Get Me To The Church On Time

What a weekend! I don't even know where to begin. My mom got remarried this weekend. Yeah, that's a good place to start. Mom married her high school sweetheart in a lovely ceremony in the North Georgia mountains. My new step-dad is a great guy, and he so clearly worships the ground she walks on. I couldn't be happier for her. My brother and sister were, for separate reasons, absent. I was the only person from our immediate family present, though for many reasons, that may have been a blessing. My niece and nephew got to come, which made things better, though.

One highlight was my mom attacking the flower arrangements in the church because there were "holes" in them and the florist was a moron. So there she was, pulling flowers from the back, stems and leaves flying as she re-arrangeded them to her own exacting specifications. I think some of it was just her own nervous energy needing an outlet. I read a poem during the ceremony, which went over ok. I didn't stumble over my words too bad. Jim let me dress him up in a shirt and tie, and he looked totally gorgeous. Mom says we made her really proud, which was my personal goal for the whole thing. I just wanted to make her proud, seeing as the rest of our family is such a trainwreck. My other job was to keep her calm, which was virtually impossible, but I did keep her focused on the next task at hand, which while she wasn't exactly calm, it kept her from freaking out.

The reception was in a swanky country club and we had a served dinner, choice of salmon or filet mignon. His family was very nice, and I had the strange experience of meeting my new step-siblings for the first time. My new brother and sister live in Baltimore and Los Angeles, respectively, and both had wonderful things to say about my mother to me. They both seem genuinely happy for our parents and welcomed my mother into their fold with open arms. It was weirder for me, because I was the only representative of my family. Being the youngest by far, it was an unexpected mantle of authority. I hadn't really thought about it until his son gave a toast, and it occured to me that I probably should do so as well, but was so mentally unprepared for it I just couldn't. I don't know why it never occured to me, other than I wasn't the matron of honor, so those duties were overlooked. The granddaughters were jointly junior bridesmaids, and the reception was just not in my thoughts. Looking back, I don't even know what I would have said without somehow bringing the focus to the fact that out of her three children, I'm the only one who was there. One was absent by choice, the other...well, I'd like to think he would have attended if he could.

Pictures!

Here's mom with me and Jim. I've never seen her so happy in my whole life. I think it's safe to say she hasn't actually ever been this happy during my lifetime.

To know that she will finally know real love and companionship in her marriage makes me so wonderfully happy for her.

They danced around the ice sculpture while we all watched. They were just so adorable. They just oozed "happily ever after". I swear, the whole thing was like a Hallmark tv movie.

Oh, and lest I forget. Today is my birthday. I've gotten a plane ticket to Chicago for later in the week and a new tv as presents, along with a few other odds and ends and sweet cards. My friends and family have been wonderful to think of me. I've decided that what I want most of all is for those I care about to have at least a moment of silly fun. So I submit the following music video: Poison by Bell Biv DeVoe. Turn it up and rock the Running Man, the Roger Rabbit, and the Cabbage Patch for me.

Bust a move

I'm bopping around in my desk chair to a new song by Brittany Murphy. Well, technically it's Paul Oakenfold featuring Brittany Murphy. His slammin baseline is what makes this song so jammin', but her vocals are surprisingly good. She's got a rich husky sound, and when she throws some force behind it towards the end, it holds true. I'd like to hear her really cut loose.

Incidentally, Brittany Murphy will always make me think of one of my favorite movies ever, Drop Dead Gorgeous and her parents "only had me cuz Peter needed that kidney". She got scary skinny for a while, like Nicole Ritchie skinny, but she looks a bit healthier now. Good for her. She's obviously very talented, and I hope she does well.

Go forth and jam.

Back to haunt me

I've got some skills. A few, really. I can type pretty fast, my thumb is somewhat green, I'm a decent cook, a good problem-solver, slightly crafty, etc. But there are a few things I'm just really not good at. There is one thing I've battled my whole life, other than my child-bearing hips and thighs, and that is my penmanship. To say my penmanship is consistent is to say that it is consistently inconsistent...and bad. I mean, it's not doctor's handwriting, but even when I'm trying really hard, it's still rather awkward looking. Plus, I never get all the way through one without messing up a word and crossing it out.

When I was a kid, my mom spent I don't know how much on personalized stationary, notecards and envelopes. Really nice, sassy little stuff, mostly for the purpose of me writing thank you notes. For the record, no matter how much I hated it every bloody second of it, I'm glad she did it. I dreaded birthdays and Christmas every year because I knew that for every gift, I was going to have to write a thank you. I spent untold hours sitting at the kitchen table, while my mother flitted around the kitchen making dinner or a pound cake, and dictated to me what I was to say. And not a one ever was finished without some big scratched out words or ill-formed letters. Thankfully, I'm not dyslexic, so the letters weren't backwards or anything, they were just...ugly. For every second I hated writing thank you notes, I have realized, now that I'm grown up and sending presents to people, how nice they are. You want to know if they got it, and if they liked it. Even if it's just a polite response to a gift they despise, it's nice to get.

