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I’m Louise. Blogger. Wife. Designer of TruLu Couture Veils + Accessories.  If you’d like to know more, check out my bio.

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Entries in Blog Fun (59)


Fifty Shades of Suck

Yeah, I’ll admit it. I’m reading the Fifty Shades series. I’m on the third book and it blows just as hard as the first two did.

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I continue to read a crappy books when we both know (me and the book) that the ending isn’t going to be worth the time spent.  I read Atlas Shrugged and Anna Karenina because I felt I must. Some say genius, I say Karenina stole a summer I could have been reading Joan Collins numbers by the beach instead of trying to figure out why that dude thought Anna was all that.

I read the Twilight series with the same sort of approach as I’m taking with Fifty. I inhaled those books. I read them constantly, because ohmygodwhatshappeningwithEdward?

In fact, Fifty Shade of Stupid is just like Twilight (in terms of emotionally stunted pubescents jumping into bizarre, sexually charged relationships with dudes who have some serious issues) but with just a lot more graphic sex.

And the graphic sex would be pretty good reading if they weren’t sexing it up every other fucking second. I mean, come ON, people. No one has that much sex. Unless perhaps it’s your job. And then, well… I think there might be bigger issues if that’s the case.

Anyway, there it is. I’m reading it. So the book and it’s “Mommy Porn” hysteria came up at a dinner the other night. The group is not a close one. It was an uncomfortable topic until one of the women at the table (someone I’d only just met) passes me her phone and says, “Here. Read this.”




Even though The Candyman is called The Candyman here in bliggity blog land, he goes by a more common nickname amongst many-a-lady, my mother included, of Shuggah. Cuz he's sweet like that.

This song popped into my head this morning as I was making brunch for me and The Candyman. It perfectly describes why The Candyman is also known as Shuggah.

And seriously? Who doesn't love The Archies?


{Wedding Survey} What Do YOU Want?

So by the time y'all are reading this, I should be knee-deep in my new full-time job. I'll be yawning at 10am because even though I normally get up around 6am, being WOKEN up at 6am is a smidge different.

Around 11:30am, my stomach will start growling. If I'm not able to eat by noon, my blood sugar will drop and I'll be afraid I won't be able to concentrate. What if my stomach starts to growl? How embarassing it will be.

By 3:30pm? I'll be dead. I'll wonder what the hell I've done to myself. This first week back to a different kind of grind will be difficult. It will be welcomed, but hard.

So until I get myself organized, used to the new schedule and able to figure out this new everything, I'll probably cut back on my posts. I'm thinking a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule. Maybe not every day.

I'll be honest and tell you that this pains me. It bums me out. I feel like I owe my readers a post every day. This pain comes from what the "rules" on blogging are. It supposed to be every day. You must keep your readers fully engaged or you'll lose them. You must do this. You must to do that.


It's not often that I do what I'm supposed to when it comes to bridal blogging. I like to think I pull the veil off (no pun intended) some of the bullshit that this industry tends to shove at brides. Maybe I just think I do this. Maybe I don't do anything special at all. I might just be another wedding blog. Have I been wasting my time these last almost THREE YEARS? Egads. How sorry a fact that would be.

But I don't really believe that. I know that there's been some good. We've had some laughs. The question is how to continue; to make it worthwhile for myself as well as readers, to make it better for folks who hate when I [insert thing you hate here].

So it's survey time. You get to tell me what you like, don't like and want more of. I've heard from other bloggers who have put these surveys out there and oh, the lamentations! People get mean. People get real. People also say nice things, but I've been warned to get some thick skin.

So y'all. Lemme have it. Please note that this is completely 100% anonymous. It's a GoogleDoc (hence the super-cheese wedding cake theme, but come ON, I had to use it!) and all it does it collect a time stamp and the answers to the questions below.



Bupkis and Zits.

You know what I got today? Bupkis, that’s what.

So I’m going to talk about my giant zit.

Yes, you read that right.


So you’d think that after all this time, at my age, I’d learn a thing or two about zits.

Don’t squeeze.

Don’t pick.

Don’t pop.

Bullshit is what I say to that.

I’ve got a cyst-like growth on my forehead right now. It has roots. I can feel them all the way down into my neck. I’ve had these before, always on my forehead. And I look terrible with bangs.

I have successfully not picked at one these suckers maybe twice in my entire life time. I thought maybe this one would be #3, but I failed. I did try.

The growth started about two weeks ago. I could feel the hard lump just under the skin when I was washing my face one night. I started to pay particular attention to it, to keep it from getting bigger. None of my known tactics helped. I tried peroxide/witch hazel solutions, zit cream, Neosporin and all my  washes, masks, lotions and potions to keep this sucker at bay. Nothing worked.

It did seem to shrink for a bit, only to come back with gusto. And pain. It was like I had a living being on my forehead because the constant throbbing was like a heartbeat. I’d sporadically touch my forehead to see if it has sprouted wings. Or claws. Or a tail.

So I squeezed. I pinched. Stuff oozed. I creamed and sanitized, hoping to keep the skin on top from drying out while attacking the infection beneath. I iced to keep the swelling down. This has been going on for THREE DAYS and still, there is an angry hard lump just below the surface and the more I squeeze, the more it oozes. It is the never-ending zit.

Now, in addition to the something-foul that lies just below the surface of my skin, I have a huge, ferociously red lump on my forehead. I’ve bruised the skin from attacking my face, all with the hopes of dislodging the evil core of nastiness that appears to be STUCK IN MY FOREHEAD.

