Dr. Suess + High School Musical = Suessical
Suessical ≥ Civil War: The Musical, the last live musical I saw (Broadway, 1999)
The Suessical is about the cutest thing I have ever seen. Beautiful young people singing and dancing so earnestly, illustrating Horton Hears a Who and showing kids to be true to themselves and to harness their imagination. Just so cute. The girl who played Amazing Mazie may have been Reese Witherspoon's doppelganger. And the closing number of "Green Eggs and Ham" was adorable. The whole thing was really well done.
Is it weird the only theater I've been to in about a decade has been with my Little Sis? When I lived in San Diego, we used to go to plays all the time. I had no idea no idea my cultural salad days would peak at age 22. I need to fix that.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Take your cat and leave my sweater.
Here's the thing: I love country music when it's mixed with something else. Pop country = my love. It's my secret music indulgence. Country is just good storytelling ("The Gambler" or "Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town," anyone?); add an irresistable pop hook and some slick packaging, and I'm in. I don't mind telling you I love these songs:
--Keith Urban's "You'll Think of Me" (I'm listening to this right now.)
--Carrie Underwood's "Jesus, Take the Wheel" and "Before He Cheats"
--Rascal Flatts's "What Hurts the Most" (This one feels particularly embarrassing.)
The older I get, the more LCD I am. Sometimes it take a lot of effort to be a hipster above the musical fray. Though I've never been good at that: my love for Counting Crows surely attests to that.
--Keith Urban's "You'll Think of Me" (I'm listening to this right now.)
--Carrie Underwood's "Jesus, Take the Wheel" and "Before He Cheats"
--Rascal Flatts's "What Hurts the Most" (This one feels particularly embarrassing.)
The older I get, the more LCD I am. Sometimes it take a lot of effort to be a hipster above the musical fray. Though I've never been good at that: my love for Counting Crows surely attests to that.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
No, those other three words.
freebie, rainbow, scrape
******************
Dear Ms. Canton, Manager of the Lakeview Inn,
My husband and I recently stayed at your fine establishment to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. Twenty years: time really flies! I just wanted to write and tell you how much we enjoyed your hotel. We picked it because of its location near the lake and its price. We actually honeymooned at a different hotel up the road, but after my husband was laid off in March, we were forced to look elsewhere for accommodations. Luckily, we were able to drive instead of fly (8 hours in the car—whew!), and we found your hotel in a budget travel guide.
Needless to say, things have been stressful since Dennis lost his job. He’s home a lot during the day and sure is getting on my nerves! :) I don’t work myself, so you can imagine how much “together” time we’ve been having. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but boy oh boy, do I need a break from him and his sweatpants and his moping around! Get a job already! Ha ha.
I thought a vacation might be just what we needed, so we decided to “get away” for our anniversary. Dennis sure put up a fight over this, but I wouldn’t take NO for an answer. I said, “Put it on the credit card and we’ll worry about it later.” You only live one, after all. I’ll admit, though, that I wasn’t sure we could really afford this trip with no money coming in at the moment. But I thought a change of scenery would energize both of us and change Dennis’s outlook on the job situation. And as we drove to the lake, we even saw a rainbow that seemed to end right in the water. Was that a sign or what?? I sure hoped so.
You hotel was a lovely destination. The rooms were clean, the staff was friendly, and there were even freebies in the bathroom. I love that! (Whenever I use that shampoo—yes, I took it home!—I think of your wonderful hotel.)
I wish I could say this trip felt like a second honeymoon, but I’m afraid it didn’t. Dennis refused to have any fun—what a party-pooper! We got into a bit of a scrape (about money—what else?) on the first night and it was the couch for him after that! (There wasn’t technically a couch in the room, so it was actually the floor.) But by the end of our time at your hotel, he had come back around to my sweet old Dennis. Well, more like my “sad new Dennis.” He’s carrying so many burdens, and I’m sorry to say that even a long weekend at the Lakeview Inn couldn’t take them all away.
Thanks again for our lovely hospitality. Keep your fingers (and toes) crossed for an interview or job—something! anything!—for Dennis. Maybe we’ll come back to celebrate!
