A few completely unrelated thoughts

  • We went golfing today. Real live golfing on a course with holes that are like 500 yards away. And we survived! My biggest fear was that we’d be holding up other people, but it turns out, everyone is pretty darn slow on the course. We actually were paired up with another duo — a father and daughter — and, even though they had their own clubs, nifty golf attire, and the confidence of someone who has been golfing for years — we weren’t that much worse than them. Overall, I really really enjoyed it. 10/10 would golf again A++++.
  • Yesterday, we met my family in Evanston for dinner and also some pie from a place called Hoosier Mama. Again, A++++ would buy again. Forgive me father, for I have sinned and seriously considered going back and buying a whole pie just for myself.
  • We finished watching House of Cards earlier this week and there’s now a gaping whole in our hearts. So, we’ve picked up a new show called “Mistresses” on ABC. I don’t know how or why, but Tristan started TiVo’ing it and we’re hooked. Grrreeeeaaat.
  • Speaking of House of Cards, you know how Claire and Frank sit by the window and share a cigarette? I realized the other day that Tristan and I do the exact.same.thing. Except our cigarette is a Magnum bar because we’re not in the public eye and are allowed to be fat fat fat.

  • Last night, I took the Opel for a spin around a parking lot. I’m really getting much better at driving a manual and one day, I think ol’ Gerta will be mine all mine. 
  • On a related note, Tristan had his tires changed on the Subaru a few weeks back, and for whatever reason, the mechanic left the old tires in his backseat (rather than disposing of them and charging a disposal fee). Tristan, being the genius — and cheapskate — he is, decided to leave the tires in the backseat with the car doors unlocked, hoping and wishing and praying that a thief would take them off his hands (without charing a disposal fee, of course). Well, it only took three or so weeks to actually happen. Someone stole the tires. Thank you, degenerates of Lincoln Park!

Weekend Recap: Our Trip to Door County

This weekend, the whole Doukas clan (plus and Esparza and a Bonk) went up to the great state of Wisconsin for a getaway in Door County (or “Whore County” according to my brother’s boss…)

We rode bikes, we kayaked, we ate lots of fish and had an overall stinking good time. Unfortunately, though, I completely forgot to take pictures and document the trip, so I’m going to post a bunch of words now for posterity’s sake. 

Here’s a play-by-play recap:

I left work at 3 p.m. and hopped the orange line to Midway, where my betrothed picked me up in his hot ride. I mean that literally — our car overheated, leaving us stranded at the mechanic for an hour or two. It was a real damper on the trip, but we tried to make the best of it, dining on hardboiled eggs (yes, we brought a container of hardboiled eggs on our road trip) and a bag of sour cream and cheddar chips, all while Guy Fieri talked about his trip to Flavortown, where the sandwiches are the bomb.com and the chefs have a PhDs in Delicous (i.e we watched Diner, Drive-ins, and Dives at the meachanic’s).


A Mexican man eats hardboiled eggs.

I won’t go into the details of how the evening got worse and worse before it got better, but let’s just say we had to rent a car and didn’t end up leaving Chicago until 7 p.m. — a solid 3.5 hours later than we intended.

At midnight, we rolled up to a little hotel in Door County called the Waterbury Inn. My brother and my dad met us in the parking lot and showed us around the joint, before we retreated to our room — a two-bedroom lofted suite for the five of us (me, Tristan, my brother and sister, and my sister’s bf). Much to our delight, my dear parents had also stocked our room with the essentials…you know healthy snacks like bananas and blueberries, plus two bags of Matt’s cookies (chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin), Cheez-Its, Special K Bars, beer/pop, and bags and bags of chips. We were in heaven.

We finished the night with a friendly bet ($10/person) over a game of Yahtzee. And guess who won? This lady did.

Despite staying up way past my bedtime, Tristan, my brother, and I woke up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning, got up and dressed, and headed to my parents’ room to, in Tristan’s words, “see what kind of trouble Ted has gotten into already.” Much to our dismay and surprise, though, Ted — my dad — and my mom were still sleeping! And it was already 7 a.m.! It was truly shocking.

In any case, we walked around outside a bit by ourselves, before returning to their room to drink coffee and watch the Running of the Bulls. Then, we headed to a little restaurant that claimed to have the best breakfast in Door County. I have no idea how accurate that claim is, but damn the food was tasty. Nothing like a light breakfast of cherry pancakes and corned beef hash to start your day.

