Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Pretending to work from home. No one is fooled.

Yeesh. Was up so late making my Prehistoric Lasagna of Charity, and then out for a run at 5:30, that I made the fatal mistake of lying down, "just for a minute." I must have hit snooze 19 times. I finally realized while rationalizing getting dressed, putting on makeup and driving to work in 14 minutes, that it was just hopeless. So I am lying here in bed, drooling at my computer screen. Wishing I had some coffee.

Mph. Won't someone make me some?

Please?

Monday, January 30, 2006

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

It's 10:34 and I'm making lasagna. From scratch, because I'm too poor to go out and buy anything ready-made. Effing poverty, and my effing big mouth have gotten me into trouble ONCE AGAIN! My friend Angi, who did a lot of running with me this past summer during our marathon training...well her husband fell off of a ladder and broke his leg in about six places. See, you don't even know him and you feel bad, right? Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know him either, so I feel mostly bad for Angi.

A.S. was so nice to me when I hurt my foot, even when I was whiny and didn't deserve it. He would make me coffee every morning, and he had to WALK OVER TO MY HOUSE to brew it, since we were not cohabitating while my mom could come bounding into the door at any moment. He had to drive me to work some mornings. Listen to me cry and swear and apologize and then start all over again. He even had the generosity of spirit to rock my brick house while my foot was elevated with a vacuum attached to it that sounded like an old man on the potty.

Now, that's hot, and don't tell me it ain't.

So anyway, Angi's poor husband has it way worse than I did, with pins and screws and a nasty looking brace. And Angi's got to be feeling a little stressed out too, with a cranky husband and bills and no one to be nice to her. Just like A.S. So I feel like I owe the karmic community a lasagna.

Only I don't have hamburger meat, I have venison. You think anyone will notice? Is it wrong to give someone a lasagna made from a deer instead of a cow?

Surely some early Italian hunter gatherer once came home with a big caribou or something for his teeny Italian hairy grandmother to make prehistoric lasagna.

Man is there the biggest winter lightning storm starting outside right now. I can just hear the beginnings of rain on the tin roof and the pigeons moving restlessly outside my kitchen wall in their cozy little alcove (They also coo whenever I preheat the oven, I don't know why.). The thunder is so loud and long, it is rolling back and forth across the sky. Not a bad time to be cooking and blogging, all in all.

Not that i wouldn't MUCH rather be snug in my bed reading after the extremely grueling yoga class this evening. The instructor kept saying, "If it hurts, smile, but not in pain...give your pain up for your mothers, your first teachers," and other such nonsense.

Oh my. The rain just started, and I swear something just got electrocuted. Thank goodness I'm wireless so I can't get shocked through my PowerBook. I saw the blue flash and heard something buzz outside. WOW! A big purple flash just silhouetted the pecan tree outside my window (I'm on the third, really the fourth floor) so the view is absolutely spectacular. So dramatic. Another flash and another. Dozens of them. I just love thunder storms.

I've gone and pulled out my camping lantern and my headlamp so i can keep cooking if the power fails. Excellent. It will complete my vision of prehistoric pasta baking.

Sparkly (the photo)

So I've tried actually taking a photo of the ring, who I have named, "Mine." (that was for you, Al)

But the office digital camera sucks ass, so I'm just posting a ring that looks like it.

Voila! BEHOLD!

MINE!




Shown in actual size, of course.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Latey McGaucheness

It's January 29th. I have not sent 10 Christmas cards, 9 thank you notes, my aunt and uncle's Christmas presents, nor any thank you notes yet for the nice people offering to throw engagement parties. This does not bode well for the coming onslaught of thank you notes I must slave over for wedding and shower presents. Doom. It occurs to me that it would help if I were capable of writing notes like this:

Dear So and So,
Thank you so much for the lovely ____. I'm sure it will come in very handy for ________. A.S. and I will doubtless use it often to _____ and will think of you _____. Best wishes and thank you again for the wonderful ____.

