Thursday, September 27, 2012


Last Friday, John and I went on a date.

(And I  know what you're thinking.  You're all, what the heck, Sherri?  Apparently y'all just go on dates and travel to Paris all the time.  Um, NO.  We also get into REALLY stupid fights and say dumb things to each other.   But I'm thinking y'all would rather hear about the fun stuff, than about how I got upset because I didn't like John's tone when he told me that no, he definitely does not want to watch Switched at Birth with me. Again. )

(Or you know. Something like that.)

Anyway, John planned this date and then very mysteriously wouldn't tell me where we were going.  As is typical, I tried to pretend it didn't bother me, while furiously trying to figure it out.

And, you know, maybe throwing out some ridiculous entirely reasonable suggestions as we drove......"oh, you're taking me to get a puppy!"

(Insert John dying laughing).

"I know!  We're going to a spa!"

(More laughter.)

"You're taking me on a helicopter ride!"

(Looks of disbelief, and an "are you for real right now?")

Finally, as we are headed into a random swim and tennis neighborhood in Dunwoody, it hits me.  I've been here once before.

We pull up to the clubhouse, and I am immediately transported to June of 2003.  A much younger, much skinnier, and probably much cooler version of myself walked in the doors of this clubhouse for a church singles gathering.  Despite having moved to Atlanta literally THAT afternoon, (AND despite already having a boyfriend), I was convinced to go to this singles thing by my best friend, Steph.

I made zero effort with my appearance, because let's face it, singles functions can be weird, and full of creepers.  Plus, the boyfriend.  I put on my favorite t-shirt, and my favorite comfortable pants (that John would later force me to throw away, they were so unfortunate).   Clearly, my expectations were not high.  Mainly I just hoped to grab some free food and make some new friends.

I'd say I got a little more than I bargained for.

I immediately notice this rather attractive guy, and had a thought that was something like:  "Hmmmmm.  How can I arrange to meet this young lad?"

(Because obviously my thoughts are Scottish.)

ANYWAY......fortunately for me, he was chatting with someone I knew.  So on my way out, our mutual friend is all, Hey Sherri!  Let me introduce you to John.

And I was all......Um, you're hot. And I like you. A lot. Do you want to date me?  Please, please, please want to date me! 

But you know.  Only in my head.

In real life, I think I managed something interesting and memorable, like "hi."

And that was it.  Because I went brain dead in his presence, I couldn't remember his name....although I thought about him enough over the next week to know that I needed to break things off with my (admittedly great) boyfriend.  I honestly didn't even know if I would ever see John again.

But God did.

Fast forward to our date Friday night.  We pull up to this clubhouse, and John pulls out the exact same t-shirt I was wearing the night we met.

And then makes me put it on over my (much cuter) date outfit.

We took this picture, and John was immediately like: "You're not going to like it."
He was right.
I am actually trying to point out the words on the shirt, and not force people to look at my chest.


(And by the way, I am wearing a belt under the shirt, not a giant roll of fat as it would appear.)

Everyone loves an Italian girl!
And apparently, I love being ironic.

 And then we walk around holding hands, and kissing, and saying generally mushy/barfy things like "Can you believe that was 9 years ago!"- (Him)   Or "What if someone had told you that we'd be married with a little girl next time we came back?"- (Me)

"I would absolutely have believed it."- (Him)

Yeah.  Me too.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

We're Back!

We're back!

(Okay, we've actually been back for over a week.  But I've been alternately hyperventilating over the amount of clothes that need washing, and procrastinating by browsing the Pinterest humor boards and laughing hysterically to myself.)

(Because you know you're awesome when you're looking at Pinterest, and literally crying with laughter.  By yourself.)

(Yep.  Super awesome.)

Anyway, there's so much I could write about our trip to Paris, but I think I'll sum it up with a little list.

