Scary

Read this. Then read this.

Scarred for life

We got back from Florida last night and I have never been so glad to be back in my house. Somehow both Lunchboy and I thought that escaping the clutches of elderly drivers, rural sprawl and alligators meant that our Christmas experience had blessedly ended, until I woke up this morning with his stomach flu. Now I am parked on the couch with a blanket, fuzzy socks, and clear access to the bathroom.

Despite the flu, we had to go to the hotel tonight to do the food tasting and choose linens, etc. Rescheduling wasn't an option simply because our wedding planner, who we'd never met before tonight, has been very difficult to get ahold of and I had a real fear that backing out of tonight's tasting would mean that we'd be choosing hors d'oeuvres the night before the wedding. So to the hotel we went.

In between tasting courses, I made strategic trips to the ladies room, becoming more feverish as the night proceeded. Perhaps this explains why, on my third not-so-subtle flight from the dining room, I blundered my way into the closest restroom, which just happened to be the men's room. The guy at the urinals seemed both shocked and confused, but he cheerily pointed out that because he was at a urinal, I was not in fact in the ladies room. About face. Exunt.

Strangely, it wasn't my first time surprising a guy in the loo this weekend. On the flight down to Fort Myers, I went to the back of the plane and, seeing that the little sign on the rest room was green and said "Vacant," I opened the door. The ten-year old boy on the toilet wasn't amused. Maybe the lock was stuck or he didn't know that he had to slide the little lever over to the right? Either way, I had a feeling that it was one of those moments I'd forget about in a few days but would stick with him for years. And I felt badly for that. When he came out, I made sure not to look at him so he wouldn't be any more embarrassed.

Ho ho ho

Parents will tell you that one of the big faux pas of holiday (or birthday) gift giving is presenting small children with toys that make noise. Though I am not a parent, I can now confidently state that another gift faux pas is giving toys that make noise to grown men who have too much time on their hands. This includes, for example, a life-sized Star Wars light saber that whooshes and zhooms and shrieks whenever you hit something with it. Give such a toy to a man who grew up during the Star Wars heyday--and give it to him on a day so rainy and windy that leaving the house is not really an option, given that the beach is off limits and everything else is closed for Christmas day--and you have a volatile situation on your hands. This gift might qualify as Worst Gift Ever in the history of Lunchboy and I will have it on the record that it is Not My Fault. Lunchboy's mom bought it for him and even she is beginning to regret her generosity. Suffice it to say that the light saber might end up living in Florida because I can just see the glee in the eyes of the TSA agents at the airport when they lay eyes on such a device. They'd throw us in the clink and then go play with the light saber in an empty plane hangar, a la George Michael.

Christmas in Florida is an adjustment, even more so than Christmas in LA was. Until today, when the skies opened up and a mini-hurricane rolled in off the Gulf of Mexico, it's been sunny and 85. The sun and heat are wonderful. But it makes all the fake snow in windows and wintery Christmas shlock even more incongruous. Then there's the sprawl. And the radio stations that play bad Christmas music 24 hours a day. Did you know that those stations existed? Because I didn't and there have been moments in the car with Lunchboy's mom, who loves bad Christmas music and keeps her radio tuned to those stations non-stop, that we have both allowed blank smiles to spread over our faces while we both secretly and very silently fantasized about throwing ourselves from the vehicle.

In addition to the festive holiday atmosphere, we can chalk up fun stars for the following memorable moments during this trip:

1. Lunchboy comes down with the stomach flu the day after we arrive and is unable to leave the couch, except for emergency trips to the loo
2. Lunchboy, valiantly but feverishly attempting to help his mother move a 200lb television, drops said TV on his foot
3. Lunchboy's mother and sister, whom I like very much, watch a record-breaking 5 hours of plastic surgery-related reality TV
4. Number of trips to the mall so far: six

First day of winter

How we know when it's really cold outside:

Not a drop to drink

Last night I dreamed hard, one of those intense dreams so vivid that when you wake up, you're unsure for a few minutes about whether it was just a dream or if it actually happened. In the dream, the world ran out of water. People were lined up for miles to get water from the last existing reservoirs and there were gunfights in the streets over access to water from water heaters, emergency stores, and even toilets. I was dying of thirst--literally--and as the dream progressed I got more fuzzy-minded and miserable. When I finally woke up, I was completely parched and I've never been so thankful for the bottle of water I keep next to the bed. I drank the whole thing in one gulp.

