I am Obsessed

It turns out they are opening a StoryCorps booth at the World Trade Center Site! I am dying to interview someone. Any volunteers? I'm also dying to be interviewed. Check it out - it's the COOLEST project I have ever seen.

Better yet, they are hiring!

*faxing 10 copies of my resume*

Honestly... I am passionate about the work they are doing. The National Library of congress has thousands of recordings made over the years of people - some famous, some not - telling their unique, special stories in their own words. You know... what we are trying to do here.

Listen to some of them.

"Good Times"

Based on the empirical evidence I have collected over the last few weeks of glorious warm weather, I have formulated this hypothesis:

Going out drinking on weeknights is good for me.

Last night I stopped by this very comfy gay bar to congratulate Rob on his new book and watch the hoardes throng for his John Hancock. Since it's a work-week night and I work hard to keep up appearances as a responsible, hard-working yuppie, I figured I'd stop in, say my congratulations, meet this guy, have one drink and leave.

Well, Horshack didn't show, but everyone else certainly did, and since tomorrow's payday, I opened a tab and attempted to drink everyone under the table. I think I would have done it if my conscience hadn't kicked me in the ass at about 9:30 and dragged me out of there. (Or was that Frank?)

Highlights:

12-oz glass of Guiness Stout. Bomb a shot of Irish Cream in that daddy and chug. Doesn't taste good, but sure feeeeels good. Maybe you have to be Irish. Or just plain nuts.

Lots of hugs and snuggles from my polygamous blog hubby, and meeting his uber-sweet boyfriend. A happy couple is a beautiful thing.

Along the same lines, getting to meet this darling man's darling other half

Drunk-Dialing Zenchick only to realize nobody else knows the words. He valiantly played along.

Meeting a Rugby player with a smooooth English Accent. (How does he stand it?)

Listening to Rob slur his thanks to us all for coming. We wouldn't have missed it, buddy! The radiance in his face lit up the bar. Best wishes, and many bestsellers to come. Inspires a person to write more.

And, as I was saying before, after all this, I made the early train this AM. Strolled into my cubicle at 8:07. Clearly I am onto something here. Booze + Less Sleep = Increased Morning Time Efficiency and Productivity (IMTEP).

I should apply for government funding to test my hypothesis. All those bar tabs are going to add up. Or maybe I could get a sponsor.

Blast from the Past?

I don't believe this.

A tidbit from the secret life of MzOuiser: My mother claims to have dated this guy when she was in college.

Once, when I was in college, I sprawled myself out on the living room floor of my parents' house, grabbed some yogurt and began watching an old episode of Welcome Back, Kotter. At some point Mom strolled in, glanced absently at the TV, and says "Just think, that could have been your father."

After a few therapy sessions I began to see the humour in that.

Kudos to Rob! And I wonder if I should introduce myself to Mom's old flame.

Abso-fuckin-lutely

You are Janice.
You dig the groove man, nothing can bum you out.
Too bad you're too stoned to notice.

INSTRUMENT:
Like, you know, guitar, fer sure.
LAST BOOK READ:
"Finding Your Past Lives on the Web"

FAVORITE EXPRESSION:
"Fer sure, like, fer sure."

FAVORITE THINGS:
Peace, love and, like, granola, totally.

NEVER LEAVES HOME WITHOUT:
Her inner child.


What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

And my Blog is Titled...

I have been planning to spend the afternoon of Friday, June 25th at the beach for about a month now. Fucking weather. Hopefully the day will be saved with a nice lunch with the boyfriend and then maybe a movie, which is nowhere near as sexy, but I need to calm down anyway.

Tomorrow I am going to drink beer, jump out from behind something and yell "Surprise", and then hopefully schlep down to Coney Island to see the Mermaids. Due to my fear of sun exposure, I will not be wearing pasties, but I can't wait to see his.

Sunday morning I shall go to church for our annual Gay Pride service (Yes, I go to the coolest church anywhere), then hopefully out to lunch with my pianist friend. Then I will listen to my opera (I SO don't feel like actually practicing for it) on the train back up to the boyfriend's hood. We will then spend the evening going over the details of our upcoming New England 4th of July vacation together, during which I will likely be introduced to his parents. The anxiety caused by this prospect will send me to the liquor cabinet.

At this point I'd like to have sex, but will more likely be surfing the internet in search of low-fat vegetarian recipes while darling falls asleep on the couch. Maybe in the morning.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

Letter from Last Winter

I found this letter that I wrote to my church minister last December. I emailed it, and never got a response, but my minister is a very busy lady, especially in December.

The letter was inspired by a New York Times article which is probably not available to read anymore. For some reason I feel like posting this. I write a lot of things without knowing why I’m writing them… I just sometimes can’t help it. It’s not that I want someone else to hear it… I just need to think on paper, maybe? Then, sometimes, I want feedback, or support… well, I guess that’s why everyone writes letters, emails, journals, blogs.

