Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Several blogs at once

Thursday

Wow. A.S. and I had to meet with the minister last night and HE DID IT AGAIN. We were driving out to the church (trapped for one hour in car with pervert) and after talking about Venice, he suddenly asked me if I have an OB/GYN. Automatically rigid with impending horror, I quavered out a “Yeess.” And he asked me whether or not I’m going to have a gynecological exam before the wedding. WHAT THE FUCK? I’m all, “Why, do you want a picture?” A.S. wouldn’t even look at me because he was trying not to have hysterics.

He wanted to verify that my womb is not anatomically deformed and that I can have children, but I really think that it’s NONE OF HIS FUCKING BUSINESS!!

So...if my womb is a rocky barren place where A.S.’s seed can find no purchase, the wedding is off? If I want to punch a man of God, will I go to hell? Or is it only if I actually punch him that I will burn for all eternity?

He is so NOT getting a letter from my lovely gyno.

I didn't hear him asking A.S. to do his business in a cup for crying out loud? Why is this man only obnoxious to ME?



Tuesday (early)

Well today more than made up for the terrible horrible no good very bad day I had yesterday, when I could do no right and my CEO hated my guts and was probably itching to fire me for a lot of stuff that isn’t even in the same time zone as my job description. So there.

But today, I am rocking out. I have almost all of my monumental tasks finished, have dashed off a press release, finished two demos and presentations, booked two cannons, found a PR consultant in New York, booked my hair and makeup for the wedding, and got permission to do my portrait at the plantation where A.S. proposed. And yes, I did say “cannons.”

One-sided phone conversation:

Hi, Ned, it’s Jemima here. I was in a meeting this morning and my CEO asked who in the hell could find a cannon, and I raised my hand and said, ‘Oh, me! Me! Pick me!
...
No, no, right here in the building.
...
A mortar artillery cannon on 30-inch wheels?
...
Well, yeah, there are civilians around.
...
Flames, eh? Flames are great! We set stuff on fire here a lot actually.
...
Twelve foot flames? Wow, that’s going to be awesome!
...
Well, yeah, if it shoots out a car or the building windows, so much the better. We love destruction.
...
Mmmm, wellll, we actually want it for two dates. The CEO wants a battle off of *** Island, with one on the schooner Pride and one on land.
...
Oh your friend has one with a maritime mooring? That sounds perfect?
...
Oh hell no, don’t call the police for permission. Around here, we raise hell first and apologize later.
...
Okay, bye-bye.


Tuesday (late)

Today is 25 days until my wedding. Someone said it was less than 3 weeks, and that is just patently untrue. God, give me a heart attack already.

I’m starting to calm down again, and I think it’s helped that, although occupying the same house, A.S. and I are not getting in each other’s way and seem to have plenty of time for our own activities. For instance, he went surfing yesterday after his first day of work, while I took Dog for a run around the battery. It was a perfect evening, despite drizzle and wind...so I guess perfect for running. There weren’t many people out, and it wasn’t too hot. I haven’t gone running by myself in a long time, and I’d forgotten how soothing it is.

I’ve managed to work out some of the last minute details that I’d been putting off, such as hair and makeup and trial runs for portraits. Holly at Nothing But Bonfires is always pimping her sweet boyfriend Sean out for web and photography work, so I’ve finally taken her up on it, although I am actually paying him rather than taking Holly up on her generous offers for him to work for free. He is going to take my wedding portraits on Thursday, at the very plantation where A.S. proposed. It’s the loveliest, most romantic spot, and this way, A.S. and I will remember it always. Sean is a brilliant photographer, and although I am not nearly as photogenic as Holly, hopefully he can make me look at least non-deformed. But my dress only just arrived, and the damned photo has to be at the newspaper by next Monday, and my other portrait photographer fell through, and how lucky am I to have talented and kind friends?

I saw Holly and Sean at his Getting Out Of The Navy party last Saturday, and this is how my conversation went with Drunk Holly:

Jemima: Um, Holly, can I have my ring back?

Drunk Holly: No! You and A.S. and I are all engaged. We’re all three getting married and moving to San Francisco.

Jemima: Then we’d better move to Utah.

Drunk Holly: Look the ring fits!

A.S.: No, really, Holly, is that thing going to come off? I haven’t finished paying for it yet.

Drunk Holly: What!? Are you saying I’m fat?

A.S.: What?

Drunk Holly: Are you saying my finger is fatter than Jemima’s? That’s so mean, A.S.!

