Toast
Last night I attended Karen and Ken’s wedding reception at the Medford Lakes Country Club. It was a lovely, joyful, beautiful affair where Karen looked radiant (and hot) and Ken, well…he looked as bubblicious as ever all dressed up in his pink tie and spousal pride. What a perfect pair with a great new name.
A highlight: I was privileged to be escorted to this fine affair by my Dad. Whether he was dancing to Outkast’s Hey Ya, entertaining the table with stories of driving a taxi cab in New York City in the late 60’s, or holding my hand when I cried…he was the best date ever. I am so lucky to have him as my father and my friend.
Karen and Ken got married a couple of months ago at a private church ceremony with just a dozen family members in attendance, thus rendering much of the usual wedding pomp and circumstance obsolete last night. No garters or bouquets were tossed, no flowers or favors thrown out hours after display. Holding no official role in the mechanics of this union, my only duty was to show up, sit back and just soak in the love. However, my verbose nature prevailed and my brain got going and so in the shower while shaving my legs T-minus 30 minutes to cocktail hour, I crafted a toast that I knew would never get delivered in person.
I will deliver it here instead.
“I’ve known Karen for 20 years. We’ve lived far apart and we’ve live close. We lived together as roommates in Atlanta and now we live on different coasts. When I think of Karen, I don’t think of one place or one moment in time. I think of a big yellow bus. Yes, Karen when I think of you, I think of a bus.
Karen and I met in 6th grade on the yellow school bus. Very soon after our initial introduction, we knew “it” was serious. Why? Because we saved seats for one another. WE SAVED SEATS. This was serious stuff people. Need I remind you about the fickle allegiances of 6th grade girls? Some days, Karen was not on the bus. Most of the days she was. Those days that she was there were better days. Those were the best days to start our little 6th grade lives: with laughter, gossip, comfort, and sillyness.
Ken: Everything I hope for you goes back to those days on the bus. For me, every day, she made it better. Because she was there. Sitting beside Karen made it better for me. Happier. More honest. More fun. It felt like home.
Karen: I love you. I will always have a seat next to me, saved, just for you. Thanks for saving one for me all these years.
To you both: In your marriage, whether it’s at your table…or at a bar…or on a bus – you will sit next to each other. You will each be that face that the other looks for in the crowd. And you will each be there, waiting for the other. Beside each other. To share your stories, your hopes, your dreams. And yes, to share silly laughs along the way. Most importantly, you will always have someone to save you a spot - with patience and kindness and care.
My wish for you both is this: Unending happiness on your travels through life together. Enjoy the ride. I love you both. Good luck on your journey.”
Equality
C: "How's the procreation going?"
A: "I am so sick of having sex."
C: "Oh. Well let's have a drink. Here..." (sipping a martini)
A: "I'm not pregnant and even if I was it would only be 3 days old which means it would just be the size of a piece of rice. And rice is absorbant."
C: "Totally. ...olives...?"
A: "You know, I may be having all this sex unnecessarily. For all I know my ovaries have shot their wad."
Devotion
Most of the time I believe that we all should have a mate in life.
Some of the time I do not.
Watching this movie made me think that it really is a natural thing that we all pair up. A beautiful wonderful explosive complicated difficult high and low natural thing. Penguins, humans. Whoever.
M a y b e i t r e a l l y i s n a t u r a l .
Tit Sitter
A while ago I cat sat for
Jackie and Justin. I went by their place numerous times while they were gone and the drill was always the same: Scoop the litter, refresh water and food, and offer a little cuddle time/scratch behind the ears/attention from a human to the felines...but these kitties were elusive and often times not ammenable to interaction so, fine, be that way and this is why I like dogs better.
Visit #4 was different than the rest:
I'm doing my caretakerly duties and I see the friendly, more social kitty across the apartment. He/she is sitting in what would be best described as a sunroom. This comfy living room is a great space because it has 3 walls of windows and is like a little mini peninsula of public exposure - open to the activity down below on the street, to the tree tops (3rd floor apt) and, last but not least, to the neighbors living room next door that has the identical floorplan and window situation.
I see Elusive Kitty #1, a rare siting for sure. I emerge from the shade of the kitchen into the late afternoon sun-bathed openness of the living room, my eyes focused on the little feline looking up at me and it's razor like talons I meant to say it's cute little nose. Three paces into this Room Of Glass (ZERO window shades) I see something out of my peripheral vision. I freeze. I see 2 somethings. Actually, I see 4 something and almost 5 somethings. Were it not for a strategically placed mid-chest houseplant, things coulda been a whole lot worse.
The neighbors are sitting in the sunroom totally buck naked. Check that. She's sitting, bare chested, and he's standing. Yep. Strange male standing there naked = my total horror. I was violating their right to eat pizza naked and they were violating my right to not be blinded by all the whiteness of his butt cheeks. Hey Jackie, yeah um ... your neighbors? Yeah. They are goddamn nudists. Nudists! I panic. I start to sweat. I don't know where to avert my eyes because I'm utterly fascinated by witnessing 2 people that really just hang out naked in broad daylight over a snack with total disregard for the proximity of pubic hair to food. Instead, it appears that they welcome this volatile combo with big open naked arms. This, by all accounts, is the closest I've ever been to
bad naked.