So, here’s a polaroid of a moment in my mind from last December.
______________________________________________________________________________________

I haven't made it to services in awhile. I miss everyone, but I've been sleeping a lot. November was a somewhat dark month for me and December is feeling grey... just a lot of inner turmoil going on. Trying to figure out how much control I should try and exert over different aspects of my life. Should I build, or let things grow naturally? Balancing my drive to make things happen with my feelings that often I push too hard and should learn to let go and let God... Well, that's a hard balance to strike. Just within the past week I'm learning to articulate things well. Maybe all the self-analysis and spiritual exploration I've been doing is showing some fruit?

And isn't it so typical of me to put out fruit in December! My internal calendar has always been out-of-sync with nature! (Maybe I'm an alien. What planet was I supposed to live on?) Again: Is this something unhealthy that I should address, or something that’s simply part of what makes me uniquely me?

>sigh< The story goes on.

I read an article in the New York Times today, about the memorial that has recently been erected in Duluth, MN, to honor three black men who were lynched there in 1920, by an angry white mob who didn't want justice. It was a fascinating article to me, who grew up in a horribly racist, sexist, "Christian" town. The idea expressed in the article is that since there are virtually all white people in Duluth, there's no racism. Then they quote a woman in a bar who resents having to pay for the memorial (Exactly how did she pay? Taxes? It's not clear.), and says "Those men wouldn't have been killed if they hadn't done nothing."

Ignorance. Lack of Education. Arrogance. Complacency. I grew up surrounded by it. I was sickened by it. Just last weekend, visiting friends in Illinois, I was confronted with it again. I was sickened again. I know it's in New York too, but in Illinois, I had no 4th U to provide solace and shelter from it. I thank the Goddess for my church community every day.

You have preached some brilliant sermons on race relations. The ideas put forth in this article reminded me of them. There is even a photo of the bronzed statues of the murdered men. (I've attached it). I think the memorial looks beautiful - but I'd like to see it in person and read the plaques.

I'm not sure how all these thoughts are related... or even if they are. But I wanted to share them. I haven't had much opportunity to just talk with you, and I regret that. I know your door is always open. You have lovingly reminded me of that several times, and I have always been grateful. I don't know why it is so hard for me to be present... but, I seem to be able to write.

Ah, heck, I could always write. Something we have in common. :)

Anyway, I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving, and I look forward to attending the Christmas services.

In Peace,
Mz Ouiser

Can I be your friend?

ECHIDNE OF THE SNAKES:

I feel like a 12-year old that just met a really cool high school girl. I want to dress like her and read everything she's read.

From her blog (URL Above):

"This is how I often feel about terrorism, the war against terrorism and the war in Iraq. The casualties are people who were thinking about something else, eating ice-cream or walking their dogs. That's one of the reasons why I don't write about these events very much, except to plead that they be stopped. Though of course I know that I am an intended participant in these wars, and that the terrorists for example have definite designs on how I should live (barely, and totally invisibly), but nobody ever really asked my opinions on how any of this should be run and most of the time I feel like a rabbit in the middle of the road, frozen in the headlights of all those cars and not knowing where safety is."

I have been so angry and disillusioned and frustrated for so long. I don't talk politics because I have enough arguments with enough people in my life already. But I do read. Oh man, do I ever read.

Now I have a new morning read. :)

FINALLY! THANK YOU!

Quality of New Jobs Is Focus of Election-Year Debate (washingtonpost.com)

GET A LOGIN AND READ THE ARTICLE.

It's about bloody time someone addressed what I've been screaming about for two years.

Go ahead, get yourself a login. It's free, and it's worth it. The Post isn't any more right-slanted than the New York Times is left. It's a great counter-paper. Read.

Read, people, read. Read more. Don't stop. Read as much as possible. Just keep reading. READ.

Waste a few seconds of time

Interesting Poll

Click on this URL to take action now
http://capwiz.com/congressorg/pyv/stats/?action=stats&id=CD3082CC
"

AM-NY

Blog the Democratic and Republican Conventions!

Mike should be SO be doing this! So should This Guy!

Competition can be a Beautiful Thing

Looks like Gmail's got 'em running scared! Granted - 100MB isn't a Gigabyte, but I went from 90% capacity (and daily warnings) to 7% capacity overnight.

Notice: Change of service to your Yahoo! Mail account

Dear Yahoo! Mail User,

Thanks for using Yahoo! Mail. It's our goal to offer you an email experience that makes it easy and enjoyable to stay in touch. Periodically, we make service changes to enhance that experience for our users. As of June 15, 2004, you'll enjoy the following benefits:

* Increased storage capacity – from your current level to 100MB
* Increase in total message size to 10MB
* A streamlined interface that's even easier to use

You will continue to access your Yahoo! Mail account as usual. No further action is required, and there will be no interruption of your service.

We hope you enjoy the new features and benefits. If you have any questions, please visit our Help page. Thanks again for using Yahoo! Mail.