Fondly,
Jemima.

In place of _____, please insert:
a. fork
b. gouging out my eyes after writing too many goddamn thank you notes
c. pinning up our sex trapeze
d. naked
e. hemorrhoid

It's just like Mad Libs!

Only I can't write those. We've all gotten them and they just make you pissed that you didn't keep that really cool gift for yourself and instead regift them a tupperware lid holder...or a salad spinner. Only, I actually could use a salad spinner right now for the bollocking South Beach rabbit diet I keep pretending to be on. Anyway, I actually sit down and write some long chatty letter to people with genuine feeling. And that takes time and effort and concentration, and I kind of have to be in the mood to do it.

Obviously that mood has been in scant supply recently, so it's time to force the gratitude here. I've pulled out my stationery (must get rid of the stuff before the big Name Change, and I have BOXES of it. Drawerfuls! Tons and tons! I am something of a stationery whore, and a lot of it has my name or monogram and our family burgee on it.) and have been avoiding eye contact with it out of guilt. But it's time to get down to business. I must thank my other godmother for the Tiffany lamp pattern umbrella and matching (diaper?) bag. And my aunt and uncle for the dressmaker's bust photo stands (what?). And my sister for the computer bag that also looks like a black quilted diaper bag (my ovaries better be withering where they belong, or the medical community has a lot to answer for). She must have had babies on the brain when she bought it. You know...all I wanted was the green Patagonia messenger bag for Christmas, and did anyone in my family buy it for me? No. They did not. Nor did anyone purchase the black dress coat I wanted. Instead, Mom found a suit, which I'm sure was quite costly judging from the packaging, which has an unflattering bustley deal behind the knee, which I unfortunately did not notice as I was running late and ripped the tags out and wore it before stopping short at the reflection of my unflattering rear half in the office restroom. DOOM! So I can't return it and get something useful...like a goddamned BLACK DRESS COAT! And I have to thank mom for it, starting now.

Dear Mom.
Thank you very much for the lovely bustle suit. I will wear it often...and think of you fat.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Sake

I like sake hot
I like sake cold
I like sake in the pot...

Just had the most delicious sake at Basil. Lots and lots of it. And basil rolls and hot and sour shrimp soup with rice, which is not on South Beach. But neither was the cheesecake I ate for lunch. The brownie I had for my healthy midmorning snack. Or the Krispy Kreme donut I had for breakfast dessert. Dr. Whatshisname would be rolling around screaming if he knew.

God, what a long day. Since I am now working directly under the CEO, I had to come up with a Q1 PR Strategy overnight. WHEEEEEE! My favorite thing...strategizing! Anyway, it went well. He was pleased. He wanted more strategy, so I have to revise it and have it by 9 a.m. Monday. So while the rest of you smug bastards booze and hobnob all weekend, I will be poring over submission guidelines for 30 different publications and writing targeting letters for all. WHOOPEDY DOO!

So I was debating whether or not to go to a delicious party at my friend Holly's tomorrow night, she of the pink KitchenAid and Porncake. I also had a request to babysit, and I need the money. And an art showing at the Corregan Gallery. And Sun Volt is playing at the Farm. But I think I will do none of these things and instead drive three and a half hours to Clemson, land of no beer or wine sales on Sundays, in order to do very little with my fiance. It will be so nice to make pancakes and drink coffee and laze about at the breakfast table with his feet on top of my feet, and I'm so excited to see him, it makes my stomach kind of squiggly. I suppose that's a good thing after three years of dating and 20 years of friendship. And I'm planning to get some personal writing done, which will be fairly wholesome and satisfying. So, I'm very sorry, to all of the cool people who will probably never invite me to their parties or their art shows ever again...I'm going to be lousy and boring and June Cleaverish.

Of course, come February, the insanity starts. I feel I should enjoy a moment of tranquility.

