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July 31, 2007
Answers to Commonly Asked Questions
What does an $85 pedicure get you?
Frankly, not much more than a $35 pedicure, although you do get a semi-private room and the option to take home an orchid bud, the spa's "signature flower". What's even more frustrating is that after patiently waiting the recommended hour to put on any sort of footwear (ok, I spent that hour in the spa lounge and steam room, so it wasn't a huge sacrifice), the polish got smudged 6 hours later when I got into a tightly made bed. A question to my female readers, do you think I would have been justified in going back and asking for a re-do? I mean, shouldn't it be dry in SIX HOURS?
What is the fastest way to get through Dulles Airport security?
First of all, this is my most closely guarded travel secret, and look how generously I'm sharing it with you. Please take a moment and marvel at my munificence. Done? Ok, the secret all lies in which security line you go through. From the main entrance, go all the way to the right side of the building. There is usually a gray partition up next to the elevators, with a security person trying to check your papers and hustle you into the middle line (the left line starts about a ½ mile back near the United check-in). But if you just give a quick smile and scoot around that partition, you can get access to the Secret Security Line, in which I've never had to wait more than 7 minutes. It's made my Dulles experience dramatically different, and so I encourage you to use this trick the next time you're there. Unless of course I am also traveling, and then you would be well-advised to forget this little piece of advice so as not to slow up my transit time.
What does a Canadian haircut look like?
More layers, eh.
Which makes a better pet: a cat or a dog?
Cats, obviously, are the superior pets. You can leave cats alone for a long weekend with just an extra large bowl of water, whereas dogs require an expensive kennel (or just never going anywhere, or else dragging them along). Cats are snuggly and affectionate, without being stupidly loyal like dogs. Both kittens and puppies are ridiculously adorable, but I've never wanted to check into a sanatorium after spending 2 hours with a kitten. Admittedly, cats clean their own behinds, but dogs eat their own feces AND sniff your crotch. Case closed, I think.
July 30, 2007
How To Take Me On A First Date
When setting up the date, volunteer to come down to my neighborhood for the evening. Do a little research and have an idea for an activity we might both enjoy. If you are going to take me to out to eat, at least have a couple of cuisines that you can suggest so I don't flail around making a dozen suggestions and hoping that one will be acceptable. Don't invite me for drinks—make it lunch or dinner or something completely unrelated to food like golfing or paint-your-own-pottery. Never ever suggest a movie. Volunteer to pick me up, but be open to the idea that I probably want to meet you someplace public just in case you are a serial killer.
Dress nicely—but not too nicely. Your shoes matter, so leave your sneakers at home. A belt wouldn't hurt either. Don't forget to brush your teeth, floss, and use some mouthwash before you leave the house. Chew some gum on your way over. I promise to do the same.
Be on time...no, be early. Introduce yourself; don't make me walk over to every single guy and parade the fact that I'm here on a first date. Compliment me. Whether it's my eyes or my smile or my dazzling ability to mix stripes and plaids, I want to know that you're not horrified at the sight of me in person.
Keep the awkward small talk to a minimum and suggest that we go to the bar/get a table/tee up right away. Once we get to wherever we're going, take the lead and announce that it's a "table for two" or "18 holes with a cart, please". Let me be the quiet and submissive one at the beginning; I'll jump you later.
During our date, don't dominate the conversation. Pay attention to my subtle social signals. Recognize that because I'm a polite person I will continue to ask you follow-up questions long after I have completely lost interest in whatever topic you're droning on about. Topics to avoid include why your marriage broke up (unless I ask, in which case a short explanation will suffice), why you hate your job, how to program software, and why your favorite sports team is going all the way this year. Don't complain about the traffic, the parking, or the weather—I dealt with it too and I've still managed to plaster a grin on my face.
Ask me about myself. When it turns out that you don't understand my job (and you probably won't), don't probe for twenty minutes in a feeble attempt to sound interested in the topic. You and I both know that you don't care unless it will help you get me into bed. And it won't. Just make a note of my chosen industry and do some internet research when you get home.