Sincerely,
The Yahoo! Mail Team

Poetry

I wasn't listening to a word he was saying. His lower eyelashes seemed to extend halfway down his cheeks, tickling the rosy softness there, as his upper lashes fluttered towards me, feathery frames around green-grey eyes looking up at me from my shoulder. Some sleepy, rumbling sounds from pink lips... long, black, soft lashes, and bright green-grey eyes.

The morning was bright, warm and new. In that small room, wrapped in soft sheets and strong arms, speaking good mornings in quiet tones, the world was ours.

HTML Idiot

Forget it. I'll stay with the old template. The new ones have all kinds of crazy meta-tags and uber-html - I can't figure out what to paste where to keep my comments and links and everything intact. And, frankly, I don't have the patience to figure it out.

:grumble:

Fucked it up again

Yeah, I tried to change my template, and now the comments are invisible, and the sidebar's all screwy....

Argh. I'll straighten it out.

Tell me something I didn't know


The Village Voice: Generation Debt - The New Economics of Being Young: Kiss Your Career Goodbye:

"May marked the nation's third straight month of job growth, (blah blah statistics blah blah) The most recent one, published in February, projected 21.3 million net new jobs through 2012. Construction jobs should keep growing (expect to see a million more by 2012). The strongest service-sector bets are in education, health care, and state and local government. The single best choice may be to join the ranks of registered nurses (623,000 new jobs).

But here's the depressing news: Of the top 10 occupations with the rosiest projections, seven are by and large poorly paid McJobs: retail (596,000 new jobs by 2012), customer service (460,000), food preparation (454,000), cashiers (454,000), janitors (414,000), waiters and waitresses (367,000), and nursing aides (343,000). And the BLS admits its numbers don't distinguish between full-time jobs with benefits and part-time or temp work. In other words, there will be plenty of jobs, but far fewer careers."

Jazz, Wine, Friends, and Early Trains

I'm working on a post about what happened on Saturday in Baltimore after the Cicada Incident. I should get it up in a few days. Meanwhile, my Friday-to-Sunday Life spilled over to Monday this week.

Last night I met up with him at this place. I've been meaning to check this club out ever since I moved to this neighborhood 16 months ago... I get around to things in my own time, I suppose. Meeting Frank at the GB:NY was so much fun, so since we live near each other I've decided to stalk him. He doesn't seem to mind. >smooches<

Smoke is a very small, intimate space. Probably enough room for 20-30 people, if they don't get up and move around too much. I prefer to sit at the bar, and Frank and I were early enough to score barstools right in front at the edge of the stage. Usually in this place the cover is $25 or more, but for a weeknight jam session you just pay the $10 drink minimum at the door for two drink tickets, which are good for the basic house libations. The house red wine is a spanish Rioja - earthy, raspberry, slightly mineraly, medium-to-full bodied. A nice snack in a glass. I savored mine while Frank and I chatted about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.

Sitting at bars with live musicians in the room, with a friend next to me and a good wine in my glass is basically Nirvana for me. A few years ago I used to spend insane amounts of money going dancing at hip-hop clubs with my best friend Jade, who now lives in Korea, which was fun, but... It was hard to get her to just sit still in a club with me and listen to someone creating music right before our ears. Dancing is a blast and very necessary at times, but the immediacy of live music just really turns me on. I quiver when I see someone doing their best at what they love - whether it's playing soccer or dancing or blowing a sax or even giving a sales pitch - I think their ability to a)be recognized and appreciated for their talents and b)get paid for it gives me hope in the world.

The jam session started at 9, and it was hot. Two saxes, drums, keys and a big bass. The featured artist was a typically artsy-hot guy on sax whose fingers were a blur, bringing a thousand notes out of that saxophone, powered by long breaths blown from well-worked lips. His original composition was called "Around the Way," and it was the most interesting piece they played. When he and the other sax played in thirds it was glorious, quick and clean and smooth.

The drums and piano were so in sync with each other that they provided a wide, taut trampoline for the other guys to play on. Keys sat all the way stage left, drums stage right, and everyone else in the middle. They were both a little older, clearly seasoned and having fun together. Keys had a lot of amusing commentary in his playing... some light and shrill, some lower and contemplative, all riveting. Drums however was just wild. That guy took off on a drum solo that I never wanted to end. Rolling snare laid the base for period thumpings of the bass drum and a steady rat-tat-tat of middle tones. I joked that he was tuning his drums before the jam began - he really was. He played as many notes with those sticks as Keys did on the piano. A little forced, rebellious, rough and raw impulses bubbling up from a controlled technique of drumming. I'll bet he drove his poor mother crazy as a youth.

The most entertaining was the Bass player. He was falling all over that instrument, feeing the BOMPs reverberating through his whole body. He was older, and completely in the music. There were a few nervous chuckles around the room - it's not often you see someone completely abandon themselves to sound like that. I was afraid he would topple over at one point... but he just kept picking and dribbling his fingers up and down the neck furiously, playing a little symphony in tones that only elephants can truly understand. His thrill was infectious and we all clapped furiously.