Speaking of moments...I found out today that Wilco is coming to Charleston! Granted it's at the shittiest venue ever, but I'm going. I'm getting wrecked on something beforehand, but I'm going! Sweet Baby Moses! Who'd have thought?

Also, I'd totally forgotten about this site, and had a long interlude of hissing and shaking and snorting and cackling followed by weeping and howling. Damn that's funny: http://www.candyboots.com/wwcards/fishballs.html.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Orange Chickens

So i've lifted weights three times in the past week, and the arm wattles don't appear any smaller. Apparently I could still give Batman a run for his money. What gives? By now I expect to have high water booty, Jennifer Garner arms and Esther Cañadas' cheekbones. I want answers!

I had a grand run through the fog with Theresa this morning. It was kind of Poe-esque, spooky...definitely one of those mornings I'm glad I have people to run with me. Apparently she's breaking the classic work-date rule: "Don't shit where you eat." I sure hope it doesn't come back to bite her in the ass. The guy sounds alright, i guess. Although he's never seen Goonies. I thought EVERYONE had seen Goonies.

Speaking of relationships, A.S. and I met up in Charlotte this weekend to visit our friends Helen and Brian, and to help Helen move my godchild into her new Big Girl Room. They have a second edition on the way, so i volunteered to come up and be helpful. Why do I always forget how much painting sucks? I told her other godmother today that it's her turn to be the saintly godparent and have shards of wood driven deep under her fingernails or something, so we make out equally in the suffering capacity. What a total pain in the ass. A.S. was downstairs working on his school project, and her husband, Brian, sat on his ass watching tennis...I wasn't feeling charitably inclined towards either one of them. Every so often, they'd come upstairs to check our progress, but my stink eye generally drove them off quickly. Either pick up a brush and help or go away, but standing there all bored eating OUR Doritos is not allowed! Worthless dogs! But the room looked so lovely, all fresh and buttery yellow. It had been a doo doo brown storage room before, so buttery yellow was a massive improvement. Made it look lots bigger too.

As a wedding update, I have chosen bridesmaids dresses, guaranteed to satisfy no one, but at least it's over with. I had no idea how traumatic that whole process was. They are quite attractive though...pale gold dupioni silk two pieces, with a straight bodice and spaghetti straps on top, and an A-line skirt to the floor on the bottom. One bridesmaid is already threatening to dye her hair red, which I guess is her way of saying she hates the fabric color because it washes her out. I suppose I could add vibrance to her particular gown by sewing on some yellow sequins and pink ruffles...Hear that, Amanda! That was a threat!

Also, poor A.S. ventured out several weeks ago to look at china and crystal...alone. Apparently the sales persons all looked at him like he was a complete pervert and asked what the hell he was doing in there. But I had asked him if he would find out how this whole registry thing worked, and damned if he didn't make a valiant effort. He's a good man. Anyway, I walked into Brittain's today with Mom to see what he had picked out, and they laughed and made fun and said, "Can you believe he picked out THIS?"

And I'm like, "Great. I'll take it."

So A.S. and I are going to have the Chicken China. This pleases us.
















We were also partial to this, but it's so damned expensive, you have to request the price...like REAL ESTATE! But aren't they gorgeous?





Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Mantra

Does anyone have a personal mantra? I once read that Pamela Anderson's was, "Shut the fuck up." I've often wondered if she was talking to herself or meant to direct it at other people.

Mine is, "There's no crying in baseball...or at work." I had to repeat that to myself many times today at the office, since my mother is DRIVING ME OUT OF MY MIND. She emailed me 27 times at work last week about wedding crap. I counted. She calls me four times a day, despite my telling her that my cell phone doesn't have signal in the office. Then she gets mad when I can't understand anything she says. She also emails my personal account constantly.

So last week, she scheduled nine wedding parties and showers that I am to have in the next four and a half months. I'm grateful for her help, and I'm grateful to the kind people throwing these parties, but it's too damned much. I have to configure guest lists for all these people. A.S. has to drive four hours to get here and then put on a tux. He's going to get pissed...and I'm going to have a nervous breakdown.

