Keeping House

You know, for a long time I thought I was lazy. Tossing clothes on the floor. Leaving dishes in the sink until I ran out of clean ones. Cat hair everywhere.
But, I finally think I figured out that it's not me.
It's my house.

For the first time in about...six years?...I live someplace where people might actually come visit. It's a nice feeling.
And, with hosting comes great responsibilities. Namely cleanliness.

OK, most of my friends wouldn't really think twice if my counters were dusty and sprayed with coffee stains but seriously, is this the sort of home I want to present to people?
Not so much really.

When I was a child I was disorganized and slovenly. At least that's what I heard from my parents. They probably didn't use the word slovenly but if they thought I knew what it meant they probably would have.
My room was a Grade A disaster area. I was constantly rearranging it, stacking books and comics where ever I could find space and had dolls EVERYWHERE. I think there's actually a history of me drawing on the walls as well but let's not talk about that.

High School? No different really. Except now it was less dolls and more clothes and videos strewn about willy-nilly. There was very little my mother could do to get me to keep the place clean. I think we finally settled on just keeping the door closed after a while.
I am convinced that my mother thought I would always be that messy. This theory was proved on her last visit when she expressed surprise at how clean the house was AND didn't feel the need to reclean anything during her stay. (Once I caught her scrubbing the stove at 6am when she was visiting one of my earlier apartments.)

In college, well nothing got clean in college. Even a parental visit meant little was done except to clear out the pyramid of empties accumulating in my dorm room. Not an easy feat in itself but how much of an actual visit to college takes place in the dorm room? Very little. They pick you up there, comment on your decor. Meet the roommate (if you have one) and then drop you off with a load of "groceries" after you're done. I use the term groceries loosely because we all know what dorm groceries are - ramen, cereal, cup-a-soups and probably some cold cuts or frozen pizzas if you were hiding a microwave.
When I moved off campus it was into a house with five other people. Yeah, probably don't do that to yourself. I mean, it was fun, but hectic.
My favorite cleaning story from that house was when the "Dish Fairy" visited and left dirty plates under my friend Dave's pillow. Cruel but I believe it was justified at the time. Who really remembers anymore?
That house never really seemed clean, even if the six of us spent a day cleaning it. It was an old building with lots of nooks and cranies and ghosties. I think that was where I started keeping a cleaner room just because it was my only sanctuary from whatever drama was going on. And, believe me, when you live with five other people, someone is ALWAYS having drama.

After college (and I realize I am skipping over about 2 years here but yadda yadda yadda OK?) I moved to Chicago. Hack, my boyfriend at the time, and I moved into a place that in retrospect was beyond our means and way nicer than anywhere we had ever lived. Wall to wall carpets, a hallway of mirrored closets and central air. We kept that place pretty nice. It was difficult though. Hack, not the cleanest person (but I love you dear) and at the time he was way into found objects as art and selective dumpster diving. Which, you know, sounds fun but sometimes isn't so much.

Once Hack and I broke up I took up with ole whats-his-nuts and we lived in a number of unsavory neighborhoods. Well two but serious on the unsavory end. Uptown and Humbolt Park. Consequently we had very few visitors on any sort of regular basis. Sure the place was always pretty clean. But, for someone who wasn't holding down any kind of regular job, that boy sure did master the art of sitting on his ass. And, as we have discussed, I am not the most motivated person when it comes to cleaning up my own mess - let alone the mess of someone else.


Yadda yadda yadda

I live on my own. With my cat. In a studio. A series of studios, each one larger than the last but still not places where you could invite people over. Unless they wanted to sit ontop of the kitchen counter. Let's see...since 2002 I have lived in 4 different studio apartments. My excuse for not cleaning those all that thoroughly was lack of space. There was never anywhere to put anything, how was I supposed to clean? Clean meant stacking things under stuff, behind curtains, in drawers and cabinets.