They closed with a Thelonious Monk tune, all of them doing their thing together, two saxes and a bass player bouncing high in the sky on that trampoline of tight rhythm stretched between the drums and the keys. I had another glass of wine and bopped in my barstool, just enjoying the feel of the sound waves thrumming my sternum, sitting so close to the stage.

Frankly I don't know exactly what time it was when we left, but I didn't look at the clock all night. At some point in the evening my accompanist friend showed up and joined us. He's a jazz pianst too, and we tried to get him to join the jam, but he's shy. When the set ended, we left, hugs all around, and when I got home I just fell into bed and slept until the alarm went off.

At 5:45AM, the headache was there, but I managed to be showered and dressed by 6:30.

Now, this never happens. I work in White Plains, and it's a never-ending source of stress to get my ass to work on time. I'm late about 2-3 times a week, on time maybe once, and early once, usually due to an adrenaline surge from stress about having been late every day. I just can't get up in the morning, even if I'm awake. I can go to bed at 10PM with a glass of warm milk and I'll barely make the 8:14 train, scuttling into work at 9:20 with my tail between my legs hoping nobody notices. I am just NOT a morning person, and when you factor in the reliability of the 2/3 train and the Shuttle to and from Times Square to Grand Central, it's a nightmare every damn morning. In the summer when we all have to show up 1/2 hour earlier, I can't schedule anything before 9:30AM, and I drink lots of milk from the stomach acid, for fear I'll get docked.

Clearly the solution to this problem is to stay out late drinking more often. It appears to be very good for me. This morning I was out of the house by 6:45, the trains were politely waiting for me, and I strolled into Grand Central at 7:05. I even managed to assemble a decent outfit! I made the 7:12 express to White Plains and was sipping coffee in my cubicle at 8:10.

It's well known that quality sleep is far better than quantity sleep... and it stands to reason that when I'm happy, I'll sleep sounder. I don't remember dreaming. And three glasses of red wine would probably knock out most gals, especially after a day of vegetarian weight-loss menus. But I was happy last night. Good music. Good friends. Good wine. Good Sleep. All coming off a good weekend in Bawlmer with another good friend.

And so far, at work, I'm having a good day. I'd better record it for posterity.

Dateline, Saturday AM, Baltimore

My bus rolled in at about 10:45 pm - 15 minutes early. I don't do buses well, but this one wasn't so bad. I couldn't sleep - for some reason I never can sleep on public transportation - but the pretty young girl in the seat next to me basically dissolved into her discman, so I did the same. I had a CD filled with Country Music MP3's that lasted the whole trip.

Zenchick arrived with a big hug, and IMMEDIATELY started driving a circuitous route through Baltimore. She had just finished a crabcake dinner with a very hot "friend" of hers (oh come on), and was energized from top to toes. I'm sure it was from my arrival, not the friend. Or maybe the crabcakes. Anyway. She drove me all over Baltimore at 11-something PM, pointing out all sorts of neighborhoods where various friends of hers whom I've heard lots of stories about live, and generally being a bubbly, aggressive-driving tour guide. Which would have been fabulous, if I had not been so exhausted. She's bouncing behind the wheel, pointing out windows and chatting furiously, and I'm (as she so eloquently described) a bobble-head.

We stopped at this freakily decorated diner called the Paper Moon. This is one of ZC's fave spots. It's truly cool and the food is scrumptious. I'm semi-addicted to vegetarian wrap sandwiches (which means I'm addicted but in denial, I suppose), and theirs is no disappointment. Sprouts, avocado, hummous, fresh chewy wrap, red tomatoes, and an unnecessary but delish slice of Swiss cheese. (They normally add black olives but I said hold those. Yuck.)

Anyway, while we were waiting for my sandwich... which took a LONG time... one of the waiters thought it would be cute or funny or something to give ME shit about rolling the silverware up into napkins for him. I guess at 11:30PM on a Friday after a 4-hour bus ride and particularly difficult week, I wasn't outgoing enough for him. So Zenchick says "Gimme the silverware, I'll roll it." "No," the waiter says, "I want HER to do it" and POKES me in the bicep, waking me up. I am amazed I don't have a bruise. "I was a waitress!" Zenchick insists. "I'll do this for you!" So she grabs the tray of freshly washed cheap silverware, a stack of napkins, and sure enough begins to expertly roll the silverware, as though she did this every day.

You should have seen the glee in her face, it was so adorable. "I can't believe I'm rolling silverware at the Paper Moon!" she said. She placed the forks neatly, perfectly on top of each other. The forks go on top of the flat knife, and the teaspoon nestles into the forks, like an overly-loving family. Or a normal one from Arkansas. Anyway, she was really good at this. "This is so fun!" she giggled. Fork, fork, knife, spoon, TWO napkins, place diagonally, fold once, tuck the ends, roll, roll, place in the bin with the rest. Like clockwork. I watched.

