The Good Wife, Me.

It has been just over 2 months since my husband and I got hitched. Most people say nothing changes once you get married, especially if you have been living together pre-marriage. Well I say after the I do, that is not true.

Since my transformation from fried Weiss to au natural Stever, I have stepped up my romantic game. Don't get me wrong, I have always been a fan of the institution of marriage and the idea of eternal commitment. But I became a die-hard fanatic of indefinite love the day I became a "wife."

According to Wikipedia, "A wife is a female partner in a marriage. The rights and obligations of the wife regarding her spouse(s) and others, and her status in the community and in law, varies between cultures and has varied over time." In our culture, and by culture, I mean what goes down at 630 1st Avenue, this means I am responsible for a few things:

1. When I buy new clothes, hide it for as long as possible and then introduce it as "this old thing" when husband asks so as to protect husband's anxiety about my spending problem (or as I like to think of it, my patriotic contribution in getting this economy back on track).

2. If husband says that I drink too much, use a red wine glass instead of a champagne flute for my prosecco so that I make less trips to the fridge for refills, thus making it seem like "less." Further, add a little splash of OJ to the bubbly goodness, after all who can argue the nutritional value of a daily dose of Vitamin C.

3. When husband is waiting for me to finish getting dressed and ready to go out, place small snacks out in front of the TV, i.e. pretzels, chips, any junk we ate as kids and a juice box if available, so that husband is quiet and content with no rushing comments until the whole maintenance process is complete. The more variety of snacks the better, so as to overwhelm the senses with colors and textures, and endless possibilities of flavor combinations.

4. Make husband's coffee in the morning. After brewing the Chock Full o' Nuts that was on sale that week, make it taste sweet and delicious by adding artificial sweetener and vanilla flavored Coffeemate with a sprinkle of cinnamon. NOTE: Make sure that it is truly cinnamon you are using out of the spice cabinet and NOT cayenne pepper. Husband drank two cups with cayenne pepper, complained, sipped again, complained, got sick, threw out the coffee thinking it had gone bad and left for work. I soon thereafter figured out my mistake. He will find out about that on this blog. Great.

5. Let husband vacuum the cat.

We will leave it to those 5 obligations for now, and as I continue my adventures in the wonderful world of wedded bliss, I promise to document all of my moments, good or bad, cinnamon or cayenne, so that I can learn from my own enlightening blog and be a better "good" wife, and so that I can continue to entertain all of my 5 followers. I will not disappoint.

Top Ten Things that Snooki and I Have in Common

1. We both like big boys named Bobby

2. Pickles "is" our thing

3. We both have some of our own hair, and some of somebody else's

4. Before I fist fight, I always take my hoop earrings out

5. I say "wahhhh" whenever I don't get my way

6. SoCo makes us "go crazy"

7. The duck phone is confusing to the both of us

8. "I am not trashy, unless I drink too much."

9. When I get upset, I eat sausage

10. When asked about our race, we use the word "tan"

A New Name, A Little Less Tan

Thanks to my favorite little Italian meatball Snooki, being orange and a little overcooked from the tanner is back in style. The Jersey Shore series has helped sell tanning packages all over the nation, and despite a recent increase in tax on tanning, young adults are getting their bronze on and people are loving it. The irony in this recent pop culture sensation and newly invigorated fake n' bake trend, is that I am no longer Fried Weiss.

I mean this in a profound way that goes beyond the maiden name being dropped. I am no longer too tan, and every single day I struggle with the impulse to use my once unlimited gold package to Hollywood Tan. On Thursdays, when I watch the fist pumping cast of Jersey Shore, I feel pangs of jealousy when they GTL. I only GL now, well G since I use a wash n' fold. But I see the way America looks up to those fried Italianos, and I miss it.

I promised a lot of people, including my boss (who was sick of getting proposals to approve with orange finger prints on them), that I would stop visiting tanning beds when the recent health reports came out. I also promised my husband who became concerned that tanning encouraged my 5-bronzer make-up routine in the morning, which was also becoming a problem for my cat, who started to turn a dusty orange hue from the bedroom carpet. I promised my friends, my co-workers, even my clients, that the Fried Weiss they once knew, was gone and would never return.

LeaveItToStever, the blog, will still have the same old crap on it. Stories about my fat cat, conversations overheard in my office, and a lot of blabbing about nothing that only my friends and/or people who are bored at work would care to read. I may have a new last name, a new blog title, and a new skin tone, but nothing has changed. I am still a little awkward, sometimes funny, but now, with a whole lotta Snooki-envy.

Falling Home

The tenderness of a fall breeze, the way it brushes past my cheek, running its soothing waves of waning life against my body.
The way the air takes my own away in consensual breaths of exhilaration and anticipation.
Oranges burn reds into ambers of light between branches and wrap the afternoon warmth in circles around its bark.
Falling, passing leaves, to the uneven earth in green frenzied fashion, knowing not where to go but what to do.

Aching with life to live and hours mocking to do so, lunging into time without fear, without poise, clumsily cautious but clamoring for something else.
Summer's arms are lowered and the shadow of the sun has cast a new season, when all begins to die, and nature mourns a visceral loss.