Now however. The Boyfriend and I have a pretty nice pad. Sure, there's no jacuzzi bathtub but we do have a dishwasher, a guest bedroom and space in the livingroom for two couches (whenever we get the cash together to finish paying for the new one that is.) People come over. They eat dinner, have beers, play video games and actually spend the night on occasion. Our first real out of town visitor is expected in two weeks (A to the mutha fuckin Z.) This is an apartment I WANT to keep clean.

I don't even mind cleaning it all that much. Because I know underneath the dust and cat hair that accumulates over the week there are nice white counters and wide windowsills for plants (that keep dying) and the rug is brand new.

I have also discovered the beauty of stain removers and those nifty cat hair roller things that work better than a vacuum on the shediness of both my cats and myself (yeah I shed, so what?) There is artwork on the walls and pictures of loved ones hung on the staircase. My cousins are a much better looking group of people when not coated in a fine layer of dust thank you very much.

I have also started buying things just for the sake of having something pretty. Fashionality over functionality for the first time in my life. Not that I can really afford some of this stuff but how can I NOT afford it really. It is making my house a home.

Finally, after ten years of skipping around from place to place, hopping apartments like lilly pads, I have a home. And sure, we are still a little messy. A little disorganized but perfection is over rated.

And we still don't have a vacuum cleaner.

A Finger On It

So, I was at the gym today literally working my butt off and I finally figured it out.
I finally figured out what I don't like about the gym.

It's the other people.
Also, the locker rooms but, duh.

If I could just be in there when only 5 other people were there. I would be fine.
If I could be in charge of a TV and NOT be watching Wheel of Fortune, I'd be happier.
If there wasn't anyone stinking up the toilets in the locker room. Woo-freakin-hoo, I would be all the better for it.
Because seriously, nothing makes poop stink more than a well-balanced diet, regular exercise and putting the bowls right next to the hot, steamy showers.

Pew.

Nuff said.
I am going to bed.

Back to my original idea...

Sort of.
I'll get around to it.
First of all I have to say that YAY FINALLY IT WAS BRILLIANTLY BEAUTIFUL WEATHER here in Chicago today.
About time I say.
Sadly, I was a little too hungover and sleepy to really enjoy it. But, The Boy taught me the trick of climbing the fire escape and getting onto the roof of our garage. Nothing like a little laying out on the blacktop to get the tan kickstarted.
Can I get an amen?
And,no I don't want to hear anything from the skin cancer contingency on that. I just like to be a little brown is all.

So, tan. Yes. Why, you ask?
Well Super Ridiculous Crazy Good Time Fun Bachlorette Weekend In Vegas is just, count 'em, 2 weeks away. And, if I can't afford to buy a pile of new clothes at least I can look hot in the clothes I've got.

To that end. I get a little tan and I workout as much as possible over the next two weeks.

I have indeed rededicated myself to the original intent of looking smoking hot for all of these wedding this year.
Or, at least to raise the temperature a smidge as they say.

The way I see it. I rarely have what I consider a good opportunity to get all "girled out" ... dress, make up, fancy hair, painful shoes and all that jazz.
A wedding really is the only thing I dress for these days. So, I want to look good!

Mom, you can just hush right now with the whole "blah blah beautiful no matter what blah blah."

Heard it. Got it. Still want to rock the Surprise Hot Chick look this year.

Also, now that I have Happy Boyfriend going on, is that an excuse to get all fat and lazy with the whole "look at ma belly!" thing? I say nay. Too many people I know get all beer gutty when they are really into the swing of dating someone. Off the market and all, why maintain show weight?

Why not I say?
Every day is a show. Show it up showy!


I begin to think this entry isn't making much sense.
I think I just wanted to post for the sake of posting.
If I could draw I would have made a cartoon.
You can check out alienlovespredator.com for some of that.
I am going back to bed now.
Perhaps there will be more of interest later. After all....12 days til Vegas...but only 5 until the holiday weekend and ONLY 4 until I get to go see the new Star Wars.

