Dawson’s Creek 1:1

So, another year is upon us. And by that I mean simply that, “football season is back!” While we all know that I enjoy the whole Sunday ritual of donning various Pats paraphernalia, tossing chili on the stove and engaging in some serious smacktalk on Twitter, by the 8 o'clock game I'm usually done. Don't even get me started on Thursday and Monday Night Football. Unfortunately, the networks LOVE the Pats, and as such, we get saddled with an ungodly amount of night/national games this year. In the midst of this insanity, I have struck a deal with Andrew, whereby as long as the Pats aren't playing, I get to control the remote. What does this all mean? A marathon re-viewing of the standard for young adult television, Dawson's Creek, of course. (A lady has to have her happy place, y'know?).

I started two weeks ago. Coincidentally, I was about ten minutes into the premiere (and halfway into a glass of wine) when I felt the need to text Steph about how I never noticed how hot Dawson's dad is. This set off about ten minutes of running commentary from me. Right around the time I finished that glass of wine, I had the bright idea to record my analysis in perpetuity, rather than relegating it to 160 character texts. After a short marathon viewing session at my house on Thursday night, Steph convinced me to post my Dawson's Creek Premiere Recap here. It's really long because I don't have time to fully edit it, but it appears as though a lot of other bloggers are on the DC bandwagon lately, so here we go. Enjoy!

Dawson's Creek, Season 1, Episode 1
We open, of course, with fifteen year old Dawson Leery and his trusty femininely-challenged galpal, Joey Potter, watching a movie. Because when I was fifteen, I was obviously allowed to have boys not only in my room, but in my bed. For the love of all that is holy, I basically had Amy Poehler’s character from “Mean Girls” for a mother when I was fifteen and even she didn’t ok that right away. But I digress.

After musing over the injustice that is E.T. losing the Oscar to Ghandi, we find out why Dawson’s mom seems to have no issues with her hormonally-ravaged son hanging unchaparoned with the cute little thang next door: she has made a career of sporting ghastly 90s hair while delivering the nightly news and giggling flirtatiously at her over-coiffed co-anchor.

Dawson is mystified that Joey won’t sleep over, since, you know, he is blind to her unrequited love-crush and doesn’t understand that she has been ogling him awkwardly this entire time. Going with the whole early 00s theme of, “we really need to just talk everything to death,” she informs him that they can’t sleep together anymore because of their burgeoning adulthood and lusty natures. Katie Holmes is already so good at delivering the obvious with just the right amount of self-righteous indignity. “I have breasts! And you have genitalia!” Look, Jo, if we’re really being honest here, you should probably mention that unfortunate mop bucket on top of Dawson’s head. Get a haircut, you bum!

“I just think our emerging hormones are destined to ruin our relationship and I am trying to limit the fallout.” I credit lines like this for the fact that I didn’t have a boyfriend until my sixteenth birthday. Thanks a lot, Kevin Williamson. Dawson uses Joey’s tomboyish reputation to lure her into bed by threatening to call her Josephine. Oh, the horror! Our heroine falls (make that jumps) straight into the trap, in a not-sexual-at-all tickle match on top of the comforter. Take that, Dawson!

We cut to the original, weird opening theme song. This is not the legendary Paula Cole. I do NOT like this. I don’t like it one bit.

More weird song with same footage as classic theme. This is so bizarre. I got all amped up for my, “I DUN WANNA WAIT!” and it never appeared. I hate everything.

After what I remember being a long commercial break advertising Tamagochis or Jenga or JNCOs or some other awesome thing I wasn’t allowed to have, the show returns. Joey lounges on the dock while Dawson films Pacey, in full seamonster regalia, prematurely pulling Joey into the water. Dawson goes apeshit. “It’s a three count you gotta wait for!” he shrieks. What a pretentious douche.

One of my favorite Pacey lines ever, his very first of the series, as Joey climbs out of the creek:
Joey: “You did it again! You grabbed my ass!”
Pacey: “Like you even have one.”

