Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Camel, meet straw
My morning and evening commute is usually very nice. John drops me off at the station a few minutes before the train arrives, I chat with him; get on the train, read my book or magazine. After a nine minute train ride, I arrive at the station in the city where I work; the company van picks me up about two blocks from the station and takes me to my office. On the way back, the company van picks me up at my office, drops me off about two blocks from the station in city where I work; I take the express to the station nearest John’s office (28 minutes), John picks me up and we go home. Easy and pleasant, right?
Well, this past week my commute went hellish. First, there was a fire in Penn Station that made all the trains that run on my line completely off schedule. Then, the remnants of Hurricane Jeanne decided to position themselves over me for a few days. Then, trains seemed to be cancelled left and right with no explanation.
Last night was the final straw. My evening commute occurred in a torrential downpour. The company van was late causing me to miss my normal train. My umbrella was completely inadequate for the job causing my two-block walk to be more like a two-block swim. My shoes were ruined. My pant legs clung to my calves like overcooked noodles. The hallway at the train station that you have to walk through to get to the platform smelled very strongly of homeless person urine and was partially flooded. The previous New York train had been inexplicably cancelled, stranding a lot of very unhappy commuters.
The train pulled in and it was an express, not stopping at every stop. One of the men who was stranded got in the conductor’s face demanding that he switch the express to a local and “take me home goddammit!” It looked like he was going to punch the conductor. It was an ugly scene. Finally, the train pulled away. There were about thirty of us huddled in the vestibule with nowhere to sit.
Finally, I noticed a Wall Street Master-of-the-Universe type with his legs sprawled over three seats. I have very little patience for these overgrown frat-rats, so I walked over and asked him to move his legs so that I could sit down. He gave me a dirty look and didn’t do it.
Well, that was it. If you know me, you can guess what happened next.
“Excuse me, people,” I announced in a loud voice, “we all have to stand because this asshole needs two extra seats for his feet.”
As shouts of “amen, girl” and “you tell him!” rang out through the train, the jerk moved his legs in an embarrassed silence. I sat down.
One of these days, I’m going to get myself in a fight, aren’t I?
My morning and evening commute is usually very nice. John drops me off at the station a few minutes before the train arrives, I chat with him; get on the train, read my book or magazine. After a nine minute train ride, I arrive at the station in the city where I work; the company van picks me up about two blocks from the station and takes me to my office. On the way back, the company van picks me up at my office, drops me off about two blocks from the station in city where I work; I take the express to the station nearest John’s office (28 minutes), John picks me up and we go home. Easy and pleasant, right?
Well, this past week my commute went hellish. First, there was a fire in Penn Station that made all the trains that run on my line completely off schedule. Then, the remnants of Hurricane Jeanne decided to position themselves over me for a few days. Then, trains seemed to be cancelled left and right with no explanation.
Last night was the final straw. My evening commute occurred in a torrential downpour. The company van was late causing me to miss my normal train. My umbrella was completely inadequate for the job causing my two-block walk to be more like a two-block swim. My shoes were ruined. My pant legs clung to my calves like overcooked noodles. The hallway at the train station that you have to walk through to get to the platform smelled very strongly of homeless person urine and was partially flooded. The previous New York train had been inexplicably cancelled, stranding a lot of very unhappy commuters.
The train pulled in and it was an express, not stopping at every stop. One of the men who was stranded got in the conductor’s face demanding that he switch the express to a local and “take me home goddammit!” It looked like he was going to punch the conductor. It was an ugly scene. Finally, the train pulled away. There were about thirty of us huddled in the vestibule with nowhere to sit.
Finally, I noticed a Wall Street Master-of-the-Universe type with his legs sprawled over three seats. I have very little patience for these overgrown frat-rats, so I walked over and asked him to move his legs so that I could sit down. He gave me a dirty look and didn’t do it.
Well, that was it. If you know me, you can guess what happened next.
“Excuse me, people,” I announced in a loud voice, “we all have to stand because this asshole needs two extra seats for his feet.”