Speaking of that...why is it (generally) in a woman's nature to cry, while a man just gets pissed? AND they get to pee standing up. It's just not fair.

Plus almost all of these events are being held by our parents' friends, not our friends. Our friends are just getting around to asking if they can participate (three whole weeks into the engagement...shocking!) and there's no time. Boo.

I'm not quite done whining yet, but I'm nearing the end. Bear with me. AND, there stands the simple truth, that A.S. and I are the types who swan in to parties, say our hellos, and then sneak home to drink wine and do whatever it is we do. We are not the types who enjoy being the center of attention, and with these types of parties, you have to come early and stay until everyone goes home. Christ. Maybe I need to buy a book on how to make small talk. Any advice? Besides drinking a lot?

Okay, okay. Now it's time to psych myself back up. I do get to buy new shoes for these events. Nice.

At the end of this, I will have an excellent husband (Sweet Baby Moses, I'm going to have a husband).

I should stop being so negative and ungrateful. These people are being kind enough to throw elegant soirees for us, and the least I can go is drink their bourbon and smile about it.

Did I mention the shoes?

After it's all over, I get to go on a honeymoon and maybe climb the Matterhorn.

And then I can move far, far away to places where people actually vote Non-Turd.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

If cleanliness is next to Godliness...

...then I'm going to hell.

How can there be a ROACH in my kitchen in fucking JANUARY, people? It was one of those tiny nasty ones that are almost more shocking than the tennis shoe sized ones we get around these parts. There it was, strolling around my kitchen table brazen as a ten cent whore.

"WHERE IN THE HELL DID YOU COME FROM!?!?!?!?!"

Then I squizzed him with a Whole Foods receipt, which goes to show you that I am very brave AND that tree huggers can fight when cornered.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

THE DRESS

I have found it! THE DRESS! Oh, it's so pretty. I don't know if I can wait til April when it gets here. And by "here," I mean Augusta, GA. Mom and I had planned a weekend of dress hunting in Augusta (where my sister bought hers) and Atlanta. And I had psyched myself up for a lot of drive time with Mom, who I love, but, um, don't always get along with. We went to stay with my sister on Friday and then left in the morning for the first of four shops. I'd expected it to take awhile, since I tried on about everything in Copper Penny, and liked a couple of them, but hadn't gone wild over any one of them.

And, ladies and gentlemen, it was the second dress I tried on. I put it on, and everyone just got goosebumps. I'd heard that you just "know," but damn... All the ladies in the shop, the mamas and the brides, they all said, "OH! That one is perfect for you!"

It is gorgeous and perfect and amazingly elegant--here is the description: "French blue taffeta sash accents this Duchess satin strapless gown with fitted bodice. Full A-line skirt flows into a chapel train from the knotted sash which extends down the back." It also has buttons all the way to the floor, which was a must for me. We had to request that specially.

There was another bride about my age, also tall and brunette, and she was trying on several dresses, and she came out in the incredible dress, totally different than mine, but was so perfect for her too. All rouched satin and lace and feminine, and we all just "knew" and everyone ooh and ahhed. And then this poor little 20-year-old bride came in and tried on some trendy mermaid dress that absolutely wore her rather than the other way around...and nobody said anything. It was kind of sad. Maybe you don't know enoough about what's beautiful and what's beautiful on YOU when you're that young. That also made me think about how glad I am not to be 21 anymore. I could convince myself that I was in love with anyone back then, no matter how awful. My own happiness always depended on someone else's. How dreadful to be young and in love!

Twenty-six was a fun year. Maybe I'd go back to that. I can't even remember 25...how sad is that? Hmmm, that might be the year my dad started calling me his Spinster Daughter (he's such a riot), so no wonder I blocked it out. Twenty-seven was the year I spent in Africa, which was amazing. And then when I came home, I "met" A.S.. Well, I've known him since we were 9 or so, but we didn't start dating until I came home from Africa and he had moved back from San Francisco. So 27 was a very good year. Maybe I'd redo that one.