At this point, mysterious new girl Jen arrives in a yellow cab and just nonchalantly strolls up to this motley crew of strangers, one of whom is dressed as a dripping seamonster. Nice. The boys act like pubescent assholes, Pacey making moderate sexual innuendos and Dawson forgetting how to speak, mumbling about God knows what. Meanwhile, Joey McKayla Maroney’s the situation and when Dawson says Jen’s changed, rolls her eyes and mutters, “puberty.” ZING!

P&D head to casa de leery and catch the parents en flagrante. Pacey makes a not so subtle attempt at flirting with Gail Leery, which I think is supposed to indicate some kind of foreshadowing. I’m not really sure because I've been too busy ogling Dawson’s hot dad. Pacey drools on the floor and Gail calls Mr. Leery “Mr. Manmeat,” to which I readily concur.

Because we need to establish some kind of backstory for the rough-around-the-edges heroine, we next see Joey arriving home. Her sister’s African American, living-in-sin boyfriend, Bode, walks out to let her taste some pasta sauce. Racial diversity alert!! A very pregnant Bessie then emerges from the house, bringing about our very first glimpse into what the producers of this forward-thinking show have deemed, “unsavory people.” Also the first time “orgasmic” is used as a totally unneccesary adjective. A true turning point in American culture, for sure.

Dawson and Pacey both work at the local video store. Awww, remember when we actually had to go to separate stores to rent stuff, rather than just streaming old episodes of decades-old shows directly to our wireless-enabled tvs? So quaint!

OMG the first Tamara scene. Here we have Pacey making a complete ass of himself as he attempts to flirt with this mature, sexual “older woman.” On first glance, I would probably peg her for 38, but then again, that’s about as old as the Leery parents look, so what do I know. The cheesy 80s saxophone music is killing me. The seductive voice, the barely there dress, the reference to “The Graduate.” These writers! So subtle!

Oh Charlie Conway, how far you have come (nice vest, btw).

After work, Dawson rounds the corner of his house, a stack of videos in his hand, to a picturesque view of the new girl, aka Michelle Williams when she was first pretty, before her awkward duck stage. Dawson goes into some douchey spiel about classic movies, blah blah blah, and I continue to serenade my wine glass with the stellar music from this show. “As I lay me, down toooo sleep. Yes I pray. That you will hold me dear...”

Ever the suave operator, Douchebag Dawson drops a casual, “Hey, wanna see my studio?” into the conversation. DMoney, you dog! Although on second thought, if some guy invited me to hang out and then had a shrine to Steven Spielberg on his walls, I think I’d cut my losses and invest in a cat.

After hearing her name bellowed from next door, we find out that Jen has to hide the fact she’s hanging out with Dawson from her Grams. How totally not suspicious at all; I’m sure it is just a freak coincidence and has nothing to do with her backstory at all. Meanwhile, Joey, window climber extraordinaire, appears crestfallen as she pauses outside the window in her too-short shorts and overhears Dawson and Jen having a very intimate moment, aka discussing something totally innocuous like Dawson’s only passion in life. Because obviously, a guy with a shrine to Spielberg never talks to anyone about movies but you, Joey.

After Jen leaves and Joey has assumed the usual position on the bed, Dawson observes that his mother uses “soft Bs” when talking to her co-anchor, and is therefore obviously having an affair. “Back to you, Bob!” he mimicks. Now I’m going to be on the lookout for soft B’s everywhere and assuming the speaker wants to get in my pants. “Bring the bagels?” That’s sexual harassment and I DON’T have to take it! (thank you, 90s commercials).

Back to Jen, who is having a tender moment with her incapacitated Gramps. Grams squashes that shit right quick, telling Jen she needs to eat or else she’ll be late for school. Over eggs, Jen interrogates Grams about Dawson and Joey, both of whom the elder refers to as “the wrong element,” pointing out that Joey’s been climbing into Dawson’s window at all hours for years. Wait, an adult that makes sense? What is this, the Waltons?!