"Notice the staff doesn't even notice I'm doing this!" Zenchick said. "They notice," I said. "I'm sure they are too busy to care. They probably are grateful."

ZC gets out the cellphone. "I have to tell Mike this!" She dials the phone. "Hi, I'm in the Paper Moon rolling silverware for the staff!"

"I'm out of napkins!" she suddenly said. "Hey," she called to the staff person behind the counter "I need more napkins!" Sure enough, they handed her another stack, and she happily returned to her task. The waiters were amused.

Eventually I started to roll them too. How could I resist? I did it exactly as she did... but I am a novice. I only waited tables for one year, and we didn't roll silverware. I couldn't quite make the perfect little bundle that ZC did. But... it was fun. And seemed to pull me out of my stupor.

At some point I paid for my sandwich and we went home. I've been in town only a few hours, it's the middle of the night, and I've already got stories.

Oh and by the way... Taz really IS that cute.

The rest of the story:

Sunday morning we awoke to cold, rainy, gray skies. I was profoundly disappointed to discover a continental help-yourself breakfast. This B&B doesn't cook. I scooped the contents of an individual packet of cream cheese onto my Lender's bagel and choked down a bowl of cantaloupe and honeydew. At least the coffee was fresh.

I snuggled with my sweetie in the room for about an hour after that, basking in the glow of the space heater. I couldn't believe I had to let him go. Given Eh's odd behavior, I was dreading the day... So sweetie and I made the best of the morning. We laughed through breakfast, I tried on my new dress for him, we just held each other and snoozed, listening to the rain. Eventually he kissed me goodbye. He said he would try to make it back on the last ferry that night, but I knew that wouldn't likely happen. I was on my own. I changed back into my jeans and sneakers for the trip across the fields to the wedding venue, little black dress stuffed into a bag. I pushed up my umbrella and set out into the soft green grass to face the wedding music.

Despite being moved indoors, the wedding was utterly dreamy. Galpal was a vision of womanly perfection. A porcelain bride doll, sweetly crying for joy, pearls in her hair, flawless skin and elegant sweetheart-necklined gown, strapless, beaded, with a full skirt and chapel length train. Her veil just demurely brushed the top of her dress in the middle of her back. Groom was adorably nervous. They both cried when they said their vows. We all did. It was, in spite of the rain, the perfect wedding. Everything was gorgeous. All done in shades of purple, a little blue and pale yellow here and there. A seashell/seaside theme, very delicate, uniquely Block Island and the very essence of Galpal. Real Lilacs were woven into an arched trellis, under which the ceremony was perfomed. The whole room smelled divine. When they kissed we thought they'd never let go of each other. We were all caught up in the magic of patient, understanding, lasting love.

At the reception, both Galpal and Groom each took a turn singing with the band. They are both professional musical theatre performers with years of experience. They sang to each other. She sang "Someone to Watch Over Me" and he sang "It Had to be You."

Not a whole lot of people there I knew very well. I sort of knew about 6 people there, whom I had met at various parties Galpal had thrown over the years. They weren't very friendly. I got sick of trying to worm into various conversation knots. The few people who actually were conversant either left early, were drunk, dirty old men, or had dates handing on their arms, giving the impression that they were talking to me out of sympathy.

EH was a complete black cloud who refused to interact with me in any way. He avoided me like the plague. My multiple attempts to be friendly and have fun were icily rebuked. When practically the entire wedding was on the dance floor, I asked him to dance with me. "I don't think so," he said, looking away. "Fine," I said, "I'll be taking pictures." I walked around snapping candid shots with one of those single-use cameras that are always present at modern weddings. At some point, EH just vanished. He left early without saying goodbye.

This shouldn't have bothered me. I felt like dirt. I was positive that his seeing me with bf the previous night was the cause of his behavior. But - we had discussed this! He assured me that he was ok with it! WHY IS HE ACTING THIS WAY!? I was devastated. I meandered about the hall, trying to wrench my mind off of him and the enmity so thick in the air, trying to get someone - anyone - to dance with me. I was desperate to have some fun. EH's complete and total rejection of me was a knife in my heart.

I swear to God, I was the cutest girl in the room, and nobody would dance with me. I mean I was a snack treat in that dress, those shoes, perfect hair...! Eventually I danced with one old guy who was a perfect gentleman. This turned out to be grand, since older guys really know how to dance. He jitterbugged me around like a sailor on shore leave at the USO. Shortly thereafter I dragged one of the sewing hands - an adorable gay guy - onto the dance floor. He and I had chatted before the ceremony. There he was with his little sewing kit, nervously hoping the bridesmaids didn't step on their hems. He was a terrible dancer, but a very good sport. Eventually there was some fun "circle" dancing, a bunch of gals shakin' our butts to Mustang Sally and whatnot, but for the most part, I had nothing to do but kibitz and drink.