Last year, I definitely don't think I'd redo. A.S. and I started the year on a scary shaky ground, my having broken up with him in Italy, for many very good reasons, all of which have since been remedied. And I half cut off my foot surfing. And I started doing PR, which kind of sucks, and I miss writing and actually enjoying it. Press releases do not count, trust me. On the other hand, I met some very good friends, ran a marathon, quit smoking, published a few freelance articles I am proud of and got engaged to a wonderful man who loves me despite my Frankenfoot. And now I'm going to marry him in the most beautiful dress ever.

And I comfort myself that even though it was expensive, it costs less than the palatial portojohnny.

Procrasticonflagration

I can always tell when I have assigments that need doing, because all my laundry is done, and my apartment is clean.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Ugh

Does South Beach get better? Because running without carbs is wearing me the fuck out. And the yoga class I went to last night was like a class field trip to Medieval Torture Land. "Come enjoy 90 minutes of ass spasms and pulled muscles. Don't forget to breathe!"

After a brisk shower and an attempted disco nap, I had to take my depressed godmother to the movies. Narnia started at 10:00, which means we got home at 1:00 this morning. It was a fantastic movie, and Lucy was so cute I wanted to eat her adorable little head. Then up again at 5:30 to meet Theresa and Alexis. Never even got to speak to A.S. yesterday, since I didn't want to call him so late/early. God, I feel hideous today, plus crampy.

At least while working from home yesterday, I got an interview done for a freelance assignment, 27 phone calls made for my dad's book, a chicken roasted, plus all my regular work done for my real job. Nice. Don't you just love working from home?

Anyway, I'm about to be late for work. Tata

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Sunshiny Day

I am to be congratulated. This evening at supper, I learned that I am once again to be...

...AN AUNT! Hurray! My sister is pregnant with baby number two!

Another baby we can fool into thinking that I am her and she is me...always such fun when they're small. Bean was the cutest little tyke you've ever seen, all smiley and happy. I hope this one is as sweet. Of course, if A.S. and I move off, then I suppose I won't be as close to it as I am to the Beaner. Hmph, well, we'll see. We won't move away for all that long.

The funny thing is that my sister, who is my maid of honor (she says the word "matron" makes her feel fat), is going to be as big as a ship for my wedding. I keep making cracks about white spandex bridesmaids dresses, with big red targets over the belly. Heheh. But I missed her being "big pregnant" last time, because I was in South Africa when Bean was born. Of course, she never got that big because Bean was also a month early, a nice reasonable 4 lbs 8 oz. And since she was perfectly healthy and a quick and easy delivery, that sounded a whole lot better than one of those 8 lb heifer babies. No. Thank. You. She's now tall for her age and brilliant and hilarious, so I am all for small babies. Plus they look so funny when you take pictures of them in a salad bowl.

So A.S. and I are both expectant aunts and uncles. His is due in April though, so his sister-in-law is much further ahead. What fun to have so many chirren running around...that aren't mine.

Monday, January 09, 2006

ah me

I just drank my first ever decaf. My eccentric godmother asked me for coffee at 8:00 at night, and I told her that I would meet her but couldn't drink anything or I'd be up all night. She said, "I take it you don't drink decaf?"

It just never occurred to me. Decaf?

Work was such a delight today, and I think I accomplished nothing. Isn't it supposed to be a given that if you agree to do a press release, you also inherently to agree to talk to the press if they call? Apparently now. Plus one of my favorite coworkers turned in her notice, which was not exactly a surprise...I think every member of our team contemplates it at least twice a day. But I'm sad she's leaving. She has such a funny sense of humor, even if she does do weird things like Bonko and beading.

