An Acetone Intervention

Okay, soo..... We all know that I can't be trusted with anything even remotely involving risk, right? I mean, this is sort of all Fiancé's fault for casually thinking that I understood the dangers here. Allow me to explain.

Fiancé and I are getting married a week from tomorrow (AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!) and we've been very DIY with this whole wedding thing. Many people have had to convince me that I cannot, in fact, do everything myself. Hiring people to do things is worth it, and while those people are correct and I am relieved that I won't be spending the morning of my wedding panicking about making flower crowns, there are still plenty of things that we are willing to do ourselves.

Things like... staining and painting the wooden signs that will be directing people toward parking and other wedding-related shenanigans.

It all seemed like a very good idea at the time and perhaps for normal, more stable and steady-handed people it still would be considered a good idea.

And let me be clear about the fact that I wasn't a complete idiot about this process. I made plenty of good decisions!

Smart choices made by me include:

  1. Doing this outside.
  2. Wearing clothes that I was prepared to ruin.
  3. Bringing beer to the space. (Fun fact: Grammarly was all "this should be Bringing beer to space" and ummm... STOP READING MY DIARY, GRAMMARLY.)
  4. Playing awesome tunes.

See? Already you're more confident in me than you thought you would be.

But let's return to one of those smart choices I mentioned: the clothes. Choice number 2. I was totally prepared to sacrifice my jean shorts and my Guns & Roses crop top. A few stain stains would only make them cooler, in my opinion. And I would like to take this opportunity to point out that Fiancé said nothing. He did not warn me, NOR DID HE TELL ME HOW AWESOME I LOOKED.

So we stained, and it was all "La, la, la, staining, staining, staining, la la la" and then we had to wait for that coat to dry, so I sat down on the blanket I brought out (great choice number 5, thank you very much) and I looked down at my legs and I was all "Oh cool!! Look, honey, I'M ALL SPECKLY!!!"

Fiancé was not entertained.

Fiancé: Holy crap, Emelie, no!!

Me: What? How do you not think this is awesome? My legs look like a dinosaur egg.

Fiancé: Babe, that's going to stain your skin.

Me: Yeah, but it's not like I'm not going to shower.

Fiancé: Emelie, I got some wood stain on my hand like ten years ago and it only just started to fade.

Me: ....No... But we're getting married next week! And then we're going on a honeymoon! I can't have dinosaur egg legs and feet for all that!

Fiancé: I agree.

Me: What do we do?!?

Fiancé then threw a wet paper towel at me and said "Start scrubbing. I'll be right back."

And then, while I got to work, he ran inside and returned shortly with a giant bowl of soapy water, a rag, a bottle of lotion, and a giant jug of acetone, which for some weird reason I didn't think to ask where he found it or why we have it, but apparently we do and I'm weirdly grateful. I picture Fiancé at the hardware store one day and seeing that and thinking "Who would ever need such a thing?" and then thinking about me and quietly sighing while he placed it in the cart because he just knew that one day I would probably do something that would require an acetone intervention (new band name?). Good call, honey.

And then Fiancé handed me a paper towel soaked in acetone and said "this is going to burn" right before he took his own acetone-soaked rag and started washing my feet as though I were Jesus and he a lowly prostitute.

And that's love, I think, especially because he managed to keep my pedicure in perfect condition, which is impressive that this stuff is the main ingredient in nail polish remover.

Oh, and yes, it burned. A lot. Hence the lotion. He's such a smart guy. The yin to my yang.

In other news, this is my final blog post before I'm married, which is nuts!! I'll be gone from the blog for the next three weeks, but I have a series of guest blog posts from AMAZING people coming at you while I'm away, so stick around and give them your love!

I love you all, friends. Keep being amazing and embrace your awkwardness. Muah!


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Problem? I Don't Have a Problem.

This is what part of my kitchen looks like: COFFEEEEEEEEEEE

Let me explain: The French Press and the regular drip coffee maker are both originally mine. As in, I obtained them on my own because I needed wanted them. Everything else? Those were gifts from various people.

My friend's mom called me a week before I moved out to Connecticut and told me that she had been cleaning out the attic and found some stuff I might want. When I got there to look at the "stuff" I found the espresso machine, and upon that espresso machine was a sticky note with my name on it. It would have been rude at that point to not take it.

Then a few days later, I went out for one last goodbye dinner with another friend of mine. When I got to the restaurant, she was sitting there with a giant gift bag on the seat next to her.

"What was inside," you ask? The Keurig. Again, what kind of friend would I be to not accept such a thoughtful gift?

So... fast-forward to Christmas: the grinder appears in my life. That glorious baby has 18 different settings so that I can now grind whatever coffee beans I like to suit whichever coffeemaker I so choose to use that morning. It's like absolute bliss for me. I also got various bags of coffee beans which are now happily residing in my freezer, awaiting the day that I say, "Congratulations! You get to fuel me for the next few days! You have been chosen!" In my head, I picture the bags of coffee all reacting like those aliens in Toy Story. You know the ones: they're all stuck in the claw machine and they go "Ooooooo," and it's super adorable yet kind of terrifying. Yeah, that's my coffee.

I know what you're thinking: Wow. Emelie must really like coffee.

You're right. I do. I practically worship the stuff. Some people say I have a "problem" or an "addiction," but I know they're all just joking around, because there hasn't been an intervention yet, and interventions are, like, really in right now, you guys.

Not to mention, if people really thought it was a problem they wouldn't be enabling me, right? I mean, who gives a crack addict a pipe for Christmas? Let's be honest.

Plus, studies* show that 2 cups of coffee a day is really good for you, and by my logic, that must mean that 8 to 10 cups of coffee a day is REALLY good for you.

Basically, I'm just super health-conscious.

Also, feel free to send me coffee.

*I can't think of specific studies right now, but I know they're out there.