Thursday, June 30, 2011

Thursday

Today is Thursday.  Not any kind of special Thursday.  Just Thursday.  It's kind of like this photo--it's all good and it's happy and it's colorful but not much going on. Maybe it's kind of a hangover Thursday.  After all, we are recovering from the ceremony, birthday and picnic of our lives.  Still, it's just Thursday.  And, I'm all good with that.

If we were in college, Thursday would be know as Friday, as college students plan their schedules to not include Friday classes, thus effectively making Thursday Friday. That's why bars are always packed on Thursdays in college towns.  We weren't smart enough to do this and thus always had Friday classes. 

Thursday in real life means you have almost survived the week and have much for which to look forward.  The weekend is almost here, the work week is almost gone.  Truthfully, I think Thursday signals you are running out of time and you'd best get your act together lest you miss the fun.


Now that I've got time to spare, I can think about weird things like why our yuccas didn't bloom this year despite having the blooms, where the false sunflowers went, as they certainly aren't popping up as usual,  when am I going to go golfing and when am I going to weed, are the fleas gone or are they still here.  I tentatively and meekly state that the fleas seem to be under control, but every time one of us says this, another flea falls off a dog or is seen on the rug/towel/floor/sock.  I've decided having fleas sucks, but it's a lot better than other things we could have....like bed bugs, cockroaches, mice or centipedes.  I'll take fleas over those things any day.  Not that I'm asking for fleas. 

At night, I think about things from my childhood, wondering how the heck I spent all that free time I had every summer vacation.  (Note to all my teacher friends: we in the non-teaching working world have to think back 40 years to ask this question.  You can think of right now, as you are on summer vacation.  This blog will mean nothing to you.  Just sayin'.) I can tell you the bigger things I did during summer vacation--like going to the cottage every year--and, I can tell you some of the past times I enjoyed--like playing "against the wall" baseball with the pinkie ball--but, otherwise, I'm pretty much left scratching my head.  Yeah, I went to the town swimming pool now and then.  Yeah, I rode my bike here and there.  Yeah, we'd pack our lunch and go two doors down to the neighbor's house to have a picnic.  But, really? Wouldn't you like to know what you did and wouldn't you like to have all that free time back? 

Like they say, childhood is wasted on the young.


The more I think about it, the more I remember, but if I don't try, the memories remain sunken in the back recesses of my mind.  I think that's the way our brains were designed, lest we get nothing done on any given day.  It's kind of like those old blurry photos in the photo albums tucked away in the basement--you don't really ever use them but you can access them if needed.  The photos aren't really clear but you can still tell what is going on through the blur. 

Yup, that's my brain.  A blurry book buried in the basement.


I'm going to go enjoy Thursday.  It will be a day of work, of seeking fleas, of waiting for the civil union photos to arrive, of not playing golf and not enjoying the blooming yuccas, of recovering and recalling.  I'll try to pay attention to the day so I can recall it in the future, whether it was or was not profound.  Maybe I'll pretend my Thursday is a Friday.  Or, maybe I'll just embrace Thursday for exactly what it is: Thursday.

Paws up for Thursday, little monsters.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Picnicking for the Civilized

Why have a boring reception when you can have a civilized picnic complete with a feather-boa-wearing poodle, wild girls smoking expensive cigars, water balloons flying at family members, face painting for all ages and catering by the local "Meals on Wheels?"


Here's the recipe for success:

Bring a straight of honor with a cleaning fetish......



















(yes, she is using a leaf blower to blow cob webs out of the shelter before decorating)

......find a poodle wearing a boa:















.....invite a dear friend with a fondness for fine cigars.....















(hand to women who are willing to smoke such fine cigars)

....and, throw in to-die-for cupcakes.....















(Please ignore fly sitting on the cupcake)...

.....and let the picnicking begin.

Lest you think I am joking, here is the caterer:
















Did I mention the to-die-for cupcakes that were waiting for us inside the Meals on Wheels truck?