Jen diverts Grams’ attention by declaring that she hates church and doesn’t believe in Jesus or God. Apparently she has either never invoked the wrath of religiously-oriented Grandma guilt or she’s just plain crazy, because no sane person would ever want to bring that upon themselves a second time. On a related note, remember how revolutionary it was to have an ATHEIST on tv?!

God-fearing Grams aside, Jen starts school wearing a white skirt and a button down double-breasted, very short sweater. Very Catholic schoolgirl, indeed, as demonstrated by Jen’s statement to school huss Nelly Olsen that she “likes to have a good time, drug free.” Give me a break, Jen.

Thank God for Chumbawumba. My life doesn’t have enough of it.

The kids all take their seats, and Tamara, aka “Ms. Jacobs” strolls into English class and Pacey figures out that he’s been keeping his teacher in the spank bank. Oh God, this is so much better than Aria and Ezra. Pretty Little Liars basically wouldn’t exist without this show. Gold. Standard. Television.

Pretentious Asshat, aka Dawson, is all mopey and emo because he was denied admittance to a class he isn’t eligible to get into because he’s an underclassmen. He spouts of some extra douchery by insulting the school’s only film teacher, accusing him of “denying students their education”. I bet his parents gave him a trophy for peeing in the potty as a toddler. Assholes.

Out in the hallway, Jen asks Joey if she and Douchson are a couple. Cue Joey and her sneer and a sob story. Nice way to slip in that your dad is a jailbird, Potter. “Oh, conspiracy to traffic marijauna in excess of 10,000 pounds”. AND her sister is having her black boyfriend’s baby. THAT should intimidate the girl from New York, alright.If someone hasn’t made a meme out of Katie Holmes’ faces from this show, they should. Comic gold.

Meanwhile, Pacey is hard at work seducing his English teacher. WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE ENGLISH TEACHER?! After trying to coerce Dawson into crashing Tamara’s date, Pacey informs him that Cosmo says older women are just itching to bang high school boys. “I have three menstrually diverse sisters. I get Cosmo, ok?” Dawson, ever the wordsmith, tells him to go home and walk his dog because it’s never going to happen.

On the way home from school, Dawson rides up to Joey, sporting a backwards, ADJUSTABLE Yankees hat, might I add, and begs her to act as a fifth wheel on his date/Pacey’s stalking mission. This brings about yet another eye roll, both from Ms. Potter and from me.

So as it turns out, despite all “unsavoriness” in Capeside, Grams is willing to let Jen out in public as long as she goes to Church on Sunday morning. Christ will cure your rebellious nature, Jen! She promises to go to Church when Grams say the word ‘penis.’ BAM!

Not to be rude or anything, but Grams needs some root touch-ups, stat.

Here’s hot Mr. Leery again, talking about condoms and foreplay. Meanwhile, the fifteen year old asks why sex is so important and uses the fact that Spielberg has never had a sex scene in his movies as proof that it’s lame. Holy fuck, Dawson, just stfu and let your dad keep talking about stuff that grown ups do.

I am old. So, so old.

Bessie, in a move meant to indicate that she fears Joey is going to grow up and die alone with her cat collection, grabs Joey and smears some lipstick on her omnipresent pout. Now that her crooked smirk is all accentuated and stuff, Joey can go crash Dawson’s date. GO AND CATCH YO’ MAN! RAAAAR!

This might be one of the best scenes in television history.
Jen: “Hey Joey, I love your lipstick, what color is it?”
Joey: “Wicked red. I love your hair color, what number is that? By the way, are you a virgin?”
Jen: “Yes…. and you?”
Joey: “Please. Years ago. Trucker named Bubba.” I had that quote hanging on my wall for like five years in junior high. I wish I were kidding. I am not.

WHO WEARS SHORTSLEEVE BUTTON DOWNS, PACEY?! Ugh. Just... ugh.

Slick Dawson keeps trying to grab Jen’s hand during the cartoon before the movie. Whoa there, tiger! Joey, mature as ever, interrupts the moment to continue interrogating Jen, asking her if she’s a size queen and if she “noticed the long fingers.” To the guys of my 8th grade class, this is why we all asked you to hold out your hands. Now you know. God, it feels good to get that off my chest.