The bride danced with her dad. I did a shot. The Groom danced with his Mom. I did another shot. Wander, kibitz, eat some cake, another shot. You get the picture. Thank God I'm a happy drunk. I grabbed galpal and waltzed her around the floor. Her laughter rang like bells in the air. Someone took photos of us, having a ball. Time for another shot. Then the bouquet toss.

Now, I sort of had a companion in Soprano. She and I are both too old and have been through too much shit for a bouquet toss. We sort of hunkered down at the bar and watched the twenty-somethings prepare to dive. All of a sudden, out of the blue comes Groom. He grabs my shoulders and wheels me toward the floor. "Come on, let's go."

My blood ran cold. My stomach churned. "No, I can't..." "You have to!" He said, still pushing.

I panicked. Too much booze, too much emotion. "Groom, I can't - EH LEFT! HE's GONE!" Groom stared at me in disbelief. "I'M STILL IN LOVE WITH MY HUSBAND!!" I cried.

Groom stopped pushing. He pulled me into a very sweet hug. "I'm so sorry..." he said. "I thought you were just being shy." "No," I said, "I'm being serious." I felt myself starting to cry and pulled away. "You better get out there," I said to him. Groom released me somewhat apologetically and rushed off into the crowd.

I felt my face turning crimson. What on Earth did I just say?? I deftly moved to the other side of the room. I drank a glass of water. I waited until Galpal was done, then I quietly told her I was done for the night. She was too happy, I think, to realize what was going on. She hugged me goodbye, and I exited the arena.

I changed back into my jeans in the bathroom, sobbing loudly. I called EH's home answering machine and listened to his voice. I hung up the phone. "You Jackass!" I sobbed to the walls. "How could you let this happen! I married you! I actually married you! I went through with it! And you just let it go!" I cried and cried and eventually snuck out the back door, back out into the rain.

Trudging through the fields, about halfway back to the B&B I noticed a tiny miniature housefront set up near a small creek running between the wedding venue and the B&B. It looked like the front of a doll's house. Probably used for taking photos. I walked over to it, went around behind it and crouched. Sitting in a doll's house. Looking out windows from non-existent rooms. Like my marriage. A very nice front... with nothing behind it but my imagination, my fantasies, my little girl's dreams. I stayed there behind that little house front for a long time, letting the rain fall on my umbrella, feeling my sneakers soaking through, wondering if it was the rain or my tears that I was drowning in.

I was still crying when I reached the B&B. It was still light outside when I changed into my pajamas, and got into bed. Somewhere around 7:30. Last ferry off the island, I thought to myself. Sleepily, I called bf's cell phone. Voicemail. I cried again. "I had a really great time," I sobbed. "Call me." My ears were ringing very loudly. I closed my eyes. The room wasn't dark enough. The images rolled through my mind, the insides of my eyelids becoming a home-movie screen... Galpal in her dress... Groom in his tux... EH in his white wedding tux... me in my wedding dress... Galpal singing at our wedding... EH and I singing at hers...

At about 10:30 PM, I woke with a splitting headache. I got up to pee and wash my face, then discovered I had no Advil or any other type of pain killer. Serves me right, I thought. I laid down and let the pounding in my head drive me back to sleep.

The next morning, I awoke to the dawn sun poking in my windows. 5:30 AM.

Awoke again at 6:15. Again at 7:24. I don't have to get up until 8, I thought. Breakfast was served from 8 to 10 AM. Ach, I got up anyway. At this point my body was screaming for the world's oldest hangover remedy: Coffee. I was showered and dressed by 8:30, so I donned my shades and ventured out.

At 8:30 AM, it was about 70 degrees and sunny. Now that the wedding was over, the weather was perfect.

After breakfast and settling the bill, I had about an hour's worth of free time before I caught the ferry back, so I sat on the front porch of the B&B, reading my novel, and listening to seagulls diving in and out of the ocean. The wedding seemed years ago. I finally got what I came to Block Island for: a moment of peace. It was almost as though someone was trying to cheer me up. The Great Mother, drying my tears, saying "I'm sorry, it just HAD to be rainy, cold, and awful for those two days, nothing to do with you, I'm just sorry you got caught up in it..."

David's behavior on Sunday hurt me deeply. It shouldn't have. But then every time I think I'm past this pain, I'm not. This has happened before.

I hate that my pain eclipses my ability to enjoy other people's happiness. Why couldn't I just push my own feelings aside and swim in the happiness of Galpal and her Groom? I was shocked, embarrassed,and confused by my own emotions, and humiliated by what I could remember of my resultant behavior.

I think I needed my boyfriend at the wedding more than I realized. At least, I know that his presence would have kept me from over-drinking and over-thinking. Not only does he cheer me up and support me in my blues, but he reminds me that the present is now. I think I see him as my future, as some kind of healing. He is like a reward for all I have survived... and a motivator to keep myself honest. I want to be a better person than I was Sunday afternoon. I want to never doubt that I deserve a happy, simple future - the kind of future that bf is offering me.

