"I might drink a lot of gin tonight and then barf"

It is our last night in Houston and I have decided to finally blog. Kimber has been trying to get me to do it all week, but I have been too busy sleeping, reading trashy novels, and drinking - there has been no time for witty blogging. Until now. It is currently 8:30pm in the Lone Star state and we are sufficiently buzzed, full of tex mex, watching Anchorman, and "packing". I'm actually having difficutly authoring this blog because Kimber is dancing around our handicapped room, G&T in hand, stopping every once in awhile to 'get low', and throwing clothes into her oversized suitcase. It's quite a sight. I'm trying to capture it on camera now...but I digress...
So on our last night, here is what I have learned about in the last four days about the great state of Texas:
1) It is surprisingly hard to find a shooting range: Early on in our trip we made a list of things we wanted to do in Houston, and at the top of MY list was "shoot guns". Because, though I'm a die-hard pacifist, I figure the only way I'm ever going to have an opportunity to shoot a gun would be in a visit to one of the confederate states. At the rehearsal dinner we started asking people where we could find a good shooting range - we got a few suggestions, and the next morning I googled "shooting ranges in Houston". After searching several webpages, many of which had startling sound effects, we realized most places don't just let you show up once and shoot. You have to go through lots of expensive lessons over the course of a few weeks (lame) before they hand over the guns. Last night, Erica's dad asked, "Did that Kimber ever find herself a gun?" To which our new bestie Jess had to answer, "unfortunately not." Bummer.
2) Icehouses are amazing. See our last post. It was the pinnacle of our trip. Enough said.
3) Texas really prides itself on chain restaurants: There's really nothing better than a good "Maggianos" or "Cheesecake Factory". Foodie that I am, I still enjoy a good family style Italian meal or oversized chicken fingers platter. However, living in Philadelphia, with all the good local eats, you never have an excuse to actually go to a good chain restaurant. In fact, mentioning the desire to want to go to one will inevitably cause your friends to make fun of you - even though you know they want a peanut-butter-chocolate-chip-double-cheese-cheesecake from "the Factory" just as much as you do. Here, there are no other options. Hence why we had a brunch the size of 3 meals this morning at the mall food court.
There are lots of other things I've learned during our vacay, but I'm getting tired of this blogging thing already, and need to go to bed - because it's already 9pm here, and wooohhhwheee, I need to get to bed for our early flight!! Also, because Kimber just screeched across the room,
"Did that bitch-ass housekeeper throw away my cinnamon roll??!!" And that's the last memory of Houston that I need.
Goodnight all, see you back in the city of brotherly love. If you're lucky, we'll blog again at the airport before our 7am flight. So far, it's not looking likely, but you never know.
Mamie

"A child just got off a Harley."

When I told my friend, Chadd Johnson, that I was going to Houston he sent me a text that said, "West Alabama Ice House!" I didn't ask what this was about. Luckily, fate brought clarity...



Tonight was possibly the best night of our lives, however, we words cannot quantify or contain the West Alabama Ice House in Houston, Texas. We won't try. We can't. Just know that this place is magical. And the hot dog man works only on tips.




The band. The hot dogs. The dancing. The tab that was $15 for 6 beers.



We were lucky enough to see the future of ourselves at the Ice House.




Mamie, you see, has sweet moves and even sweeter shoes. She's very friendly and actually came over to the current Mamie to ask for a dance. I, on the other hand, have dyed my hair blonde and gone for the pig tails at 40 look. I'm also happy to report that I've finally found true love with a bald chubby white man. Yes, this is my destiny.

Jenn Richards, we were able to find you in ten as well. In true Jenn fashion, you bought a loaf of banana bread from the rehab folks, but you passed on the tamales. Always responsible, you tipped back your booze, read your magazine, sat close to the band and watched me dance-- clearly jealous of my sweet moves.


Molly, I love your new tattoo. But when you've got a piece of art like that on your ankle you should wear socks that let the world see that baby.






Unfortunately, none of us was able to go home with Mike, here. Good news is he clearly lives in Fishtown so I'll be sure to look for him on the corner with his feet in the kiddie pool.

"I turned 30 and began reevaluating my life..."

Jesse Balis-Harris has been on my case about updating this blog more often. I can't be held to this level of expectation, JBH. We've been very busy getting sunburnt, tipsy, tired and emotional... sometimes all at the same time.