As shouts of “amen, girl” and “you tell him!” rang out through the train, the jerk moved his legs in an embarrassed silence. I sat down.
One of these days, I’m going to get myself in a fight, aren’t I?
Sunday, September 26, 2004
The Zen and the Art of the Sunday
One of the many things that John and I have in common is a love of The Sunday. Sleeping in, lingering over coffee, having good friends over for brunch and the Sunday Drive. The days just don't get much better than today when we did all those things.
This morning our good friends, Anila nd Gerry, brought their elfin little girl over for some homemade jalepeno cornbread and my world famous raspberry vanilla crepes. It was entertaining at its most relaxed and easiest. Simple and simply perfect.
After they left around 2 PM, we considered our options... more work on the wedding CDs and Out of Town Guest Guides or... breaking in our new hiking boots heading northwest for the first fall foliage of the season?
Which do you think we chose?
The new hiking boots, just in time for the honeymoon!
the pilot
the navigator
the vista
A beautiful way to spend an afternoon.
One of the many things that John and I have in common is a love of The Sunday. Sleeping in, lingering over coffee, having good friends over for brunch and the Sunday Drive. The days just don't get much better than today when we did all those things.
This morning our good friends, Anila nd Gerry, brought their elfin little girl over for some homemade jalepeno cornbread and my world famous raspberry vanilla crepes. It was entertaining at its most relaxed and easiest. Simple and simply perfect.
After they left around 2 PM, we considered our options... more work on the wedding CDs and Out of Town Guest Guides or... breaking in our new hiking boots heading northwest for the first fall foliage of the season?
Which do you think we chose?
The new hiking boots, just in time for the honeymoon!
the pilot
the navigator
the vista
A beautiful way to spend an afternoon.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
What you would have heard at Daniella & John's house this morning
NPR announcer: Hurricane Ivan has regrouped in the Gulf of Mexico to become Tropical Storm Ivan and is once again threatening the Gulf coast, this time southwestern Louisana and Texas.....
Daniella: goddammit, won't that bastard just go away!
John: yeah, then's there Hurricane Jeanne out in the Atlantic that's going to hit Florida again.
Daniella: really? {goes to check weather.com}
Daniella: holy shit, you're right! What a mess. Oh look, there's two more out there... Karl and Lisa. At least they're really far away.
John: yeah... just far enough away to get into the Gulf and hit New Orleans in two weeks for our wedding...
Daniella: {cries and hyperventilates}
Thanks, honey. Because, you know, two weeks before a woman's wedding is a great time to taunt her with weather disasters.
Right?
NPR announcer: Hurricane Ivan has regrouped in the Gulf of Mexico to become Tropical Storm Ivan and is once again threatening the Gulf coast, this time southwestern Louisana and Texas.....
Daniella: goddammit, won't that bastard just go away!
John: yeah, then's there Hurricane Jeanne out in the Atlantic that's going to hit Florida again.
Daniella: really? {goes to check weather.com}
Daniella: holy shit, you're right! What a mess. Oh look, there's two more out there... Karl and Lisa. At least they're really far away.
John: yeah... just far enough away to get into the Gulf and hit New Orleans in two weeks for our wedding...
Daniella: {cries and hyperventilates}
Thanks, honey. Because, you know, two weeks before a woman's wedding is a great time to taunt her with weather disasters.
Right?
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Brian's Big Three-Oh
Friday I had the honor of attending Brian, the 646 Guy's Thirtieth Birthday Bash. Originally slated to be held at a nice place, the party was of course moved to Siberia--our favorite dump of a bar located in the sewer behind the Port Authority. Lest you misunderstand, I happen to have a special place in my heart for dive bars in sketchy neighborhoods with juke boxes dedicated to the two genres of music--disco and old school country music. My kind of perfect, kids.
Anyway, a great time was had by all and we got to meet both of Brian's boyfriends--though not at the same time. THAT would have been funny, though. Brian also brought the men from his rugby team, The Gotham Knights. These guys were so funny, I was laughing the whole time--especially Toby from England. Great bunch of guys.