Don't admit that you never read books. Don't admit that you only watch horror movies. Don't talk about your home movie set-up like it was the second coming of Christ. Don't laugh too hard when I say something self-deprecating.
Don't ask if I want to have wine with dinner—of course I want wine, it goes without saying. And when the meal is over and the waiter comes over with the dessert menu, announce that we'll "take a look" and then give me the choice to peruse the offerings at my leisure. Never under any circumstances ask if I want dessert while the waiter hovers at the table's edge--it's too much pressure.
Take the bill when it arrives. Do not leave it sitting in the middle of the table, even if you plan on picking up the tab in a few minutes. Do not say "let me get this"—we both know that's how it works and there's no need to point out something as obvious as your ability to pay for a meal. Besides, my signal for "you're in" is to pick up the tab and having a back-and-forth on the first date dilutes my gesture later on.
If you like me, let me know during that first date. Don't actually say it out loud, but any of the following are acceptable: asking me to take a walk after dinner, casually touching my hand/arm, suggesting that we go to a different locale for an after-dinner drink. That let's me know that you are interested enough to want to spend more time with me, but doesn't get into stalker territory.
Feel free to flirt. Do not swear. Do not make lewd comments—or any comments about sex. Hold the door open for me. Walk on the outside edge of the sidewalk. These things tell me you are a gentleman, and that even if you don't buy into gender stereotypes, you can turn it on when you want to. It is unnecessary (but a plus) if you wait to be seated until I sit down. But don't overdo it—there's no need to jump to your feet every time I get up from the table.
Walk me to my car at the end of the night. Don't try to kiss me—a hug will do. And make it a quick hug, there's no need to stand with your arms wrapped around me, squeezing me like someone trying to hold on to a wriggling hamster.
Make sure we both know the next step. If you like me, tell me when you'll call again. If I wasn't your cup of tea, just say it was nice to meet me. I'll be looking for these signs from you, and you can be sure that if you pay attention you will know exactly how I feel when you walk away.
If I give you the preemptive handshake goodnight, you needed more gum.
Posted by madchen at 04:27 PM | Comments (2)July 29, 2007
8 Random Facts about Ms. Write Again Soon
I've been tagged with this stupid meme. If it didn't come from my favorite Brooklyn-via-DC lesbian, I would have just ignored it completely. But since I adore her, I can't. Damn you, Ms. NYC Rouge--do you know how long I've agonized over this list? Hours, I tell you. Are they random enough? Are they interesting enough? Are they too obvious? I shake my fist in your general direction...
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.
#1 Living in Sweden Changed My Eating Habits
While I will never get used to the idea that "fish buried until it rots" is a fine dining delicacy, my year in Sweden did expand my culinary horizons. I now love omelets, salami, cereal topped with yogurt or applesauce (instead of milk), and sandwiches without the second piece of bread. The potato chips "with that great bacon taste you love!" and the spreadable lobster paste…well…I apparently didn't live in Sweden long enough for that to sound appealing.
#2 I'm a Night Owl
I do my best work between 11 p.m. and 2 a.m., and it pains me to get up before 10 a.m. (although I often do). This sleep schedule (which will reappear even after weeks of diligently getting into bed at 9 p.m. and dragging myself out of bed at 8 a.m.) is one of the main reasons that I am so good as a student and as a self-employed business person—I set my daily routine and if I decide to stay up all night working on the Big Idea there is no reason why I can't take a nap the next afternoon. My boss is generous that way.
#3 I Have a List of Everyone that I've Had Sex With
Not a mental list—an actual written list. It's just a couple sentences about each person, the circumstances of our meeting, how good (or bad—sadly there are those too) the sex was, and how we left things. It's like my little black book, only shorter, with more graphic details. I decided to start keeping it a couple years ago when I realized the specifics of some of my earliest boyfriends were getting fuzzy in my almost-30 mind and I wanted to be sure that I would always remember their last names (and certain other things too).