The whole point of this rant is to get to the present. My mother is getting remarried on Saturday. This Saturday. I've searched high and low for a gift for her and my stepfather to be. He's got everything and she's quite picky. What do I do? Well, I'm reading a poem during their ceremony, Shakespeare's Sonnet 116. I figured, wouldn't it be cool if I could find a nice print of it and get it framed? I scoured the internet. Nothing. Then I considered the idea of a calligrapher. I found a calligraphied copy of it for a decent price, but it was in blue with an ugly frame. My mother and I are not "blue" people. No, I don't mean like Blue Man Group. We are just not big fans of the color blue.

So! I contacted a calligrapher and found out that an unframed copy of it on commission runs around $250. Whoa. And that's unframed. No I understand homegirl's gotta make a living, but...geez! So I decided I'll attempt the impossible. I went to Michael's yesterday and got the supplies and a plan...to teach myself calligraphy in the space of five days and create a copy nice enough to frame. Honestly, I don't recall taking any drugs yesterday, but I must have to think this was possible. Me, of the atrocious handwriting, doing CALLIGRAPHY???!? That is just downright hilarious. So I sat down yesterday and copied and traced letters out of this little book I bought, and it's clear that this is just not a skill I will ever really have.

So what will I do? Well, I got my brother-in-law to email me some nice fonts I didn't have and I printed out a really nice copy of it in a font called Vivaldi, which looks just like calligraphy. The plan is that I will now trace over this onto nice paper and frame that. We'll see. My hopes are not high. Wish me luck.

Quench your unknown desire

Deep, deep in the pit of your depraved soul there lies a secret yearning. This yearning has gone long unheeded, sinking into dormancy like a hybernating bear. The time has come, though, my friends. The time has come for this perverse and undeniable need to awaken, roaring to life raw and unfettered by society's mores and expectations.

You have gone too long without, my friends. The long winter is over, rise and gorge your souls on the veritable feast of ridiculousness that is....the keytar solo. Bask in the glory of her fishnet dress. That's right I said fishnet dress. Take your time and ponder the use of the tilted stand on which she perches here keytar, and artfully grinds against. What happened to the keytars they used to have with the shoulder straps? Do they even still make keytars?

The mind spirals off into myriad directions, but your soul...your soul rests, full and content at last.

Oh, by the way, you can now buy Peanut butter hot dogs. The little boy, pictured in the story, reminds me of Chunk from Goonies. I bet he can even do the truffle shuffle.

So many things and so few things

I feel at the moment like I'm at the eye of a storm. My life has had times of great flux, and times of calm monotony. I will always prefer the latter, myself, but I'm boring like that, I guess. I feel the need to wax poetic, but I suspiciously believe this urge comes from the fact that I just devoured a seven-hundred and fifty page book in two days. It was wild and amazing and poignant and funny at times. It was Jacqueline Carey's latest book Kushiel's Scion, the fourth book in her series. While I won't go into detail, like all great books, it inspires you to think about your own life and your relationships with yourself and others. This book, in particular, has inspired me to think about my own relationship with my parents and their legacy to me. What of them I have inherited and carry with me and what scars I bear with pride now that I have ventured off on my own path.

I discovered that the traits in me that I most love, my humor and my irreverence, I got from my father. The traits that I believe have kept me sane, my practicality and responsibility, I got from my mother. These are the traits in each of them that I found most infuriating when I lived with them. My mom was too uptight and my dad didn't take anything serious enough.

Anyway. Enough of that maudlin crap. So my Mom is getting remarried. I'm completely happy for her. She's positively giddy about the whole thing. She's marrying her high school sweetie, from whom she was torn dramatically from by her tyrannical mother like a scene out of Romeo and Juliet. Now, fifty years later, they're finally going to continue their story that started so long ago. He's great. I have no emotional issues regarding my future step-father. I wish them all the happiness they can possibly have.

I only wish this happened in the first place. Not that I don't love my dad or anything, but they just should not have married. They were ill matched for each other. I also wish that my Dad could move on and learn and accept things. Unfortunately, he has taken the whole divorce so poorly that we're afraid to tell him about Mom. The last time she mentioned to him that she was "moving on in every sense of the word" he told my sister afterwards that "your mother is confused."

Yeah. I don't know what's up with that. My Dad's powers of rationalization and justification are such that he could probably wear a cape and get his own comic book. That would be a pretty lame comic, though, come to think of it. I also just found out that my Dad's heart problems are getting bad enough that he'll need to have a stint put in. My father has had heart issues so long that from the time I was eight I knew where he kept his nitroglycerin tablets and understood I was to put one under his tongue if he ever fell down gripping his chest.