Dawson, apparently not amused by his bffl’s antics, pulls Joey out into the lobby to engage in the kind of dramatic screaming match known only to sexually-charged middle school friends of the opposite sex. I can say that because I had this exact fight with my own unrequited teen love, coincidentally referred to as “Dawson” in notes from that era, approximately 3209 times.  “OMG YOU IGNORE ME WHENEVER SHE’S AROUND AND YOU CAN’T EVEN SEE WHAT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!” Joey storms off, and I feel so much second-hand embarrassment for my thirteen year old self.

HAHA Jen shuts Dawson DOWN as he leans in for a goodnight kiss. And yes, D, if anyone wasn’t already convinced, making the L on your forehead just REINFORCES that you are, in fact, a loser. Nice sweater, you clown.

Pacey sulks past Tamara at the marina after getting socked in the eye by her date. He calls her out on her unbridled, middle-aged desire. “I’m the best sex you’ll never have!” says fifteen year old Pacey. I remember that line being way less hilarious as a teenager, but I have to pause the tv to stop laughing and pour myself more wine. AND THE BEST PART IS, SHE FALLS FOR IT! The two share a passionate-by-cable-standards embrace. WOOHOO, it’s gettin’ HOT up in HERE!

On the other side of the creek, Dawson comes home to find Joey lurking on the floor of his closet. Normal. Realizing that he was kind of a jerk, he apologizes for being such an insensitive male and says he remembers thinking she looked pretty with her lipstick at the movie theater. Joey admits becoming jealous of the hand-holding Olympics, saying that she didn’t want to be the one holding his hand, but just didn’t want Jen to, either. Dawson just accepts that explanation, despite Joey’s wounded puppy eyes and the fact that it MAKES NO SENSE WHATSOEVER.

In yet another attempt to show Dawson that they can no longer be friends like, I dunno, mature adults, Joey dares him to tell her about his masturbation habits. This is the second reference to “walking the dog” in twenty minutes. Haaaaahaha. Awesome.

After being blown off in a fit of awkward laughter, Joey leaves through the window, her relationship with her best friend in shambles. Ohhhh, why you look so saaaaaaad? The tears are in your eeeyes, come on and come to meeeee now. Doooon’t, be ashamed to cuh-ryyyyyyyy!

Appearing in his backlit window, Dawson saves the moment by yelling, “usually in the morning, to Katie Couric.” Joey, apparently not making the obvious mommy issues connection, laughs as she rows away... just in time to see Gail making out with her co-anchor.

Well, that’s that. I know this recap isn’t the best, but I figure it’s a start while I get back into the ol’ reviewing groove. I hope you’ll come back and check on my progress as I feel my way around this little universe.

In the meantime, I’ll stand by YOU, Creekers.

Friday Confessional: Sugar and Spice

I was originally planning to share the deets of why my blissful vacation on the Vineyard turned into a chaotic, mournful and ultimately bonding experience, but then I realized that it's not really my story to tell, and so I shan't. Suffice to say, I had three glorious days on Martha's Vineyard with my aunts and uncles, including two glorious beach days, and my boss promised that I can take a few extra vacation days this summer to make up for the part I missed. I might take a little venture to the Texas part of America in August to visit one of my bffs, CRo, and to attend a CERTAIN little princess' very first birthday party!

Anyway....


Ok, let's cut to the chase. It's Friday. On Fridays, we wear pink confess our deepest, darkest, most embarrassing thoughts, obsessions and musings. 

So, without further ado, I do hereby solemnly confess:

I've got a case of the HGCs.

I remember one night during the second semester of my junior year of college (a feat in and of itself, actually), sitting on a fraternity futon with a bunch of my sorority sisters and pregaming for the evening's events (random factoid for you GDIs: you actually aren't allowed to drink in a sorority house. In some states, it's because a house with a certain amount of women living in it and with booze available is considered a brothel. But really, we just like to keep our floors from getting sticky. That's why God invented fraternities) . As we sat there, giggling about girl stuff and driving the boys men of PMD crazy, the tv was blaring in the background. When our generous host for the evening remarked on how hot the Pussycat Dolls were ("Dontcha" had just come out. I know, I know. I'm old.), one of my friends began to nod vigorously in agreement. "Totally," she squealed, "Nicole Scherzinger is totally my  heterosexual girl crush!" It was a term I'd never heard before.