A.S.: What?

Holly: Sean, A.S. just said I was fat! Kill him!

Sean: Give the ring back.

Sarah: Please?

Drunk Holly: Ooh, we need more wine!

She also wanted me to go ask Sean embarrassing questions, and I’m reasonably certain that she’s glad that I didn’t now. Aren’t you, you tacky whore? You’d better be bringing me Cadbury’s.



It was an awesome party, which could only have been exceeded by the appearance of porncake. Navy uniforms were burned. Interns threw up. A.S and I went from champagne to the Champagne of Beers, since we came from a wedding beforehand. The next morning would have been considerably improved by my mother not calling at 8:30 in the morning. Curse her. A.S. has gallantly offered to get a separate phone number just for her use, and when she calls in the morning, which she ALWAYS does, he will answer the phone and sound REALLY pissed. I was all, “You would be snarky to my mother? For me? Really? Awww, that’s soooo romantic!”

Really, when someone offers to be passive aggressive FOR you, it’s true love.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Horrible Homily

So A.S. and I are a little concerned about what our minister is going to say at our wedding. I believe I've already explained the torturous event of his "panties" comment, something that should never come out of the mouth of a man in a white collar.

This man confirmed me. He's a cousin of A.S.'. I agree with his political and theological leanings as far as allowing homosexuals to be clergymen. But, but...he's turning out to be a little sexually obsessed.

For instance:

The last time we went in for counseling, he told us some interesting stories about his travels, as per usual, and then suddenly throws out with no preamble, "Jemima, what would you do if A.S. ever cheated on you?"

"I'd throw his arms off, hang him on the door and beat him to death with his own arms. Wait, is there a wrong answer to this question?"

Next he told us some anecdotes about cheating and why those people did it, and then he started waxing poetic about open marriages. And the thing is, neither A.S. nor I got a clear feeling he actually disagreed with the concept.

He was working at some alternative or radical church in Alabama and there was a book passing around in one of their classes about the beauty of open marriages, and our minister said, "Everyone was sleeping with everyone else, and people were getting jealous, and it nearly destroyed the church. Ahhh, those were the days."

Um, what the fuck?

Ulcer

Oh.

Oh, God.

Boss speaks in two hours. I'm getting an ulcer, I just know it. My fear of public speaking is so strong, it actually lends itself to other people. I can't even flip past American Idol without reeling in horror. Seriously.

Plus, if he bombs, I'll get blamed for it somehow. And probably no one will come, which will be really dreadful. And i'll be fired and end up in a cardboard (wedding gown) box under a bridge somewhere drinking cheap gin and scratching and gnashing my gums. Oh help!

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

California

I was emailing my good friend Aloysius yesterday and she asked how I was holding up, and unlike with most of my friends, I didn’t say, “”Oh, fine.” I told her I didn’t know.

Truthfully, I'm really not sure how I'm holding up. At various parties, well meaning people keep asking me, "How's The Bride?" and it makes me want to start crying. Like I don't even have a name anymore, just Bride. Let the loss of identity begin!

I'm reading this marginally helpful book called The Conscious Bride that says to try to find some time to delve into the panic and sadness and loneliness WHILE you're having it, because it's better to get the mourning over with beforehand than have it linger un-inspected after the wedding. Apparently the old single person identity has to die and be grieved over before the new married one can be born and healthy. The book has some good points, but it should really have been a pamphlet instead of a book, and it has a ton of filler.

But the gist of it is that I need to take a little alone time and try to write in my journal and sort all of this stuff out, like how I feel about losing my name, and how I think getting married will change my relationship with my family and friends and with A.S. Because it does change, and I don’t want to get married and be unprepared. The last thing I want to do is spend my whole honeymoon boohooing.

I know that it will all come out okay, and that I love A.S. and want him to be my husband. But it’s healthy to be sad about it. I just have to find the TIME to just go ahead and be sad. Right now all the checklists and controls and planning are just a means of avoiding the real issues.

I asked Al if she thought I was the whiniest bride, and she said it was refreshing to know that she’s not the only one who's suffering a complete identity crisis. When a silly friend of hers recently got married, Al didn’t think she worried about any of this stuff. It makes me wonder what sort of blinders a person goes into a marriage when they don’t worry at all. Kind of like the little 21-year old bride I saw at the wedding dress shop who was trying on the ridiculous satin mermaid dress. If you don’t know who you are, then I guess you have no worries about losing that person.