1.  Everyone was SO nice!  And I was really worried that the French would be all, hey, you are OBVIOUSLY a tourist, your French is atrocious, and we will ignore you/make fun of you now.  But everyone was really nice, helpful, and made valiant efforts not to laugh when I would say Bonjour!

Or else they just laughed as us behind our backs. I'm fine with it.

2.  The shopping.  I'm still dreaming about it.  Although I am now probably not allowed to purchase anything until about 2015. Still.  Worth it.

3.  There are LOTS of things in Paris that are designed to make you suffer from motion sickness.  And by "you," I mean, "me." For example, taxi drivers and curly staircases.  Did you know you could get sick trying to climb down a staircase?!? Neither did I.

4.  Afternoons spent people watching in little cafes were my favorite moments of our trip....mainly because I got to guzzle cappuccinos and eat nutella crepes.  Although, I actually learned a lot about fashion through all of our people watching.  Basically, I realized that, while Paris is home to lots of chic, super put- together women, it's also home to quite a few fashion FAILS.  Which made me feel a lot better about wearing my tennis shoes around town.

(I'm just kidding, I have a firm rule about wearing NOT tennis shoes with jeans, as I don't want to look like a tourist.)

(Because my southern accent, wardrobe of bright colors, and the dyed blond hair didn't give it away at ALL. )


Bringing me to my fifth and final point......

5.  It is ENTIRELY possible for your pinky toe to have so many blisters that they literally join together and form a sixth toe.

(A.K.A.  You will pay for your vanity, so just put on the darn tennis shoes, woman!)

Here are a few of the approximately 50,000 photos that we took:

This was the hotel where we stayed the first night. SO CUTE!

Lots of squeeze pics, since we didn't know how to ask people to take photos of us. 

Totally jet-lagged and pounding a cappuccino. 

Beautiful! John tricked me into climbing up the curly stairs to the top.   I just barely refrained from trying to scoot back down them on my rear end, as to avoid barfing at the bottom.

Taking the train to Dijon....apparently trains ALSO make me motion sick.
I am obviously such a fun travel partner.
Thankfully, I have a husband who made multiple runs to the dining car for cappuccinos and Toblerone bars.
(Which is clearly the remedy for motion sickness).

AND, another squeeze pic!

Y'all.  I found the French version of Anthropologie.
John could HARDLY CONTAIN his excitement. I could tell by the way he sat in a chair and sighed loudly while I tried things on.

Ooh!  We must've found some Americans to take a picture of us!

Notre Dame....and is there ANYTHING more awkward than standing alone to have your picture made?

Those bars really add a certain something to the view, don't they?

Wine tasting in Burgundy. Again somewhat motion sick from all the curvy roads.
(Pretty sure I was thinking "I hope I don't barf all over this table....maybe the driver will share his spittoon with me?)

Needs no explanation.  Awesome.

So, our driver convinced us to eat some grapes directly off this vine.  And since I am so carefree and all, I had NO WORRIES about whether I was possibly ingesting some kind of parasite.  There were NO THOUGHTS AT ALL about how I might end up on an episode of Monsters Inside Me.

None.  Because I'm carefree like that.

So.  John made me take this picture, and even though I assured him that no woman should ever be photographed from an angle like this, due to Turkey Neck issues, he wanted to be artsy.

And I had to post it, because, hello? I'm the size of the Eiffel Tower.

Which is exactly what I felt like on way home, after eating a diet of approx 32,000 calories a day.

More Americans!!  Side note:  the French get confused when you say "y'all."

Last sad to be leaving! Pretty sure this was right before John saw our mini-bar bill, and was all, HOW MANY Toblerones did you eat this week?

And I was all, SHUT UP, I'M STARVING!!!!!

Or maybe I just said, "Oops."  I can't remember.

But then, after nearly 24 hours of travel, we got home to this girl.....

Paris has NOTHING on her, am I right?!

And I wouldn't trade her for all the Eiffel Towers, shopping, cappuccinos, and Nutella crepes in the world.

(Although those Nutella crepes are a pretty close 2nd.)