I’ll Drink to That

Men are proud beings.

They take pride in their work, and bask in the glory of completing a task by standing beside said task and bullshitting about it with their buddies. There have been many times any combination of Jack, my Dad, brother, and brother-in-law have done just that. The project doesn’t have to be lengthy, costly, or even manly to qualify for post-project celebration.

One such instance was the building of our wedding archway. The girls were inside the house getting tipsy on jello shooters prior to the stagette, and the men were hanging out in the Quonset conversing about the most architecturally sound design for the reclaimed barn wood arch. As far as I could tell, this banter lasted approximately two cosmopolitans before the work commenced. In no time, a beautiful piece of art emerged from the darkest shadows of the shed; while the wedding angels shone down from above.

Of course, I did not get to examine the arch until the next day when those cosmopolitans were resurfacing, and the aura around it could have potentially been a migraine.

What I know for absolute certain was the boys drew straws on who had to come pick us up from the stagette and I’m guessing it had to do with one of the following scenarios:

Project Supervisor: “That was hard work. Let’s have a beer.”

Project Co-Supervisor: “Look at how the pieces of wood fit together so perfectly. We deserve a beer”.

Project Co-Co-Supervisor: “We nailed it, now let’s get hammered.”

Boys, I’ll drink to that.

I am in love with our DIY barn wood wedding archway! I'll drink to that!

I am in love with our DIY barn wood wedding archway! I’ll drink to that!

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How to Build An Easel

Like a fine wine or the whiskey that shares his name, Jack gets better with age. As his beard grows longer and more fruitful, he adds to his trades and becomes handier. It is tough to fathom how his projects have such positive outcomes when he never plans and only measures half the time. I’m not necessarily talking about quality of workmanship, but he has a hell of an imagination, will get the job done faster than anyone I know, and is not afraid to spend a few more minutes hiding flaws and presenting his masterpiece as though it were professionally crafted.

Our detached garage seems to be stuck in a sink hole and last spring it was floating. To remedy the problem, Jack dug a small ditch last summer and installed eaves troughs on our garage a few weeks ago. Originally the eaves troughs were laid on the ground to catch the water, and a guidepost (that was in his truck from work) was attached to the end of the trough as an extension. Eventually, he installed the system properly, but I bet if I paid the garage a visit I would notice another impressive “McGuiver “ situation.
Jack is a solution man. I have been troubled by the logistics behind showcasing a piece of barn wood wedding artwork that Put-Put gave us for Christmas. I am lucky that Jack was feeling particularly crafty the other day, because not only did he throw together an easel for me, but he successfully solved my seating chart predicament.

How To Build An Easel
by Jack of Most Trades

1.) Cut down a tree with a chain saw.
2.) Cut tree into approximate 6, 3, and 1.5ft lengths. No, don’t measure.
3.) Make a letter “A” with the tree.
4.) Drill screws into wood.
5.) Hide screw holes with an entire roll of jute twine.
6.) Add tripod.
7.) Hold tripod up with more jute twine.
8.) Proudly present easel to your girlfriend as “rustic”.

As much as I joke, I was impressed with Jack’s throw together project this time. See?

(Note: he did not make the sign; he’s not THAT crafty)

Pretty! If you look closely, you can see the eaves trough in the background.

Pretty! If you look closely, you can see the eaves trough in the background.

Wedding Numbers

How to Give a Piggy Back Ride

How to Give a Piggy Back Ride

I wrote this the other day because I KNEW I would be too hungover to function this week.Thanks, pre-stagette Lady Leisure. . . 

Over the past two years of being engaged, wedding shit has ruled (ruined) my life.

I now belong to 20 Wedding-related Facebook Groups; one of which I proudly Administrate.

I have crafted approximately 100 tissue paper flowers, 40 invitations, 30 guest favours, 15 silk flower arrangements, one popcorn bar, a thank you banner, and a partridge in a pear tree. We’ve got a barn wood bar and archway, mason jar chandelier, 17 tree slices, 6 table runners, and one fake wedding cake constructed by the hands of my annoyed loved ones. My friends and family can barely tolerate me at this point. I feel the same way about myself.

I decided on my perfect dress about a year and a half ago. This decision became reality when my Dad tagged along one day and cried at the first dress I tried on. (And I have proof. I have in my possession a photo of me in THE dress looking in the mirror at my Dad bawling in the background).

Okay tears, you win. Obviously this is the dress I’m getting. 

If he were present, the guy would have undoubtedly cried when I tried on the princess ballerina-ball gown-from-hell that made me look and walk (and feel) like a white fluffy minion. Thankfully, I attended that appointment by myself. No matter how convincingly my store consultant “ooh’d” and “aww’d” over how the unicorn sparkles brought out my eyes and explained how “Every girl deserves to feel like a princess on her wedding day,” I was not fooled.

Shut up. Unicorns don’t even exist. 

Lucky dress number 50 is the one my Daddy chose and I’m curious to know if maybe he forced the tears to end my dangerous obsession. I am only estimating when I say I test drove 50 dresses; I always downplay this one because people raise their eyebrows when I tell them it was more like 75. I shopped till I dropped at ten to twelve bridal shops across the province. It was an addiction; I am a recovering dress shopping addict.

I like the dress. It’s pretty and brings out my figure and shit. Would I ever want to shop that aggressively for wedding gowns again? I’d go tomorrow, next week, when I’m too old to walk, even when my daughter gets married.

Shh, darling, Mom wants to try just ONE more on, THEN it will be your turn.

I apologize in advance to my future daughter who will be unfortunate enough to receive my genes. She’s got some grandiose wedding numbers to “try” to shatter. On second thought, I apologize to my future daughter’s future husband. And my future husband.

Jack, I’m sorry for my OCD (past, present, and future).