I feel at once sad and happy, regret and hope, frustration and elation, pity and admiration.

And on that note, here's a link to coolest thing I've seen today: Gnarles Barkley performing at the MTV movie awards. The costumes are awesome. You know you've always wanted to see Chewbacca rocking a drum set. Don't deny it.

Days of Dianetics?

Um....yeah. The Scientolowackos are apparently going to sponsor a Nascar race team. You know, we just moved back here from Clearwater, Florida, which is where the cult keeps their headquarters. OMG THEY'RE FOLLOWING ME!1!!! Needless to say, based on my previous diatribe about my complete and utter disdain for ol' Tommy Tom, you can bet if I see him at a race I'll be sorely tempted to donkey-kick him in the junk. Although if Katie's around I may try to make nice with her and to offer her my spare room as a stop on the Freedom Railroad to escape the enslavement. You can do it, Joey Potter! I have faith in you! We'll call Pacey and he'll come and sweep you off to happily-ever-after land. Baby Suri, too!

I do find it funny, though that Scientology is attempting to infiltrate what has got to be one of the most fundamentalist Christian of sports. There is a pretty big following among the team members with prayer breakfasts and such. While my husband and I joke about how crazy the fundies around here are, in many ways they are more scary than the Scientologists, because of their veneer of respectability and the propensity towards blind obesiance by it's members. The Hubbardites better pack a lunch and be prepared to get their backs dirty, because they'll be walking right into the crosshairs of Bushies. It's gonna be quite the showdown. My money's on Jesus. I think he's gonna shove his sandaled foot right up Hubbard's butt, and then lap him around the track.

Bookfreak Review: Moon Called by Patricia Briggs

I've had this book on my Amazon wishlist for a while now, but just haven't placed any orders recently. So Tuesday, the new Sherrilyn Kenyon book came out, Dark Side of the Moon, and being the addict that I am, I had to get it THAT MORNING. What can I say? I'm hardcore. Being unemployed also helps. Anyway, so driving the fifteen minutes down to Barnes & Noble is just too far to only get one book, right? So I took some notes from my wishlist to check out when I got there. Sure enough they had Moon Called by Patricia Briggs, whom I've never read before, so I decided to give her a whirl. From what I can tell, though she's written several books, this is her first foray into what I would call urban fantasy, or modern fantasy, which is my cup of tea, the side on which my bread is buttered, if you will. High fantasy, with its castles and sorcerers and unpronounceable names that all end in "ir" or "il" all kind of blend together for me for some reason. Obviously, there are exceptions to that such as everything Tolkien, Christopher Paolini's Inheritance Series, and my most favoritest of all Alice Borchardt's Tales of Guinevere books (when is the last one going to come out already????).

But I digress.

Moon Called is the subgenre of fantasy I love best. It is set mostly in present day, with the only fantastical thing being the presence of your standard preternatural creatures such as vampires, werewolves, and the fae. This book has mostly the same groundrules and creatures of the books of this kind. And it has a female protagonist, which y'all know I love me some buttkickin' chicks. The premise itself was kind of standard, Mercedes the VW mechanic (hehe!) and shapeshifter gets a whole mess of trouble dumped in her capable lap and she must deal with sexy wolfmen and a smattering of other supes to unravel it. But I felt the author had created some really good solid characters with interesting pasts and inter-relationships. What I found surprisingly refreshing was that Mercy was not annoying to me. She felt really real and relatable. She was very capable without being cocky, and while she was tomboy-ish and without frills, she still came off with a feminine touch, which I feel is often overlooked. So often heroines are either squawling whiners or macho men with breasts. Or squawling men with breasts, for that matter.

This was not what I would call a paranormal romance, which is a genre that has really exploded in the past few years. Even though Mercy is caught between two charismatic and totally hot Alpha dudes, one from her past and the other from her present, the author doesn't fall into the trap of pausing in the middle of a crisis so her characters can bonk. Not that I have anything against romance, but in a crisis, I like practical people, and that just wouldn't have been practical. I can suspend disbelief with the best of them for the sake of a good story, but putting pleasure before people whose lives are on the line has never jived with me. I liked this book, because, like the best of this genre, the characters felt like interesting but regular people put in totally irregular situations, blown wonderfully out of proportion when things like superpowers and dual-natures get thrown into the mix. It also helps when the main characters are kind, intelligent people you would totally hang out with.

I dug it. I dug it a lot. It is perfectly set up for more books with the immediate crisis resolved, but the characters left circling each other and wondering what to do about it. I even kind of liked that she didn't pick one of the guys and do the "We've saved the day! Take me! Take me now!" sex scene resolution at the end. Both of the guys mean a lot to her and come with baggage, and I respect her all the more for it. The author has as many as four planned, and I'm in for the haul.

This one gets five Napoleons. That's how flippin' sweet it was.