Sincerely,
Gina (& Dennis!) Waverly
******************
Dear Ms. Canton, Manager of the Lakeview Inn,
My husband and I recently stayed at your fine establishment to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. Twenty years: time really flies! I just wanted to write and tell you how much we enjoyed your hotel. We picked it because of its location near the lake and its price. We actually honeymooned at a different hotel up the road, but after my husband was laid off in March, we were forced to look elsewhere for accommodations. Luckily, we were able to drive instead of fly (8 hours in the car—whew!), and we found your hotel in a budget travel guide.
Needless to say, things have been stressful since Dennis lost his job. He’s home a lot during the day and sure is getting on my nerves! :) I don’t work myself, so you can imagine how much “together” time we’ve been having. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but boy oh boy, do I need a break from him and his sweatpants and his moping around! Get a job already! Ha ha.
I thought a vacation might be just what we needed, so we decided to “get away” for our anniversary. Dennis sure put up a fight over this, but I wouldn’t take NO for an answer. I said, “Put it on the credit card and we’ll worry about it later.” You only live one, after all. I’ll admit, though, that I wasn’t sure we could really afford this trip with no money coming in at the moment. But I thought a change of scenery would energize both of us and change Dennis’s outlook on the job situation. And as we drove to the lake, we even saw a rainbow that seemed to end right in the water. Was that a sign or what?? I sure hoped so.
You hotel was a lovely destination. The rooms were clean, the staff was friendly, and there were even freebies in the bathroom. I love that! (Whenever I use that shampoo—yes, I took it home!—I think of your wonderful hotel.)
I wish I could say this trip felt like a second honeymoon, but I’m afraid it didn’t. Dennis refused to have any fun—what a party-pooper! We got into a bit of a scrape (about money—what else?) on the first night and it was the couch for him after that! (There wasn’t technically a couch in the room, so it was actually the floor.) But by the end of our time at your hotel, he had come back around to my sweet old Dennis. Well, more like my “sad new Dennis.” He’s carrying so many burdens, and I’m sorry to say that even a long weekend at the Lakeview Inn couldn’t take them all away.
Thanks again for our lovely hospitality. Keep your fingers (and toes) crossed for an interview or job—something! anything!—for Dennis. Maybe we’ll come back to celebrate!
Sincerely,
Gina (& Dennis!) Waverly
Friday, September 21, 2007
I will be firm. Firm but fair.
Today the assistant managing editor in our department sent out an email (to those to get into work before 9:30, anyway) that since our boss and a myriad of other senior editors will be out of the office Monday through Wednesday, I am in charge in the mornings until until she gets in.
It really was the easy revolution I've ever led. I will force people to bring me coffee and make my copies. I will make them fan me with giant fans made of peacock feathers. I will rule like a wily despot until 9:30 am. I will socialize the schools and make them teach revolutionary and socialist theory. Oh wait, that last one's not me. But the rest: yes.
It's like all the "perks" of being a senior editor, but none of the pay!
But before my head could get to big, I was sure to stick my hand right in bird poo when I got in the car to leave. So.
It really was the easy revolution I've ever led. I will force people to bring me coffee and make my copies. I will make them fan me with giant fans made of peacock feathers. I will rule like a wily despot until 9:30 am. I will socialize the schools and make them teach revolutionary and socialist theory. Oh wait, that last one's not me. But the rest: yes.
It's like all the "perks" of being a senior editor, but none of the pay!
But before my head could get to big, I was sure to stick my hand right in bird poo when I got in the car to leave. So.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Moratorium, please.
I would like it if no characters were called "Mr. Darcy" ever again. Or likened to Mr. Darcy. Or described with Mr. Darcy-like qualities. I would like to see all Jane Austen-related books and/or movies shelved indefinitely. Literally and figuratively.
This well is dry, ya'll, and I have been sent over the edge by a trailer for The Jane Austen Book Club. Enough!
But: more Jake Ryan. More Nick Carraway. More Jake Barnes. More Joseph Fiennes in Shakespeare in Love. What ever happened to Joseph Fiennes? Let's bring him back.
This well is dry, ya'll, and I have been sent over the edge by a trailer for The Jane Austen Book Club. Enough!
But: more Jake Ryan. More Nick Carraway. More Jake Barnes. More Joseph Fiennes in Shakespeare in Love. What ever happened to Joseph Fiennes? Let's bring him back.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Wondrous, arugula, bandit
Mission: in 500 words or less, write a story incorporating the words wondrous, arugula, and bandit.