I also had the most flattering court appearance ever today. It was just a warning, which, for a girl is kind of flattering anyway, I was pretty dressed up when I got pulled, but really, I think the cop was just feeling sorry for me. It startled me so badly to be pulled over (you'd think I'd be used to it by now) that I was shaking like a leaf. Anyway, when they called my name in the courtroom, I went up to the front to show them the proof of insurance and ownership that I didn't have at the time I got the warning, and the judge asked me if I were Jemima..."the writer who has a column and writes in Skirt and Charleston Magazine. I loved your stories about traveling and South Africa..." I went absolutely crimson, but was so secretly pleased. How sweet is it for a judge to announce that she likes your writing while you're standing before her practically as a criminal! WOW!

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Lockdown

We have a lovely little phrase in our apartment building when we don't want to be bothered: Lockdown.

So here I sit on "my" grievously uncomfortable couch, with my sleeping bag, a bottle of wine...now, regrettably, empty...a box of chocolate (also empty), a jar of pickles (empty) and cheese, and the remainder of two very delicious hotdogs. I have been watching A Room With A View and not answering my phone.

Let me see...I have 12 messages and no intention of listening to any of them. Eleven of them are probably from my mother, who is good and generous and controlling and passive aggressive and martyrish. One is probably from my fiance, who is wonderful and has nice dimples. I don't want to talk to him either.

I just want to be fat and irritable and premenstrual and drunk all by myself.

I found myself wondering if the typical photo entitled "The Blushing Bride" shouldn't picture a girl bawling alone with her head in her hands.

The day started humorously enough with A.S. at breakfast at the Bookstore Cafe. I was in a good mood and determined to keep it that way, so I was deliberately refraining from mentioning The Wedding (things are getting so deep at this point, I may begin referring to it as The Wading). But against my will, A.S. dragged us back into the mire, and for some reason, jumped up his high horse about how it was essential that we have guests bused to and from the reception and how undecorous of my family not to have considered our guests' needs first. So I mentioned that we were planning to hire designated driver services in case guests got too hammered to drive back from the plantation. That must have been a really DUMB idea, because NO ONE would ever want that and it would never work and so on. So, after A.S.'s tirade, I was feeling a little crestfallen, so i thought I'd try to reason with him about how my parents had really made food and drink and the band the biggest priorities, and how we weren't aware that A.S. thought transportation was really the most important thing. Maybe we should try to rearrange the budget to also include several thousand dollars worth of buses during Spoleto weekend to take people 20 miles to and from a leased parking facility downtown. That apparently didn't suit him either and he offered to pay for his idea since mine were so pointless and awful. There is really nothing guaranteed to piss me or my family off more than for his family to pay for something because we can't afford to do it "right."

And then I tried to change the subject to something nice, like the party his best friend's mother offered to throw us. And it was all, "God, not another fucking party."

I nearly cried, and I know I got the Crumbly Face.

So between his parents and my parents, we have a list of 689 people, most of whom I have never met. We will be handling a logistical nightmare involving Greyhound and I will be wearing a dress made of burlap and eating food purchased past its Sell By date to save on catering so that our loutish friends don't get a DUI. Fuck everyone.

Yes, I am aware that I'm being a baby.

But if we have to skimp on fun things like sangria and a wedding dress because my father had to invite his 122nd cousin 4,000,000 times removed, I'm going to be pissed. And if my mother doesn't stop being Miss Charlotte Bartlett, there is no way in hell the next six months are going to be any fun.

And then A.S. left to go back to school. What a brilliant note to leave things on. Why don't I shave my head, grow a moustache and sleep with his best friend too, because I could hardly make myself less attractive. I'm sure he was DYING to get the hell away from me.

I really thought I was going to be the one bride to forgo the wedding drama, and it's pissing me off to be so typical.

I haven't posted my list of 200 New Years' Resolutions, so maybe I will do Wedding Resolutions instead.