You see, yesterday morning we were the picture of a couple of 8-year-olds who had never stayed at a hotel with an underground pool. We were up by 7:30, bikinis on, hair in perfectly messy ponytails, and ready to sprawl out our trashy magazines, listen to Rhianna, and talk about boys. And then we realized that it was 45 degrees outside and we put on our pouty pants and marched, cross-armed, over to Tommy's Grill where we enjoyed a greasy spoon kind of breakfast before easing our pain at the nearby DSW.

With a new pair of shoes each, we sauntered back to the hotel, ready to brave whatever elements awaited us in order to get attain the perfect shade of golden for the night's wedding. Of course, with goosebumps on our skin the thought of slathering on cold lotion with our cold hands was unbearable. I mean, plus the UV rays don't work when it's cold out. Duh. We broke open the bottle of gin Mamie accidentally bought the day before, took the to-go cups to the pool, and within thirty minutes we were in our own southwestern heaven. There was even a 12-year-old girl playing "Rude Boy" on her phone near enough for us to sing along and far enough away for us to discuss how fully appalled we are at the lyrics. Not so secretly we wished she would've had it on repeat. And if you ever happen to find it on my itunes it's because someone else downloaded it. Stop judging. Three and a half hours later we were fully fried. Cheers to a day by the pool.

Still a little tipsy and now jamming to some Luda on my computer, I was showered and ready for Jess to pick me up to go begin official bridesmaid duties. Mamie was "ravishing" (for the rest of us that's "ravenous") so we ordered a $31 pizza.

We're in Houston for the nuptuals that took place last night between my dear friend Erica and her most charming groom, Mark. It was a breathtaking affair on an absolutely gorgeous night in Houston. Erica was calm and collected all afternoon-- a perfect bride. Every last detail was considered and the entire event was picture perfect... from the homemade-by-Erica cookies in the favors to the spray painted miniature clothespins that held their guest quilt. As a bridesmaid in the wedding I had VIP seating during the ceremony and was witness to a nearly palpable exchange of love and committment. To watch Mark look at Erica brought full on tears to my eyes. It's exactly the way each of us wants to be looked at. Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Raggett on your blissful day.

Enough with the sweet talk, let's get back to the Bitter Betty we all know I am. After nearly crying again when fathers were dancing with their daughters, we joined the dance floor for some Michael Jackson. It's no surprise that we were wishing it was Justin Timberlake, but we enjoyed it enough to do a little in place bouncing and then we were headed upstairs to the bar. This is when we were lucky enough to enjoy a brief but weighty conversation with a fellow guest at the wedding. Seriously, the whole conversation start to finish couldn't have been more than 2 minutes and 13 seconds, but in that time our new pal told us that she "turned thirty and began reevaluating her life," which is why she has decided to leave med school in her third year of rotations. If you're reading this blog, you know I'm in a near panic about my damn birthday in less than a month. If I wasn't so dehydrated from all of the drinking, sunning and crying I would've ordered a shot of whiskey. Instead, I tipped back some water, we collected our things, and we were snug in our beds by midnight.

We're being picked up in less than an hour so I must go. I know you're dying to know about all of the excitement of today, but you'll just have to wait until later. Our apologies.

Also, Mamie was supposed to write this blog, but she keep bailing. Perhaps if you comment that you'd like a different author she'd finally put that damn Shopaholic book down and leave her blogging legacy.

xox.
krb

Small Victories

Early morning yesterday, as I dug through my big-enough-to-fit-a-class-of-preschoolers sized suitcase, a glorious thing happened. Well, mostly for me given that my full-out squealing disturbed Sleeping Beauty in her negligee. I found my chucks! I nearly hyperventilated and immediately reached for my camera to document this beautiful twist of fate until I realized that everyone already knows what white chucks look like and I should probably save the space on my memory card for more exciting photos like our dresses hanging in the closet. Small Victory #1.

This was the first in what will (hopefully) continue to be small and equally heart-poundingly wonderful victories. I also found my brand new tweezers (no Em, I didn't steal yours) in my purse and felt like I had really pulled one over on airport security. Small victory #2. Those were the really very small victories.

After successfully brewing two cups of coffee from bathroom water, we were off to the hotel gym. Small victory #3 would be that two treadmills were open right next to each other and man did we own those things. Three miles in a gym with absolutely no fans...only the warm, thick air from the sweat of businessmen in ill-fitting gym shorts. One mile in we were both sweating like a pair of humping wildebeests. (credit goes to google here. i actually searched "sweating like a..." and this was the least offensive thing that came up) Anyway, we made it out successfully and even did some exercises that resemble something Dwayner makes me do with the medicine ball. Later in the afternoon when I was helping the bride and groom set up for the rehearsal dinner, I impressed some Brits with my ability to single-handedly move Adirondack chairs. Whatchu got on that?