The problem is, I have virtually no faith that it will ever happen. Even if I deserve it. Even if I get married again... of course it will also fail. I never get to keep good things in my life - that's for other people. I feel cursed. I know it sounds trite. But it's how I feel. Shit just happens. Every foundation I tried to build a House on has crumbled. Selfish CEO's sell 200-year old companies and ruin livelihoods. The best church ministers never stay put for more than 2 years. Husbands turn stubborn, childish, and bitter. No matter what choices I make, no matter how hard I try to prepare... Weddings get rained out. Life just sucks.

Bf and I both have stories about a lifetime of bad luck - weather- and other-wise. I told him it led me to come to the conclusion long ago that I'd better not ever really want anything or look forward to anything - it's a sure bet that it will never come to pass. He says things like "You can't let yourself think that way." Oh, well then.

I have no idea if what I said to Groom at the wedding is true. Part of me feels that I have no business whatsoever dating anyone. Another part of me says that I'm just confused, I was drunk, and I should just forget it. I will always love EH in a very special, private way. And I do love my bf - in what I feel is a much more honest, real, tangible way. I guess if I could say what love really was, and how to tell which type of love was the forever, build-your-life on it kind... well, I'd be a Goddess. Or a millionaire.

The wedding was perfection. The Spring House Hotel does an average of 60 weddings per year. They had a contingency plan - weather schmeather. They effortlessly moved the entire thing indoors, and it was magical. All shades of lavender and cream, beautiful music and good food. Galpal was radiant. We singers were flawless. That's all that matters. If I was a mature person, a stronger, healthier, less self-centered person, there would be no "but."

But.

Having a Day

From today's emails:

Zenchick:
It's going to be okay.

Don't fight it. Just fall. You won't break. I promise.

MzOuiser:
WHEEEEEEE hee hee hee!! AAAAAAHHHH hahahaha!! LOOOOOOOP-De-Doo!!!

>clunk<

*rubbing tailbone*

Zenchick:
I said fall...surrender...collapse...not do an interpretive dance and then
THROW yourself down!!!


Oh.
But... it was fun... heehee hehehe...

Sometimes ya just gotta dance.

This past weekend was the wedding of Galpal (from my May 25th post). Feel free to read back for a refresher.

I have been looking forward to this wedding for months. Ex-Hubby and I, who are both singing in the wedding as part of a quartet, talked things over about bringing dates and whatnot, and he assured me that he would be fine with me bringing my bf. So, my sweetie came with me. I've lost around 15 pounds, I had a new black mini dress, I had a beautiful romantic weekend in Block Island with my bf, including being part of the perfect wedding of one of my closest friends. Everything should have been perfect.

Would I be writing about it if it was?

Aside from the fact that I forgot the directions, schedule, and all paperwork sent in regards to this event, the trip started off relatively fine. Saturday AM bf and I had a long, relaxing ride through 3 states as my sweetie drove us to the Block Island ferry dock in Point Judith, Rhode Island. We enjoy each others company and entertain each other sufficiently for long road trips, and when we're talked out we like the same kinds of music. after about three or four hours on the road, we parked the car at Point Judith, got some fried clams for lunch, had some local homemade ice cream, and got on the boat to Block Island. Nice pretty boat ride. It lasted about an hour, and we unloaded in the Block Island southeast harbor.

I had booked us a room at The Bellevue House B&B. The inkeeper is delightful, and of course it's adorably furnished as a quaint island B&B ought to be. However... the room was about 8x10 with a full-size (as in too small) bed, no alarm clock, and a space heater, without which we would have frozen to death. The temperature was in the 60's. We shared a bathroom with 6 other rooms. They served a continental breakfast. Which is probably all I could expect for 70-something bucks a night. We laughed about it and decided it was fine for just one night.

Bf couldn't stay the whole weekend. We were both bummed about it, but the Sunday of Galpal's wedding just happened to be the same day as bf's dad's 65th birthday AND retirement Party. It's a once-in-a-lifetime Family Event. His sister drove in from Kentucky. He HAD to go. I understood... but it put a damper on things. The main reason I was so unafraid of this wedding - and all that my Ex-Husband's presence might entail - was having my sweetie to dance with, drink with, and leave with. Nobody should have to do a wedding alone... especially under circumstances such as these. But... I tried to be understanding and supportive. I put on a brave face. How bad could it really be?

As the day progressed, the weather got worse. I had to leave my sweetie to his own devices for about an hour while I participated in a music rehearsal and then the wedding rehearsal. The wedding was held at this place, not far from my B&B, so I walked across two farmsteads to get there. Of course it started to rain. By the time Ex-Hubby, the tenor, the soprano and I met at the venue, the clouds were roiling across the sky and a freezing cold wind was blowing. "It's coming," Tenor said, looking upward. "If it doesn't come now, it will come tomorrow." We all stared at the sky. The wedding was supposed to be outdoors, on the sizeable patio, overlooking the ocean. The Spring House Hotel does an average of 60 weddings per year, and they had an indoor contingency plan, but...