1. I will not make every conversation about The Wedding. Other people are doing interesting things too.
2. I will buffer my stressed-out fiance from too much wedding crap during his thesis semester.
3. I will ask for help when I need it...from my bridesmaids.
4. I will be grateful to my parents. After all, the wedding is not just about me. It is also about the people who are paying for it. Even when they're wrong.
5. I will try to remember what is most meaningful about this time and not become shrewishly focused on the Party instead of the Marriage.
6. I will not complain about my mother to everyone I meet.
7. I will stop eating junk just because I get worked up. I must remember that in a few short months, I will be wearing white in front of several hundred people, several of whom will be bearing cameras.
8. If I don't have anything nice to say, don't talk about it, blog about it.
9. I will stop researching wedding stuff at work.
10. I will eat at my wedding, come hell or high water.

There. Now I'm drunk and need a shower. I'm going.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Relationships

I just came back from my first run of the New Year with my friend Theresa. She had the nicest congratulations card for me, and we had such lovely girl talk on the route. She's seeing a new guy named Colby, who she's tremendously nervous and excited about. He just returned from Amsterdam for the holidays and called her within an hour of getting off the plane back in Charleston. I told her that seemed like an awfully clear sign. "He likes you. Oh yes, he does."

I've also been cautioning her against taking too much relationship advice from our friend Jill, whom I love, but is the poster child for disfunctional relationships. She will see a guy for a week and build it up in her head that they are destined to be together...and she's unstable enough to actually talk about it. One guy was going back to med school in DC, and she went up to visit after only two weeks of "dating" She made such a big deal out of visiting that he was probably panicked before she got there, and then she spent the entire trip and the following week analyzing TO HIM what it meant or should mean to their future. Needless to say, he didn't want to see her any more. Because that's not fun. Anyway, she repeats this scenario about five or six times a year, and it's just exhausting to listen to her. How can she be so undignified? Jill knows I care and worry about her, but she learned pretty quickly that I have no tolerance for that kind of drama. The second to last guy she dated dumped HER, then she called HIM and said he could have two weeks to think it over but maybe she wouldn't be waiting for him when he called. I don't remember whether I flat out called that dumb, but knowing me, I doubt that I minced words.

Anyway, Theresa has a good head on her shoulders, and I'm really excited for her about this guy. He seems like an honest, unspoiled sort...he always sounds really excited to talk to her. He brought her back something (no not drugs) from Amsterdam. Sounds like a good one. I remember very well the scary, fun, awkward first dating time with A.S. I wouldn't go back there for a million dollars, but I do remember it very fondly...the tentative looks across the table, him ASKING if he could kiss me, how dreadful that first kiss was (very toothy and uncomfortable angle). Awwww...

I told Theresa not to think about it too much, because it's pretty damned obvious that he likes her, but to enjoy Colby and take it as fast or slow as she wants (unlike Jill who said, "You have to be careful, Theresa. You just never know with men"). Theresa has a lot to offer and he's lucky to be dating her. I'm sure he realizes that too. She's great at making and appreciating friends, is an awesome marathon runner (we ran our first marathons together), has big travel plans, a cool job, a very cute dog. And she's extremely good looking...God, I wish I had her legs. And sanity. Let's never undervalue the importance of dating someone whose relationship expectations are based in reality.

Speaking of based in reality, A.S. and I are trying to decide where to live. I'm thinking...anywhere but here. And Detroit.

Ooh, there is the most amazing fuschia and deep purple sunrise going on right now, with all the church steeples in Charleston silhouetted against this brilliant orange horizon. Wow.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Life without coffee = Death

No, I haven't started another cleanse...yet. Instead, my rotten, worthless, loveless, thankless excuse for a fiance has forgotten to purchase another supply of the delicious life-giving bean that is the only cure for having to get out of bed while it is still dark and enables me to gird my loins for another day of relating to the public. God, I think my eyeballs are withering. WITHERING, I tell you!

(energy depleted, Jemima retreats to her closet, weeping softly, where she paws feebly at her shoes and begins sucking her thumb, sobbing hopelessly..."Verona...My Verona...")