#4 Ms. Wish to See Knows My Identifying Marks
From 2000 – 2002, Ms. Wish to See and I were roommates. At some point was decided—as part of being prepared for any eventuality—we should figure out several key identifying marks on each other's body so that in the case of a terrible accident and/or encounter with a serial killer who chops up bodies we would be able to make a positive ID to the police. As a result, not only does Ms. Wish to See know that I have a tattoo on my stomach, she also knows that I have the visual remains of a graphite pencil tip in my middle finger (from 6th grade) and a scar on my ass from where my C-section birth went a little wrong.
#5 The Beginning to the Movie Tarzan Always Makes Me Cry
While you might not believe it, dear reader, after following the Copious Weeping Episodes of May 2007, I am really not a crier. In fact, up until this year I hadn't cried for eons…that is, unless you count the times when I have accidentally caught the opening scenes to the Disney movie Tarzan. Have you seen it? The one where the parents get shipwrecked on the island and make a little treehouse and all seems well until they are summarily killed by the jaguar? Cast your mind back and remember the horrid Phil Collins song "You'll Be In My Heart" and picture me, tears seeping uncontrolled from my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks, tears soaking any Kleenex that happens to be handy. I have no idea why it happens, but eight years after I first saw the movie, it still happens (and I know because Janie was watching it last week when I walked into the room at the precise moment when the song started).
#6 I Should Be Working on the Big Idea Right Now
This is the story of my life. Every time I watch an hour of television, or read a chapter of a book, or sit down to pen a blog entry, there is a little voice inside my head that whispers nasty things about how much work has piled up. And as the seconds go by, that little voice raises the volume until it is saying in quite a normal tone that I am never going to finish my projects at this rate and that I'm letting down my staff. And then before I can do much else it is screaming that I AM A TERRIBLE FAILURE. All of which makes me want to crawl under the sheets and avoid the Big Idea forever, since who wants to do work that is destined to fail? And thus goes the vicious cycle that must end soon. Today in fact, since I'm already past four deadlines and the buck has to stop somewhere.
#7 I Suffer from a Severe Case of Blog Envy
I adore Ms. NYC Rouge's blog for its uncompromising honesty (and hilarious stories about men approaching her in the subway). I love El Guapo's blog for the way it makes me laugh and then unexpectedly catches me with its poignancy—and I love reading it with a Guatemalan accent. I love Bastish's blog for its amazing photographs and reminders of my time in Japan. I worry that my own blog is not living up to the standards of "best blog I could make it"—primarily because I don't have the time (see #6 above) and that makes me want to just stop writing altogether. On the other hand, "keep a blog for 5 years" is on my list of 50 Things to Do Before I Die and since I'm not on the road to accomplishing any of the others I figure I might as well keep it up as best I can.
#8 I Spend a Lot of Time Naked—Or At Least Semi-Clothed
Part of the joys of working from home is the ability to start a morning conference call in my pajamas, and then squeeze a shower in before my next e-meeting. Because I'm constantly running behind schedule (2007 New Years Resolution is meeting with only partial success) I often find myself sitting for a 45 minute conference call wearing just a towel. And occasionally that towel is wrapped around my hair. At other times I run to the gym in the afternoon and have a repeat of the "wearing only a robe meeting" late in the day…and then there is the whole "in the middle of changing into pajamas when this great idea hit me" hour in front of the computer at night. For that reason, I'm not pushing video-conferencing, although I have all the equipment set up and ready to go. The webcam is a dangerous thing, dear readers. Use it wisely.
So, it appears as though I am expected to "tag" eight people in some sort of horrid chain mail reprisal of 7th grade. I assume that if I fail to do so I will face an unexpected and yet horrible death mere days from now. So I'll do it, begrudgingly. And if my tag-ees decline to participate? Well, that steamroller accident is on their own heads—they'll have no one to blame but themselves.