Speaking of dreams, Gimp was kind enough to share this with me. Anything with Damon is great by my terms, but with a headline like this one you just can't lose.

Sidenote--did anyone see Matthew McConaughey on Monday Night Football this week? Was it me or does that man need to wash his hair in the worst way?? And he was wearing a shirt, so booooo.

I went to the dentist on Monday. In the waiting room, there was a table full of donuts and cookies. Mixed messages--hello? Don't tell me to floss three times a day and then ply me with sugar.

I've been meaning to post all week but work was insane. Now I'm off to Florida for a few days to spend the holiday with Lunchboy's family. I intend to sleep late and be extremely lazy. Maybe go skinny dipping in the pool :)

The bachelor/bachelorette parties are in the works. weird weird.

Tilt a whirl

I picked up our rings at the jewelry store yesterday.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes it feels like we’re planning this fake wedding that will never actually happen, but the rings made it real. And soon—72 days. My grin almost broke my face. They are simple bands, with only a bit of finishing and filigree work. The saleslady clearly didn’t trust me, though—she didn’t want to let the rings go. “They’re safer here,” she told me. “Plus, you can get them engraved.” True and true. But we wanted them home. “Don’t leave them out somewhere visible,” she warned me. Because, you know, I was planning to leave them out on the front porch for all to see. That said, I still hid them in the house. Who am I to tempt fate?

Rehearsal dinner—done. Now we’re setting up various meetings with vendors and doing things like choosing linens and flowers. My mother is a gardener and so I asked her opinion on the flowers—mistake. As it turns out, my mother is in love with baby’s breath. She cannot comprehend a bouquet that does not include baby’s breath. I am flawed for not wanting baby’s breath in the floral arrangements. She is not, however, paying for the flowers so thankfully I get the last word on baby’s breath and that word is NO.

I am flailing a bit with Christmas this year. Usually I put a lot of effort into buying thoughtful gifts. Right now that’s translating into gift certificates because I have given up trying to decipher my family’s wish lists. Also, holidays + work stress + wedding planning = fried Moxie. Thankfully, my family is doing a delayed gift exchange closer to New Years so that gives me a little more time.

Failsafe way to torpedo my day

Say to me, when I walk into the salon, "Oh, are you here to get your mustache waxed?"

No, no I'm not. But I am now in frantic need of a mirror because really, what have I been missing???????????? (am thankfully mustache-free)

Bizarre celebrity dream, Part 4

Last night I dreamed that I was flying to France with a group of friends, but my passport was lost somewhere in Matthew McConaughey’s house. It was a gorgeous house, full of shiny cookware and exotic bongos. But with my flight leaving in less than two hours, I didn’t have time to gawk. I frantically rummaged through drawers that were not mine. Then Matthew came home and was completely unfazed that a total stranger was ransacking his house. He got me a beer, a bikini, and a cab to the airport, all without putting his shirt on.

Envy

Lunchboy is going to Cancun for business next week. I'm so jealous.

I’ve got enough to do, and little enough to get for it, without thinking

Despite being an English major in college, I never read much Dickens. Nor did I catch the version of Bleak House that the BBC did last year, the one with Agent Scully as Lady Dedlock. But oh happy day---Lunchboy got me a subscription to Netflix as a
Christmas gift and now I am up to my ears in lovely, dreary British drama. It’s the best of both worlds,really, because I can watch Bleak House in peace while Lunchboy is on the road and is therefore not present to whine, groan, and make violent retching noises whenever the BBC logo comes onscreen. If it doesn’t involve superheroes, science fiction or things getting blown up, he’s not interested. So it’s just me and the cats, all curled up on various fleece blankets and that’s just the way I like it.

The invitations are out. Now we have to track down the hotel wedding coordinator, who is MIA. There are lots of detail-y things that remain to be done. Strangely, we seem to be reversing roles right now. The less stressed out I am, the more anxious Lunchboy becomes. He keeps asking, “Is it done? Are we married yet?” Almost, baby. Two+ months to go.

Carmen has another great article in the most recent issue of the Improper Bostonian. Check it out if you get a chance.