Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Spain Vignette 2: Ceasefire
When we were in
On a side note, I was intrigued by the bizarre disguises of the ETA members who announced the ceasefire. The Basques invented the beret, so that was a nice tribute, but wearing the berets over those white hoods with the weird eye slits just seems odd.
*Let’s be honest here, my name is not common anywhere except perhaps cemeteries with a lot of late 19th century graves.
**I was going to write “unless you’ve been living under a rock,” but then I remembered how little I know about current world events, and I realized that if I hadn’t been in the country where it was happening, I might not know about it. And honestly, I got it from the BBC, not from any kind of Spanish news outlet.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Spain Vignette 1: “Once you get used to the smell of rendered fat, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without it.”
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Wedded Bliss
So, the wedding went off relatively hitch-free, although the week leading up to it was rather nervous breakdown-inducing.
The highlights (and lowlights):
*Exactly one week before the wedding, I came down with a wicked bad cold, the kind that stuffs your head up completely and makes it feel like you are carrying around 20 pounds of snot. Since the end result of colds for me is usually laryngitis, I was worried that I would have no voice by the wedding. Luckily, I managed to conserve my voice.
*The cold exacerbated my usual insomnia by waking me up about 8 times a night.
*What I really needed was to stay home in bed, but I had to work on Monday and Tuesday. There’s nothing like an 11-hour work day to help you get over a cold.
*My insomnia was so bad that week that I took to getting out of bed in the middle of the night to read. The good news: I finished a book for the first time in weeks. The bad news: It was by Dan Brown.
*Nothing was ready at the hotel for the rehearsal, so I politely but firmly ordered the staff around until I got what I wanted. Then I took charge of the rehearsal, and all that bossiness made me feel much better.
*My mother made it to the hotel. By the way she was dancing at the reception, you would never know she was sick at all.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Honeymooning by the Numbers
Number of flights we took: 6
Hours spent on planes: 24
Number of flights almost missed through no fault of our own: 2
Number of times the plane appeared to be skidding off the runway during landing: 1 (but that was really more than enough)
Number of times I said to myself "You're already on the ground. Even if the plane crashes, there's a very good chance we'll survive": approximately 6
Hours spent on high-speed train: 2.5
Total hotels stayed in: 4
Total cities visited: 3
Number of hotels that had a bidet in the bathroom: 4
Minutes spent discussing the ever-fascinating bidets: 90
Glasses of wine consumed: approximately 72 (but I, err, may have lost count)
Number of times I felt drunk: 0
Pieces of Catalan tomato bread consumed: at least 25
Number of times we ate octopus: 3
Number of orange trees we saw in Seville: at least 500
Glasses of orange juice I drank while screwing my face up in distaste: 9 (I’m a slow learner)
Number of museums visited: 4
Number of Baroque paintings viewed: at least 400
Minutes spent swooning over Baroque paintings: I lost count
Number of times Lord Kissington asked if we were almost done yet while in a museum: 8
Number of outdoor cafes: approximately 10
Number of blissful nights of sleep I had while still jetlagged before my usual insomnia kicked in: 3
Number of cathedrals/churches visited: 4
Amount of clothes I brought but didn’t wear: 1/3
Hours I spent last night trying to convince my brain that just because my body thinks it’s six hours later, it is not time to get up yet: 1
Time at which I gave up and got out of bed: 6 a.m.
Monday, March 20, 2006
A Short One
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Yikes
Read Much?
What’s happening with me? Even when I slow down a bit in my reading, I’m still usually reading one or two books, even if I’m doing it slowly. Have I allowed stress to take over and use way too much of my brain? Is the wedding so all-consuming that I don’t have room for anything else? (And how depressing is that?) Even my usual standby of re-reading old favorites (Agatha Christie when I’m sick, Nancy Mitford when I’m blue, and Jane Austen anytime) isn’t working lately. I’m hoping that it’s just stress and that once the wedding is over I’ll dive back into my usual habits. I’ll be bringing a big stack of books with me on the honeymoon (poor Lord Kissington). On my list are the aforementioned Banville, Jude the Obscure, and Hugh Laurie’s novel The Gunseller (he’s ever so talented, isn’t he?). Wish me luck.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
To Everyone Who Is Pissing Me off These Days, Please Stop
To my mother: Seriously, does it really matter whether the floral arrangements for the tables are in square or round vases? I said I liked the square vases. Was it really necessary to spend 15 minutes arguing with me and the florist about the vases?
To my hairdresser: I love what you do with my hair. And I think yesterday’s trial run for my wedding hairstyle was great. But sadly, the makeup trial didn’t go as well. You made me look like a six-year-old who has gotten into her mother’s makeup bag. Was it necessary to add foundation several shades darker than my natural skin color? I am very pale. If I thought I looked good tan, I would be tan. I’m Irish. We don’t tan; we burn. And what was with all that lip liner to make my upper lips look bigger? Those were clown lips. Sadly, because I am so bad at confrontation and I don’t want to upset our relationship, I will probably still let you do my makeup the morning of the wedding and then go home and do it over again myself. And now I’m just mad at myself.
To the guy at Potbelly who gave me the wrong sandwich and then got mad at me: Yes, I’m sorry that I ended up with the wrong sandwich, but you did say “shwiisgm slaughtyet” and to me that sounded like chicken salad, not turkey breast. And it wasn’t crowded, so I’m not sure how someone who was behind me in line had their sandwich come out of the toaster before mine. But hey, this was clearly my fault.
To the creepy maintenance guy in my building: I actually walk in the other direction most times that I see you coming, just so I won’t have to have awkward, creepy conversations with you where you leer at me. But last night, I couldn’t avoid it. I had to get on the elevator so I was forced to walk past you. But was it really necessary to try to pull me into your stupid conversation and call me “baby”? Shudder.
To our DJ: Did you have to try to guilt me about not making a big deal of the cake-cutting? Was it necessary for you to tell me that this wedding isn’t all about me? Believe me, I’ve known that for months. And is the cake-cutting thing really that important to everyone? He says it’s a photo op. Well, I chose my photographer because he doesn’t really do photo ops, he does candids. And we’re definitely not planning to shove cake in each other’s mouths. If this were some sort of important wedding ritual, I could see the point, but I’ve always regarded it as a good time to hit the bar. And as for the suggested “daddy/daughter dance,” calling it that sounds supercreepy. And I simply can’t imagine dancing with my father to any of the traditional tacky songs, like “Daddy’s Little Girl” or “To Sir, with Love.” The thought makes me throw up a little in my mouth. Dad and I both really dig the Clash and Lou Reed, so maybe if you play something by one of them…
To my insomnia and my brain: Couldn’t you just give me a break this week? I really need some sleep. Is it necessary to wake me up every morning at least an hour before the alarm goes off? And this morning, did you have to wake me up at
To my subconscious: What was up with that weird dream about my high school being torn down to build luxury condos? Don’t I have enough to worry about without you freaking me out?