Wii Bowling Party: An Abby Gabs Tutorial

A little friendly advice, from me to you: when your husband/wife/significant other/roommate/little sister/self-built android comes to you and says, "Let's have a Wii bowling tournament party!" ----->just say yes. 

Because we did one this past weekend, and it was SO. MUCH. FUN.

Here are my tips to creating the world's awesomest Bowling Party, all from the comforts of your living room.

You Can Do It, Too: Wii Bowling Tournament Tutorial

Tip #1: Let Your Husband/Wife/Significant Other/Roommate/Little Sister/Self-Built Android Come Up With The Name Of The League AND The Event.

Because then, you wind up with a name like:

While it makes some decorations a little more difficult to create (YOU try putting that many letters on a banner), it makes everyone laugh when you step into the room to announce that the Inaugural Tournament of the Incredibly Excellent Bowling League of Awesomeness is about to begin. 

Don't worry. If you say it enough, you won't have to look it up every time. Promise.

Tip #2: If you have someone with minor OCD in your life, allow them to take over the planning, decorations, and food for the party.

In this little scenario, that person would be me. And I had an absolute blast planning bowling alley themed foods, bowling pin cards to identify said themed foods, meticulously wrapping the white plastic eating utensils with red electrical tape to look like bowling pins, and coming up with the most complicated bracket known to man.

Cheesy Bowling Ball

It only took four hours...ish.

OK, I lied. The bracket was too complicated for me. Brian made it up, I just wrote it all pretty.

Tip #3: Re-stock your printer with paper before you allow the OCD person in the scenario to begin creating decorations.

I made banners, lane markers, food cards, and more, just using my printer, some scissors, tape and string. I'm the MacGeyver of crafts, y'all.

Tip #4: Take pictures.

And once you've had a few beers, feel free to give the camera to your friends so they can capture some candids as well. Otherwise, you'll miss out on all of this:

Seriously, the best shots are often the ones taken after you bust out the booze. As long as they're in focus. Which brings me to my last tip...

Tip #5: Don't take so many pictures that you aren't allowed a little creative room to groove when it's time to blog about your party.

Because after three beers and a rum-and-coke, my camera was left in a corner somewhere, and I forgot all about a hundred different shots I wanted to take, including a group shot of the 11 bowlers that came to our party.

But never fear, Photoshop and our Nintendo Miis are here!

Back row, from left to right: Zach, Kristie, Arielle, Steven, Jenn, Ashley, Fred, Ray, and Sam
Front row: Abby and Brian

Seriously. That's one epically awesome team portrait--which is perfectly fitting for the Incredibly Excellent Bowling League of Awesomeness. (See, I told you remembering the name gets a little easier the more times you say it.)

Our Friends Rock

Sometimes, life gets stressful. 

And sometimes, when the stress begins to boil over and we start to look for an outlet to help us cope, social media, inevitably, becomes involved.

That happened with Team Abby Gabs yesterday. Concern over money--paired with lack of sleep, impatience regarding paperwork, a problem with our bank, and taxes--led to a monumental breakdown, all available for your viewing pleasure on my husband's Facebook page.

Suffice it to say that our friends and family were concerned, especially when you factor in the part about how my husband NEVER loses his cool, especially during a rant on the internet.

Brian, in no way, intended to worry anyone about our welfare. He may have blown the situation out of proportion just a tiny bit, and it may have all been a reflection of the mini-mental breakdown he had yesterday morning. 

You can't blame the guy. He's had a LOT on his plate the last few years, and it all boiled down to WILL I GET MY NURSING LICENSE IN TIME TO START THIS WEEK, YES OR NO, IT BETTER BE YES OR I WILL BE REALLY ANGRY ARRRRRRRGH.

Regardless, there it was, all over Facebook. Our dirty laundry. 