After gorging ourselves, my brother, Tristan, and I rented some bikes and went for a breezy 5-mile trek through the state park. I wish I would’ve snapped pictures, but I didn’t think of it at the time. In any case, it was a vonderful ride, maybe topped only by the next activity — kayaking and stand-up paddleboarding. We’ve gone kayaking before — on an October night in the Chicago river — and I gotta say, this was much more enjoyable. Instead of worrying about falling into the river and getting Hepatitis B or eaten by an alligator, I was able to jump in and out of the kayak without fear.

We kayaked to my sister and my boyfriend, who were lounging on the other side of the beach, let them try it out a bit, and then headed back to the rental place to return our vessels. 

When we brought the kayaks back ashore — where I landed on a pile of slippery rocks — we coincidentally ended up running into my parents, who graciously gave us a ride back to our car.  The five us then headed for ice cream at a local shop that always seemed to have a line out the door and for good reason. I’m still not sure what a “caramel explosion” is, but I’d do it again.

When we got back to the hotel, Tristan and I swam (i.e played with inflatable toys) in the pool for a bit, before getting ready for Door County’s signature dinner: The fish boil.

The boil — the actual cooking of the fish — is part of dinner extravaganza, so we all gathered around a fire as a portly, backcountry-looking guy explained to us the intricacies of making fish and answered questions from the crowd. Tristan almost asked, “Why did my wife leave me?” but thankfully decided against it. When it was finally time to eat, we all piled into the dining room and got in line for our serving of the boil. I’m not a huge seafood eater, but hot damn this fish was good. Covering it in melted butter didn’t hurt either.


The “kids” at the fish boil.

Saturday night ended with more ping pong, a game called Pass the Pigs (which is stupidly simple but surprisingly fun), and an early bedtime.

Sunday Sunday Sunday — our last day in the county. The last days of vacation are always a bit depressing for me, as I can’t always keep myself from thinking about going to work the next day. But, I tried my darndest to push it out of mind, and I succeeded for the most part.

Big shocker, we started our morning at 6 a.m., when we went for a run through the state park with my parents. It was a short and easy jaunt — only two miles or so — but it felt good to get some exercise on vacation. It’s not something we always do, but something I’d like to start doing more often.

The whole group — all seven of us — had grand plans for making the most our of the day, and we were on a bit of a tight schedule. After our quick run, we headed back to the room to shower, change, and pack-up. I played my dad in a game of checkers (and lost miserably) while Tristan looted the rest of the group’s snacks. Then, at around 9, we all took off to catch a ferry to Washington Island, a scenic spot just a half-hour ride away.

Only Maria and Jeff (my sister and her boyfriend) brought their car on the ferry, leaving me, Tristan, and Nick to fend for ourselves re: transportation. We decided to bike around the island, first from the dock to a breakfast joint — where I befriended an adorable dog named Drake — then from the restaurant to an old church (that actually ended up being a new church that just looked like an old church), and finally from the church to a beach and back. The beach was one of the highlights of this day trip, only because Tristan acted a damn fool, trying to sink himself in the water by holding on to two big rocks, flopping onto the shore like a beached whale, and just generally being a moron. The whole family had a laugh, my dad asked me if I’m sure I want to marry him, and then he and my brother nicknamed Tristan GMC (Giant Mexican Child) due to his size, ethnicity, and childlike wonder.

By the time we got back to the dock, it was around time to start heading back home. We hopped the ferry, got in our respective cars, and then made a quick pit stop for more ice cream (shocker), before finally setting off for Chicago.

Waking up for work this morning was extra hard because of this damn good weekend, which makes the cynical side of me not want to take vacations ever because it’s just so darn depressing coming back. But I’m over it by now, I suppose. I do want to head back to ol’ Whore County sometime soon though. There was a ton to see, and two days (really 1.5 days) just wasn’t long enough to cover it all.

Fourth of July Weekend – A Gay Old Time

Wowza, what a weekend what a weekend what a weekend. Movies, horseshoes, runs and walks, and food. Oh my god so much food. Yet, nary a firework, which is kind of sad.

