, as I write I must mention that a large brown dog is snoring in my ear. We are talking full on lumberjack chainsaw next to my head. She sure is cute, though. The dog is on the couch, while I sit on the floor. So yeah, I’m a yuppie. Sue me. And then go fetch some bottled water for me and the pooch.

Make Your Dog Happy And Go To Yappy

All of the hep cats and cool dogs will be at Yappy Hour Thursday, November 30th at Butterfly in the Gateway. A benefit for No More Homeless Pets in Utah.

Don't miss Yappy Hour in the Grand Ballroom at Butterfly in the Gateway on November 30th. It will be a fun-filled night of food, drink and Salt Lake City’s hippest live auction. Well-behaved canines are welcome to spread their wings at the VIC (Very Important Canine) Lounge. In the VIC, your pooch can get that perfect pawdicure or meet with our pet psychic to finally answer those burning questions like “Where did I bury that bone?” and “Who keeps putting the lid down on my water bowl?” Tickets are just $35 and include all your tasty food and drink. Limited tickets are available so hurry. Last year Yappy Hour sold out so don’t miss Salt Lake’s coolest party for you and your pooch.

The event is a blast and sold out last year—get your tickets while the gettin’s still good by calling (801) 364-0370 or vist: http://wwww.utahpets.org where you can purchase your tickets securely online.

The Stars At Night Are Big And Bright

Jon & I recently celebrated a landmark in our relationship. One whole year. And what a year! He surprised me with a dozen red roses & a pair of tickets to see Robert Earl Keen. The roses were beautiful, but the tickets are more meaningful to me than I can probably convey.

First off, it’s meaningful because it was a complete surprise—I didn’t even know REK was coming to Utah. But more importantly, Jon despises country music, and it was his idea to go…just for yours truly. Robert Earl isn’t traditional contemporary country music, though. Huge folk influence, some jammin’ guitar, fiddle and the like, and some good old fashioned lyrical story telling. I’m not an avid country music fan by any sense of the imagination. I’m certainly not averse to it, but I wouldn’t even consider myself an enthusiast. The fact of the matter is, a piece of my heart belongs in Texas for a variety of reasons. Among others, deep family roots, and fields of vibrant bluebonnets.

I call on early memories—good and bad—that have contributed significantly to the formation of my identity. The inner Texan in me exists. It is and will continue to be a part of me, so I choose to embrace it. Whenever I hear Robert Earl, I fondly transition to a simpler place, a place I have been many times, a place I likely will never again encounter with any element of joy. No glitter, no glitz. Just dust and cobwebs now. In reality, very little was ever there --except some people about whom I care a great deal. I can’t physically reach out to them as I would prefer. So instead, despite the wistful melancholy, I choose to embrace the tunes of a storyteller from somewhere in Texas.

Blogstipation?

Okay, okay, so I’m not such the prolific writer I thought I was. That being said, a lot has happened over the past several weeks.

For starters, last week we played out our own version of ‘Meet The Fockers’. Funny as that sounds, there were actually no surprises and everyone got along famously. Jon’s father, step mother, and sister all made the trek from Atlanta to SLC. We were honored and flattered that they traveled so far to attend our engagement party. Several of our friends here in town couldn’t get off their asses to travel the 20 extra miles to my friend’s beautiful mountain home in Wanship for the occasion. I’m not talking about the folks who couldn’t attend because they were out of town, etc. I’m talking about the people that overtly chose not to join us. But that’s all I’ll say about the losers of that deal because we really had a lovely time and I can’t thank my girlfriends Brooke & Barb enough for organizing the majority of the festivities, along with our other friends Syd and Missie. Everyone who came had a great time and we are really honored and grateful to have such wonderful friends and soon-to-be blended family. We both majorly lucked out in the ‘in-law’ department, and I’m still not sure what exactly we did to deserve that.