It just seems ignorant NOT to be scared. Does that make sense?

In other news, I’m in San Diego at a conference, which is pretty fun...San Diego, not the conference. I spent all day yesterday in a Starbucks doing work, since the gd hotel didn’t have my room ready until 5:00. Bastards. They did give me a sweet room with a panoramic view overlooking the entire bay, plus a sweet king sized bed with a down mattress. It’s like sleeping on a cloud.

I’m also getting so much more accomplished than usual, so work is great...except for the part about me probably getting fired tomorrow. I’m getting nailed for a whole bunch of shit that should really be on someone else’s plate. This person hasn’t helped me with a single part of this conference, and now she’s getting credit for everything while I just look like I’ve been twiddling my thumbs. And I have all these great ideas that are just fizzling out for lack of any support, and it’s really frustrating. San Francisco is looking better and better.

Wow, this huge sailboat with grey sails is streaking past my window. God, I love California.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Boo

My wedding is cursed. I mean this in more of a worried way than a spoiled bridezilla way, because already one very good friend of mine has had to cancel a shower because of marital difficulties (I didn’t cause them. They were already there before she offered to throw a party). And one of my mom’s good friends had to cancel the linen shower this Saturday because her husband died. I want to call people and tell them to BACK OUT NOW lest a meteor fall on them.

In other news, A.S. and I did not paint last night. Instead we had some friends over and sat on our porch amid the wreckage and drank beer and cooked fish tacos. The dog trundled around the yard and barked at anything that moved. The kitchen took shape. It was all so lovely.

My mom and godmother are coming over tonight to keep me company while I paint, which will be nice. Mom will probably even help. But I think they’re both a little down in the dumps about their friend’s husband, and maybe I can cheer them up some, or at least distract them. A.S. goes back to school tonight, so it will be nice to have some company. I think it’s going to freak me out a little bit to stay there by myself, with all of the house’s noises and street traffic. I’m used to being well above the fray (other than my neighbor’s fray), and the damned dog barks at the slightest peep, so I’ll probably be twitching all night. I miss my apartment more than I expected...and I expected to miss it a lot.

Oh well. At least my neighbors are just around the corner. When A.S. and I move to the left coast, everyone will be REALLY far away, so this will have to be my training period.

DING!

DING DONG THE BITCH IS DEAD! SING IT HIGH! SING IT LOW! DING DONG THE STUPID WHORE IS DEAD!

Well....maybe not really dead. But with the amount of karmic juju coming her way, she’ll be hit by a truck any minute now.

Sunday night, she came over and dropped off the key, explaining helpfully that she’d left the paint out for us.

What?

I went over, and she hadn’t painted, she’d just put a layer of primer in two out of the three rooms she was supposed to paint, those being the rooms she had painted in giant green polka dots and brown/orange/blue/green stripes.

Horizontal stripes. How very mod.

To add insult to injury, she had not even paid for the primer herself. She had CHARGED it to my dad at Hughes!!! Um, isn’t that called “stealing?”

She had also not fixed the fence, nor had she repaired the screen door she broke. She also owes me for the last three weeks of electricity and gas she’s been enjoying on my tab. Whore.

At least she’s gone.

A.S. and I spent our first night in our new home last night, and what a romantic affair that was. Nauseous from paint fumes, sore and exhausted from heavy lifting, the inflatable mattress pooted every time one of us rolled over. The dog also gnawed her ass all night since I couldn’t find her medicine until this morning, and at about four a.m. she got this enormous hairball from all that butt chewing. Hark, was that the song of the lark I heard? Nay, twas the hideous yacking of the dog wretching butt hair in the corner.

However, at the current moment we have a real bed, a chest of drawers with no clothes in it, a painted bedroom, one coat of paint in the living room (in a dreadful color I chose spontaneously to avoid bursting the vein that was throbbing in my head at the paint counter at Lowes), and the coffee pot. Everything else is scattered. So another all night marathon of painting, and I should have the study and living room painted too, and we can start really putting stuff away. Being a Cancer, I can’t stand not to have my little shell just the way I want it. Compromising with A.S. is hard, since he likes spare, symmetrical spaces, and already has the bed turned the wrong way, so the shui is completely screwed. However, it’s hard to argue with a man who has moved four truckloads of furniture for you and who likes your butt its natural size. Don’t look a gift fiancé in the mouth, I always say.