I also had a great time getting to know C better. I met her at the last party, but didn't get much of a chance to talk to her then. I subsequently started reading her site and am hooked. She's also really lovely and charming in person. Plus, for some reason, everyone wanted to lick her. I also got to spend some time catching up with P-Frank, recently back from an extended stay in Hong Kong, who I had convinced myself didn't like me. I think (hope) I was wrong.
The owner of Siberia is this huge guy named Tracey who, for reasons he would not explain, was dressed up as Tarzan. Strange, strange night. But a lot of fun.
One last thing, you know those signs on the subway that say "Please give up this seat to elderly or pregnant passengers"? Well, I think they ought to add "women in excrutiatingly high heeled boots" to that. Who's with me?
See all the pictures from the night here.
The Birthday Boy and Boyfriend Number Two
Licking C
Licking Paul... what can I say, there was a lot of licking...
My man
Note the look of panic on Mike's face.
I emailed this to my mother with the subject "I'm pregnant"--I'm so mean!
Friday I had the honor of attending Brian, the 646 Guy's Thirtieth Birthday Bash. Originally slated to be held at a nice place, the party was of course moved to Siberia--our favorite dump of a bar located in the sewer behind the Port Authority. Lest you misunderstand, I happen to have a special place in my heart for dive bars in sketchy neighborhoods with juke boxes dedicated to the two genres of music--disco and old school country music. My kind of perfect, kids.
Anyway, a great time was had by all and we got to meet both of Brian's boyfriends--though not at the same time. THAT would have been funny, though. Brian also brought the men from his rugby team, The Gotham Knights. These guys were so funny, I was laughing the whole time--especially Toby from England. Great bunch of guys.
I also had a great time getting to know C better. I met her at the last party, but didn't get much of a chance to talk to her then. I subsequently started reading her site and am hooked. She's also really lovely and charming in person. Plus, for some reason, everyone wanted to lick her. I also got to spend some time catching up with P-Frank, recently back from an extended stay in Hong Kong, who I had convinced myself didn't like me. I think (hope) I was wrong.
The owner of Siberia is this huge guy named Tracey who, for reasons he would not explain, was dressed up as Tarzan. Strange, strange night. But a lot of fun.
One last thing, you know those signs on the subway that say "Please give up this seat to elderly or pregnant passengers"? Well, I think they ought to add "women in excrutiatingly high heeled boots" to that. Who's with me?
See all the pictures from the night here.
The Birthday Boy and Boyfriend Number Two
Licking C
Licking Paul... what can I say, there was a lot of licking...
My man
Note the look of panic on Mike's face.
I emailed this to my mother with the subject "I'm pregnant"--I'm so mean!
Monday, September 20, 2004
I'm fallin' for you
Yes... Fall has arrived. It's chilly and crisp. I've redesigned my outfit to reflect a fall theme (butter colored suede pants, chocolate leather boots, a rust colored cashmere sweater, if you must know).
With every good overhaul of one's wardrobe, you should also change some other things in your life. In my case, it's the design of my website.
Welcome all to Daniella's Misadventures, version 2.0. I'm going for a tweedy chanel jacket sort of look... all chocolates and salmons. Let me know what you like/don't like. Note, the banner (title area) is still a work in progress and will be changing in the next few days.
Additionally, I would like to send a huge, hearty "thank you" to Mike Wolf, internet guru and genius savant for spending three hours helping me redesign the code (I am, alas, html-illiterate) for the low, low price of pizza and red wine. Mike is now my new web monkey and he owns my soul. Thanks again, Mike. You ROCK!
Yes... Fall has arrived. It's chilly and crisp. I've redesigned my outfit to reflect a fall theme (butter colored suede pants, chocolate leather boots, a rust colored cashmere sweater, if you must know).
With every good overhaul of one's wardrobe, you should also change some other things in your life. In my case, it's the design of my website.
Welcome all to Daniella's Misadventures, version 2.0. I'm going for a tweedy chanel jacket sort of look... all chocolates and salmons. Let me know what you like/don't like. Note, the banner (title area) is still a work in progress and will be changing in the next few days.