Soprano was late, so I tried to make polite conversation with the guys. EH was oddly cold toward me. I played it cool, but he was bordering on rude. I was perplexed. I had been looking forward to seeing him, reminiscing about watching Groom pining away for Galpal when they first met... lots of great memories we have with this couple! But when I tried to talk to EH, he actually walked away from me. "Are you ok?" I asked sotto voce. "Fine, just fine," he lied.

I really didn't get it. I'd been nervous about him seeing me with my bf, but that hadn't even happened yet, and besides, he'd said he was fine with this! Finally I just left him alone; it seemed to be what he wanted. After I got over being stunned and confused I realized that my feelings were very hurt.

Other than that, everyone was well-behaved. We sang through the two songs and smugly congratulated each other on how great we sounded.

After a half hour of that, the formal wedding rehearsal took place. Utter chaos. The minister barked orders. Galpal was confused. The flower girl whined and refused to participate. The nadir was the minister lecturing us musicians about why this bride was being presented by her parents instead of given away, or some such politically correct version.

"Musicians - Attend!" She cried. Everyone went silent, listening. She then proceeded to lecture the four of us for a good 5 minutes about the giving away of women as chattel in ancient times and how the wording has been changed to reflect the woman's modern satus as a fully recognized individual. "Why is she lecturing US?" Soprano whispered. "Have we been giggling too much?"

"It's my fault, sorry..." Tenor muttered. We all looked confused. Apparently Tenor had asked the minister if our cue for the second song was right before the bride's father was to give her away. Now, I'm a feminist and very much believe that the traditional wedding service needs alteration, so I totally support the change in wording... but forcing us to stand out there in the freezing wind like that, not to mention putting someone on the spot for asking an innocent question... our lips were turing blue. We hated her.

Whatever. At 7:30, we all headed to this place for the Rehearsal Dinner.

I hitched a ride with the Bride's parents, who graciously offered me a ride in their car. This saved me from having to ride in EH's car, uncomfortable for many reasons. When we arrived at this gorgeous Hotel overlooking the harbor, it was getting dark. It was gloomy, rainy, and resembled a horror movie. I frantically searched for bf and there he was in the lobby. I was tense. God bless bf, he was all smiles. He gave me a quick hug and kiss, took me by the hand and in we strolled.

Or, we tried to. The entire dinner party was on the outdoor terrace of the hotel. There was about one foot of walking space between the tables. There were about 50 people there... we all got to know each other VERY quickly. Once the sun went down, the temperature plummeted to the 50's. It rained harder. In record time, the staff hermtically sealed us in by encased the entire terrace in thick plastic with a doorway that zippered closed. It kept the rain and wind out, but not the cold. We made conversation through chattering teeth.

Now, the Groom's family traditionally is responsible for the rehearsal dinner, so I have to assume this was the case here.

It was a barbeque buffet. Chicken, ribs, potatoes. I had never met the groom's family before, but this supports the Groom's Family theory - typical Jersey Italians. I felt right at home. It might as well have been my own family. You see, growing up in a coastal state, they think barbeque is exotic. "Da good stuff." They think seafood is boring. "What, you get that everywhere!" It's a whole different type of provincialism.

Personally, I think it's a crock. Barbeque is cheap, people. And a buffet is always cheaper than a sit-down dinner. This affair stank stingy. There were huge bottles of wine on each table that probably cost about $5 at the A&P. There were monkeys on the label. Cheap monkey red or white. It tasted like vinegar, but we were freezing, and it was alcohol... Oh, and no vegetables anywhere except for an unimaginative green salad. (No, dears, corn-on-the-cob is not a vegetable.) Dessert was a choice of chocolate sheet cake or carrot sheet cake - about 2 inches square per serving - arranged in a sort of design on a large platter to make it look nice. At least the coffee was served to the tables by friendly if somewhat harried waitstaff.

So here we have a bunch of people in summer clothes sitting outdoors in coats, layering napkins over our laps to stay warm, drinking $5 wine for the alchohol warmth and trying not to get finger food on our nice outfits, trying to carry plates of messy food through about one foot of space between two rows of tables, praying nobody decides to get up in front of us. Add to this that bf and I were the youngest ones at our table by a good 15 years.

We left as soon as I had sucked back two cups of coffee. As we were ducking out, we passed EH's table. If he noticed me or us, he made no indication. So out we went. STILL raining. Bf and I got a taxi to drive us the 4 or 5 blocks back to the B&B while we bitched mercilessly about the experience the whole way. I think the driver was amused, but it was hard to tell. Block Islanders don't like people to not have a good time on their island.

The real drama was Sunday. I'll write about that tomorrow.