That, boys and girls, is how to have a picnic for the civilized.  Just sayin.'

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Eleven Minutes

In case you are wondering, you can get civilized in eleven minutes.  I thought it would only take ten minutes for civilization but was off by sixty seconds.

In case you are wondering, those eleven minutes of becoming civilized are the best eleven minutes of your life. And, they are the most terrifying for nervous nellies like me.

We are now officially and legally civilized. It didn't go exactly as planned, as the wife discovered both dogs had fleas jumping off of them just hours before she was scheduled to get ready for the civil union.   This led to undue stress and ten loads of laundry, unscheduled dog baths and frantic picking of the fleas.  At first, I thought she was kidding when she said the fleas were hopping off the dogs and on the floor; but, then I saw it with my two eye bulbs....I took one look at Freckles and a flea literally jumped off her back and onto the floor.

The picking of fleas, a last-minute wardrobe change (both of us), too small of white underwear (just me--no time to worry about that), an update to the vows (the wife), a change in the planned music (again, the wife, not me), a change in vehicles being used to get to the church (went in the new Mustang--despite everything I needed being in my car) and other such things led me to being late--well, later than we wanted, not technically late for the service--and, led to bickering beyond compare. 

Yes, bickering. 

In fact, we were so irritated with each other, the ordained minister had to step between us and tell us to knock it off.  The wife says, "You started it."  I probably did.  I was nervous beyond compare, everything I owned was in my car that was parked in the garage, there were fleas everywhere,  my underwear didn't fit and I was so excited I could barely remain conscious.  My goals were to stay upright, not blow a snot bubble, not poop my white pants, not sob.  I hadn't thought about "no bickering" as a goal to include on my list.

So, one of our friends hands us little purple bouquets she made for us, the ceremony starts exactly at 5 PM, our people are in place, the bickering has stopped.  Being that I was nervous, I kept leaning toward Master Pastor Reiki, reading along with her as she read the script.  She'd give me a little elbow shove, I'd lean right back in.  When not reading, I stared at the floor, the flowers, the wife's shoes, my shoes--anything but the wife.  It was noticeable enough that MJagger jabbed me in the back and loudly whispered, "look at your wife!" 

I tried.  I really did try.  But, I didn't want to cry or pass out so I stuck to leaning toward Master Pastor Reiki, reading the script and looking toward the ground.

I did look at the wife the entire time she read her vows, so that was a good thing.  Thankfully, I knew what she was going to say, so that helped me a lot.  Hearing it, though, is a lot better than reading it at the kitchen table.  Strangely enough, when she was done, I loudly said "thank you!"  That got quite the laugh.  I don't know what happened, but it just slipped out.  It seemed like the right thing to say.  I was thankful, after all.  The rest of the ceremony went swimmingly and eleven minutes later, it was over and we were dancing in the aisle.  Literally.

We had a few minutes of photo-taking so the eleven minutes could be properly documented.  MJagger insisted on a few "traditional shots," of which I had no need.  I indulged her need to have a photo of the "rings and flowers," of which I have included here.  I still can't believe I agreed to this, but I did. Oh, what we do for our friends.  For all of you asking, we did not get new rings.  We love our current rings.  We already have fabulous rings.  Besides, we spent all our money on back surgery & saving Freckles' life...money well spent, I might add.

Next came the signing of the license.  The State of Illinois needs to work on their civil union license.  It was very confusing.  We all took turns trying to figure out who was supposed to sign where, only there was nowhere to sign--it just asked for the printed names of the witnesses.   Even the "been-to-a lot-of weddings-heterosexual -type friends" didn't know how to fill it out.  We didn't have to sign it, they didn't have to sign it. Here's hoping we got it right. 