The response could have been anything ranging from "Who needs a hug?" to "Who needs a Valium and a hug?" In truth, I wouldn't have blamed most of our family and friends if they'd tossed their hands up in the air and backed away slowly. (Because it really is very, very, very rare for Brian to lose his cool, in any situation.)

It all started with a phone call. Someone I've been friends with nearly half of my life called to check in, offer support, and asked if she could wire us some money.

Within half-an-hour, I'd gotten text messages from four other friends, a few personal messages on Facebook, and an email.

Eleven a.m. rolled around with a knock at my door, and a dear friend bearing an armload of groceries, so she could stock our empty fridge.

By five p.m., I had a dinner invitation for one night this week, another for one night next week, and a third to be called in 'whenever it's needed.'

And as I was logging off last night, headed to bed, I got another message from a friend who heard about our stress, jumped into action, and secured a mini-spa-day, just us girls.

As I turned out the lights, I was left feeling humbled, grateful, and unquestionably blessed. The outpouring of love we received was enormous, and I'm still riding that wave today. Thanks to each and everyone of you! Whether it was a text message, a phone call, or a grand gesture, we thank you. 

Simply put, you guys rock.

Let Me Take Off My Invisible Super Hero Cape For A Minute...

Sometimes I worry that I'm an over-helper.

When I hear that a friend has suffered a loss, or a family member is sick, or someone I love had a bad day, I immediately want to jump in with both feet and help.  I'm the one who offers to get your mail, feed your dog, or fold your laundry. I'm the one who scours the internet for articles specific to your plight, sends them to you in an email, triple-checks every hour to make sure you know I sent them in that email, and then sends them to you in a text message just to be sure you got the info. I'm the one who wants to show up with a casserole, two pies, and a week's worth of magazines.

I know, I know. I'm sure most of you are thinking, "Oh, she must be a nice friend to have!"

Maybe. But I worry.

A lot of my desire to help comes from that period in our lives when Brian had first been diagnosed with cancer. Each and every person---from the maintenance workers at the hospitals to the dear friends who dropped off sub sandwiches so we wouldn't have to cook---were so very valuable to us. I'll never forget the kindnesses we were shown--from friends, from family, from nurses and doctors and surgeons and techs. It was the only thing that kept us standing, kept us moving toward a destination rather than staying stagnant, cooped up in our own sorrow and fear.

And so, when I hear there's trouble in the neighborhood, I feel called to action, ready to offer my services in any way, no matter what is needed.

I show up with my casserole and my two pies and my week's worth of magazines, hoping that the help I'm offering is appreciated. Wanting to be helpful. Wanting to be valued. What I tend to forget, in my gusto, is that every person reacts differently in any given situation. Where I might be thrilled to my toes to hear the doorbell, my friend may rather be left in peace to deal with life in their own way. 

And sometimes, their own way doesn't include a stack of magazines three miles high.

I'm glad now, looking back, that I wasn't given much time to grieve and worry and pace. Relieved that our friends and family filled the scariest moments with conversation, casseroles, and consolation. I know, for us, that it was exactly what we needed.

I think it makes sense, then, that my immediate reaction to a friend in need is to don my "Save The World" cape and swoop in to save the day. Often with baked goods and some form of mindless entertainment.

So I'm learning to offer a kind word instead of a pot of chicken noodle soup every once in awhile. I'm trying to hold back that part of me that wants to rush to everyone's rescue when, in fact, they may not need rescuing at all. But above all else I'm trying to remember that, while a stack of magazines a mile high might just be the ticket to someone's happiness, it might just be coffee table clutter for another one to deal with later.

But don't worry. If you give me the green light, I'm still going to offer to bring them over. Especially if you haven't read the latest issue of "O." But I won't be offended if you say no.

A Moment to Say Thanks

Today I awaken to a silent house. For the first time in days, I am alone. Brian is off at work, family and friends are back to their normal routine, and I am left here, in my quiet house, with my thoughts.