And I loved it.

These days, it seems like there's girl-on-girl hatred everywhere. There are so many awe-inspiring women out there in the world, and instead of focusing on them and building ourselves up to be like them, we'd rather rip through US Weekly and cattily trash the latest Bachelorette or Britney's weave. Why is that?!? Especially since you know that we ALL have ladies that we admire, whether it be for their rad writing skillz, their ability to bounce back from criticism or their hair color.

And so, I now present to you the first installment of my very own, heterosexual girl crushes:


Katy Perry

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There are a lot of reasons why I love Katy Perry, but the most important one is that she is hilarious on Twitter. And I assume she swears like a sailor, so there's that, too. Oh, and she's gorgeous. It seems fitting that she kick off this list of HGCs, too, as we all know that one time, she kissed a girl (and she liked it!).

Jen Lancaster

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I can't even begin to describe the amount of laughter that JLan has brought me at inappropriate times, but suffice to say that no one else has ever made me almost pee my pants on a city bus. I kind of assume that if I were ever to run into her on the street, I would say something horribly awkward and stupid, which she would totally understand and laugh off, and then we would both blow off food shopping to go indulge in Scorpion Bowls and heckle innocent passersby and become BFF4Ls. Seriously, though, if you haven't read Bitter is the New Black or Such a Pretty Fat, haul your ass to the nearest Barnes and Noble... RUN, don't walk. Then you, too, can partake in mine and Katie's drunk-text-love-fest for this fantastic, hilarious writer.


Kate Middleton

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Two words: The. Hair.

Amy Adams

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My HGC on Amy began with Julie and Julia. Her portrayal of a frustrated administrative assistant-cum-blogger really drew me in and made me relate to the character of Julie in a way I wasn't expecting. I'd blogged back in the day (Come on; who DIDN'T have an LJ and or Xanga?), but J&J was a driving force behind the creation of this little experiment you're reading. Of course, I also loved her in Leap Year (So cute!) and if you try to say you didn't love her just a little bit more after the scene in The Fighter when she takes on all of the Ward sisters on the porch, you're a liar. Plus, Girlfran can SING, too!

Kirstie Alley

Given that it's still my second-most popular post to date, I think we all know this fact: Kirstie is mah' GIRL. She's got sass, style and spunk -- all traits that I greatly admire. Whenever I think of the phrase, "haters gon' hate," I think of all the nastiness she had to endure during her time on DWTS, how much that had to have hurt and, most importantly, how she said to hell with all of those critics and did her best to prove them wrong each and every week. Despite a few stumbles here or there in her life and career, she always manages to pull herself back up, dust herself off and throw herself 110% back into the game. I dig that.


Michelle Obama

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I purposely avoid politics on the blog, but for Michelle, I shall make an exception. First of all, she's Princeton (and Harvard, but who cares) educated. It's a little-known fact, but there was a time in my life when I was courted by Princeton and my ultimate academic goal was to get in there. Sure, it might have been in 8th grade, but the fact remains that they once wanted me, and I still look really good in orange. Her education aside, Michelle is SO DAMN STRONG -- and I'm not just referring to her killer pipes, either. I agree that childhood obesity is a major issue in this country, I love that she grew a garden at the White House, and regardless of your political beliefs, she's providing support to the leader of the free world. That's impressive.

Anne of Green Gables

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Ok, so she's fictional. Big deal. I've already professed my love for a bunch of literary hunks, so I see no problem in the fact that I have a bit of tiny massive HGC on Ms. Anne-with-an-E Shirley of Green Gables, Avonlea, both the literary and cinematic versions. If you couldn't tell from the quotation at the top of the page, I have a lot in common with Anne. We're both gingers. We both possess a limited verbal filter. We both enjoy dramatic interpretations of Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott". And we both really, really enjoy getting our friends accidentally drunk on raspberry cordial. We're truly kindred spirits and, were she real, I imagine we would be bosom friends.

