Thursday, August 02, 2007

I Am A Sad, Sad Love Child of a Wedding Present

for I know not who my parents are. Now I must stand before this audience of tens, and lament, for I am rudderless, and without lineage, sad and alone in my new home as the bride searches in vain for cards or receipts or an electronic fence collar or something with which to identify me. I shall contract a Lifetime miniseries by November sweeps.

I am you! I am me! I am every living entity which has ever felt unclaimed and unmoored!

I am a lovely brass plaque that the UPS man (Daddy...?) abandoned on the doorstep this afternoon. When Josh opened the box, he ran right upstairs and came back down again with a drill. Josh loves it when he gets to use his drill in a non-hairdryer holder context! He hung me in the foyer. It does not matter that the foyer is the size of a 7-11 bathroom stall. I am in charge of it. It will be a good life, here in the foyer, where I shall sit and listen to Mary Beth and Josh stand next to me, jingling car keys and screaming "ARE YOU READY YET I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE NOT READY YET HOW LONG COULD IT POSSIBLY TAKE YOU TO BRUSH YOUR TEETH IT'S A SKILL YOU'VE HAD FOR AT LEAST EIGHT PRESIDENTIAL ADMINISTRATIONS NOW."

But I arrived without a packing slip, and my first overheard conversation was "Who do you know in Tampa?" "I don't know anybody in Tampa-- why should I know anybody in Tampa?" "Because that's where the plaque is from." "Maybe you know somebody in Tampa." "Why should I know anybody in Tampa? Like I've ever spent more than four hours at a time in Tampa. You're the one who takes an entire working day to fill out the addresses-in-the-past-five-years blank on the mortgage application form." "Right, it's time I told you that I have this whole extra family and set of kids in Tampa. Let's go there for Thanksgiving."

Did you send me? At the very least, can you please make the people around me stop saying "Tampa"? It makes me constipated.

I am the bowl of a plate, dish, cups, and bowl set. I am part of service for four, so there are many members of my family. This leads me to believe that I am Catholic. I appeared in Josh and Mary Beth's townhouse after Josh drove a load of wedding gifts from Cincinnati to Virginia, but nobody in her family has ever seen me before. Josh has been using me to eat his Raisin Bran in the mornings. He likes that I am a nice deep bowl which does not slosh. Mary Beth likes that I do not clash with the forty million bunches of crystal grapes she has scattered around the kitchen. She would be laughed at very hard by the people on Queer Eye For the Straight Guy.

But apparently I have been teleported from another wedding-related dimension. At least Brass Plaque has a state of origin, even if he does totally hog the bathroom. Me? Ah, I have nothing--no clue as to who swiped a debit card in my behalf. Sometimes, late at night, when the kitchen is dark and quiet and Mary Beth isn't adding great globs of cheese to every recipe under the sun, even ice cream sandwiches... I weep.

Did you send me?

two thank you notes standing by at:

When Things More Befitting a Bad Saturday Night Live Skit Actually Come to Pass

From Reuters:

Rep. James Oberstar, the Minnesota Democrat who chairs the House Transportation and Infrastructure Committee, blamed President George W. Bush's administration for shortchanging road and bridge repair in a highway funding bill two years ago.

Just... stop it. Everybody. Both sides. This is sick.

Minneapolis The Readers, prayers and healing thoughts to you. The way in which everyday citizens ran to help those who were in danger is stunning--but not surprising. I want you in office.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Aisle Runner

This is me and my dad and one expensive little stroll. My home parish has a long-butt aisle, and walking the length of it allows time for a great deal of reflection, and at one point I wondered how much each precious little bridal step was costing him. At least one McDonald's Big Breakfast per footprint.

On the DVD replay, I'm thinking a wildflower bouquet was not the best choice. Wildflowers are supposed to sway gently in the wind until Julie Andrews tromps on them; wildflowers ruched into an enormous bouquet and shoved in the hands of a structurally unsound bride are just... no. My aisle walk, and you only get one, was completely hijacked by the shock waves of my bouquet, the setting for which had apparently been changed from "polite/quiet" to "vibrate."

I don't recall wearing this expression. I don't remember doing, saying, emoting, or gesturing a great many things that wound up on the pictures. The entire wedding pictorial review must be what any Star Wars prequel actor has ever experienced; I am cognizant of walking around one place, but appear on film in quite another. On the DVD you can see Han shooting first in the background right before we cut the cake.

I remember rolling out of the pocket to the left of the Hot Springs Portable Spa Holy Water Font and feeling immense relief that an inert, tantrum-stricken form of the ringbearer was not littering the area; I remember seeing my cousin's six-year-old step out into the aisle and level a pink Disney Princess disposable camera in my general direction; I remember Josh The Pilot coming into view and clenching and unclenching his right fist a lot, like he was preparing for a major brawl or a military court martial or possibly both. I think marriage is somewhere in the middle.

all loves excelling at:

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Hands Down

This post contained several deep and reflective statements on coming of age and gratitude, and so of course the comments section immediately degenerated into a discussion of hand modeling.

These hands are not, as mistakenly claimed, those of Josh the Pilot.

As we can see when we pull the camera back, this gin is in the loving hand-embrace of Country The Brother-In-Law.

In the four years I've been running BlondeChampagne, my family has never left a comment, largely and understandably because they do not want admit I belong to them. Yesterday? Country surges from the shadows to claim his own hands.

For Country The Brother-In-Law is mighty in spirit and deed, and far be it from this website to detract from what is rightfully his, not that this is typically a problem, as he is something like nine feet tall. Although now, of course, I must come to terms with the fact that I have married a man who has had the same hands for twenty-six years, and, as an identical twin, had a matched set to stare at for that long plus nine months, and still did not recognize them.

Life is so peculiar, but is everybody's pair at:

Monday, July 30, 2007

In Sickness

Today Josh The Pilot is provided with the fabulous opportunity to take this particular part of the wedding vows for a test drive: This morning I took my temperature with a digital thermometer while three-quarters asleep, and when the screen flashed "F", I pushed it away, wondering what kind of idiot needed to remind us all that I had set the display to Fahrenheit readings.

One who would like to alert the customer of a fever, it seems, and I have passed the greater part of the day rolled in a little bridal ball of body chills, crying silently as many unpacked boxes and a large stack of unwritten thank-you notes offer what comfort they can. When Josh comes home from work, he will dump me in the car and drive me to the urgent care center, and thus we adhere to our goal of never allowing marriage to stop us from a regular schedule of romantic dates. For some reason, this type of thing was never discussed in The Knot.

So in lieu of anything particularly insightful today, have a picture of Will The Baby Nephew a couple weeks before his first birthday; he is slightly larger now than he was a year ago. You'll feel better. But unless he shows up on my doorstep packing antibiotics, I won't.

toddle forth, little man at:

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