WOOT.

A Fool And Her...

I've been thinking a lot about friendships lately. How they ebb and flow in your life and sometimes disappear altogether for no good reason.

How some people stick. And some people are the type you can ask favors of and some people...just aren't.

How there are some people who you can pick up with after 2,5,10,20 years of not having seen each other as if a day has not yet passed since the last time you spoke and sometimes, if you don't see a person every day they quickly fade out of existence.

It's curious.

Recently my father asked me which of my 8 weddings this year I could skip, as...well plane tickets are expensive and he wasn't taking the bait on my hint that he could help me out. (sigh)

Truthfully, there is not a single wedding I am invited to over this next year that I would skip. Each and every one of these events means a great deal to me for whatever reasons...Love, friendship, sacrifice, salvation, sanctuary, a good chuckle.

These are the people who make magic in my life.
Sounds hokey right? Yeah well whatever, I'm in that sort of mood.

Mostly though I've been thinking about the friendships that failed.
I don't think there are a lot of those on my list. Maybe five that have ever really failed. And in that five I count the three kids who lived down the block from me growing up as one because that's the type they were.

I have a really hard time letting go of people. It means that I stay in bad relationships far too long sometimes and that I get really upset when people move away to places like...California, Australia or Arizona. But worse even than moving away or being a crappy boyfriend are those friends who just seems to disappear off the radar for no discernable reason.
One day they are there to get your back and then *POOF* gone like a leaf in the wind.
Where did you go?
What happened to friendship eternal, one soul in two bodies?

I feel a little dupped when that happens. I am a little dupped when that happens. Chances are I probably wouldn't have been so nice and made friends with you in the first place if I knew you were going to pull a David Copperfield on me.
Plus, now how I am supposed to cash in on all the favors I racked up? You know, all the moves, the dinners, the back rubs on rough days and have I mentioned the cash I loaned you that I could use back right around now?

Not that friendship is all about who owes whom what but what's left after a friendship takes a long walk off a short pier? Memories. Obligations. And, sometimes an article of clothing that looks good on you.

If you are lucky, all of the memories you have of friends who are no longer in your life are beautiful and full of camping trips, getting mimosa-drunk on inappropriate mornings or eating entire angel food cakes. Sometimes you get the short end of the stick and all you can do is wince at the thought of all the sacrifices you made for the sake of the friendship and how you feel a little taken advantage of now that your mind is clear of the chaos masquerading as charisma.

What do you do? Well you move the fuck on, as they say in the rodeo.

I have a picture. It is of me and my friend. It used to be by my bed where it was the last thing I looked at every night. Then I brought it to work to sit on my desk. It is a picture that reminds me to have fun and live life big.
Later, that picture made it's way onto my desk at home, where it reminded me that art is everywhere because we used to see it that way. At some point, it got relegated to an upper shelf where it was neglected but still visible and now...now it lives in the extra bedroom. I don't ever really go in there. I imagine someday we'll have visitors who never met my friend and I'll have to explain who my friend is. Who my friend was at that point in my life. Wearing our dress up clothes, sitting in a booth at Unnamed Swank Jazz Club, sticking our tongues out at each other.

"Oh, that's just someone I used to know," I will say. I do say. I say it all the time and I don't know when I drew the line between knowing and having known but it's there. And it turned out OK because, while you can never recreate the good stuff you've left behind, the same holds true for the bad stuff too. So it's done. I decree it done as done can be.

Beware the red fish.

And the list grows to six.

ATTENTION WILL WEATON

I would just like to say, in light of how you don't really want us to email you regarding your blog, that I am glad you are alive and have always harbored a squishy place in my heart for you.

That's all.
If you wonder, why oh why is she declaring her love for that lame-o Will "wasn't he that dorky kid from star trek" Weaton check out HIS blog at http://www.wilwheaton.net./index.php


At some point later when I am not so pissed off about other things you will hear about shortly I will plug all my favorite bloggos and websites.
Just in case anyone is interested in what I do with my free time.