-- Mr. Bastish – I'm sure he has many random facts to bestow upon his readers.
-- Ms. Secret Blog – whose #1 random fact should be "Why I Keep My Blog a Secret"
-- Ms. Pleasant Mornings – since she needs a kick-start to her blog
-- Mr. Pilot – who did not take my advice and reserve http://mrpilotisanasshole.blogspot.com, but instead writes things about sports that I don't understand
-- Mr. Hipster Dork – although he is probably too busy listening to indie music to participate
-- Ms. Shuffle All - because I think it's fun to tag people that you used to know, but don't anymore
-- Mr. Bad Apologies and Mr. Fliven – I know they've already been tagged, but I'm going for the peer pressure approach
UPDATE: Good lord, who knew it was so difficult to post comments on people's blogs? I give up. I tried the first five and was alternately told to "come back later and try again", to register for some a sportingnews account (no thanks!), or told to log in using my Google account (double no thanks!). I feel I have upheld my end of the bargain, so the chain mail gods had better leave me alone.
Posted by madchen at 12:07 PM | Comments (2)July 25, 2007
Babies on the Brain
Lately Janie has been enraptured by the idea of wishing on stars. Coming up with these wishes must take up a good two or three hours every day, although since she's usually asleep by the time that the stars come out, I'm not quite clear on how she's dispensing these wishes.
Also of great importance in this task is the fact that a wish must be kept secret. We've told her that if you tell a wish it won't come true, and this presents a problem because Janie's second favorite thing to do these days is talk. About everything. Nonstop. Until I want to swing by the hospital and have a tubal ligation just to ensure that I will never have to repeat this experience.
Janie has decided that there is a happy middle ground to this problem, and that is telling her potential wishes to just ONE person (or occasionally two or three). It seems that as long as one person is kept in the dark (and unfortunately, that person is rarely me), Janie has decided that the wish gods will see fit to grant her said desire.
Anyway, I now present you with a smattering of the potential wishes Janie will make this week:
-- How about I wish that you [mommy] were pregnant...a whole 8 months pregnant!
-- How about I wish that you have a baby boy and we name it Ollie?
-- How about it's a girl and we still name it Ollie?
-- Aunt Jen, I wished last night that daddy would get married!
There was also some discussion about God, and whether he would make people sick. Jessica was doubtful that God would purposefully make people sick and Janie retorted that God made germs and germs made people sick. Ergo God=infection, I suppose. Seems about right to me.
Posted by madchen at 05:48 PM | Comments (3)July 19, 2007
3 Years and a Day
Yesterday was the three year anniversary of this website. It certainly doesn't seem like Write Again Soon has been around that long, but then the style of writing and typical content of my blog has changed so dramatically that it doesn't feel a continuous process.
When I look back at my entries from year one, it seems that I was mostly concerned with documenting every absurd thing about school in Sweden, every trifling detail of doing laundry (I still grit my teeth when I think about the Swedish laundry system), and all of the Margaret Atwood books I read. Note: no real discussion of men--it was a long and lonely year.
Year two was mostly about starting up the Big Idea, the perils of living with my family, Janie's amusing commentary (which has gradually grown more patronizing), and my revived dating life. Oh the massive amounts of dating I did in 2005-2006.
Year three was a lot about well...I'm not sure the last year has a defining characteristic. A lot of it was about my dating trials and tribulations with Mr. Pilot (and also Mr. Music, Mr. Bethesda, Mr. FWB, Mr. Officer and a Gentleman, and Mr. Doctor--oh, and that girl who I don't think ever got a name), with a continuing dose of Janie, and some more about the Big Idea. But mostly about guys, I suppose.
What will year four hold for Write Again Soon? It's unclear.