So, there you have it. Of course, I have many more HGCs -- at LEAST enough famous ones to fill up another post. Plus, there are my HGC bloggers, and my IRL HGC friends and acquaintances. So now I urge you, readers, to contemplate your own Girl Crushes (the H is optional; I happen to like dudes but whatever floats your boat!). Let the Lady Love flow!


So, tell me: Who are YOUR girl crushes?? Why??

Back Here Baby... and Other Monday Musings

Today has been one of those weird days -- I have a ton of busy work to do at the office, so I'm jamming out to bad pop music while doing some routine maintenance stuff and crossing tasks off of my To-Do List. This, of course, gives me plenty of time to think about all kinds of random stuff,  along with a bunch of random post topics for later dates. In the meantime, though, I thought I would give some insight into my thought process on a random Monday morning:  

• I found an entire CD case full of old but good discs from my youth. You're welcome for the BBMak serenade today, coworkers. You're welcome.  (This also bodes well for future I Go Back posts.)

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• When I come up with a good post idea, I always hit "New Post" and then write a few words that are supposed to remind me of whatever it is I wanted to talk about and then hit save. Now, my Blogger Dashboard looks like a veritable graveyard of 3-word drafts, and I have no idea what half of them mean. "Dog porch scrunchie," anyone?  

• I'm allergic to the soap that we use in the bathroom at work, so I always have a little bottle of Purell in my pocket. I'm paranoid that if people don't hear the water running, they will assume that I didn't wash my hands, so I always run it for a few seconds anyway. And then I feel bad for wasting water. 

• I might have agreed to watch my coworker's two spawn last week simply to gain access to Versus so that I could watch Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals. I know I have plenty of Canadian readers, so please forgive me when I say, tongue-in-cheek, "Nothing says 'Canucks' like a screaming crybaby!'" (I kid. Or do I?) Anyway, this has been a flippin' AWESOME series so far, so allow me to say how pumped I am for tonight's Game 6!

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• If the past tense of "rewind" is "rewound," why isn't the past tense of "remind" "remound?"

• Until you're back heeeere, baybayyyy..... miss you, want you, neeeeed you so.....

• Andrew and I went to his friends' apartment over the weekend to hang out and grill. Can we just discuss how DISGUSTING men can be?! Seriously, these guys are 24 and I legitimately thought I accidentally Back-to-the-Futured myself to Sigma Beta, circa 2005. The nudie mags on the bathroom floor notwithstanding, I kid you not -- THE TOILET SEAT WASN'T EVEN ATTACHED TO THE TOILET. WTF, GENTLEMEN?!

• Why, oh why oh why oh why oh why, am I seeing more and more bloggers using "suppose" when they should be using "supposed"? You are not "suppose to" do something. You are "supposED to" do it.  The same applies to "use"... as in, "I USED to do xyz," not "I use to." WTF?! And that concludes today's Daily Oral Language (did anyone else have to do that in elementary school? Basically decline a sentence?).

• I'm not in love, no not at all. What makes you think you've made me fall. I slip but no, I'm not in loooooveeee....

• When it comes to clothing, I'm usually a light blue/bright pink/coral girl in the summer and leave my jewel tones for the colder months... but this year, I have developed a totally random affinity for royal purple. So far, I've obtained two shirts, a dress and a pair of super adorable flip flops in it, and had to stop myself from buying another shirt over the weekend. 

I'm actually wearing this shirt today!

• Why can't I even remember the basics of geometry while studying for the GRE, but have absolutely NO PROBLEM belting out every single lyric to every single boy band song released in the mid-late 90s?

• Hearkening back to my calorie-counting days, I know that lemon squeezed into water is supposed to have diuretic properties. Does that count for limes, too? Just curious because I have a tendency to add a lime garnish to my soda-and-vodka-cranberry juice mocktails.