In Your Face Space Coyote

Man, there was something so important I wanted to tell you...And then my DSL at home went down and I found myself the victim of the 21st century.
So, now I forgot what I wanted to tell you. But, the computer seems to be working and, even though it's a little dark in this corner, I am taking full advantage of the opportunity.

I believe a couple of weeks ago I was thinking about posting some of my old poetry on this blog.

Blog...heh what a word.

Anyway, so I was thinking about posting some of my old poetry but then I was thinking...it's OLD poetry. Who wants to read OLD poetry? I should be writing NEW poetry.

It used to be really easy. We used to sit in Dave and Seth's room with a pot of coffee and, uh...and we would write. All of us, like six or seven...depending on the night.
We would write and then stop and go around and read our work. Some of our best work came out of those nights I believe.

I miss it. I miss the culture of it. Like Mrs. Parker misses The Algonquin.

And it's not something that you can reconstruct. It was a very specific point in time. It was great. It was beautiful, it was bigger than all of us in the room. We had a lot of fun. And now it's gone.

There might be things, events or people who remind me of those times. There might be moments at night, while I am sitting at my computer writing by the light of a hazy moon. I might be listening to the wind whistle in through the window and wax nostalgic, wishing I could recreate those days. But I know I can't.

I'm happy to have the memories though. And, I'm happy to have the notebook of poetry that speaks of my 18 year old soul. I'm happy to know that the people from that room are still in my life and happy also that I know new people.

I talk Big Talk about creativity and fostering it in my life but I know it's never going to be like that again. Shame really but onward and upward as someone said. There are new methods to my madness now and I'll work the kinks out eventually.

Until then, here's one for old times sake:

Ode To The Girlfriend (Second Draft 3/10/96...which I guess made me 20)

Oh, to be the ball and chain,
Provider of cigarettes and blow jobs in the backseat of family cars.
Oh, to be the impresser of parents
And babysitter's playmate on those retirement party nights.
Oh, to be the one he calls with his friends in the background
Laughing in a drunken, frivolous fashion.

As he declares that he can't live without you.
And he's sorry for what happened the other night in the park.

Oh, to be the one he runs to for sympathy with sniffles
When he is too old for his mother to really care.

And what about you?

You get to be the one who complains about insensitivity
and communication malfunctions in the bedroom and beyond.
You get to sit, sipping your pretty pink drinks with umbrellas
As he fails miserably at that game of darts,
That he plays worse than pool.

And you have your choice of songs on that jukebox:
The song you first met to
The song you first danced to
Or the song you first fucked to

But either way he wont dance until he's fully loaded.
Tripping the light fandango across the floor, with you in tow.
With his arms wrapped around you
But his eyes wrapped around that girl that sits with the beer in her hand,
Drinking and flirting with all the big boys.
And you're no competition for her with that hair, and those eyes
And those...those...those...

Until you put your tongue in his mouth
And your hand between his legs
To give him a little reminder of what you smell like,
What you look like and what you taste like
With him on your skin and him in your mind
And you in his bed.

SAVE CBGBs!

OK, this is going to be a really short post. Mostly because I am in the middle of moving and I don't have the energy to make much sense today. And partially because I am tired of being morally outraged by stuff.
CTA hikes and now THIS?
They seriously want to close down the greatest Punk Mecca of all time over a measley $91,000 owed in back rent? Boo on the Bowery Committee. If it weren't for that club The Bowery would never have gained capital letter status.

So here is my question:
Hello, Sting? Debbie Harry? Surviving members of The Ramones? Iggy Pop? Will ya give Hilly some freakin' cash already? Please don't tell me that not one of these rock idols hasn't thought about how easy it would be to raise the cash to save this joint. One concert is all it would take. People from all over the country would come. It would be the biggest party NYC has ever seen.
Now get on it already.