Additionally, I would like to send a huge, hearty "thank you" to Mike Wolf, internet guru and genius savant for spending three hours helping me redesign the code (I am, alas, html-illiterate) for the low, low price of pizza and red wine. Mike is now my new web monkey and he owns my soul. Thanks again, Mike. You ROCK!
Friday, September 17, 2004
“This will be a funny story to tell our grandchildren… this will be a funny story to tell our grandchildren…”
That was what I kept repeating to myself last night as John and I endured what can only be described as the most horrendous, horrid, horrible and heinous Night of Dance.
It all started a few months ago when I got the bright idea that we should take a dance lesson or two to get added confidence for our “First Dance” at the wedding. John reluctantly agreed. I wanted to bolster our skills and feel comfortable when all eyes will be on us at the wedding. I took ballroom dance in junior high and although I consider myself a pretty good “club” dancer, I am by no means sure of myself when “couples dancing.” As the wedding got closer and closer, the dance class idea kept getting pushed back as other items got priority. Then I saw an article in Time Out New York that mentioned a dance studio in Chelsea where the proprietress, Miss Kitty, gives couples dance lessons for $50 an hour. Not bad, I thought.
Well, about two weeks ago I called her and scheduled our lesson for last night.
Miss Kitty met us at the door of her one bedroom apartment filled with odd tchotchkes. This woman’s an old New York broad, I thought to myself. From her matted platinum wig, to her turquoise eye shadow and hot pink lips, she screamed geriatric sadness.
How bad can it be, I thought inside my head.
Oh, it could be very, very bad, indeed.
Miss Kitty asked us how well we could dance. I mentioned that I had lessons a long time ago.
“So this one thinks she’s a Dance Expert ‘cause she took a class twenty years ago!” Miss Kitty harrumphed. I was so shocked at the malice in her tone that I did not respond.
It went downhill from there. From the conflicting instructions (“step forward, two steps back, turn, crossover. What are you doing? I said step forward, turn, crossover, step back!” um, no, she didn’t.), to the time she actually slapped my face and yelled “PAY ATTENTION!” I was shaking. I was so angry that I didn’t know what to say. I could feel the veins in my neck pulsing. I felt completely helpless and paralyzed because I knew that if I opened my mouth to respond to this evil bitch I was going to hit her. Hard.
After the longest two hours of my life, John asked to use her bathroom. While he was in there, she sashayed over to me and hissed through clenched teeth, “you’re doing that nice man a disservice trying to teach him to dance in three weeks, Miss Expert!”
After the “lesson” was over, John and I walked in stunned silence. We were a hundred dollars lighter and large angry tears were forming in my eyes. I apologized to John for getting him into this awful, horrible lesson. He hugged me and said, “this will be a funny story that we’ll tell our grandchildren someday!”
Indeed.
That was what I kept repeating to myself last night as John and I endured what can only be described as the most horrendous, horrid, horrible and heinous Night of Dance.
It all started a few months ago when I got the bright idea that we should take a dance lesson or two to get added confidence for our “First Dance” at the wedding. John reluctantly agreed. I wanted to bolster our skills and feel comfortable when all eyes will be on us at the wedding. I took ballroom dance in junior high and although I consider myself a pretty good “club” dancer, I am by no means sure of myself when “couples dancing.” As the wedding got closer and closer, the dance class idea kept getting pushed back as other items got priority. Then I saw an article in Time Out New York that mentioned a dance studio in Chelsea where the proprietress, Miss Kitty, gives couples dance lessons for $50 an hour. Not bad, I thought.
Well, about two weeks ago I called her and scheduled our lesson for last night.
Miss Kitty met us at the door of her one bedroom apartment filled with odd tchotchkes. This woman’s an old New York broad, I thought to myself. From her matted platinum wig, to her turquoise eye shadow and hot pink lips, she screamed geriatric sadness.
How bad can it be, I thought inside my head.
Oh, it could be very, very bad, indeed.
Miss Kitty asked us how well we could dance. I mentioned that I had lessons a long time ago.