For those of you wondering: yes, I did get to wear my red-for-fun vegan Earth shoes.  I wore them to the restaurant and to our dessert outing.  We at a tasty dinner at a Mexican restaurant-our favorite food--and, then we went to Dairy Queen. We are a class act.  Only the best for our friends.

As we were eating our Blizzards and Peanut Butter Parfaits, a most wonderful thing happened: a rainbow appeared right over the Dairy Queen.  How gay is that?  Then, an even more wonderful thing happened: a double rainbow appeared.  I couldn't believe it!  I ran outside and took a photo, as illustrated in the photo above. 

Eleven perfect minutes and a double rainbow.  It doesn't get any better than that.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Giddy up!

The wife and her straight of honor are on a mission today.  It involves a horse.  A blue horse.  A blue horse in the Cheddarlands.

Yes, the wife is on her way to buy a new Mustang.....in a cheesehead town three hours away....selling her two cars at the same time in the same town....on a day I can't leave town.....without ever seeing or driving the exact car.

If you are going to have excitement, you might as well go all the way.  I've created this monster.  (Yes, this is a photo of the exact car.  It's all she's been going on.  What have I done?)

Those of you who know the wife know that she LOVES her cars; in fact, it is a safe venture to say she loves her cars more than she loves me.  I'm all good with that....although, it took me many a year and a lot of therapy to embrace this fact.  She cleans them, waxes them, caresses them, keeps them out of the elements, vacuums them, adores them.  Think I'm kidding? Last night, Cheeseball neighbor says to me, "she has an unhealthy relationships with her cars." That would be very true.  She doesn't park under tress (sap), park near store entrances (carts, car doors), eat in the car (stains, odors), let me drive them (accident waiting to happen), ride in them (finger prints and dirty shoes).  She loves them.  Tenderly.  Fully.  Ridiculously.

The wife just about makes loves to her current Mustang.  She loves, loves, loves that car.  Problem is that she can't drive it--ever since hurting her back, she hasn't been able to drive the stick shift without being in incredible pain both during and after the drive.  It's been sitting in the garage, sad and lonely, nary a horse hoof to be heard. Although she told herself otherwise for months, she finally came to the correct conclusion that she and her Mustang were no longer going to be friends.  She would not be returning to glory in her machine of beauty.

Since it became pretty clear that driving a stick shift is no longer in the wife's repertoire, she's been toying with getting a new car.  Those of you who know the wife know this is like a three year ordeal--she takes her time, researches the prices, the reviews, the dealers, the makers--everything.  It literally takes her years.  So, when she announced she was going to start looking for a car, I didn't pay much attention.  I figured she'd drive the "grandma-mobile" for a year or two and then buy the car of her choice.

It's been TEN years since the wife bought a new car. To illustrate her love of this car, all I have to tell you is the mileage: 35,000.  That's 3500 miles a year.  (I think I drive that in a month!) I'm serious when I say she doesn't drive it in winter, rain or construction.  This makes buying a car even harder for the wife--she's got this pristine Mustang, shiny and perfect, in unbelievable condition, which she loves and covets....and, she can't sell it for more than a pittance.  It doesn't matter that it only has 35,000 miles and is as clean as an operating room.  It doesn't matter it has never seen snow or street salt.  All that matters is that it is ten years old and that means the price is mighty low.  It is a mighty blow to have to try and sell that car.

Back to the wife buying a car.  She's been looking at all these boring cars of brands....mainly four door, family cars.  It's just awful.  Not her at all.  The wife was born to drive a sports car.  Sigh.  I watch in horror, hoping to the Car Gods that she really doesn't end up with one of these sedans.  She emails dealers, visits dealerships on Sundays, talks to dealers...always looking at cars that do not match her psyche.  She doesn't even look excited or happy or moved by any of the cars--she is missing the mark.  I want to scream "THESE CARS DON'T MATCH YOU!" 