Granted, I've only been inside of CBGBs once but who cares? It's existance alone paved the way for shitty, punk rock dive bars all over the place - from DC to Milwaukee.
CBGBS is the place Disco died and was buried. What are we supposed to do without a place like this? The history. The mystery. The bathrooms.

I say Save CBGBs. Do it! Make a plan. Get it together. Have a concert. Sell some buttons. Make it known that we will not allow this historic venue to go quietly into the night. HELL NO!

That's it.
That's all I've got to say.
Next week ya'll. I'll tell you about my new apartment.

New Digs

So, the boyfriend and I have officially moved in together. Sure, we were living together before but that was in my spidery, garden (read basement) studio. Now we have a proper pad with walls and rooms and actually 2 floors.
Two days after moving in we had heat too so I guess it's officially official.
YAY!

Well, yay... I mean YAY! This close to 30 you don't just move in with people anymore. You have an agenda. I guess, 30 years ago we might have been married already. Or I would be a crazy cat lady by now...Or just crazy...Debateable. I know. Shut up.

Those of you who have known me for a while know that this isn't the first boyfriend I have cohabitated with. This one is different though...Well, they were all different in their own, "special," ways. But this one stands far apart from the rest. I have wiped my slate clean...ish and I'm trying something fresh. Something new. Something....conservative republican.
Shocking I realize.
He hides it fairly well for the most part. Just don't ask for his views on welfare reform.

And, before you ask he is not a Yuppie or a Yippie. He's not a Trader or a tie wearer in any way, shape or form. As a couple, we are the antithesis of the neighborhood we have moved into and I am sure we are somehow lowering property values by the second but screw 'em if they can't take the neighbors I say.
He's just a nice clean punk rocker from the Irish Channel of New Orleans.
Hrm, let's examine that statement and qualify some of those terms

Nice - a gentleman when he needs to be. Generally friendly and I haven't witnessed him toturing any small animals.
Clean - Well he's capable of it. And even the best among you know my penchant for dirt. I sort of like it. But he cleans up real nice. Becomes presentable in public with a shave and shower and looks rather dashing in a button-down shirt I must say.
Punk Rock - Need I? If you've met him you know. If you haven't...well I should hope you know Punk Rock when you see it and know I wouldn't settle for any second rate poser punk loser. No no no. He's the real deal yo.
The whole being from New Orleans part - It's sultry, it's smarmy, it's full of vampires...Uh so yeah, of course I love it.

In a nutshell, that's the guy I am living with. That's the guy who talks about marriage. And, you know, it's a puzzle to me why I am taking him seriously when I haven't ever really taken any of those other boys that seriously when they talk about marriage. Maybe it's because it seems to be in the air this year. Maybe it's because my mom is going to buy me a biological clock for my birthday if I don't hop on the damn bandwagon. Or maybe it's because when a guy like him starts talking about marriage you sort of HAVE to take him seriously. He's like the least likely candidate for the whole sheebang. Well, least likely behind probably me...Which I think, somehow, makes us the perfect couple.

I guess really the whole thing remains to be seen for now. If we don't kill each other in the process of buying our First Real New Couch I think we will be OK. What is it about furniture buying that turns you into a giant stress ball? It's just an upholstered chair for god's sakes. It's not the end of the world and if it's ugly, it's not even going to be the centerpiece of the living room. Whatever. Maybe I am making too big a deal out of buying "new." But, I am well known for my thrift store antics. I am not adverse to a used couch...I maybe just got a little over excited about being a grown up with some real furniture that doesn't come in a box from Sweden.

Sure, this is allll my fault.
Wait, how did this turn into an entry about a couch? I don't know but I am sure you all get the point. Happiness is a new couch. Bang Bang Shoop Shoop or something along those lines. But doesn't there come a time in all of our lives when we feel the need to start buying "new." I have so many hand-me-downs, used, vintage items in my closets and cabinets that eventually I was going to get tired of it. Most of my kitchenware is the same kitchenware I grew up with.