To begin with I have suddenly and inexplicably become more careful about what I write for this website. There is a particular entry that I'm thinking about--one that I've gradually written over the last 6 weeks--that I just can't bring myself to publish because it would invite all sort of curious and angry and potentially VERY angry questions and accusations and I don't feel like dealing with it. On the other hand, it's irritating to know that I have this thing that I've written just sitting on my desktop because I'm too scared to just publish it. That goes against everything I meant this blog to be.
Secondly, now that I'm increasingly busy with the Big Idea ("busy" finally having some relationship to "getting paid"), I'm finding it harder to carve out time to write interesting things...like how appalled I am that the NFL is continuing to let Michael Vick play. They should douse him in cold water, electrocute him, and then throw him in the ring with a couple of starving, provoked dogs and see what happens. That's one fight on which I would be happy to place a bet. Not that I am one to invite controversy, you know.
Third, I'm running into the problem of the "real" me versus the "blog" me. I want them to be separate entities. When I write something for public consumption, I want there to be some sort of automatic immunity from prosecution. I don't want to be scolded in real life (although the scathing commentary left in the comments section is always fun), and I don't want people to automatically assume that the blog entry is the whole, unadulterated truth. I occasionally embellish for artistic flair, and lots of times I leave parts of the story out. That's just my capricious way.
So what does that mean for the future of Write Again Soon? For now, I'm just copying Ms. NYC Rouge's approach to blogging:
Are my words dishonest? Have I actively cultivated a persona that is not myself? The answer is no. But . . . but . . . Oh just fuck it. Enough with the blather. I'm off to have a bourbon and a good time.
Side note: she got lucky with her Ms. K later that night. Perhaps I need to be more active in soliciting kind words from my readers so that we can later meet, have dinner, make out in a taxi, and stay up until the wee hours doing undescribed things? Seems like an admirable goal for the coming year of blogging.
Posted by madchen at 07:49 PM | Comments (4)July 15, 2007
Books I Read in June
New Total: 124
Absurdistan: A Novel
by Gary Shteyngart
Publishers Weekly: *Starred Review* Misha Vainberg, the rich, arrogant and very funny hero of Shteyngart's follow-up to The Russian Debutante's Handbook, compares himself early on to Prince Myshkin from Dostoyevski's The Idiot: "Like the prince, I am something of a holy fool... an innocent surrounded by schemers." Readers will more likely note his striking resemblance to John Kennedy Toole's Ignatius Reilly. A "sophisticate and a melancholic," Misha is an obese 30-year-old Russian heir to a post-Soviet fortune. After living in the Midwest and New York City for 12 years, he considers himself "an American impounded in a Russian body." But his father in St. Petersburg has killed an Oklahoma businessman and then turned up dead himself, and Misha, trying to leave Petersburg after the funeral, is denied a visa to the United States. The novel is written as his appeal, "a love letter and also a plea," to the Immigration and Naturalization Service to allow him to return to the States, which lovingly and hilariously follows Misha's attempt to secure a bogus Belgian passport in the tiny post-Soviet country of Absurdistan. Along the way, Shteyngart's graphic, slapstick satire portrays the American dream as experienced by hungry newborn democracies, and covers everything from crony capitalism to multiculturalism...Extending allegorical tentacles back to the Cold War and forward to the War on Terror, Shteyngart piles on plots, characters and flashbacks without losing any of the novel's madcap momentum, and the novel builds to a frantic pitch before coming to a breathless halt on the day before 9/11. The result is a sendup of American values abroad and a complex, sympathetic protagonist worthy of comparison to America's enduring literary heroes.
My Review: This book is weird. There were parts that made me laugh out loud, and parts that made me feel like I should be analyzing the overly obvious satire with my 9th grade english class. Frankly, I'm not quite clear why it deserved a *starred review*, but then I've never been a fan of the slapstick satire genre.