Here’s a quick recap (for posterity’s sake):

Friday: We started the weekend as healthily as possible, taking a 3-mile run along the lake, followed by tricep dips, squats, burpees, and so many planks I wanted to cry (30 seconds on; 30 seconds off for 5 minutes is way harder than it sounds). We carried on the healthy trend for approximately another two hours, choosing a wise brunch of pork over cabbage while watching so many (too many) episodes of House of Cards. Sidenote: Frank Underwood is THE WORST. THE ABSOLUTE WORST. Then, after seeing “Tammy,” which was overall funny, but not as funny as I was hoping, we hit the town with my sister, drinking way too many margaritas, eating way too much popcorn, and dancing to way too much Whitney Houston. Five hours and one altercation with a 55 year-old Queen later, and I was home in my bed, snug as a bug.

Saturday: Day two of the three-day weekend started out pretty rough (due to a pretty brutal stomach ache from the aforementioned margaritas). Nothing a DD breakfast sandwich—and three more hours of House of Cards—couldn’t alleviate, though. We capped off that day with another movie—“Deliver Us from Evil”—and some fish tacos with Tristan’s uncle and uncle’s girlfriend.

Sunday: You guessed it—Sunday started with more Frank Underwood and holy crap did everyone go crazy? What is happening on this show? I don’t want to spoil it, but anyone who watched the first episode of season 2 knows exactly what I’m talking about. I cried. Tears of joy that is.
Anywho, after finally peeling ourselves off the couch, we hit the road en route to beautiful Algonquin for a little bbq shindig with my family. ‘Twas a pretty solid day with horseshoes, hot dogs, brats, steaks, burgers, and something called “Smart Dogs” for my vegetarian brother. We laughed, we mocked each other, Tristan and I performed slam poetry but no one paid attention to us, and we ended the night in the best way possible: watching Big Brother and eating donuts.

Overall, it was just a super duper weekend…making going to work today that much harder.

Story Time: That Time I Lost My Shit Because Someone Threw Away My Pork

I accidentally brought the wrong tupperware to work this morning, leaving me with a full pound of unsliced roast pork loin, rather than a more manageable chicken breast with feta.

I wasn’t about to gnaw on a log of meat at my desk, so I instead tucked the pork back into the fridge, with grand plans of bringing it home at the end of the day.

But, I never got to bring my poor baby pork home. No, I failed to notice a very important notice on the fridge door:

“We’re cleaning out the fridge at 3 p.m. Claim your lunch or it’s getting tossed.”

So, when I stopped by the kitchen at 4 p.m. to pick my pork up from camp, I was understandably shocked to see every shelf on the refrigerator completely empty…and the garbage can next to the fridge completely full. It was freegan’s paradise — myriad tupperwares and brown paper bags filled with still-edible lunches. I scavenged through the top few layers, hoping and praying I’d save my pork (and tupperware!) from the dump. But, alas. No luck.

The world is cruel.

Low-carb Recipe: Zucchini Pizza Boats

Three weeks ago, we took the plunge and signed up for DietBetter — a website that lets you put money on your ability to lose 4 percent of your body weight in 4 weeks. Or, if you’re me, it’s a place where you can pay $25 to post a picture of yourself on a scale — clad in nothing but spandex and a Hall and Oates t-shirt — without judgment.

You see, we’re trying to get ~shmexy~ for the wedding, and this site seemed like a grand opportunity to kick start our good eating habits. And, for the most part, it has been working. I’ve managed to lose (and gain and lose and gain and lose) the 5.6 pounds needed to win this bet. Mostly though, DietBetter has taught me just how capable I am of losing a lot of water weight in two days and gaining it back in two hours. But I digress.

The point of this post — believe it or not, it does have one — is to share a neat-o low-carb recipe I tried out whilst DietBetting.

You see, as a champion DietBetter (ha!), I have successfully eaten healthily 70% of the time for the past few weeks (okay…maybe 50%). For me “healthy” = low carb and low carb sadly ≠ pizza.

Enter z’pizza!

I’ve seen pictures of this creation, often called “Zucchini Pizza Boats,” on Pinterest for quite a while and decided to give it a whirl last week. Truth be told, I didn’t have high hopes…because I’m not a psycho. I know cheese on zucchini is just fancy zucchini ….which is not, by any means, pizza. Still, the end result was pretty darn good. If there are any other low-carb eaters reading this, I highly recommend you give it a try.

Serves 4

  • Three zucchinis, cut in half lengthwise (or in thirds, if you’re good with a knife and prefer a thin-“crust” pizza)
  • A few tablespoons of olive oil
  • One to three cloves of garlic, mashed (on a scale from a slight hint of garlic to garlic bread)
  • Salt and pepper to taste
  • A handful or two of grape tomatoes (or any tomato)
  • The shredded cheese of your choice and quantity (I used about a ½ c total of a mozzarella and provolone blend)
  • Toppings (I used pepperoni)

Pre-heat the oven to 350-degree F.