Then, it occurs to me: the problem isn't the Mustang--it's the stick shift.  Why is she looking at yucky old people cars when she can buy a new Mustang--an AUTOMATIC Mustang?  I stop myself from speaking--after all, an automatic Mustang borders on sacrilege.....but, it's the perfect answer.  Either buy a new, automatic Mustang or get an automatic put in the current stick shift car.  I chew on my lip and think carefully before speaking.  I quietly, meekly suggest the unthinkable:

"Why don't you get a new Mustang--an automatic?" 

She stares at me as if I have three heads.  Then, I see the light go on.  Then, I see a glimmer of hope.  Then, I see excitement start to surface.  Then, I see the wheels turning--Mustang wheels!

Yes, a new Mustang makes perfect sense.  Well, kind of.  Driving a Mustang year-round in northern Illinois doesn't make sense at all.  But, it does make perfect sense in relation to the wife.  The car matches her.  Winter be damned, it makes sense.

Long story short, she found a Mustang, bought the Mustang and had it delivered three hours away.  Don't ask.  I'm not kidding when I say she bought it sight unseen, at a dealership she has never been to. She didn't see a photo of the actual car until her brother emailed it to her as the deal was being made.

This is not the wife I know but I am truly enjoying it.

  The wife sold her cars to her brother, who thankfully lives in the town where the new Mustang awaits the wife's arrival.  It'll be quite the ordeal--a three hour trip (great for people recovering from back surgery), a how-many-hour dealer transaction, a three hour trip back home.  Of course the trip home will be a lot faster than the trip there.....a new horse has a lot more energy than some ten year old mare being put out to pasture......

Giddy up, girlfriend!  Let the new love fest begin.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Vow Wow

Dearest Minions, do not despair--I haven't forgotten you.  I've been busy practicing my ordain minister techniques. Well, okay--the only thing I've done so far besides read my letters of good standing and read the Latter Day Dude manifesto is bless my niece's graduation cake (quite to her horror, I am sure).  Just call me "Her Homo Holiness" and give me a break.  The baby Jesus and I have a lot to cover in a short amount of time.  Besides, I am supposed to be writing my vows, not a blog.  Who has time for mindless babbling when there are vows to be written?  I've stepped away from the farm so I can concentrate on appropriate (okay, semi-appropriate) behavior related to pending civil union this and that.  I'm kind of not doing much of anything because I'm not really sure if there is anything I should be doing.  The wife's straight of honor is doing all sorts of things.  She's making me nervous.  What does she know that I don't know?

For the record: we're not having a cake nor will we be wearing white nor will be having two bride statues on the non-cake.  I just thought the illustration was fun.  I'm thinking a tiara might be okay, tho.....

Congratulations are in order to Three Hawk and Argo Warrior Princess, as they have secured their civilization in the great state of Illinois.  They are the first people we actually know to get civilized.  Oh sure, we've heard about other people, but we didn't know them--we KNOW Three Hawk and Argo.  (I've know Argo since college, for cry eye. She's old news. ha!) Congratulations Squared to Argo, as she is now an ordained minister, too!!  Great minds think alike.  We can do two-for-one specials when we take our show on the road.  She can do the serious parts, I'll do the irreverent parts.  Or, she can talk and I can do the interpretive dancing.  Or, she can dress up as Xena and I'll dress up as Gabrielle and I will read from my scrolls while she beats the tar out of anyone who falls asleep during the ceremony.

Our friend Phlange-a-slam decided to join the ministry fun, too.  When she heard our master pastor person of choice might not be able to do our ceremony, she took matters into her own hands, got ordained and alerted us that she is on stand by in case Master Pastor can't say the words that legally need to be said.  How awesome is that? We have the best friends--I mean, how many of you can say your friend got ordained in case you need a minister at a moment's notice???

You know, the three of us should start our own church.........