Does anyone remember the yellow drinking cups we used to use? Yep, still got 'em.

I've been sitting on the same Klippan love seat for 2 1/2 years now. I am so tired of staring at the, admitedly poorly thought out, purple slip cover I could cry. And this is overlooking the cat damage done to it - which is almost a whole other entry all to itself.

So yeah OK - long and short of this, for those of you I have lost now, is the new apartment is RAD. We're across the street from a dangerously low-key bar. There are more windows than I could look out of in an entire life time and so far we haven't broken each other.

Yet.

This post has nothing to do with my top secret government job whatsoever...

Somehow I have been living in Chicago for almost seven years.
How the hell did that happen?I remember being in New Paltz, NY for a while…and then I vaguely remember moving a bunch of shit out of a tiny little apartment…I remember a truck…I remember really scary, pink, lobster bisque somewhere in the middle of the country….and then I remember driving into town along the lake.

Somewhere, seven years have gone bye-bye. And I turn 30 this year…which means I’ve been here since I was 23 and that just doesn’t seem possible. Because I moved right after graduating college…1998….hrm..well I guess maybe the math DOES add up. It’s never been my strong suit after all.

So seven years. In one place. In one of the few places I ever thought I would end up…EVER. I think I swore on a stack of bibles once a year until I was 23 that I would never leave New York. Then, though, something happened and New York became too much for me to handle. Maybe it was the crowds. Maybe it was Disney taking over Time Square. Oh, wait…I REMEMBER what it was. It was the cost of living! That’s right.

Believe it or not, people who graduate with B.A.s in English don’t make a lot of money straight out of college. In fact, we tend to starve, or seek employment in unrelated fields.
And sure, maybe if I had found a job right out of college and stuck with it, instead of floating aimlessly across the Midwest wind currents I might be making more money right now but, boooo, how dull.

So, here I am, avoiding the expense of NY, trying to eek out a living and a nice apartment here in The Second City and what do they do? They raise the cost of living! Right here! In Chicago!
WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?

To be fair, it’s not the cost of living so much as it is the cost of getting from one place to another. It’s a fare hike. A cruel, poorly thought out, detrimental to all walks of society, fare hike. (Ooh, see now the beginning of this sentence seems like it might be a funny pun. Let’s go with that shall we?) Apparently it’s not enough that we pay $1.75 to get on a train that doesn’t even have straps to hang onto. It’s not enough that in the dead of winter (which is most of the year around here) you have to stand outside and wait for busses that sometimes take an hour to show up.

*My favorite part of trying to catch a bus is when you’ve been standing at the stop for about 40 minutes and way in the distance you think you maybe see a bus. But, you are wrong. Not because there is no bus. In fact, there are 4 buses…an armada of buses if you will. Where have they all been? Where are they all coming from? Were they having tea and crumpets somewhere?*

Now they are talking about either cutting service that already sucks or raising fares…on service that already sucks. Any day now it’s going to be cheaper to own a car and deal with all of those hassles than it will be to be a conscientious commuter trying to do my part against global warming trends and exhaust pollution.

Also, have they even thought about what this is going to mean when all of the amateur drinkers are out on weekend nights? This city already sort of indulges the drink and drive set. Too many bars have parking lots and valets. One would think they would host more cab stands than valets but…whatever. I am just a mortal pedestrian fearing for her own safety and the safety of those around her. See how conscientious I am?


OK so we’ve got the possible fare hikes. We’ve got the possible service cuts. We’ve got a busload of angry commuters and all of the drunk drivers.

Sick, but New York is beginning to look appealing in comparison.

And no, this had nothing to do with weddings whatsoever. So sue me.

I Swear This Will All Relate To My Year Of Weddings Somehow

Why does it cost so much to be healthy in this country?