Too easily could I get swept away by all the terrible things that have happened in the last twenty-four hours. My heart is broken for those families and teachers, first-responders and hospital staff. I have not had a moment to shed tears for them yet. Up until now there has been enough to keep my mind occupied. 

But instead I choose to cling stubbornly, selfishly, to the happy moments of the past several days. We've had so much to celebrate, so many things to be grateful for, so many reasons to smile. 

Brian's pride as he welcomed friends and family---a veritable entourage---to his graduation ceremony on Wednesday...

My own glee at watching my husband reach for his dreams, and succeed.

Being surrounded by friends and family---some related by blood, most related by love---on our important occasion.

Laughter, fun, friendships that feel more like family...

To those who carved time out of their busy lives to celebrate with us this week; for the phone calls and text messages and cards and Facebook messages; for those who braved the rain and the cold to attend the ceremony; to those we love the most, we send you a heartfelt thanks. You made an important day into a party. And we were humbled and overwhelmed by the love we felt. 

And from me to each and every one of you, a hearty thanks for making my husband feel like a total rock star, because even though I remind him of that status every day, I don't think he always hears me.

So today I will reminisce. I will relive those moments of jubilation and joviality. I will wrap myself up in those feelings. I will remind myself of all we have to be grateful for. I will hug my family tighter, tell my friends that I love them, and focus my attention on living this life to the fullest. And I will smile today, even though my heart weeps for others who know not my joy. That is the greatest gift I can give to myself and to the world today. And I have you, our nearest and dearest, to thank for it.

A Love Letter to my Friends (Repost)

I've been thinking a lot about friendship lately. And I've decided to put my thoughts down for you, my friends, to read. 

friend: noun 1. one attached to another by affection or esteem. 2. one that is of the same nation, party or group. 3. a favored companion. 

As a writer, I often turn to the dictionary for the root, or true definition, of a word, just to see if it's the word I'm looking for. Does it feel right in my mouth when I say it? Does it really represent the emotion I'm trying to relay? According to Webster's, to be a friend is to be a favored companion. Okay. Sure, that makes sense. But isn't friendship so much more than that?

I've got friends all over the place---South Carolina, North Carolina, Louisiana, Maryland, Kansas, Virginia, California, Nevada. 


Some of my friends are related to me, some of my friends are related to my husband, some of my friends aren't related to us at all. I've got friends from elementary school, high school, college, and beyond. 


I've got friends that I've known longer than my husband, who are solely mine. I've got friends who were friends with my husband before they ever knew me. 


I've got friends from different backgrounds, different ethnicities, different religions, different histories. I've got married friends, single friends, divorced friends. Each and every one of them has something unique, special, wonderful to bring to the friendship table. 

Naturally, I'd like to be surrounded by my friends all the time. But I don't get to see many of you as often as I'd like. Some of you I talk to on the phone on a regular basis, some of you I only keep in touch with via facebook and email. Some of you I get to see occasionally, and that's okay with me. Because I've learned over the years that I'd rather spend an hour with a real friend than have to suffer every day of the year with a faux friend just for the sake of having someone around. 

"The deepest friendships have nothing to do with proximity; they aren't based on how long we've known each other but on how well we love each other." ---Paige Williams, author

I've learned a lot of lessons about friendship over the years. The hardest was realizing that not all friendships are worth the energy they drain from you. I've mourned the loss of those friends, but always felt like I made the right decision. I've lost a few friendships along the way due to my own confusion and lack of understanding for the true Art of Friendship. Some of those I'm glad to say I've rekindled, and a few of those friendships are so special and priceless to me now--even more so because of the time we spent apart. (You know who you are!) 