********
The older woman checked her ticket, looked at the aisle number above my head, and gestured to the window seat. I stood while she moved in.
“How do you do,” she said.
“Good, thanks. How about you?”
“Well, I haven’t flown since 1991,” she said. “And this is just ridiculous. The security, the lines, all of it. I am 77 years old and I should be treated with more respect than these fools deem fit. Heavens.” She sighed heavily. “Where are you headed?”
“Las Vegas,” I said. “How about you?”
“Las Vegas! More like Lost Wages! Ha ha. Watch out for those one-armed bandits!”
“I will, ma’am.”
“Will you be seeing the Grand Canyon while you’re there? It’s not very far, if I remember correctly.”
“Oh, no. It’s kind of a boys’ weekend. I’m sure we’ll be sticking to the city.”
“You should really make a point to see the Grand Canyon. Have you ever seen it?” I shook my head. “I went with my husband—he’s been dead 14 years now—in 1987, I believe it was. Everyone should see it at least once. It’s wondrous. Truly wondrous.”
“I’ll definitely have to put that on my itinerary,” I said. But I knew we’d never leave the Strip. “Where are you off to?”
“Fresno. My son and his family live there.”
“Oh, that’ll be nice.”
She folded her hands on her lap. “They don’t know I’m coming.”
“Wow. Great surprise.”
“My son runs a big farm out there, so he never has time to come see me. It keeps him very busy. So. I thought, darn it, I will go out and see my boy. I will be the one to make the effort.”
“Does he have any kids?”
“He’s got two sons. So I’ve got two grandsons.”
“What do they grow on the farm?”
“Lettuce. The fancy kinds, like arugula and kale and spinach. They need a lot of attention, he tells me. ‘Can’t just run off any time you want me to,’ he tells me.”
“I bet he’ll be happy to see you,” I said.
“I’d like to think I’m more important than a field of crops, if that’s what you’re saying.”
Drinks, peanuts.
“How long has it been since you’ve been out to see them?”
“The last time I saw any of them was at my husband’s funeral. I’ve never met their youngest. He’s seven.”
I nodded. The plane flew over the featureless western desert.
She grabbed her purse from off the floor and reached into it. She pulled a five-dollar bill out of her wallet.
“Here,” she said. “For the slot machines. For luck.”
I held up my palm. “I couldn’t. Treat your grandsons to some ice cream. Spend it on them.”
She pushed the money into my hand and then turned to look out the window.
“I wonder if we’ll fly over the Grand Canyon,” she said.
We were nowhere near it. “Wouldn’t that be lucky,” I said.
********
The older woman checked her ticket, looked at the aisle number above my head, and gestured to the window seat. I stood while she moved in.
“How do you do,” she said.
“Good, thanks. How about you?”
“Well, I haven’t flown since 1991,” she said. “And this is just ridiculous. The security, the lines, all of it. I am 77 years old and I should be treated with more respect than these fools deem fit. Heavens.” She sighed heavily. “Where are you headed?”
“Las Vegas,” I said. “How about you?”
“Las Vegas! More like Lost Wages! Ha ha. Watch out for those one-armed bandits!”
“I will, ma’am.”
“Will you be seeing the Grand Canyon while you’re there? It’s not very far, if I remember correctly.”
“Oh, no. It’s kind of a boys’ weekend. I’m sure we’ll be sticking to the city.”
“You should really make a point to see the Grand Canyon. Have you ever seen it?” I shook my head. “I went with my husband—he’s been dead 14 years now—in 1987, I believe it was. Everyone should see it at least once. It’s wondrous. Truly wondrous.”
“I’ll definitely have to put that on my itinerary,” I said. But I knew we’d never leave the Strip. “Where are you off to?”
“Fresno. My son and his family live there.”
“Oh, that’ll be nice.”
She folded her hands on her lap. “They don’t know I’m coming.”
“Wow. Great surprise.”
“My son runs a big farm out there, so he never has time to come see me. It keeps him very busy. So. I thought, darn it, I will go out and see my boy. I will be the one to make the effort.”
“Does he have any kids?”
“He’s got two sons. So I’ve got two grandsons.”
“What do they grow on the farm?”
“Lettuce. The fancy kinds, like arugula and kale and spinach. They need a lot of attention, he tells me. ‘Can’t just run off any time you want me to,’ he tells me.”
“I bet he’ll be happy to see you,” I said.