“So this one thinks she’s a Dance Expert ‘cause she took a class twenty years ago!” Miss Kitty harrumphed. I was so shocked at the malice in her tone that I did not respond.
It went downhill from there. From the conflicting instructions (“step forward, two steps back, turn, crossover. What are you doing? I said step forward, turn, crossover, step back!” um, no, she didn’t.), to the time she actually slapped my face and yelled “PAY ATTENTION!” I was shaking. I was so angry that I didn’t know what to say. I could feel the veins in my neck pulsing. I felt completely helpless and paralyzed because I knew that if I opened my mouth to respond to this evil bitch I was going to hit her. Hard.
After the longest two hours of my life, John asked to use her bathroom. While he was in there, she sashayed over to me and hissed through clenched teeth, “you’re doing that nice man a disservice trying to teach him to dance in three weeks, Miss Expert!”
After the “lesson” was over, John and I walked in stunned silence. We were a hundred dollars lighter and large angry tears were forming in my eyes. I apologized to John for getting him into this awful, horrible lesson. He hugged me and said, “this will be a funny story that we’ll tell our grandchildren someday!”
Indeed.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
On how Daniella deals with stress
First of all, everyone in my family is fine and no one had any significant damage from the hurricane. Luckily, for New Orleans, it turned East and left us virtually unscathed.
Let's talk about stress instead. On Tuesday night, as it still looked as though the hurricane was headed directly towards my family, friends and home, I was freaking out. Although not in the way normal people freak out. I was organizing.
I reorganized my color coded wedding files (blue for contracts, red for receipts, yellow for beauty,green for guest information, purple for clothing and accessory information, etc, etc). I folded and refolded clothes. Then I noticed that there were two pairs of John's shoes shoved under the couch in the spare bedroom.
Two pairs of shoes??!! Under the couch??? In the spare bedroom?? This is unacceptable. This mess is making my life chaos.
Put your goddamn shoes away, goddamn it!!! I had a melt down. I couldn't handle the disorder in my life. I stomped my foot. I yelled. I cried.
John, in his infinite wisdom, told me I was being ridiculous. And I was. Only him telling me that just made me madder.
I finally calmed down enough to realize that I was freaking out because I was worried, not because it was mortal sin that John did not put his shoes away.
I think I may need to find a less OCD way to deal with stress.
First of all, everyone in my family is fine and no one had any significant damage from the hurricane. Luckily, for New Orleans, it turned East and left us virtually unscathed.
Let's talk about stress instead. On Tuesday night, as it still looked as though the hurricane was headed directly towards my family, friends and home, I was freaking out. Although not in the way normal people freak out. I was organizing.
I reorganized my color coded wedding files (blue for contracts, red for receipts, yellow for beauty,green for guest information, purple for clothing and accessory information, etc, etc). I folded and refolded clothes. Then I noticed that there were two pairs of John's shoes shoved under the couch in the spare bedroom.
Two pairs of shoes??!! Under the couch??? In the spare bedroom?? This is unacceptable. This mess is making my life chaos.
Put your goddamn shoes away, goddamn it!!! I had a melt down. I couldn't handle the disorder in my life. I stomped my foot. I yelled. I cried.
John, in his infinite wisdom, told me I was being ridiculous. And I was. Only him telling me that just made me madder.
I finally calmed down enough to realize that I was freaking out because I was worried, not because it was mortal sin that John did not put his shoes away.
I think I may need to find a less OCD way to deal with stress.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Monday, September 13, 2004
Hello, Fall!
So, it's Sunday and I’m driving in the car. Don’t remember where I’m going… the bank? The liquor store to get the perfect dry rosé to go with dinner? Who cares, I’m driving. The sunroof is open, the windows are down, I’m wearing my new skinny, skinny jeans and a little tank top. The sun hits my summer-bronzed shoulders just so.
I look in the rear view window and catch a glimpse of the latest batch of end-of-the-season freckles on the bridge of my nose, and I feel that mild breeze swirl through my hair.
It’s September, the weather’s gorgeous, I feel alive and in thirty-three days, I’m going to marry the best guy in the world.