Using a spoon, gently scoop out the “meat” of each zucchini half. Tip: you don’t need to apply a lot of pressure or force; a gentle raking motion will get the job done and keep your zucchinis healthy and in-tact.
Next, mix the olive oil, garlic, salt, and pepper together and brush across each zucchini half. Accept that this is the pizza “crust” and don’t look back.

Build your pizzas by layering tomato slices across each zucchini half and covering them with as much — or as little — cheese as desired. Top each zucchini with the toppings of your choice (see here for inspiration).


Toss the z’pizzas-to-be in the oven for ~30 minutes or until the zucchini is soft.

In case you can’t tell, this is more a faux recipe than a science, so excuse the lack of quantities and specifics. Oh, and if you’re using pepperoni — or any other fatty meat — you’ll notice that the z’pizzas can get really REALLY greasy, so dab them off with a paper-towel after they come out of the oven, and maybe use less olive oil in the beginning.

If you like the grease, for the love of God eat your z’pIzza with a z’fork, lest you want to stain z’couch and piss off your z’spouse/partner/roommate (ah-hem, Tristan).


Co-Workers and Weddings: To Invite or Not To Invite?

Lately chatter at work has taken an interesting turn — everyone is chit-chatting about my wedding, the social event of the season! Okay, I’m kidding, it’s like two or three people who keep bringing it up — and it’s definitely not going to be the social event of the season — but they’ve created a Pinterest board just for me, and it’s really flattering and exciting.

But also, it’s slightly upsetting.

Upsetting because I’m probably not going to invite them to the wedding they’re so excitedly planning.

They know this, by the way. When I first got engaged, I mentioned that we’re having a really small wedding — family only.  And when I said it, I meant it.

But then, Tristan and I wanted to invite four mutual friends of ours — after all, they had invited us to their weddings.

And then, I started thinking about my two best friends from high school, and how awful I’d feel if I didn’t invite them — so I changed my mind and sent each of them a save the date.

Next, I realized I haven’t seen my buddies from college in a long time, and this wedding could be a fun reunion for us. Add four more names to that guest list.

Then came my parents input — who knew my dad had so many cousins?

So now, with our party ballooning to around 50 people, I’ve started to reconsider not inviting my work friends. Truth be told, I am legitimately good friends with two of these girls, so it does feel strange that I’m not inviting them.

The problem is, I’m very ~friendly~ (no innuendo intended) with about five other people—which makes me feel compelled to invite them, too.  The last thing I want is to make someone feel left out … but I also have to be realistic about how many people I can actually invite to this thing.  For one, it gets hella expensive. Not too be cold and calculating, but excuse me while I’m cold and calculating — each extra work friend is really two more people, which is really an extra $350+ dollars/couple.  I can practically hear my mom saying, “Don’t worry about it,” but I do. I do worry about it.

Plus, if we add even one more person to our guest list, we’ll probably have to change venues, which wouldn’t be a tragedy, I suppose.  But, I do worry about where we’ll end up.

The way I see it, I have a few options:  a) invite no one from work; b) invite my two friends from work and risk hurting feelings across the board; or c) invite everyone and call it a day.

Ugh decisions, decisions.


I hate that I’m letting this blog fall to the wayside, but I’ve just been so so so busy lately. Unfortunately, not with anything fun, there’s just a lot going on at work — including ~drama~ that I’ve unfortunately been roped into. I think things should calm down a bit by Friday, and so I’ll hopefully be able to post something a little more thoughtful then.  There’s actually a topic I’ve been wanting to write about, but I’ll save it for Friday.

For today, I’ll just say this — I’m working from home today, and Steve Harvey is on in the background and he’s talking about eating placentas. WHAT.

This has been a post.

9 Reasons I Love My Dad

My dad — to me, known as Papa, Pops, or Ted — is the best. He’s goofy and nice and giving and caring and in short, just an all around standup guy that I couldn’t imagine not having in my life. I have him to thank for some of my best qualities (like my bangin’ sense of humor)….and some of my worst (hello, restless leg syndrome). So today, in honor of Father’s Day and my pops, I present nine things I love love love about my dad.