“I’d like to think I’m more important than a field of crops, if that’s what you’re saying.”
Drinks, peanuts.
“How long has it been since you’ve been out to see them?”
“The last time I saw any of them was at my husband’s funeral. I’ve never met their youngest. He’s seven.”
I nodded. The plane flew over the featureless western desert.
She grabbed her purse from off the floor and reached into it. She pulled a five-dollar bill out of her wallet.
“Here,” she said. “For the slot machines. For luck.”
I held up my palm. “I couldn’t. Treat your grandsons to some ice cream. Spend it on them.”
She pushed the money into my hand and then turned to look out the window.
“I wonder if we’ll fly over the Grand Canyon,” she said.
We were nowhere near it. “Wouldn’t that be lucky,” I said.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Say my name, say my name.
Picking my Little Sis up on Sunday for our zoo outing:
LS: Hi, Cambriella! This is my friend, Anna.
C: [Huh. It's been 3 months now.]
Later that day:
LS: What school did you go to?
C: Well, it was in California so I don't think you'd recognize it. I graduated from a school called Camarillo High School.
LS: Your school had your name?
C: [Sigh.]
Later later that day, talking to my actual little sister Kristin:
K: I don't think I could be a Big Sister to someone who didn't know my name by, like, the second day.
C: Well, I don't know. I guess I'll consider "Cambriella" as a term of endearment.
K: Guess what: my cat has worms!
LS: Hi, Cambriella! This is my friend, Anna.
C: [Huh. It's been 3 months now.]
Later that day:
LS: What school did you go to?
C: Well, it was in California so I don't think you'd recognize it. I graduated from a school called Camarillo High School.
LS: Your school had your name?
C: [Sigh.]
Later later that day, talking to my actual little sister Kristin:
K: I don't think I could be a Big Sister to someone who didn't know my name by, like, the second day.
C: Well, I don't know. I guess I'll consider "Cambriella" as a term of endearment.
K: Guess what: my cat has worms!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Write this down: zoo, illness, flowers.
Now: write a short story using those three words. (I actually have an assignment like this, but my words are arugula, wondrous, and bandit. Strangely, an idea came to me right away.)
Zoo: I took my Little Sis to the Austin Zoo on Sunday. Note to self: don't go to the zoo in the middle of the afternoon during the summer. I have done this twice now. All you get for your trouble is heat stroke and animals holed up their dens. Nothing frolicing, nothing roaring at you, nothing to make you thankful for the thin, chain-linked line between them and you.
Except we did see some tigers fighting in their swimming pool. That was pretty awesome.
Illness: I've not been feeling so hot lately, so I called my boss yesterday morning to tell her I wasn't coming in. When I told her I was sick, she said this: "Well, it's not that you can't be sick, but [co-worker] said that after that cold front came through last week her allergies have really been acting up."
Ok...so I'm not sick? Now, I won't deny that I've developed allergies since moving here, but this was definitely a cold: it had a beginning, middle, and end. Anyway, I wasn't sure where I was supposed to go after that. So I coughed a little in the phone to build my case and told her I'd be in the next day.
Flowers: Chris brought me flowers on Monday. I really had to scramble to find a suitable vase, since I can't remember the last time someone brought me flowers or that I bought them for myself. Had to dump all the random sea glass and Pottery Barn potpourri out (...which makes it sound like I live in a Michael's or Hobby Lobby). Anyway, it was sweet.
Zoo: I took my Little Sis to the Austin Zoo on Sunday. Note to self: don't go to the zoo in the middle of the afternoon during the summer. I have done this twice now. All you get for your trouble is heat stroke and animals holed up their dens. Nothing frolicing, nothing roaring at you, nothing to make you thankful for the thin, chain-linked line between them and you.
Except we did see some tigers fighting in their swimming pool. That was pretty awesome.
This tiger would totally kill you and use your torso as a floatation device in the pool.
Illness: I've not been feeling so hot lately, so I called my boss yesterday morning to tell her I wasn't coming in. When I told her I was sick, she said this: "Well, it's not that you can't be sick, but [co-worker] said that after that cold front came through last week her allergies have really been acting up."
Ok...so I'm not sick? Now, I won't deny that I've developed allergies since moving here, but this was definitely a cold: it had a beginning, middle, and end. Anyway, I wasn't sure where I was supposed to go after that. So I coughed a little in the phone to build my case and told her I'd be in the next day.