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Special Topics in Calamity Physics
by Marisha Pessl
Booklist: After 10 years of traveling with her father, a perennial (and pedantic) visiting lecturer at various, obscure institutions of higher learning, Blue Van Meer finally settles in as a senior at the St. Gallway School in Stockton, North Carolina. There she is bemused to find herself part of a charmed circle of popular kids called the Bluebloods and the protege of the mysterious film-studies teacher, Hannah Schneider. When a friend of Hannah's dies at a party the kids have crashed, this extravagantly arch and self-conscious coming-of-age novel turns into a murder mystery that--although never as Hitchcockian as its publisher claims--is, nevertheless, almost compelling enough to warrant its excessive length. Intriguingly structured as a syllabus for a Great Works of Literature class, Pessl's first novel is filled with references to invented books--and to some real ones, too, including several by Nabokov. Overkill? You bet. But, as a result, the novel is generating a great deal of buzz that will excite the curiosity of readers who enjoy postmodern excesses and indulgences of this sort.
My Review: I adored this book. No, that's not strong enough...I throw myself down and proclaim this to be one of the best books I've read in the last 5 years. And if you look over all the books I've read in the last 5 years, that's saying a LOT. I loved the clever ramblings--even when they were a bit too clever and rambling (as all college freshmen are), and thoroughly enjoyed the murder mystery wrapped in a secret society, wrapped in a high school clique enigma. It was hip, it was totally different than anything I've read recently, and I finally get the joy of "postmodern excess". More of it, I say.
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Rosseau's Dog
by David Edmonds and John Eidinow
Publishers Weekly: In 1766, Scottish philosopher David Hume helped the radical Swiss intellectual Jean-Jacques Rousseau find asylum in England; a few months later, the volatile philosopher accused his benefactor of masterminding a murky conspiracy against him and triggered a virulent response. The argument had nothing to do with philosophy (or Rousseau's dog), but, as in their well-received Wittgenstein's Poker, the authors use the dispute as a pretext for an engaging rundown of the two thinkers' great ideas—with a big swig of human interest to wash down the philosophical morsels. Their (sometimes excessively) detailed, meandering account of the feud points to something larger: the contrast between the affable, urbane rationalist Hume and the moody, paranoid, emotionally overwrought Rousseau prefigures, they believe, the shift from the Enlightenment cult of reason to the Romantic cult of feeling. The authors widen their vivid portraits of the antagonists into a panorama of the cross-Channel intellectual community that refereed the squabble, taking in the ancien régime salons and their brilliant hostesses and the London and Paris streets where visiting philosophers were mobbed like rock stars. The result is an absorbing cultural history of the republic of letters in its exuberant youth.
My Review: This book is exactly what I like about a well-written nonfiction book. It got me caught up in the drama and the intrigue, while still providing me with an "I am superior than you because look! a! nonfiction! book!" cover. Very entertaining, and dare I say it, educational too.
Note: In the last month I had also re-read and re-listened to Harry Potter #4-6, and the Thursday Next Series #1-4, in preparation for their latest sequels--both due out in the next few weeks. So really, I should get WAY more credit for squeezing in non-repeats, don't you think?
Note #2: You know when Amazon.com does really freaky things, almost like it's watching you? I put "Absurdistan" into the Amazon.com search function and it spit out the proper link. But immediately below it is Special Topics in Calamity Physics, the VERY BOOK THAT I READ IMMEDIATELY AFTER ABSURDISTAN! The books were bought at completely different times, and there is no rhyme to why I chose these particular two for June. Also of note, my July book club book also appears on the Absurdistan list, but much further down. Clearly, Amazon is spying on me.
Posted by madchen at 11:52 PM | Comments (2)July 08, 2007
Crazy
You know that incredibly adorable commercial where the little girl chatters in nonsensical delight while her dad buckles her into the car? The one that gives your reproductive organs a little lurch everytime you see that achingly sweet microcosm of life with a small child?
Achingly sweet, that is, until that 30-second spot turns into the reality of a 48-hour monologue complete with regular updates on why you are not as nice as Grandma, not as fun as Grandad, and how everything in the world will be right once mommy and daddy get back from Portugal.