9. He never missed a game. Throughout high school, all of us — my brother, my sister, and I — played sports, which means we had games several times a week after school. If I remember correctly, most of these games started before 5 p.m.. Yet, despite my dad’s nearly 1.5-hour long commute, he always managed to make it to the field/gym not only in time for the first pitch, serve, or what have you, but often also in time to give us a pre-game pep talk, wish us good luck, etc.

More than being our (very manly) cheerleader however, he was also a great and very committed coach — both officially and unofficially, as he coached both my and my sisters’ softball teams, and spent an unimaginable number of weekday evenings and weekend afternoons playing catch with us, taking us to the batting cages, researching softball pitching techniques, and so on and so forth. Sure, not all of these memories are “good”…like most high schoolers and their parents, we fought at least once a week (if not more). But, when I think back on it, it’s all a haze of overwhelmingly happy memories. Thankful memories. Thankful that he cared enough about us (or maybe about winning) to devote so much of his free time to helping us get better — and for being patient even when we weren’t very good (ahem, I’m talking specifically about me. I’m not particularly coordinated).

8. “When Ted yells, it’s just funny.” This is a direct quote from one of my sisters’ softball teammates, explaining how Ted is the nice coach — the one who can’t, no matter what, actually get angry. For whatever reason, this quote has stuck with me for a good 15 years because it’s just so darn true. Don’t get me wrong, as his daughter, I’ll testify that of course he can get angry. I was pulled by my ear a number of times, locked in the basement (with spiders!) as a punishment, and yelled at for general insolence on several occasions. But, I can count on two hands the number of times he’s gotten seriously scarily angry, and on one hand the number of times he’s really held a grudge. Sure, he jokingly pouts every now and again, but he’s a big proponent of never going to bed angry — which is something I both look up to and try to live up to.

I think this easy going, laid-back, fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants attitude is a real testament to the type of person he is. He’s lighthearted and funny, and I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. He’s just a good guy, and that’s not just coming from me, his kid. It’s something several of my friends who have met Ted — the man the legend — have said. The way I see it, there are a few kinds of people in the world — pessimists, realists, and optimists. My dad swims through a bucket of optimism, popping his head to the surface often enough to yell words of encouragement to whoever is asking for it. It’s one of is best qualities, in my opinion, and one of the qualities I’m thankful he’s passed on to me. Life is too short to live in a world dark with negativity, and I’m glad that I had him around to preach that. Preach man. Preach.

7. He always bought us a “surprise.” It’s no secret that I have a serious love affair with candy. It’s honestly my one true love in this world (sorry, Tristan). I just can’t get enough of the stuff, and it’s all thanks to him (at least, this is Tristan’s theory). You see, when I was little, my dad would bring home a “surprise” for me several times per week…a surprise being a Hershey bar, M&Ms, Peppermint Pattie, or my favorite at the time, a Nutrageous. So you see, my fond childhood memories are directly tied to candy — hence, my lifetime struggle with addiction. But, getting “a surprise” is a sweet (pun!) memory. A sweet memory indeed.

6. Without him, I’d probably weigh 200 pounds. Since he was, oh I don’t know, 20 years old, my dad has had an obsessive compulsive need to exercise. The man follows strict a routine — incorporating strength training, running, and the ingestion of awful-smelling “green stuff” — and he does not, will not sway from it. I wish I could say I was that disciplined, but alas, here I am, belly full of pie and chocolate. That said though, the man is still 100 percent responsible for my fairly active lifestyle — I’ve been known to run occasionally, and last year, I even ran a half-marathon! And it’s pretty much all thanks to him. Had he not encouraged me to run my whole life, shamed me for not being able to finish 3 miles (jokingly, of course), I would probably never ever workout. More than running though, he’s also always willing to be a personal trainer of sorts, ready to give me solid advice on lifting weights, hooking me up with a badass gym membership ($52 a YEAR), and encouraging me — and the rest of the Doukas clan — to exercise exercise exercise, because it’s not only good for the body, but good for the mind and good for the sould. Damn. This just got really cheesy. But it’s all true!

5. He was, is, and will always be a goofy guy. “Ahhh-ooooh,” “eeee eeee eeee,” and “gakadjgakl;gja;gja;gj”  are noises that ring through the hallways of the Doukas home. When my dad walks beneath an L track, he screams at the top of his lungs, convinced no one can hear him (spoiler alert: they can). You can count on him to make everything and anything into a joke, and I’m pretty sure he invented 99 percent of the dad jokes out there (“Hi hungry, I’m Ted,” etc.). My dad is kind of like Dos Equis’ The Most Interesting Man in the World, except instead of a beard he has a twinkle in his eye and instead of thriving on mystery and adventure he feeds off goofy jokes and ridiculous noises — both of which I and my dear mother have also started making, much to the chagrin of the rest of the family.