Flowers: Chris brought me flowers on Monday. I really had to scramble to find a suitable vase, since I can't remember the last time someone brought me flowers or that I bought them for myself. Had to dump all the random sea glass and Pottery Barn potpourri out (...which makes it sound like I live in a Michael's or Hobby Lobby). Anyway, it was sweet.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
New-Bourne baby.
I had a dream last night I was Jason Bourne, only I was still me. But there was a definite feeling I was on the run and should be careful. As I walked down a hallway, a slightly nefarious-looking man straight out of central casting made eye contact with me and then dropped a cell phone in my hand.
"Keep walking. Call this number: xxx-xxxx." (Which was actually my real-life work number, but it didn't have that significance in the dream.)
I said, “How do I know I can trust you?” and he answered, “How do I know I can trust you?” I called the number and the person who answered required a number of passwords that the contact provided to me. I don't remember what the person on the phone said, but the gist was: they had found me. They who? Dunno. Baddies, to be sure.
The contact took me upstairs to a room right off a landing and told me that I needed to run for it when he told me to. I was wearing flip flops, so I sat down to change shoes (the brown sneakers I bought at Payless about 5 years ago, complete with ped socks, because apparently even dream-me doesn't want sweaty feet). As soon as I sat down he screamed “Go now!” and there was a hail of bullets.
I managed to get outside the building and run across an open plaza to another building where there was more cover. Luckily for someone on the run like me, there were rows and rows of clotheslines with laundry on them right there on the street level of an urban, downtown street, so I stole a shirt to change into to throw off the baddies and disguise myself. It still had the laundry ticket in the pocket and I felt bad for the owner...but I was on the run!
I don’t know what was going to happen next because I woke up, but my guess is that I was going to cut and dye my hair, like all the women in the Bourne movies do.
"Keep walking. Call this number: xxx-xxxx." (Which was actually my real-life work number, but it didn't have that significance in the dream.)
I said, “How do I know I can trust you?” and he answered, “How do I know I can trust you?” I called the number and the person who answered required a number of passwords that the contact provided to me. I don't remember what the person on the phone said, but the gist was: they had found me. They who? Dunno. Baddies, to be sure.
The contact took me upstairs to a room right off a landing and told me that I needed to run for it when he told me to. I was wearing flip flops, so I sat down to change shoes (the brown sneakers I bought at Payless about 5 years ago, complete with ped socks, because apparently even dream-me doesn't want sweaty feet). As soon as I sat down he screamed “Go now!” and there was a hail of bullets.
I managed to get outside the building and run across an open plaza to another building where there was more cover. Luckily for someone on the run like me, there were rows and rows of clotheslines with laundry on them right there on the street level of an urban, downtown street, so I stole a shirt to change into to throw off the baddies and disguise myself. It still had the laundry ticket in the pocket and I felt bad for the owner...but I was on the run!
I don’t know what was going to happen next because I woke up, but my guess is that I was going to cut and dye my hair, like all the women in the Bourne movies do.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Moviegoer.
When I was 20, I spent the night on the outdoor set of Days of our Lives. Perhaps the picture becomes more clear--though no less puzzling--if I tell you it was 1996 and we were sleeping there to be first in line to get tickets for an L.A. taping of the Rosie O'Donnell show (the NBC box office is located through the one of the dummy set doors). Also, I was wearing plaid pajama pants, Birkenstocks, and an Abercrombie & Fitch sweatshirt.
Talk about a time capsule. But none of this is my point.
I've been thinking a lot lately about how a lifetime of exposure to TV, movies, music, and books shapes how we act--or should act--in a given situation. Anything that could possibly happen to us--falling in love, falling out of love, going to war, having a child, losing a parent, having a fight, breaking up, personally triumphing, failing miserably, rousting the troops--already has a script, a soundtrack, and a novelization in book form.
Tangent: it will not surprise you to learn that I was reading the novelization of The Karate Kid II on the way home from school when I almost got beat up in fifth grade (which, set objectively like that, makes me look like I was crusin' for a nerd bruisin'). Seems ironic: I was reading a book about martial arts and all I could do was curl up in a ball and cry. Where was the wax on, wax off? Ha, but even this tangent proves the point. Or maybe it's just me.