In short, Janie is driving me crazy. Between the hysterical crying jags (I MISS MY MOMMY AND DADDY!!! WHY DO GRANDMA AND GRANDAD HAVE TO GO TO A PARTY??? WHY CAN'T THE PARTY BE HERE??? I MISS MY PARENTS!!!) and the sullen sulking fits are moments where every possible thing going on in the whole universe needs to be observed and commented upon. There has not been a single 2-minute gap of silence in this house for DAYS, and I am seriously considering puncturing my eardrums just to get a little peace.
I would do it, too, except the thought of having to answer approximately three hundred twenty-seven thousand, six hundred and ninety-four questions along the lines of aunt jen what happened to your ears? aunt jen, does that hurt? aunt jen, one time i hurt my ear and it was WAY worse that that just makes me want to skip ahead and kill myself.
Janie, when you read this years from now, I want you to fully understand that tonight, in the midst of your misery and heartache, I was missing your parents WAY MORE THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY FATHOM. Hell, I practically called Portugal to insist that your parents get on a plane this very instant...and if they could crash land on our house and put my out of my misery, well that would just be a bonus.
(Not that there haven't been moments of amusement, like the conversation Janie and I just had...it begins as I'm about 30 seconds away from losing my temper and locking her in a small closet...)
Ay dios mio!
"Aunt Jen, what does that mean?"
It means 'oh my goodness'.
"In horse language?"
No, in Spanish.
"Oh, I see. How would you say it in horse language?"
And this one...
"Aunt Jen, I am going to miss you when I go on my trip."
Are you going to cry every night when it's time to go to bed, and wail I WANT MY AUNT JEN!!?
"Well...no. But I will probably cry I WANT MY GRANDMA!"
What? You are an ingrate!
"Aunt Jen, it's nothing personal. It's just the way things are."
[Fifteen minutes, and thirty-seven topics of conversation later...]
"Aunt Jen, what is an ingrate?
Posted by madchen at 09:00 PM | Comments (1)July 05, 2007
So Ms. Write Again Soon, When Is It Going To Be Your Turn?
Jess and Mr. Angel of the Morning got hitched on Saturday night. (Incidentally, Mr. Angel of the Morning will now be called Mr. Eagle Six in accordance with his wishes and in honor of his new status as my brother-in-law.)
I was the maid of honor AND the photographer AND the newly-off-the-rebound woman of the night. Yes, dear reader, my self-inflicted "coi-atus" officially ended at midnight on June 30th. Unfortunately, Mr. HSBF (my date, pictured below in slightly fuzzy format thanks to Janie's camera prowess) was on call at the hospital the next morning and thus left the party at 1 a.m., narrowly escaping with his dignity and honor intact.
All was not lost, however, and at approximately 2:37 a.m. I enthusiastically bounded back into the world of "intoxicated wedding sex with members of your newly expanded family, albeit only by marriage thank goodness". I will spare you the details--not because they aren't hot and drrty and highly entertaining, but mostly because I was sworn to secrecy by the gentleman in question because he is just SURE that knowing of our adventures would make Mr. Eagle Six's head explode. And no one wants that.
Anyway, the wedding itself was lovely. Jess looked radiant, the flowers were perfectly in bloom, the food was un-terrible, and much merriment was had by all attendees--including the ones who made an impromptu ho'down in the corner.
And just so you know, if one more person asks me "so Jen, when is it going to be your turn" I might have to take those leftover long stem roses and shove them into their eyeballs, making a particular point to brush the thorns against the corneas for emphasis as I shout IF YOU KNOW OF ANY SINGLE GUYS YOU MIGHT CONSIDER SENDING THEM THIS WAY YOU ASSHOLE BECAUSE REALLY I HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN PINE AWAY ABOUT MY SINGLE STATUS IN BETWEEN SHAGGING ANONYMOUS MEN (WHO REALLY ARE NOW TECHNICALLY RELATED TO ME) THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
Posted by madchen at 09:11 PM | Comments (3)