I found you amongst stifled buds and tortured late blooming flowers, when the moon seemed to almost catch the sun on its way to sleep.
Through slow moving clouds wishing for precision in their direction, but floating nonetheless as perfectly as they arrive, they leave.
I first saw you amid an evening as brisk as its soul old and wise, and there was a stillness in the way it all stopped, and you moved.

Somewhere between a crescent black sky and the quiet of the gray sidewalk lining my way home with ease and pleasure, the season knew to fall.
And as I turned and felt the breeze once again embrace my resolving being, I knew that because of you, I was home.

Wok Weiss

I have a very hard time listening to criticism. Besides the fact that I am near perfect and thus find most critiques (especially those aesthetically-oriented) a waste of time and makeup, I have always had a knack for seeing myself for what I am (a solid 9.8, 10 if I had better feet), and not in need for other people's "candid" opinions. But this morning was the first time since 3rd grade gym class when my teacher advised me to wear pants that do not promote camel toe even if I was 140lbs and 5 foot nothing, that I understood someone's honesty and guidance as really just trying to help.

My wonderful and tall boyfriend Bob frequently asks me what makes my face so tan. He is confused by my before and after bathroom looks in the morning, going from natural olivey skin tone, to florescent orange with a slight shimmer, enter Fried Weiss. I have explained to him, and to many of you who ask, that bronzer is a way of life not just an accessory and without my odd-reddish glow, I wouldn't stand out in a crowd of unsuspecting Caucasians, or have this blog. Bob then asked me to show him how much bronzer I wear and how I do my make-up. I didn't look up at his face until I opened the third bronzer in my 5-bronzer routine, and when I did, brush in hand, paint strokes almost even and ready for the next coat, he looked stunned, slight disgusted, and well, disturbed.

I had gotten so used to the bronzing ritual, I had forgotten how much of a maniac I was making myself look like everyday. I always wondered why none of the other sales reps at my job had printed proposals with orange fingerprints, or why my keyboard was a slightly pink/tan hue, or why my boss always asked me if I went away for the weekend and seemed skeptical when I said no. It was in that moment, in that simple moment of MAC tools and tall Bob's horror, that I saw myself for what I was - Burnt Weiss...

Today, I sit before you (pretend we are actually talking), a new shade of Weiss. With only one, and I repeat, ONE coat of bronzer and slight blush, I can actually feel the breeze touch my face today, I can touch white without worry, and my face matches my neck, chest, well, my whole entire body. I have gotten endless compliments (I think), from "you look so much better without all that crap" and "wow you really should spend less time in the morning getting ready - trying doesn't work for you." And so my friends, today and for the next few days (all I can promise for now), I will go where no overly tan, Jersey-looking, 5-bronzed women has gone: Weiss Au Naturale.

In the meantime, here are some ideas for my new blog name, just in case the anti-bronze thing sticks:

Wok Weiss
Pan-Fried Weiss
Baked Weiss
Seared Weiss
Lightly Toasted Weiss
Under the Broiler Weiss
Crock Pot Weiss
Weiss Tempura
General Tso's Weiss
Nuked Weiss

Opinions welcome...:)

Filet-O-Weiss

What a brilliant way to sell fish during a recession, especially at McDonald's. Can someone please make the hip-hop remix so I can dance in public to this amazing tune? I wouldn't be laughing if I were up on that wall, although if they fried me, well then I wouldn't argue. Fried Weiss, Filet-O-Weiss, either works...Check it out!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6bJOIqVAD-s

Valentine's Day and The Black Death

We are fast approaching one of the most paper-wasteful of the Hallmark holidays on our calendar. A day that is not remembered by what was given or received, but by how those gifts compare to what others get around you. A day founded during The Middle Ages, an era that started off well, but ended with the Black Death, war and economic strife. A day thought to have been based on a the story of Saint Valentine, who was rejected by his mistress and was so heartbroken, he stabbed himself in the chest and sent his "still-beating heart" to her to show is "undying" love. Ironic, and a bit disgusting, but this is why we send heart-shaped crap to one another, as a tribute to the Temple of Doom-like gesture that Saint Valentine so thoughtfully acted out.

It is approximated that nearly one billion valentines are sent each year worldwide, which makes Valentine's Day the second largest greeting card holiday of the year, only second to my birthday. It is also estimated that men spend twice as much money than women each year on this holiday. While I think commercialization is important, and responsible for most of my better physical features, I can't imagine what other gifts aside from chocolate, roses, heart-shaped boxes, jewelry and mixed tapes (is that just me?) they are going to have to push this year to try and get men to throw money away on such nuisances, when they can barely pay for their own necessities these days.

I do believe a romantic thought or two should be applied to this upcoming Saturday, February 14th, especially if done with originality (and includes a ten-pack tanning package), but this year, V-Day is gonna be a tough day for everyone. Given how hard I work at looking busy in the office, I need to save that little cash I do make, as do our men, so my vote is to forgo a lavish love fest this year, and go back to the small stuff, the little things that used to matter like fondue and feety-pajamas.

Feeling warm and fuzzy this year doesnt have to cost much, involve ripping out your still-beating heart and mailing it to your date, nor does it have to involve a mixed tape because where the hell do you find a tape deck anymore? This year, during a spiraling recession, late Middle Ages-like Valentine's Day, it should be more about what this holiday has always has been about, and I think somehow we have forgotten: Absolutely nothing.