I didn't put quotation marks around the word healthy either. It's not subjective, your doctor can tell you (I know mine does.) You are either healthy or un. Or on your way to one or the other.

Let us examine, shall we?

Gym memberships. In a country where the obesity rate is so high we are calling it an epidemic why does it cost so much to join a gym? I know it's free to run where you want to. But, outside isn't weather controlled, doesn't have a stairmaster or the nifty little shelf to hold your magazine while you jog. Why doesn't my health insurance cover gym memberships? It covers the doctor visits when my doctor tells me to join a gym. It will pay for the prescriptions he writes on paper...why wont my health insurance help me drop 20 pounds by swimming laps? I don't know. Maybe I should give them a call.

Healthy Eating. Have you ordered a salad recently? And I am not talking about one of those salads that takes all the healthy out of vegatables. I am talking about "yeah, hi I'll just have a salad please." For a bowl of lettuce and some sad looking tomatoes you are paying a lot these days. It's cheaper to eat at McDonalds all week than it is to go to Cosi and just get a damn salad. I have no desire to be fat and full of french fries but I don't have $7 a day to spend on wholesome food. Plus, I live in the midwest, America's "heartland" (see, that goes in quotes.) All this farm land as far as the eye can see between me and New York and I am still paying all this money for rabbit food.
And, it's not really that much cheaper to go to the grocery store and buy bags of lettuce. At least, not if you factor in the time it spends hiding in my "crisper," rotting into a smelly bag of green mush. My bags of carrots go soft, cucumbers are doomed from day two and who eats raw broccoli? Apparently not me, or my boyfriend. Let's not even start in on those "healthy" (ooh look more quotes!) food markets....Whole Foods, Trader Joe's...who the hell is Joe anyway and why can't I trade in my box of Girl Scout Cookies for some flash frozen strawberries. Not much of a trader that Joe.
If you start buying your groceries at these stores where they promote organic foods and things grown without the aid of pesticides, free range chickens raised on whole grains and fairy dust, do you know what you are buying? Food that is going to go bad a lot faster than the crap you buy at Pathmark.

Which, odd note, there are no Pathmarks in Chicago. But there also aren't any Jewel Food Stores in New York.

Anyway, it's all the same. It's all food and it's all too expensive. I can buy frozen meals for a dollar each. They will keep me fed. But, they are also pretty much the equivilant of a salt lick. Ew sodium.

So now you are asking, "Jen how does this relate to weddings? You've gone and run off on a tangent haven't you?"

And the answer is NO, I HAVE NOT! So there.

Since my doctor has been telling me for the past 2 years that I should drop some weight. And since I have, hello 8 weddings to look hot for over the next year, I joined a gym and decided to try and start eating healthier.

Now you ask "Oh, that's great. How is it going?"

And I tell you. It isn't. I am still 23 pounds overweight and now I am broke too.

So tell me, where is the justice in all of this? I pay a buttload of money to a international gym chain, which shall remain nameless (cough cough Ballys). I buy salads, I eat salads... I cut down on my beloved bagels and pizza. I even started thinking skinnier in hopes that some cosmic force might take pity on me while I am sleeping. None of it works. I am about a ramen packet away from being back on the "Starving Artist Diet." Which, while it sounds good on paper, isn't really fun at all and mostly just means you are hungry and eating peanut butter sandwiches all of the time.

It probably doesn't help my plight that my boyfriend seems to have a tape worm. Seriously, I don't know where he puts it all. It's either a tape worm or a hollow leg. But, worse than him eating me out of cupboard and fridge is the fact that all he wants to eat are frozen burritos, potato chips and prepackaged andouille sausage! Of course, all of this is pretty cheap because all it is mostly is salt in one form or another.

So, while my veggies are rotting because I am, I admit, a little lazy about preping and cooking sometimes, this guy is chowing down on garbage and maintaining his boyish figure.