I turn up the stereo and sing along with Sting…
“synchroniciteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…. synchroniciteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”
So, it's Sunday and I’m driving in the car. Don’t remember where I’m going… the bank? The liquor store to get the perfect dry rosé to go with dinner? Who cares, I’m driving. The sunroof is open, the windows are down, I’m wearing my new skinny, skinny jeans and a little tank top. The sun hits my summer-bronzed shoulders just so.
I look in the rear view window and catch a glimpse of the latest batch of end-of-the-season freckles on the bridge of my nose, and I feel that mild breeze swirl through my hair.
It’s September, the weather’s gorgeous, I feel alive and in thirty-three days, I’m going to marry the best guy in the world.
I turn up the stereo and sing along with Sting…
“synchroniciteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…. synchroniciteeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”
Friday, September 10, 2004
That story about the Girl who has the coolest girlfriends in the whole world, or The Story of The Weekend
The trip began as so many trips begin: with a horrendous flight. I had forgotten that Labor Day weekend in New Orleans is Southern Decadence, which is a big gay pride weekend. My flight was oversold and full of what I can fondly refer to as Screeching Queens TM. Don't get me wrong, I normally have nothing against gay people, screeching or otherwise, but after a long day at work, I really did not need to hear a singalong of Carol King's "Leaving on a Jet Plane" sung by men referring to one another as 'Mary.' On top of that, I was seated next to an elderly German couple. They were friendly and nice, even going so far as to offer me a piece of gum for take off. The problem? Deaf as can be. I spent my three hours listening to tourist babble in German. LOUD. At least I got some nice pictures at take off:
I spent Thursday evening catching up with Mom and Daddy and enjoying hanging out with them. Who would ever thought that I would be typing those words, huh? There are pictures of my parents, but my mother is convinced that if I put anymore pictures of her on the internet, some perverted maniac is going to photoshop them into porn. Regardless of how many times I explain to my middle-aged, albeit still quite good looking, mother that there is so much porn already on the internet that no one is trolling blogs looking for her picture to turn into porn, I have to respect her wishes. No pictures of mom and dad today. Go search my archives.
Friday was spent doing wedding stuff. There are pictures of that, too, but a lot of people who are invited to the wedding read my blog (Hi, Peter! Hi, Melissa! Hi, Sharon! Hi, Anila!) and some things are going to be a surprise.
Saturday morning, apres another yummy family breakfast, I was picked up by my friend Catherine for the beginning of the First Annual Girls' Weekend. More of the fabulous women were picked up and we were off.
We started with lunch at the Cottage Garden & Cafe, a delightful southern style restaurant and plant nursery in Picayune, MS--just up the road from what came to be called "The Lodge," which is the name we gave my best friend Alison's parent's place in the country.
I took some fabulous pictures while we explored the extensive gardens. We also had some of the tastiest crab cakes (sandwiched between two pieces of fried eggplant) known to man. Oh, and peach cobbler for which I could be convinced to trade a kidney.
Here's a dragonfly laying eggs in a lily pond
One of the best pictures of flowers that I've ever taken
These are called "beauty berries"--they're inedible, but they are so pretty. Hence the name, I guess.
There were lots of cool looking spiders
There was also a cicada molting
The owner also makes whimsical art out of scrap metal. This one is a cow (duh!). Note the udders.
After lunch, we headed to The Lodge where we promptly stripped and jumped into the spring fed (aka REALLY FRICKIN' COLD) pond. We floated on inner tubes for hours, drinking beers, being bitten on our rears by the big mouth bass and perch, quacked at by annoyed territorial geese, telling stories. By the time we headed in, the sun was low in the sky and all our limbs had turned into prunes.
The pond and the diving pier
The pond at dusk
After our swim, we headed into the house to prep dinner. My girlfriend Annie, who spent a year in Vietnam, made spring rolls. Catherine made Paht Thai; Jane brought fabulous cheese and fresh baked "seduction" bread, Alison made pumpkin pie from scratch and Glenda, who's in her first year of her residency and works 100 hours a week, brought the Maker's Mark. I, of course contributed to the feast at hand by making... what else? Mojitos, with fresh mint plucked from The Lodge's garden.