• Ooooo... surprise cds with no labels. This could get interesting.... 

Obviously, this could go on for hours (and it will. In my head. Trust me). So, allow me to leave you with a few questions of your own to ponder:

• What are your favorite colors to wear in the summer? Do you stick with cool popsicle colors, go all Uncle Sam in patriotic wear, or buck the trends with deep, rich hues?
• What's the most embarrassing/awesome cd or album in your collection? I wish I could say that mine resides in this CD case, but we all know that's a lie.... I still have yet to find the case housing my "Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Dance Remixes" (you haven't lived until you've blasted, "I'm Too Sexy" all Alvin-fied down the highway at 11:30pm. Trust me).  

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Ciao, Bellas! 

Friday Confessional: "Hit it or Quit it, Bro"

Given yesterday's surprise Thursday Confession, you won't be surprised at all to know that today, I do solemnly confess:

Hell, Yes.

I love this picture enough to use it twice.

I DID Wake Up and Watch.

Most importantly, I LOVED the dress. One of my best friends went with lace, and to be honest, my eyes kept bugging out when she'd send me possible dresses. But the one she found was GORGEOUS, and she looked stunning -- and I think Kate did, too.

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Am I the only one who:

-Started humming, "How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?" while Kate was making that epic journey down the aisle? And by "humming" I obviously mean "texting the lyrics to my aunt, who was texting the next line back to me, etc.". I was half expecting a little child to be swinging from the bell tower as they left the Abbey.

-Played the, "what did Harry whisper to Wills" game? My bet is on my friend Susan's theory, which is, "Hit it or quit it, bro." Send other hilarious lines my way!

-Took her inspiration while dressing today from the Royals? Puffed-sleeve button-down? Check! Loose curls, rather than flat-ironing this normally untamed beast? Check! Jeweled headband holding back half my hair? Check! Oh well. At least I left the tiara in my purse at home.

Yes, my hair naturally does that if I put it in a bun for 10 minutes after blow drying.

-Is taking bets on Harry and Pippa engaging in some stereotypical best man/maid of honor drunken hookups? Because please, did you see them up on that balcony? I put the over/under on 6 shots before the toast at the "young people's dinner party".

-Choked on her coffee when one of the ABC commentators described Beatrice and Eugenie's getups as "Ugly Stepsister?" Think the Brandy version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella, now picture them singing... "Why would a fellow want a girl like her..." (and yes, they're Wills' cousins, but you know what they say about those Royals....)

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-Thought the kisses, both first AND second, were totally appropriate for the occasion, yet still secretly hoped that the two of them would buck tradition and just make out like high schoolers??

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Andrew was a sport from the time I woke him up for work at 6:15 until he left for work. Impressively, he only had one "Don't tread on me!" moment, along with belting out, "My country, 'tis of thee", to "God Save the Queen" as loud as he could in our paper-thin-walled apartment building at 6:30am. He then informed me that if we get married, he and his brother will lead a rousing rendition of the national anthem from the alter. Unfortunately, knowing the two of them, I don't doubt they'll follow through.

On the plus side, though, during our text-convo, my Aunt assured me that I can have bugles and timpani at my wedding. Unfortunately, though, she had to nix my request for a flyover.

UNLESS, of course, I manage to time it perfectly with Opening Day...

Also, it became clear to me that I'm definitely ready for my Confirmation tonight, for two reasons. 1) When the minister raised his hands, I definitely expected him to belt out an "In the name of the Father...."; and 2) I found myself wondering why the actual wedding ceremony was going so quickly. You mean it DOESN'T take everyone an hour to get their vows said?!

Alas, as much as I want to just sit in front of a TV and the internet all day gawking at All Things Royal, I unfortunately have actual work to do, and then have to go home to get ready and apply three pounds of concealer under my eyes so that my children don't see photos of me later in life and wonder why a zombie was present. In the meantime, though...

CONGRATULATIONS, WILLIAM AND KATE! And thanks for bringing the world a bit of happiness amidst the horrors and devastation of everyday life.