I didn't mean for this blog to turn into a catalog of my nuptial neuroses, they seem to dominate my headspace. Let's dive in:

Part of being a Maid of Honor involves buying a dress apparently. The lovely bride has decided that because all seven of her bridesmaids span the spectrums of heights, weights and skin tones, that we should all buy our own dresses. I appreciate that she embraces our differences, but now I'm wracked with stress as I scan for the perfect dress.

It needs to be purple (dark purple, like grape, not lavender) and preferably knee to tea length.

From this week’s Looking Back column in the Jordan Independent:

Seventy years ago, Prior Lake village has been awarded by President Roosevelt an allotment of $29,738 for its Works Progress Administration (WPA) project for new sidewalks, curb, gutter, and improved streets.

Read more about Jordan area's history at jordannews.com/news/looking-back.

I've gone and made an arguably bad situation worse. After agreeing to throw a bridal shower for one of my best friends, I've now volunteered - along with another good friend and fellow bridesmaid - to throw our friend's bachelorette party.

What was I thinking? I know they don't hand out Best Bridesmaid awards. I know I'm not scoring karma points. I'm not even GOOD at party planning, yet I feel compelled to be and do everything. Like a doctor, I should be forced to learn to first do no harm. Why don't bridesmaids have to take the Hippocratic Oath? We should.

I'm traversing more grown-up territory soon.

I bought my first plane ticket a few weeks ago, and in a few weeks, I am going to visit my best friend in Seattle. She's a University of Minnesota alum and has lived in Minnesota her entire life, but she's now doing Americorp in Seattle.

The furthest west I've ever been is Grand Forks, and I haven't flown since I was in eighth grade (that rite of passage known as the school D.C. trip, a ticket my parents purchased for me). This also means I haven't set foot on a plane since before September 11, 2001.

Being a grown up is hard. Being a grown up who lives in her parents' house is harder.

In my struggle to assert independence, contribute to the household in some way, and prepare myself for the inevitable move out to my own bachelorette pad, I'm learning to cook. I've added some great new recipes to my tiny college-bred repertoire, including spicy thai peanut chicken, coconut curry chicken and spinach and artichoke dip.

My new recipes allow me to make two courses of a meal: appetizers and entrees. I'd like to learn to make a complete meal, and round out a menu with some desserts.