Spatially speaking, I'm far enough into the room so that they can totally see me - and we're talking only 15 feet or so of space between the windows. It's like I'm hanging out with them in their little no-clothes-allowed paradise, only I have clothes on and they don't so it looks like
I'M the weird one. Eye contact has not happened yet. Yet. After Stage 1 Panic subsided, I do what anyone would do. I Sit Down. WTF? I do
what? Idiot! I decide it is a good idea to SIT on the COUCH in the SUNROOM directly ACROSS FROM THE NUDISTS. Frozen there like the Egyptian sphinx, I am thinking 'Oh jesus god they are nude in a glass walled room and here I am and fuck why'd I sit down dumb dumb dumb and now they have seen me but I'm a total blazing idiot to have SAT down because now I have to either stand up and draw
more attention to my clothed self OR drop on all fours and crawl outta here like those guys that stormed Normandy on D-day. Shit. '
Call me commando. After a solid 15 seconds of innane internal debate and not knowing where the hell to look, I crawled out of the living room under the line of fire, grabbed my purse, and ran to my car. (I'd love to say
this was on the radio, but it wasn't). Thank god J&J came home the next day because I was not going back to the Nudieland Ranch.
Jackie and Justin: I'll be happy to tit sit I mean cat sit again for you the next time you go away. You can tell your neighbors I'll be wearing
this to the party.
Mental Age Half Of Actual Age
Each morning on the way into work I walk past a soup/sandwich/deli place that has a giant sign out front. Emblazoned on the wall in 2 foot high bright red letters is this:
FRESH TOSSED SALAD!!It makes me laugh. Every. Frigging. Time.
(Don't know what a tossed salad is?
Here ya go. Eating light will have a whole new frame of reference.)
Red Wig Event
On Friday, I was going to lunch with my co-workers Matt and Chase when we saw 2 indigent men dressed up like cowboys. Then we saw a worn down woman with a crystal ball pretending to be a gypsy. Then we saw a band of homeless people that were producing a little tap dance and a capella performance on a corner. It was a fucking circus and we were center stage. Matt's best guess was that the unusually high number of crazies in costumes! soothsaying! tapping! and singing! on the streets was because of the full moon.
Well. Hope so. At least they
had an excuse.
On Saturday, I joined the ranks in cookoo-ville, at least by outward appearances. Sans celestial excuse, I soberly strutted around downtown for a little over an hour wearing a fire engine red wig, handing out flyers for the
La Rousse Red Wig Event. Fyi, La Rousse means 'red headed woman' in French so thus the red wigs, oui oui?
Jen, Anna,
Kerry and I canvassed the Pike/Pine shopping area pouncing on trendy potential patrons. Jen, my partner in this wiggy day, and I had fun being bona fide freaks for a while and quickly realized a few interesting things while we were in disguise:
1) We profiled pedestrians.
It may be illegal to profile at the airports, but on the sidewalks a split second judgement based solely on appearance is critical to effective flyer distribution. Wearing Keds? A polar fleece anorak? A fanny pack? If you're sporting any of this nerd alert gear, we will NOT be coming your way. Sure, underneath your fashion mis-steps could be a diva just dying to get out, but with style errors
that egregious we're not takin' the time to find out. No flyer for you.
2) Frumpy people have bad attitudes, sometimes.
Human nature is such that no one wants to be left out. It didn't feel good to be that kid passed over for the kickball team in 3rd grade. And it doesn't feel good now to be passed over for receiving the La Rousse flyer. But when we walk by you in your fanny pack splendor and you see us give a flyer to a bona fide fashionista, don't come my way and sqwak WITH ATTITUDE "Give me one of those, too." The answer was, is and will be: NO. No flyer for your frumpy self OR for your attitude.
3) Wearing sunglasses helps. A lot.
Jen didn't wear sunglasses, I did. This was a key component to not feeling like a total ass when passersbye sneered at me, ignored me, leered at me or just generally interacted with me in any way. My shades were my armor, my filter, my safe place. Secret: part of me did feel just a little badass in an Alias/Jennifer Garner kind of way. Shhh.
Atmospheric Pleasure
I am surrounded by the makings of a damn good Sunday afternoon. All key ingredients are within a 2 foot radius of my perch, thereby negating the need to
actually get up. Unless, of course, mama needs another beer.
Current atmospheric debris and why I love it so:
1. A beer - because it's the day after the Sabbath and we need to celebrate
2. Homemade quacamole and the *proportional* number of chips - because it sucks when the chip and dip ratio is off and then you end up with more of one than the other. And then you're forced to eat the rest of the guac by scraping your finger inside the bowl. Or something.
3. Us Weekly and OK! rags - because I really want to know why Nick and Jessica split AND why did Ashton wear that ridiculous K-fed fedora when he married Demi?
4. Hotel Rwanda dvd - because I really want to learn more about this place
5. Cell phone - because I owe calls to many
6. Laptop - because I am reading a bunch of really good blogs these days and because I am getting inspired to write more, more often.
I Can't Decide
General indecision is an affliction that I struggle with and, sad to say, oft times it's over the most mundane of life's foibles. Flip-flops or mules? Lifetime or FX? How many rolls of toilet paper in the bulk wrapped package is
just the right number to buy - 4, 8, 12 or 36? Oh, and then: Double 2-ply or regular? It never ends!
I have found a solution and it just may be the most grand invention ever. I partook in
THE RAVIOLI SAMPLER PLATE this weekend and realized that what is really just the next vexing culinary quandary has morphed into the gastronomical equivalent of a party in your pants. Five pillows of pasta heaven, each with it's own special little filling tucked inside a doughy cocoon of goodness. Let me count the ways I love thee: 4 cheese, spinach, wild mushroom, sirloin steak, and butternut squash.
SAMPLER, I am yours.