While I was impressing the Englishmen with my unparalleled strength, Mamie was completing what was effectively our very biggest victory of the day. Small victory #4. Let me set this up... We have a gorgeous pool at our hotel and we are the only folks there. Well, aside from one or two beached-whale businessmen who roll out after their afternoon meetings. On our first trip to the pool our hopes of being served fruity cocktails by a hunky poolboy were dashed when we saw the bar fully empty so we've decided to improvise. Since I was bridesmaiding, Mamie walked a good three miles to the nearest liquor store for a bottle of prosecco and accidentally got a bottle of gin as well. When asked how far the liquore store was, the conceierge said that it wasn't really walkable to which I replied proudly, "We are from the northeast. We walk," and I sent Mamie on her way. I'm still feeling guilt about this, so I'll be serving the role of hunky poolboy for the remainder of the trip and she will never mix a drink. This is clearly a victory.

The remainder of the day was spent at the rehearsal dinner with our new bestie, Jess, who was wearing the cutest belt I've ever seen. She's the one who is not Mamie or me in this here photo. We got to know the groomsmen and ate an unbelievable amount of "pudding." This is what the Englishmen call dessert. It was actually some layered delicious chocolate thing.

OH, I almost forgot about Small Victory #5! We stopped by the hotel bar for a drink because we just couldn't waste our cute dresses.



The bartender's New York accent lured us in and, clearly, we made friends with him. His name is Alex. He actually showed us 4x6 photos of his childhood home that he just keeps there behind the bar and told us colorful stories of his alcoholic/drug addict days. We also made friends with Patrick, a medical equipment salesman, who kindly bought our drinks because he appreciated what we do for a living. He did say that he has a friend who does that Teach America thing and had a gun pulled on her. I don't think we made him a steward of our movement, but letting the man buy us drinks was the first step. We told Alex we'd see him again on Saturday. Because we will.

Off to get the next layer of our sweet tans, we remain,

Kimber and Mamie

I just said "oooh weee!" We must be goin' to Texas!

Dear loyal readers and other folks bored at work,

Welcome to our vacation blog. Mamie and I kicked off our wedding tour last calendar year in Italy and you'll be glad to know that we're fully geared up for the wedding season here in the States. No doubt we'll be sharing the proverbial pen, but I'm going to need to start this one since Mamie is trying to figure out how to use all of the handicapped accessible facilities in the restroom while prancing about in her negligee. Note to reader: Mamie will argue that the strappy, short, cotton number with lace embellishments is not a negligee due to the fact that it's made from nature's fabric. She calls it a "night dress."

I digress...

I don't want to miss out on some of the more important moments of our trip up to this point.

1. We each ordered a light beer at the airport. They came out in 2 pint glasses. At that point we threw caution to the wind and decided to get some hash browns at Dunkin' Donuts to go with it.
2. We met Erica, the bride and also known as "Bo Peep," and the other bridesmaids at a charming establishment in the Montrose neighborhood of Houston. Less than one drink in we were met by a giant cockroach whose exoskeleton was soon crushed by Jess. Ten minutes later he was resurrected and dragged his semi-crushed hind quarters from our table with the brute strength only a creature that has lived through the Apocalypse could muster.
3. We made it to our super fancy hotel-- this will take more than a bullet point...

A couple months ago I became addicted to naming my own price for fancy hotels all over the US-- including, but not limited to my home city of Philadelphia. You'll understand our excitement when William Shatner let us know that we would be staying at the Hilton in downtown Houston for a sweet $60/night. Upon subtly clarifying for the man at the counter that we did, indeed, want two beds in our room we were up the elevator and to our home away from home, room 328. It didn't take two smart ladies like us too long to realize that our room is designed for handicapped people. We have learned some interesting facts about the challenges that folks with disabilities face and the accommodations that nice hotels like Hilton provide to mitigate these challenges. Accommodations like: closets with very low hanging bars, benches in the bathtub, and raised toilet seats. This may also be the reason why our "balcony" has a 4 1/2 foot high cement wall blocking us from any chance of dangling a limb onto the rooftop of the parking garage a mere 2 inches below. Don't take this the wrong way, folks, we're not upset or bitter. It's just that our dresses drag the floor in the closet and our legs dangle when sitting on the toilet.

It's 1:17 in our lives and we're turning in. Take this blog as an indication that we're thinking of you while on our wedding vacation and also that we like attention.

Pastey-white until tomorrow around 11 am, I remain,

Kimber