The most fulfilling lesson I've learned about friendship is that, with my true friends, I never have to wonder where we stand with one another. I can talk to you once a week, once a month, once a year and still know that I can tell you anything and know you'd never belittle me, judge me, think less of me, gossip about me, write me off as lost cause, or even use my childishness/selfishness/ pettiness/insecurity against me in any way. And in all honesty, over the years I've probably relied on some of you too heavily in my moments of vulnerability--for your honesty, your advice, your support and clarity in those moments But the balance is always restored. Reciprocity. What you put out into the universe comes back to you. I firmly believe that. 

Friendship is about love. It's about laughing together, learning together, supporting each other, and enjoying life together. It's just as much about being there through the good times as it is the bad times. It's about that shared bottle of wine, the occasional dinner party, the memories created. It's about knowing when to listen, when to act, and when to lay low. Friendship is restorative, a foundation for happiness that, if paid attention to, can flourish in a way that is life-affirming. 

"Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose." ---Tennessee Williams 

So thanks to each of you for being my friend, for teaching me what friendship truly means, and for helping me to become a better friend. Each one of you brings something very special to my life, and I’m grateful for each of you. Know that I send happy thoughts and good vibes your way each day, and that I look forward to any time we may spend together. 

All my love, 
Abby 

Friend: A Single Soul In Two Bodies

It was October of 1999. I'd managed to introduce East Hall and most of its occupants to my less-than-graceful self by falling out of a window and breaking my face. It was Halloween night, and I was slowly making my way back to my room after a 7 hour visit to the local emergency room. I was drugged up, bruised from one side to the other, and feeling extremely sorry for myself when I heard a somewhat familiar voice.


"Oh, honey, what in the WORLD happened to you?"


Through my pain-killer-haze I recognized a girl who lived a few doors down. She was in my English class, and had always been sweet to me. She reminded me of a gypsy fairy--long dark hair, willowy frame, graceful and kind. At that moment, I couldn't recall her name.


I explained to her what had happened, and she clucked at me like a mother hen and walked me to my dorm room.


"You get some rest. And you just let me know if you need anything at all. I'll be happy to share my notes with you from Wentworth's class, if you need them."


It wasn't until she left that I remembered her name. Jenna. And we've been fast friends ever since.

In case you don't recognize me, I'm the skinny girl on the left with all the hair.

Jenna and I bonded over poetry, our obsession for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and our shared (and unabashed) love for The Monkees. Her room was a refuge for me. I'd escape from the stresses of college life and head for Jenna's door. We would light candles, listen to music (usually something ethereal I'd never heard before) and talk for hours. Or, we'd snuggle under a blanket, bust out our favorite vending machine snacks, and watch Buffy on VHS. 


During our sophomore year, an opportunity to join Orson Scott Card in New York City for a spring break writer's conference was something neither of us could turn down. We planned our trip giddily for weeks, comparing notes over places we wanted to see, trying to cram in as much sight-seeing as we could despite the fact that we'd be in class every day we were there. We packed the most sophisticated clothes we had in our possession. Jenna packed her maps, I packed my writing tablet and pens, and we headed for the Big Apple.

And I wound up borrowing her clothes most of the time we were there, because my "Happy As A Clam" t-shirt just wasn't "Manhattan" enough for me.

Nothing bonds 2 college-aged young women together like nighttime strolls down East 24th Street, 6-hour writing jags in a Manhattan Starbucks, standing at the feet of the Twin Towers, or belting out our favorite show tunes in the twinkling lights of Broadway. As our trip came to an end, our grand plans to find an apartment somewhere in Boone and spend the summer drinking strawberry margaritas, writing short stories, and having true Buffy marathons (as in, from dawn to dusk) were solidified.


Jenna and I moved into our first college apartment in April of 2001. It was a tiny basement apartment, where we weren't allowed to have pets (but did), hang wind chimes (but did), or have loud parties (which we didn't.) It was everything we'd dreamed of and more. Eventually, Brian came into my life, and moved into our apartment with us. 

The three of us looking in on illegal pet #4, Dizzy. Jenna had 3 pet rats, and we eventually added a rabbit to the mix.