4. He keeps things interesting. Growing up, the four of us used to play this game called Werewolf. The rules were basically this: my dad would start coughing, claim to have fur on his tongue, and then suddenly, “ahhhh-oooooooooh!” He’d turn into a werewolf. At the very first hint of these symptoms, my brother, sister, and I would seek safety on our living room couch (otherwise known as homebase). If we chose to leave the couch, the Werewolf could grab us and hold us prisoner. A free child could save a POW by tagging his/her hand — a dangerous mission though, as the werewolf was sneaky and quick and always saw us coming.

I can’t really remember how or when each game would end, and I’m pretty sure there was no way for us to actually “win” against the werewolf, but this nonetheless was a hoot to play. And cheese and rice if isn’t my favorite childhood pastime. But it wasn’t the only one. No, there’s the Christmas morning scavenger hunts, the infamous Ted dances (which I just witnessed a few minutes ago…and it was glorious as ever), leaving me — a seven year-old dressed in her Sunday best — at a gas station on Easter morning, howling like a wolf down the watersides at Wisconsin Dells, tales about how he once bit a kid on the neck, and the list goes and on and on. Ted always has a story to tell — sometimes made up, sometimes not — and always something interesting (and only occasionally offensive) to say. The man’s a hoot.

3. He’s creative and clever, and taught us to be the same. I’m going to be honest here and say I was a very gifted child — and I mean that in the most literal sense. I was not ~gifted~ with X-Men powers or super smarts, but literally gifted with gifts. Christmas on the Doukas manor was bomb. Presents and candy galore, all sweetened by Ted’s infamous scavenger hunts. After we opened a pile of presents, pops would hand over a cleverly worded clue for the three of us to read aloud. The answer to the clue would, of course, lead us to a different spot in the house, where a second clue would live (you guys know how clues work right?), and so on and so forth until we’d get to our last present. Some years, it would be another present for each of us, and some it would be one huge present for all (our pool table I believe lived at the end of the magical scavenger hunt rainbow).

My point to all of this though, is that my dad is one clever guy. I’m not saying I’m clever (okay, yes I am), but this is one of my favorite traits — and one of my favorite memories — he passed on to me.

2. We’re disgusting, obnoxious buddies. For as long as I can remember, I’d always always always accompany my dad on his weekend errands, whether to the grocery store, the hardware store, the jerk store etc. When I think of my dad, I often think of these trips and all of the good times we had (and still have) in the car, just me and him, gossiping about the rest of the family and listening to (and for me, learning about) music. Sorry siblings, but I can say with complete honestly that this was some solid father-daughter bonding time that y’all missed out on. And even though I’m not home as often anymore, I love that the two of us still have a weird bond, wherein we both make odd noises, burp obnoxiously loud, and generally just piss off the rest of the family. It’s most excellent.

1. He’s given me a tub-full of good memories. In case this lengthy post isn’t proof enough, my dad has given me a lifetime of just grand memories. And when it comes down to it, that’s probably what I love about him the most. Just a fun dude, showing his kids a fun time.

Realization: I’m really bad at math

I mean, let’s be real, I’ve always known that was the case. But over the weekend it all came together for me re: weddings and invites and number of guests etc.  You see, dear reader, I’ve been thinking this entire time that we’re going to have 20-25 guests at our wedding, when in actuality, we’re staring 50 in the face.  How could I make such a mistake? Well, it wasn’t technically a mistake, I just don’t understand how numbers work I guess.

Before you judge, let me explain.  To determine how many save the dates we should buy, we obviously made a list of people we wanted to invite. We counted them kind of like this:

“Your parents—that’s one. My parents—that’s two. Stephanie and Danny—that’s three. Nino and Beatrice—that’s four.”

And so on, and so forth.

See what the problem is?  We were counting how many save the dates we needed to purchase—not how many people we’re inviting. I’m sure Tristan and my parents realized this all along (in fact, I know they did because they’re the ones that explained it to me), but for me, I was thinking in “peoples” the whole time, rather than in save the dates. I knew all along that two people (not one person) is attached to every one of those save the dates, but I just didn’t quite put it all together.

So my small wedding isn’t quite as small as I was assuming after all. Which isn’t a bad thing, just surprising.