Last night The Candyman came home while I was preparing dinner. I heard the front door open and I shouted to him, “I. AM. HIDEOUS!" in Quasimodo fashion. He replied with a “Huh?” as he walked around the corner. He looked at me and was all, “Oh! Holy shit. What’s up, Cyclops?”

Yeah, it’s that bad now.

So I have to leave the house. It’s flea market time and I’m meeting some folks today. All I can say is THANK GOD I look good in hats because otherwise, I’d be sporting enough pancake make-up to rival a geisha in order to “blend” the zit in with the rest of my face.

And we all know how good that looks.

One day I might learn not to pick at my face, but I seriously doubt it.


Nosy Bitches Non-Denominational Gift Giver

When I posted my Gift Giving Guide a week or so ago, I did it because I am involved in The First Twitter Friends Nosy Bitches Non-Denominational Gift Giver exchange. Here’s the inside joke:

There are many of us bloggers who also haunt Twitter. Now for those of you who don’t get Twitter, don’t use Twitter, don’t understand the need for Twitter – I get you. If I didn’t write a blog, it would be rather useless to me too. However, it’s a great way to market yourself if you’ve got a business or a product (I have both) and it keeps you in touch with other people in your same industry. And it’s fun.

For instance, yesterday Jenna Park of  Whimsy & Spice Brooklyn Confectioners (I mentioned her marshmallows in my Gift Guide and her blog is Sweet Fine Day) tweeted this golden nugget of love:


Go ahead. I’ll wait.


I immediately shared it on my personal Facebook page and apparently one of my old college friends was in dire need of an emergency Hall & Oats fix and didn’t even know it.

So now you see the incredible value of Twitter, right? It’s about as important as Facebook.1

So back to the Nosy Bitches. Inevitably, several NB’s will be in some back and forth tirade or conversation on Twitter. Someone else will jump on in the middle and will be all “WAIT! What’s going on?” and more often than not, politely interrupt and join the fun. Hence, Nosy Bitches.

Nosy Bitch Bunny from Bunnies ‘n Beagles collected all our info and set up a very easy exchange of names. I got my girl Kayce from Foodie Was Here (formerly a blogging bride at Shiny Pretty Bits) who was one of my very first sales from TruLu Couture! She’s got impeccable taste and I was SO worried about getting her something in the indicated price range that would fit her style.


16K matte gold plated double hoop earrings with lovely yellow jade beads from Etsy Shop Luna Shine Shine.

I thought these were just lovely. The seller was a sweetie-pie too. Kayce got them and said she liked them, so hooray! I know I would wear them, so I hope she can too!

Now, I got two packages over the course of this last week that didn’t say who they were from! I thought one was from my Nosy Bitch, but after a few inquiries (via Twitter, natch), I found out they were NOT my Nosy Bitch gift and that it would be on it’s way….soon.

I got it yesterday. I was going to wait to open it on Christmas (I LOVE WAITING TO OPEN CHRISTMAS GIFTS!) but couldn’t stand it. I’m so glad I didn’t wait.

My Nosy Bitch, one Ms. KA of  The Discerning Dilettante, is one creative chick. First, she sent me a copy of the super-cool non-profit art magazine she works for ESOPUS. No advertising and totally cool shit inside. I’m taking it with me on holiday so other family members can have a look-see (Flo, you should TOTALLY subscribe to this magazine). She also sent me a gift from my own Gift Guide: a bottle of hooch. Awesome, right? Then, then the Nosy Bitch went all super-sleuth and checked out my Pinterest Boards, specifically my Ballet board.

Now I love ballet. I love it from afar, mostly. I was never the ballerina type. Always too tall, too awkward, not thin enough, not nearly enough grace…never enough of all the things one might need to be a ballerina. I took an adult ballet class back in Chicago. It was fun but confirmed the fact that I am both a giant and still missing the ballerina gene.  In college, as part of my Costume Construction Technology degree, I had to work back stage at the operas and ballets. I had to make a classical pancake tutu (SHOOT ME NOW). I had to do the costumes and stage hair and make-up for the ballerinas and had to hear oh my god I ate an entire cup of yogurt today on a regular basis. It was more than annoying.

Once I had them out of earshot, dressed and on stage, I’d park myself in a corner backstage and watch. They would twirl on their toes and leap through the air, muscles clenching and releasing, neck tendons standing out with the effort. Whether they were playing the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy or a member of the corps de ballet they all looked so beautiful and effortless, but I know differently. They’d come off stage, heaving for breath, sweating like pigs, bent over at the waist with hands on hips looking like I did when I finished my first marathon, sans tutu, of course. The dedication to the dance is one to be revered and respected.

Soooooo, when I opened my Nosy Bitch gift  card, Ill admit I got a little choked up. She wrote:

As a young dancer I covered my closet in ballet clippings (wasn’t allowed to damage the bedroom walls) and though it’s long overdue to be dismantled, I didn’t want to just throw it all away. So voila, Untitled Ballet Collage #1.

Framed ballet collage, hooch and Esopus.

I was so touched. The little framed collage is going up in my studio. For inspiration. How can one not be inspired from the closeted dance collage of a young woman?

So to the Discerning Dilettante? Thank you so much! I can’t think of a gift (from a stranger, at that) that hit all my soft spots (art, booze, more art) so succinctly! THANK YOU!

I just love Christmas, don’t you?

1If you don’t read sarcasm very well, it’s not all my fault. Tone, inflection and eye rolling  are difficult to convey via the typewritten word.