Back to the vows.  I just have to say a few sincere words.  Nothing too profound.  Nothing lengthy. Just something personal and from the heart. I.can.do.it!  To make it interesting (and, in an effort to avoid the seriousness that lies before me), I've asked for vow-writing input via book de la face.  I guarantee I'm going to get some stellar suggestions.  Within minutes, I had a posting about what to wear:
Now, THAT'S hot!  If it doesn't work out for the civil union, I can always wear it when I'm serving in an ordained minister capacity.  I better pack up some extra AA batteries.  Don't want to run out of juice in the middle of ministering or civilizing......

I know you can't wait to hear about who performed the ceremony, to learn about what words were spoken and to see photos of me wearing this dress.  Only a few more days, boys and girls!

Until then, please know that Freckles Warrior Princess is out of control.  She continues to eat four times a day and is still waking us up at night when she needs a midnight snack.  I'm not kidding. She's super demanding.  And, loud. The dog who used to eat once every other day now eats four friggin' times a day. She looks different.  She IS different.  I think that  brush with death fixed her right up.  The dog is perky, spunky, happy.  It's ridiculous.  We don't know what to think.  At times, all we can do is laugh.

The wife's happy.  The dog's happy.  That means I'm happy.

I'll be happier if I get to wear that dress.....I wonder if the lights blink? And, will my red vegan gym shoes clash?
*****************************************************

Wednesday, June 08, 2011

Get Civilized, Dude

You shall now kiss my ring and refer to me as "Your most Reverend Pastor Sister Brother Addi Warrior Princess."  I am an ordained minister.

Sweet!

As civil union fame and glory develops in Illinois, it was brought to my attention that some peeps are having a wee bit of trouble securing ordained ministers to perform their unions.  I'm not sure how it's going down at the court house, but if you want the real thing, you gotta have an ordained minister.

That got me thinking.  I've heard about becoming ordained on line and thought this might be an entertaining thing to check out.  So, I plopped myself at the kitchen table, fired up the computer and googled with the best of them.  Google, google, google....Wow!

I am here to tell you: there are a LOT of ways to get ordained on line, many of which are free.

I decided to first check out what appeared to be the most popularly-displayed provider of on line ordination.  I'd heard of them before so it wasn't a complete surprise.  Yes, it was free.  Yes, I could apply on line.  No, I didn't need to do anything but give them my name & address.  Yes, you can do exorcisms if you so choose.  Yes, it's legal in most states.  Hmmmm. Type, type, type, click......

Ta-da! Ordained minister!  Sweet Baby Jesus, thank you for accepting me!  Bring on the brides and brides!


Since that was too easy, I decided to check out the "Church of the Latter Day Dudes."  How could I pass up a "religion" based on a bowling movie?  I couldn't.  Dudeism is based on "The Big Lebowski."  I'm not gonna try and explain the movie--just know that you REALLY have to like the "F" word if you are gonna try and digest this 1998 movie.  I'm not gonna try to explain the premise of the Latter Day Dude--that's why the invented the web site.  Suffice it to say I am now an ordained minister in what they consider "the slowest-growing, most laid back religion" that preaches non-preaching.  Who needs a master's degree when you can be an ordained dude?

In case you think I am kidding, check out http://dudeism.com/ordination/


So, if you are looking for someone who can legally marry you in the State of Illinois, I'm your bowler.  I'm your dude.  I'm your most reverend pastor sister-brother. I'm your high priestess of the ten pin.

I gotta get me one of those suitable for framing ordained minister certificates.....I smell a new business opportunity.........................

Friday, June 03, 2011

Licensed to Civilize

Today was a banner day: we decided to go out civil union license from the county clerk's office.  My favorite number is "3," so we figured why not? It's the third day of the month and the third day they are doing civil union licensing. Why wait when there are lucky threes to be had? I gathered up my divorce papers and prepared for our big day.

I am here to tell you: I was a nervous, sweaty, excited mess getting this license. I was mostly an over-the-top-happiness mess, but after waiting so very long for anything like this to happen, it was hard not to be nervous.  Truth be told, I didn't think this day would ever happen.  Not knowing what to expect, not knowing what we were doing and not knowing much of anything except that we needed our driver's licenses and twenty bucks in cash made it all the more perspiration-filled. 

