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Post-Wedding Brain Dump.
May. 27th, 2007 09:59 pmSurvived. Didn't kill anyone. Back in Baltimore.
If I ever get married, It will not be in a fire hall, or an AmVets hall or any such thing like that.
It will not be anywhere that I am not allowed candles.
There will be no Maracarena, Electric Slide, Chicken dance or anything like that.
I will inform the maid of honor well before the rehearsal that she is, in fact, the maid of honor. (Chelle has been telling me for months now that Diana was the maid of honor, not me.)
I will not just trust the establishment to pick some wine for me to serve to my guests. (I know white zin is cliché as all get out. But I have never tasted a bad white zin. Until yesterday. Oh. My. God.)
If children are present, I will have someone appointed Kid Herder. Hmm...would I really need a little girl to strew rose petals at my feet as I walk down the aisle? Would I really need some little kid to carry the rings on a little pillow?
My mom will have her own personal attendant. Because damn. She was a nervous wreck (I don't remember her being anywhere near as neurotic when Mike got married, or at her own wedding either.)
I will not let my mother-in-law to be and her various relatives make the dresses.
I will not pick someone who's known to be wildly unreliable to DJ.
I will likely walk down the aisle by myself.
( This all leads me to a whole other train of thought.... )
This subject brings up a whole other mess of questions in my mind. I'm going to leave them for the moment.
Because I need to write about the utterly bizarre dream that I had last night, lest I should forget it.
I was out somewhere, walking around the city when I found my cat. Ferarri. No clue what she was doing out of the house, she was just there. And I had to get her home, but I couldn't go home right away because I had to do stuff. And it was a long bus ride home, like...a couple of hours.
So I picked her up and hopped on a bus. And held her in my lap, attempting to shield her from view rom anyone else on the bus. The driver didn't seem to care. I was looking for a convenience store that I knew was on this route, but I never found it. And at one point, a police officer outside the bus somehow saw in and noticed that I was holing a cat, and called more cops to follow the bus. Meanwhile, I looked down at the floor and there was another cat sitting there, as well as a whole mess of kittens- maybe 20 that were very small, a few weeks old and about 10 more that were a bout older- maybe just old enough to leave their mother. The cop never catches us, the buss pulls over to stop for a few minutes outside of what looks like an appliance store. I decided that I needed a box to put these kittens in, so I get off the bus and go into the store to ask for a box...but when I get in, I find that the appliance store is actually a police station in a big sunken room. A cop walks in behind me and tries to arrest me, but the bus driver walks in and says it's okay...so they don't. I ask if they have any boxes that I can put these kitten in...but they don't. They do however have a huge stack of paper shopping bags, so I take them and get on the bus, and I'm down on my hands and knees picking up all these kittens, trying to sort out which ones belong to Ferarri and which belonging to the other cat, and I'm putting three or four in a shopping bag...and the whole time this is going on, the other passengers on the bus are carrying on as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.
Friday night I had a dream I was making 12 different kinds of pasta. Not different pasta dishes, mind you but just...big vats of different shapes of cooked pasta. I made macaroni and put it aside, then rigatoni and bowties, and rotini. No sauce, just me in a kitchen with a butcher block island and a huge stove tons of noodles. That's all I did. It was a really nice kitchen. High-quality pots and pans and all. There were strings of garlic bulbs and dried chilli peppers hanging from the ceiling. I'm kinda sorry I didn't get to make any sauces...even if it was just a dream.
Ye gads, that's messed up. My fully conscious self regrets that my sleeping, dreaming self didn't make some pasta sauce.
Who knows...maybe it's my mind's way of telling me that I'm not that screwed up and things could always be worse- I could be making pasta and no sauce! Or counting kittens in shopping bags on a city bus!
Ay de mi....
Oh, and my father wants me to call him this week. He has "A couple of things he wants to talk to me about."
I'm not sure I'm ready for this conversation. Or even to know what this conversation is....
If I ever get married, It will not be in a fire hall, or an AmVets hall or any such thing like that.
It will not be anywhere that I am not allowed candles.
There will be no Maracarena, Electric Slide, Chicken dance or anything like that.
I will inform the maid of honor well before the rehearsal that she is, in fact, the maid of honor. (Chelle has been telling me for months now that Diana was the maid of honor, not me.)
I will not just trust the establishment to pick some wine for me to serve to my guests. (I know white zin is cliché as all get out. But I have never tasted a bad white zin. Until yesterday. Oh. My. God.)
If children are present, I will have someone appointed Kid Herder. Hmm...would I really need a little girl to strew rose petals at my feet as I walk down the aisle? Would I really need some little kid to carry the rings on a little pillow?
My mom will have her own personal attendant. Because damn. She was a nervous wreck (I don't remember her being anywhere near as neurotic when Mike got married, or at her own wedding either.)
I will not let my mother-in-law to be and her various relatives make the dresses.
I will not pick someone who's known to be wildly unreliable to DJ.
I will likely walk down the aisle by myself.
( This all leads me to a whole other train of thought.... )
This subject brings up a whole other mess of questions in my mind. I'm going to leave them for the moment.
Because I need to write about the utterly bizarre dream that I had last night, lest I should forget it.
I was out somewhere, walking around the city when I found my cat. Ferarri. No clue what she was doing out of the house, she was just there. And I had to get her home, but I couldn't go home right away because I had to do stuff. And it was a long bus ride home, like...a couple of hours.
So I picked her up and hopped on a bus. And held her in my lap, attempting to shield her from view rom anyone else on the bus. The driver didn't seem to care. I was looking for a convenience store that I knew was on this route, but I never found it. And at one point, a police officer outside the bus somehow saw in and noticed that I was holing a cat, and called more cops to follow the bus. Meanwhile, I looked down at the floor and there was another cat sitting there, as well as a whole mess of kittens- maybe 20 that were very small, a few weeks old and about 10 more that were a bout older- maybe just old enough to leave their mother. The cop never catches us, the buss pulls over to stop for a few minutes outside of what looks like an appliance store. I decided that I needed a box to put these kittens in, so I get off the bus and go into the store to ask for a box...but when I get in, I find that the appliance store is actually a police station in a big sunken room. A cop walks in behind me and tries to arrest me, but the bus driver walks in and says it's okay...so they don't. I ask if they have any boxes that I can put these kitten in...but they don't. They do however have a huge stack of paper shopping bags, so I take them and get on the bus, and I'm down on my hands and knees picking up all these kittens, trying to sort out which ones belong to Ferarri and which belonging to the other cat, and I'm putting three or four in a shopping bag...and the whole time this is going on, the other passengers on the bus are carrying on as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.
Friday night I had a dream I was making 12 different kinds of pasta. Not different pasta dishes, mind you but just...big vats of different shapes of cooked pasta. I made macaroni and put it aside, then rigatoni and bowties, and rotini. No sauce, just me in a kitchen with a butcher block island and a huge stove tons of noodles. That's all I did. It was a really nice kitchen. High-quality pots and pans and all. There were strings of garlic bulbs and dried chilli peppers hanging from the ceiling. I'm kinda sorry I didn't get to make any sauces...even if it was just a dream.
Ye gads, that's messed up. My fully conscious self regrets that my sleeping, dreaming self didn't make some pasta sauce.
Who knows...maybe it's my mind's way of telling me that I'm not that screwed up and things could always be worse- I could be making pasta and no sauce! Or counting kittens in shopping bags on a city bus!
Ay de mi....
Oh, and my father wants me to call him this week. He has "A couple of things he wants to talk to me about."
I'm not sure I'm ready for this conversation. Or even to know what this conversation is....