Spring Roll fixin's and lychee fruits (yum-o!)
The finished spring rolls
Fresh garden mint mojitos
We called this picture... The Last Supper (eat yer heart out, Mel Gibson!)
Unfortunately, the pictures can't do justice to the utter awesomeness of these five amazing women. I spent the weekend alternatively laughing uproariously at things they said ("you know that exit at the state line that says 'Turnaround'? Well, I always thought it was a town!" or {mom, cover your ears} "so I was giving him a blow job and I simply did not know what to do with the gum in my mouth, and, by the time I made up my mind to pause and take it out, it was...ahem!... too late!") and marvelling at the fact that these brilliant, charming, beautiful, successful women are, in fact, the very same ones that I have been friends with since we were children. I am so incredibly lucky to have these friends. I am so incredibly lucky not only to have these women as my friends, I am lucky to merely be in their presence.
All I know is, that after these two days of laughing, talking, skinny dipping by moonlight at 4 am, telling embarassing stories about previous boyfriends and dancing to Madonna, I know that I not only have a great life ahead of me with the man of my dreams, I have a great life ahead of me with some truly terrific friends.
BFF, girls. BFF, indeed.
So, I leave you with this...
Yes, believe it or not, that IS a hummingbird caught in the web of a REALLY BIG GODDAMN SPIDER.
Pleasant dreams, ya'll.
The trip began as so many trips begin: with a horrendous flight. I had forgotten that Labor Day weekend in New Orleans is Southern Decadence, which is a big gay pride weekend. My flight was oversold and full of what I can fondly refer to as Screeching Queens TM. Don't get me wrong, I normally have nothing against gay people, screeching or otherwise, but after a long day at work, I really did not need to hear a singalong of Carol King's "Leaving on a Jet Plane" sung by men referring to one another as 'Mary.' On top of that, I was seated next to an elderly German couple. They were friendly and nice, even going so far as to offer me a piece of gum for take off. The problem? Deaf as can be. I spent my three hours listening to tourist babble in German. LOUD. At least I got some nice pictures at take off:
I spent Thursday evening catching up with Mom and Daddy and enjoying hanging out with them. Who would ever thought that I would be typing those words, huh? There are pictures of my parents, but my mother is convinced that if I put anymore pictures of her on the internet, some perverted maniac is going to photoshop them into porn. Regardless of how many times I explain to my middle-aged, albeit still quite good looking, mother that there is so much porn already on the internet that no one is trolling blogs looking for her picture to turn into porn, I have to respect her wishes. No pictures of mom and dad today. Go search my archives.
Friday was spent doing wedding stuff. There are pictures of that, too, but a lot of people who are invited to the wedding read my blog (Hi, Peter! Hi, Melissa! Hi, Sharon! Hi, Anila!) and some things are going to be a surprise.
Saturday morning, apres another yummy family breakfast, I was picked up by my friend Catherine for the beginning of the First Annual Girls' Weekend. More of the fabulous women were picked up and we were off.
We started with lunch at the Cottage Garden & Cafe, a delightful southern style restaurant and plant nursery in Picayune, MS--just up the road from what came to be called "The Lodge," which is the name we gave my best friend Alison's parent's place in the country.
I took some fabulous pictures while we explored the extensive gardens. We also had some of the tastiest crab cakes (sandwiched between two pieces of fried eggplant) known to man. Oh, and peach cobbler for which I could be convinced to trade a kidney.
Here's a dragonfly laying eggs in a lily pond
One of the best pictures of flowers that I've ever taken
These are called "beauty berries"--they're inedible, but they are so pretty. Hence the name, I guess.
There were lots of cool looking spiders
There was also a cicada molting
The owner also makes whimsical art out of scrap metal. This one is a cow (duh!). Note the udders.
