Miller High Life

Until last weekend I hadn't seen Jen since I met Milo. During the swirl of events leading up to her wedding, I got to see her on an almost weekly basis, but since that's died down and she's shifted from Miller to Kelly and been running marathons and adopting cats like some kind of addict, our visits had become way too infrequent.

So, this past weekend we planned a little girly get-together in Cincinnati at Jen's house, where the kitties make you want to steal and the main ingredient in all the food is love. I've visited Jen everywhere she has ever lived, and every time I look forward to it like it's a vacation. I know I'm going to sleep in a bed cleaner than any bed I've ever slept in, eat delicious foods made from scratch and come to know a relaxation that my chaos coping mechanisms won't allow.

It's a little joke between us that the only thing missing from Jen retreats is the chocolate on the pillow. Well, this weekend, Jen had even paid attention to that little detail.

Let me just tell you how it started. I clunked around Saturday morning in a rush to get some work done and get out of town. I left a mess of a dollhouse in the corner and undone dishes in the sink, threw my toothbrush and some clothes in a shopping bag, and hopped in the car. To go from that frenzy state to a Jen state literally lifts the fog out of your mind.

I walked into Jen's house, which is remarkably comfortable despite its pristine state, and was greeted by the smell of homemade minestrone soup on the stove top. And, since that just wouldn't look pretty enough in a bowl by itself, Jen had baked up a fresh loaf of basil beer bread to go with it. She'd also already been on a 7 mile jog that morning.
To recap, I had sat on a computer, grabbed my toothbrush, and driven to Cincinnati in the same time Jen had run 7 miles, made a homemade soup and baked a loaf of bread.

While the bread was finishing baking, Jen pulled out some veggies and prepped a breakfast casserole for the next morning. I drank a V8.
At that point I asked if she wanted to marry me and Mack and be our wife. Or, if Mack was a deal breaker, would she just marry me and bring Milo to replace Mack?

Lucky for Mike, she's happily married.

Since I've been having kitty fever, a condition which can be directly blamed on Jen, I was super excited to also visit Milo and meet Daisy (of Love). Since kitty sitting Milo, Mack and I have joked that when we do get a cat, we need to send it to Jen to get it the right way. We will ruin it. We ruin anything we're supposed to take care of for more than 12 consecutive hours.
Those two cats. That's all I can say. They lick each other and wrestle each other and vie for the seat in front of the back door and play tug of war with a shoe string. They are Pete-and-Repeat at ridiculous proportions. Daisy would lay on the window sill, which was barely big enough for her tiny body... Milo would lay on the window sill, with half of him resting lopsided on the back of the couch.
The kitty watching was a blast, but we did venture out of the house to go to the Art Museum and see the impossible things people do with wood. Then we went to the Krohn Conservatory and learned about bonsais. Then we went out for Thai food. Finally we retreated back to the Jen Inn and got down to the serious business of relaxing with a glass of wine while watching a funny movie.

Finally, I got some Jen time.

Happily Ever After

Once upon a time a darling young accountant named Jen met a wild party animal named Mike through some mutual friends at a dinner party. Jen was in the final phases of chemo for a condition called CLL, and while she'd always been a social butterfly, she was more focused on getting better than she was falling in love.

But that's the way love is. It smacks you upside the head and turns you silly in the course of a single game of flip cup, and the next thing you know you've made an appointment to spend a Saturday morning looking like this while going to get fake eyelashes.
I spent Jen's wedding weekend enjoying dainty tea parties, jubilant rehearsal dinners, chronic smiles and a serious case of flailing white girl arm during an open bar reception. And even though I would have preferred not to sob into a bouquet of flowers as Jen made her way down the aisle, I was thrilled to see one of the people I love the most in the world find her number one.

photo by Clay "The Man" Jackson

Jen and Mike turned lovestruck into something beautiful and timeless. Congratulations to both of you and I wish you all the joy and happiness you deserve.

The Night Jen Became a Man-Eater

One week ago today, Jen and 7 of her gal pals hit the streets of Louisville for a fancy dinner and a night on the town. Because I am a brat, I told Jen via text message that I wasn't going to be one of those 8 gals, ruined her day, and then showed up out of the blue while she was getting her nails done.
April & Whitney, Jen's former roommates from UK, had booked us a couple rooms at the 21C Hotel in downtown Louisville and made dinner reservations for us at the swanky restaurant next door called Proof. Everyone who didn't have to pack clothes for the next 6 months in a single suitcase got all dressed up and beautiful, and Jen even debuted fake eyelashes for the occasion.

Then out came the champagne. The pasties. And the crotchless underwear.
At 7:30, we headed into what would be named "The Gone with the Wind dinner" by Christina, one of Jen's sorority sisters who has incredible eyes and a reliable stash of Chex Mix. Three hours of nibbling and waiting and being a little ignored later, we stepped out into the street and let the wind quite literally push us to 4th Street Live and the Maker's Mark Bar.

Here's where things turn kooky.

Now, I've only been to a couple bachelorette parties. At Heather's, we all dressed up like cowgirls and went to a honky tonk bar and rode the bull and drank beer with penis straws and hired a gross man stripper and did the two-step with ugly guys. At Megan's, Liz and I sat at the bar at Marikka's while Megan enlightened us on the value of balancing your checkbook. Even with my limited experience though, I know that the bachelorette party is supposed to push the bachelorette out of her comfort zone... if for no other reason than she'll be spending the rest of her life there once she's married.

So while everyone was classily sipping their Bourbon cocktails (except for a very brave and pregnant Tara), Kara, Jen's friend from UK and my friend from Spanish class, and I decided we needed to spice things up. We decided Jen needed to get 30 kisses on the cheek from 30 different guys before she could go home and call it a night.

The first guy I asked said he couldn't because his girlfriend was right there, but I asked her if it'd be okay, and she said sure. One down, 29 to go.

At one point Jen power grabbed every guy who passed us by and pushed his lips into her cheek. It was then Kara and I realized we probably should have attached a consent clause to the 30-Kiss Challenge.

While the man eating was fun and definitely shifted the evening from regular girls' night out into bachelorette party mode, the real good times started when Jen clamored up onto a bull in a honky tonk bar full of shame. Yes, she objected at first. Yes, she tried to negotiate. Yes, she whined. Yes, she refused. But when push came to shove, that bachelorette climbed her coiffed side braid self up on that mechanical beast and held on for dear life.
Seeing Jen on a bull. That was way better than watching her collapse under the weight and sloppiness of a stumbly bachelor in the middle of the street who was one of her 30.

Thanks for being a good sport Jen (& Mike). Hope you had a good time. And the best part, you never have to do it again!