Saturday, December 09, 2006

The Official Weekend of Becky The Reader

A very humble thanks to Becky The Reader, who bestowed a shockingly generous, deeply appreciated engagement gift via the handy Amazon banner.

Becky, enjoy an entire weekend atop the BlondeChampagne world. Don't look down. You'll only see the inflatable arch, not to mention straight into this.

Friday, December 08, 2006

Things No One Else Thinks Are Awesome But Me

-Gasoline smell
-Cement-mixing vanilla ice cream and sugar crystals in the bowl before consumption
-Kate Capshaw's tour de force performance in Space Camp
-When Burl Ives says, "Well, they were all very sad at the loss of their friend, but they realized that the best thing they could do was get the women back to Christmastown."
-Close second: "No! This is man's work!"
-Candy consisting of nothing but caramel and dark chocolate
-AM crackle
-The lesser-known George Strait classic "Momma Was a Dodge City Dance Hall Girl, and My Daddy Was a Riverboat Gambler"

anything else at:

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Not on the Registry

I'm a wine snob, which means... not so much to the following:

It looks like a Barbie and Ken wedding gone horribly, horribly wrong.

We are currently pondering groomsmen gifts, which had to be explained to the groom.

"We have to get them a present?"


"But... they're guys."

"I certainly hope so."

I don't know what we'll wind up with, but I can confidently X out the following:

-Car air freshener shaped like a foot
-Stripper gift certificate
-Live wombat
-Autographed picture of Mario Lopez
-Paternity test
-Bride and groom wine bottle covers



Wednesday, December 06, 2006


I'm going to be flying a lot in the New Year (yay!) with people other than me (boo.) In this I lament not only such delightful fellow passengers as Freaky the Aisle Partner; I mean the dedicated professionals bent on sending me through international terminals in my socks.

When I returned from France to The Swamp, my connection out of Atlanta allowed me grand total of four minutes to clear customs. This did not, for some reason, pan out. I had to go through security twice, declare the single, highly dangerous bottle of Champagne I was carrying in quadruplicate, and shoot off for my connecting flight in my socks. Shoes are for people with competent travel agents.

I missed the Swamp connection, which landed me on standby. Flying standby was like the NFL draft, or election night; the wretched and the stranded watched our names edge upward on a flat screen anchored on the ceiling, and when we reached the top of the list, we were permitted to board. "I WIN!!" I thundered when Ellis, M. staggered across Cana. The gate attendant was not amused. She did not win; she had to stay in Atlanta, in the airport, all day.

"Anyone not going to Florida, you are now. The door is closed," the flight attendant said as the plane began to roll. I rolled too, into the fetal position.

on the aisle at:

Tuesday, December 05, 2006


Now that I know I'm going to leave The Swamp, there is the issue of The Stain.

It appeared near my door on the day I moved in, pretty much immediately after I turned in my lease with all its "The Southern Comfort Splotches Were on the Ceiling When I Got Here" checklists. The Stain appears to be grease. I hope it is. I really, really hope it is.

I think the movers left it when they dragged a dolly across the floor. Perhaps, however, it's sin. I can't get it off the carpet. Every over-the-counter remedy has been applied; The Stain fades momentarily, and then returns, snickering. I am considering an exorcist.


and yes, I tried BAM! at:

Monday, December 04, 2006


When I write a book about this wedding, it's going to be called Is the Groom Averse to Wearing Tights? because seriously, that's what the seamstress said when I showed her the picture of the type of dress I wanted.

She said this with a very, very straight face, which I utterly failed to return as I gently pushed away the pictures she presented of entire bridal parties arrayed in velvet and codpieces. Yes, the groom is averse to wearing tights. The groom would no longer be the groom if I asked him to show up wearing tights.

We are also enjoying the prospect of trotting Jim The Small Child Nephew down the aisle in one of these.

This is when I lay on the floor and ask myself why I took a second semester of Arthurian literature instead of something useful, like water aerobics. The joys of planning a Ren wedding are manyfold. Other women surround themselves with small circles of tulle and ponder the business cards of DJ's; last week, I actually used the word "mead" in a sentence. But as Josh The Pilot says, "We're a unique couple; why shouldn't we have a unique wedding?"

Then again, there's a limit.

ye olde... whatever at:

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