After lunch, we headed to The Lodge where we promptly stripped and jumped into the spring fed (aka REALLY FRICKIN' COLD) pond. We floated on inner tubes for hours, drinking beers, being bitten on our rears by the big mouth bass and perch, quacked at by annoyed territorial geese, telling stories. By the time we headed in, the sun was low in the sky and all our limbs had turned into prunes.
The pond and the diving pier
The pond at dusk
After our swim, we headed into the house to prep dinner. My girlfriend Annie, who spent a year in Vietnam, made spring rolls. Catherine made Paht Thai; Jane brought fabulous cheese and fresh baked "seduction" bread, Alison made pumpkin pie from scratch and Glenda, who's in her first year of her residency and works 100 hours a week, brought the Maker's Mark. I, of course contributed to the feast at hand by making... what else? Mojitos, with fresh mint plucked from The Lodge's garden.
Spring Roll fixin's and lychee fruits (yum-o!)
The finished spring rolls
Fresh garden mint mojitos
We called this picture... The Last Supper (eat yer heart out, Mel Gibson!)
Unfortunately, the pictures can't do justice to the utter awesomeness of these five amazing women. I spent the weekend alternatively laughing uproariously at things they said ("you know that exit at the state line that says 'Turnaround'? Well, I always thought it was a town!" or {mom, cover your ears} "so I was giving him a blow job and I simply did not know what to do with the gum in my mouth, and, by the time I made up my mind to pause and take it out, it was...ahem!... too late!") and marvelling at the fact that these brilliant, charming, beautiful, successful women are, in fact, the very same ones that I have been friends with since we were children. I am so incredibly lucky to have these friends. I am so incredibly lucky not only to have these women as my friends, I am lucky to merely be in their presence.
All I know is, that after these two days of laughing, talking, skinny dipping by moonlight at 4 am, telling embarassing stories about previous boyfriends and dancing to Madonna, I know that I not only have a great life ahead of me with the man of my dreams, I have a great life ahead of me with some truly terrific friends.
BFF, girls. BFF, indeed.
So, I leave you with this...
Yes, believe it or not, that IS a hummingbird caught in the web of a REALLY BIG GODDAMN SPIDER.
Pleasant dreams, ya'll.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
I'm back
The Girls' Weekend was amazing and I have a zillion stories, photos and just general stuff to blog about.
Only, I'm really, really busy, so you will have to be patient.
I hope to have everything posted by this weekend. The 165 pictures I took are already posted in a different place, so if you would like to see them (and I know you in real life), drop me an email and I'll send you the link. I will put up a few edited pictures for general viewing soon.
The Girls' Weekend was amazing and I have a zillion stories, photos and just general stuff to blog about.
Only, I'm really, really busy, so you will have to be patient.
I hope to have everything posted by this weekend. The 165 pictures I took are already posted in a different place, so if you would like to see them (and I know you in real life), drop me an email and I'll send you the link. I will put up a few edited pictures for general viewing soon.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Blue Skies... smiling at me... nothing but blue skies...
I know you're going to hate me for saying it, but here goes anyway.
Today was simply gorgeous, and as I got off the train this morning, looked up at the that perfect blue sky and felt that nice breeze on my cheek, I realized that this is the happiest I have ever been in my life.
The. Happiest. Ever.
Wow, huh?
It surprised the hell out of me, too. But you know, after what I've been through in my life, a lot of which is very dark, very scary and very, very bad (and which I will not discuss here, but will discuss offline with those you that I know in real life), I deserve to be this happy.
Hell, we all deserve to be this happy.
Don't hate me for my sunny disposition, ok?
I know you're going to hate me for saying it, but here goes anyway.
Today was simply gorgeous, and as I got off the train this morning, looked up at the that perfect blue sky and felt that nice breeze on my cheek, I realized that this is the happiest I have ever been in my life.
The. Happiest. Ever.
Wow, huh?
It surprised the hell out of me, too. But you know, after what I've been through in my life, a lot of which is very dark, very scary and very, very bad (and which I will not discuss here, but will discuss offline with those you that I know in real life), I deserve to be this happy.
Hell, we all deserve to be this happy.
Don't hate me for my sunny disposition, ok?