It was like Three's Company, without Mr. Roper. We worked in shifts, but when we all managed to get together on the same day, we'd make up the hideaway bed, pass the Ben and Jerry's around, and we'd (you guessed it) watch Buffy or Angel or Farscape (which Brian introduced us to.) I had everything I ever wanted--a love in my life that was healthy and big, a best friend who could look at me and tell me what I was thinking before I could form the thought, a little apartment and a place to call my own.

We were nothing if not theatrical.

When our lease came to an end, Brian and I got our own place. I was sad to wake up every morning and know I couldn't share a poptart and cup of coffee with Jenna, but thrilled to be making my way in this relationship with Brian. A little over 2 years after Jenna walked me back to my dorm room in East Hall, Brian proposed. And like most young couples, we fell into each other, and the rest of the world melted away. I lost touch with Jenna, and though I thought of her and missed her often, we never reconnected.


Fast forward to 2006. Brian and I were living in Charleston, and I discovered Myspace for the first time. (You remember...back when Myspace was cool?) When I found Jenna, my first reaction was, "Will she want to hear from me? Should I send her a message?" Memories of Manhattan, all-night dorm room conversations, and losing my best friend flooded my brain. I sent her a message, and she sent me her phone number. I remember feeling nervous, excited, as I took my cell phone and a glass of wine out to my car. (I wanted complete and utter silence so I could hear her every word. You may not get it, but Jenna will understand.) 


The first few moments of conversation were a little awkward, a lot nerve-wracking. But 10 minutes in, and it was like no time had passed at all.


Jenna has since married her high school sweetheart, and they have a gorgeous baby boy, "Bubber." We've grown up (a little), and we don't share the same address anymore. But there are some bonds that are unbreakable.

This past weekend, Jenna and her little family came to Charleston for a visit. We played with Bubber, chatted about mommyhood and work life and grown-up stuff. We discreetly left the men to bond over video games and retreated to the kitchen to share a glass of wine. We visited the zoo and the beach and our favorite local Mexican restaurant (because we don't get together without margaritas being somewhere in the equation.) 

Abby, Jenna and Bubber.

Out of all the fun and excitement of the weekend, my favorite moment was a quiet one, shared under the umbrella at the beach. The menfolk were gone, Bubber was sleeping, and Jenna and I sat in our chairs, breathing in the salt air, talking quietly. In that moment, we were AbbyandJenna, East Hall residents, poets, girls searching for our places in the world. Our busy, adult lives, with children and work and husbands and life, cannot shake the foundation our friendship was built upon.


After all, a friendship built upon Buffy is one that will last a lifetime.

Riddle Me This

What do you get when you mix a wedding invitation, a so-called shut-in, an actual opportunity to socialize, and a spankin' new outfit with accessories?

An adorable, and overly-excited, Abby.

Flower headband = my nod to the royal wedding.

What do you get when you mix adorable, overly-excited Abby, with 3 of her best friends, a few cocktails, and an hour to kill before the wedding?

You guessed it. Pre-wedding cocktails.

All dolled up and ready to dance!

The view from the round Holiday Inn in Charleston.

What do you get when you combine those 4 friends with a group of even more friends, all together to celebrate the wedding of yet another friend?

They did!!!

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. ♥

It's a PAR-TAY. (Fuzzy picture to be blamed on awesome tunes and too much Pinot Noir.)

And finally, what do you get when you combine ALL of the hilarity listed above (including the copious amounts of Pinot Noir), and you toss in a photo booth WITH PROPS????


Well, respectively, you get:

"We're too drunk to do this right now."

"Well since we're here, let's try to get in character."

"I know, I know. You be Lolita. I'll be your pimp."

"Gimme some suga, woman."

Nobody rocks a feather boa like me, ladies and gents. Nobody.


***Congrats to our friends Tara and John!! We wish for you all the happiness that life can bring! ***