On top of all this, I read an online article today claiming that some wacky German scientists have discovered a gene that causes people to dislike cabbage and spinach. AND...AND this same gene often protects people from obesity.
Where can I get this gene and does it come in a size 12?

Sigh, maybe I should make The Boyfriend wear the hot red dress to the weddings and I can wear a suit to hide the love handles. Screw the gym, Trader Joe and the Germans.

"Here's your Kool-Aid. Now, get on the Arc."

"People were made to live two-by-two."
- Thorton Wilder's Mrs. Gibbs
"Our Town"

So, I know (off the top of my head) 10 couples getting married within the next 18 months. I wish them all the best of luck with that whole thing. But, I can't help but wonder what caused this overwhelming trend among my friends. We're all in our mid-twenties to mid-thirties. We're all healthy. Well "healthy." We're all white...which is something I've never really stopped to realize until just this second (seriously.) We're all moderately surviving on various financial levels. Is it just the natural imperative that good ole Thorton eluded to? It must be, right?

There has to be a science to it. The scent of someone's neck. The whole fluttery brain thing that happens - getting all flustered and hot when you try to talk to them the first thousand times. The way they can put their arm around your waist and squeeze just the right spot. Biological Geometry? Does that make sense? I don't know. But I do know that there is something really basically instinctual about falling in love that we've all had stirring around in the back of our brains for a long time by this point in our lives.

Is there anyone over the age of ...let's say 16, just so it plays in the sticks...who doesn't think about marriage? Not "obsess" over marriage, just think about marriage. Everyone does. We think about what type of person they will be. We think about what the ceremony will be like.

Quick side note: When I was around 14 years old I had the perfect ceremony planned down to the type of shoes I would be wearing....there were a lot of maroon and blood red roses involved. Heh heh, that's pretty funny looking back on it now.

Anyway, so OK maybe I went a little far with that. But I was young and you get what I'm talking about. Established: we have all thought about marriage, and what it will mean, to some degree or another.

So, all this thinking about it and then all of a sudden BOOM. The person you are dating is suddenly The One. That one, the one you want to grow old and into rocking chairs on the porch with. The one who is all and everything. So what do you do? You get married. Right, sure. Absolutely. You get married. There's a ring, and some phone calls and a few parties. Some time later there's The Big Show.

It's a show. I've worked on enough shows to know one when I see one. A wedding is just a really expensive, one-night-only, show. If done correctly it is the best show people have seen since, well the last wedding probably. It's a production. You have lines to memorize, there is an audience. Everyone claps at the end and then we all go to the bar to celebrate. Seriously, it's theater. So there has to be some science to the whole thing. If there is a science to "falling in love" - pheromone, brain impulses, erogenous zones...yep, that's science - then there is a science to making The Big Show happen properly.

It's not an EXACT science. I've been to some pretty unmemorable weddings that had every good intention. But there is definitely a science to it.

I have absolutely no idea what the formula is. But, I have 8 shows to see this year. I figure the key must be out there somewhere. My mom said to me "Eight weddings? Maybe your friends are trying to tell you something."

It's possible. But, my friends are not that subtle. Nor are they all that concerned with my marriage status. But maybe they will be able to tell me something else.

And maybe in the end, my mom might just get lucky.

(That was in no way a binding statement of any kind.)

8 Weddings and Not Enough Plane Tickets

I wonder if I can find an airline willing to sponsor this, my Jetset Year Of Weddings.
8 before the end of 2006. And that isn't even counting the nuptuals I refuse to accept or don't want to go to.
And it's not as if these people are convienently living in one city, or state for that matter. In fact, in September I have a week between a wedding in Cali and a wedding NY.
I've decided I'm going to chronicle this year of weddings, showers and bachlor/bachlorette weekend getaways. The good, the bad, the ugly...it's all going to be in here.
Friends forgive me.
Enemies, well you just shouldn't have invited me now should you?
By the end of this year I will be an expert wedding guest.