The weekend kicked off with Jon’s folks arriving around noon. We picked them up took them on a quick spin around town, then brought them out to the house to show them where we live and to meet all the furbabies. We took them to Trio for lunch. It was ok, as Trio usually is. Nothing spectacular, and of course it was loud & crowded, but it worked. We dropped them back at the Marriott to register and get settled in, and we went home to take a quick snooze. We had dinner reservations for 7:30 at Faustina, which is probably our favorite restaurant in town. Jon had gone to the liquor store the day before to purchase a bottle of champagne for us to toast with at dinner. He went a little crazy and bought a bottle of Moet, which was nice. We had also agreed that we would pick up the dinner bill far in advance so that there wouldn’t be any squabbling over whose father paid and whose father got their nuts chopped off, so to speak. We spared everyone the awkwardness and chopped off both sets at the same time. The dads were pretty pissed off at us, but that’s not anything we haven’t dealt with (some of us more than others). We told them that if it meant that much to them then to just add it on to the tab they’re each already pitching in for the wedding. Ha!

Dinner was great. A little slow going at first but after the first glass of champagne things rolled merrily right along, and after a while in true Aalen-Dunn fashion no one could get a word in edgewise because everyone else was chatting away. It was great. We also presented both sets of parents with a framed 8x10 photo we had just had taken during our engagement photo sitting. (Which is another tale entirely)?

Halfway through dinner during a smoke break, Jon got a text message from Rachael. We knew her flight was delayed but we had no idea exactly how delayed. She sent him a quick text saying they were taking off and that the ETA was now 1:15 a.m. Ouch! Ordinarily would not be a big deal but we had a huge day ahead of us on Saturday, so that was a bit of a drag.

Dinner wrapped up with dessert and the much anticipated bickering over the kid-paid bill, but after all was said and done, the evening was, in my estimation an enormous success. We said our goodbyes, my folks headed home, and we drove over to the hotel to drop off Jon’s folks for the night. We came home and checked the Delta website and watched in eager anticipation as Rachael’s plane flew s-l-o-w-l-y across several states until finally reaching Utah. It was 2:00 a.m. before they finally landed. We drove up to the curb and scooped Rach into the truck full of the drooling welcome wagon (we took the doggies with us to the airport). We came home and of course no one was in the mood to go right to bed so we visited and looked at old photos Rachael brought. Finally we turned in around about 5:00 a.m.

Saturday we picked up Jon’s folks and took them to Squatter’s for lunch. That is where we will be holding our rehearsal dinner so we wanted to give them a taste. Midway through lunch Jon got a call from the Governor’s assistant who informed us that our walk through at the Governor’s Mansion had been pushed back for a few hours. We met my folks at the Wells Fargo Building and our caterer, Mysha, with Panache escorted us to The 23rd Floor, where our reception is being held. My parents had both been to events at the venue before so they knew what it was like, but I think Jon’s parents and sister were pretty surprised how nice it was. Not surprised like they didn’t expect it to be nice, but surprised like it was more spectacular than we could have described. Afterward, we reconvened at the Gov’s and did a walk through the first and third floors with all the folks. (The second floor is the Gov and family’s private residence). My mom was especially enamored, as I expected. She has been in love with Victorian design and architecture for as long as I can remember. I took a bunch of photos, but in all honesty they likely did not do the interior of the building any justice. I didn’t take them for display, or publication, but more planning & design although we aren’t really going to do anything but carry our own flowers and have a string quartet in the ballroom.
After our majestic tour of all venues wedding related, everyone split up to get ready for the evening. We once again picked up the Dunns and headed up the mountain for our dinner party. When we arrived the place looked fantastic. Barb, Missie, Brooke & Syd were all running around hurriedly putting things in place. I must say I felt a bit out of place not being on the hostess side of the party. All the parties we’ve had there I have had a hand in preparing for. Not this one. They wouldn’t let me pay for anything either, which is annoying. Jon & I escaped to the back deck for a quick break and agreed how surreal it was to be the guests of honor. It was kind of a little bit shocking. I think it just was finally sinking in just how cared for we are by our friends and families, and how big of a deal this wedding business is. And we’re still 5 months out from the big event! Despite our shared state of awe we managed to choke down several glasses of champagne during a toast in our honor when my lovely parents shared some charming stories about yours truly. Even David Dunn did not pull out the proverbial ‘legend of the toadstools’ (thanks a lot, dad). Overall, though, the fam and friends were very gracious and wished us well on our shared journey. And yet, we’ve only just begun