What I find interesting is this question: can you still act organically and genuinely when you are thinking of that one song by that band or that one scene in that one movie? Do we say what we want to say, or what we think we should say based on the script we all got after watching Casablanca or Jerry Maguire?
Anyway, we got the tickets. Chandler from Friends and George from Seinfeld were the guests. She didn't fling kooshballs at us. Instead, she gave away hot dogs. We declined, and drove straight home to San Diego.
Talk about a time capsule. But none of this is my point.
I've been thinking a lot lately about how a lifetime of exposure to TV, movies, music, and books shapes how we act--or should act--in a given situation. Anything that could possibly happen to us--falling in love, falling out of love, going to war, having a child, losing a parent, having a fight, breaking up, personally triumphing, failing miserably, rousting the troops--already has a script, a soundtrack, and a novelization in book form.
Tangent: it will not surprise you to learn that I was reading the novelization of The Karate Kid II on the way home from school when I almost got beat up in fifth grade (which, set objectively like that, makes me look like I was crusin' for a nerd bruisin'). Seems ironic: I was reading a book about martial arts and all I could do was curl up in a ball and cry. Where was the wax on, wax off? Ha, but even this tangent proves the point. Or maybe it's just me.
What I find interesting is this question: can you still act organically and genuinely when you are thinking of that one song by that band or that one scene in that one movie? Do we say what we want to say, or what we think we should say based on the script we all got after watching Casablanca or Jerry Maguire?
Anyway, we got the tickets. Chandler from Friends and George from Seinfeld were the guests. She didn't fling kooshballs at us. Instead, she gave away hot dogs. We declined, and drove straight home to San Diego.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Dropping bread crumbs at my feet.
Don't look at me that way--I've been busy!
It's Labor Day eve and I've got my mud mask on, music is playing, and my writing cap is perched rakishly on my head. In other words, all is as our forefathers intended.
I got a big education on why I simultaneously love and hate weddings this weekend.
Pros: all your friends and family in one place; open bars; dancing; love; etc.
Cons: every bit of planning that goes into said event.
I ran a bunch of wedding errands with my friend Alexis on Saturday: two photographers, two florists, two dress shops. I was happy to do it, of course; that's what friends do for each other. Plus, it was cool to be there when she found her wedding dress. But man alive, there are a lot of details involved in planning a wedding. You have to know so many things that the average person has no cause to know: chapel, cathedral, or sweep train? Wrist corsage or pin-on for the mothers? Same or different for each? Reproduction proofs to the photography? Maybe I just fail in girlishness in this department.
Lord. Eloping sounds like the answer...except for the Pro list above.
What else is new? So, there's a boy...and that's going well--well enough that I know better than to write about it. Just trust me. Also, I downloaded "Summer of 69," finally (I will fight you if you try to tell me that's not the greatest song ever). Oh, and some writing--some honest-to-God writing. I know! Jewelry making with the Little Sis. Low-simmering girl-crush on Tina Fey (but that's not so much new as it is continuous).
I'm listening to Justin Timberlake right now and I don't care who knows it.
It's Labor Day eve and I've got my mud mask on, music is playing, and my writing cap is perched rakishly on my head. In other words, all is as our forefathers intended.
I got a big education on why I simultaneously love and hate weddings this weekend.
Pros: all your friends and family in one place; open bars; dancing; love; etc.
Cons: every bit of planning that goes into said event.
I ran a bunch of wedding errands with my friend Alexis on Saturday: two photographers, two florists, two dress shops. I was happy to do it, of course; that's what friends do for each other. Plus, it was cool to be there when she found her wedding dress. But man alive, there are a lot of details involved in planning a wedding. You have to know so many things that the average person has no cause to know: chapel, cathedral, or sweep train? Wrist corsage or pin-on for the mothers? Same or different for each? Reproduction proofs to the photography? Maybe I just fail in girlishness in this department.
Lord. Eloping sounds like the answer...except for the Pro list above.
What else is new? So, there's a boy...and that's going well--well enough that I know better than to write about it. Just trust me. Also, I downloaded "Summer of 69," finally (I will fight you if you try to tell me that's not the greatest song ever). Oh, and some writing--some honest-to-God writing. I know! Jewelry making with the Little Sis. Low-simmering girl-crush on Tina Fey (but that's not so much new as it is continuous).
I'm listening to Justin Timberlake right now and I don't care who knows it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