Many people find it quite humorous that I do not recall one-one-billionth of applying for my marriage license back in my previous life.  No offense to my ex-husband (or, to my parents who shelled out thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars), I do not remember one thing related to this process.  I certainly don't remember going to the County Clerk's office and I know we had to in order to get a marriage license.  I remember signing the license after the wedding, but getting the license? I got nuthin'.

I thought long and hard about what to wear.  Seriously.  I knew I would remember this day for the rest of my life, so I knew the outfit had to be perfect. 
 
My decision: my Lady Gaga t-shirt.  After all, she says we were born this way.  For those of you who think I'm kidding, here's a photo of me, my Gaga t-shirt and the license.  Notice Lucy is in the background, wondering what the hell I am doing.

I also decided to wear my favorite-ist red-for-fun Earth shoes, as they completed the outfit in a way only Lady Gaga could appreciate. 

Once we finally got to the county clerk's office (note to self: check address before leaving house), we found ourselves alone--nary a soul in sight.  No straight people looking for marriage licenses, no couples of mixed or same sex looking for civil union licenses. No media, no protesters, no nothing. It was deliciously quiet. We bellied up to the bar--er, counter--and waited for our moment.  A friendly-but-not-too-scary-friendly woman in lime green inquired what we needed.  I somehow choked out, "we're here to get a license for a civil union." The words I have been waiting to say, now said! Next thing we knew, we were being handed paperwork and being asked various questions of no-relation-that-I-could-see to the process.  (Example: Why the State of Illinois need to know or even care about where our parents were born?)  I had been wondering why various sources indicated it takes 15-20 minutes to complete the process--now I knew why--all the questions! I sure don't remember answering any of these questions back in the day. 

I think my favorite question was, "have you ever been in a civil union before?"  I pondered this and then said, "I have been married and am legally divorced, but I've never been in a civil union."  Her reaction assured me I was not the first person to answer in this manner.  From what I gather, the State of Illinois didn't get all this thought through before June 1st--they should be asking if you had been married or civilized before.  Perhaps they thought all gay people were never married.  Hard to tell.  No matter, she didn't want to see my divorce papers (which was kind of disappointing) and didn't need to acknowledge my days of matrimony for the State's records.  

It was actually rather fun and gratefully low key.  The lady had a nice sense of humor and we had several laughs during the process.  The wife's prowess at grading papers came in handy and she spotted some errors in the information. Once the corrected version was presented, I politely pointed out that she had printed out a marriage license form, not a civil union form. That would have made things interesting.  We learned that eight couples signed up on Day One; seven couples signed up on Day Two.  Not exactly a rush of civil union madness.  We had some laughs about the media being on site the first day, we enjoyed mindless banter for most of the happening. At one point, the wife accidentally dropped her driver's license on the floor and said, "pick that up for me--I can't get that." We didn't think anything of this--the wife can't bend over at this point after back surgery.  We then had a chuckle, thinking about what the clerk lady might have thought of that: "Wow, this girl has her partner TRAINED! She doesn't even have to pick up her own things--she just points!"

To end the formal process, we had to raise our right hands and swear we were telling the truth, especially about the part that we are not related. With our solemn vow, we were handed our official license, our keep sake license, an envelope for which to mail the completed license and a pamphlet on sexually transmitted diseases. 

I wish I could say I then swept the wife off her feet or we fell into some ridiculously gross, passionate kiss.... but, I'd be lying.  You know I am not the public display of affection type.  You know I am far from the romantic type.  So, what did I do? 

I am embarrassed to admit that I high-fived the wife.  Seriously.  I ended our historic day with a high five while wearing a Lady Gaga t-shirt.

If that doesn't scream love, I don't know what does.