Thursday, August 16, 2007
Odd Avocations
I've always like the word "avocation" as a synonym for "hobby." I'm goofy that way. It's probably one of the reasons that people hate talking to me. One of many.
There's a woman I work with, whom I'll call Bertha. Bertha is a large woman. Not so much fat (though she could stand to lose weight) as large. She's in her 50s, close to 6 feet tall, and built like a brick shithouse. (Which are built quite solidly in case you didn't know.) She's a frightening woman. If this were a movie, she'd be the evil head of an orphanage. In fact, she probably narrowly lost out on the role of the Penguin in The Blues Brothers. She's the type of woman that you avoid pissing off and when you hear her say, "Fuck!" you get the hell out of her way. She's scary.
However, she has quite an odd avocation. She rides horses. In competitions. Or rather, she used to. Now she helps train them. Her daughter (of a similar stature) actually rides them now. For one thing, I can't imagine this woman being a mother. "Doting" isn't an adjective that usually pops into my mind when I think about Bertha. But I really can't imagine her training horses and being part of the "horse" culture. When I think of people who ride/train horses, I think of the Kennedy's. The cultural (and financial) elite. This woman doesn't seem to be either.
To make matters even more flabbergasting (it's a word), she trains the horses in ALABAMA! Um, what? Don't you live in Chicago? Yes she does. So every few weeks, she flies down to Alabama to be with the horses. Uh huh. I can't even make it to my family's cabin in Wisconsin that often, and it's just a 2.5 hour drive.
And that's what baffles me most. Fine, you like horses. You even like training and riding them. You own several of them. Wouldn't you want them, oh, I don't know, within 1000 miles of you? Could it possibly be cheaper to board the horses in Alabama and fly back every few weeks than it would be to board them in Chicago? Barrington has plenty of nice horse farms. Or maybe, you move a little closer to where the horses are.
It's just an odd choice of how to spend your time, which is what bothers me most. It's like someone from South Dakota being an avid sailor. Or someone in Florida who loves to snowmobile. That's fine if that's where your personal interests lie. But maybe you should move to where the action is. You know, so you can actually enjoy your avocation a little more frequently and with greater ease. I don't know. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm the crazy one.
There's a woman I work with, whom I'll call Bertha. Bertha is a large woman. Not so much fat (though she could stand to lose weight) as large. She's in her 50s, close to 6 feet tall, and built like a brick shithouse. (Which are built quite solidly in case you didn't know.) She's a frightening woman. If this were a movie, she'd be the evil head of an orphanage. In fact, she probably narrowly lost out on the role of the Penguin in The Blues Brothers. She's the type of woman that you avoid pissing off and when you hear her say, "Fuck!" you get the hell out of her way. She's scary.
However, she has quite an odd avocation. She rides horses. In competitions. Or rather, she used to. Now she helps train them. Her daughter (of a similar stature) actually rides them now. For one thing, I can't imagine this woman being a mother. "Doting" isn't an adjective that usually pops into my mind when I think about Bertha. But I really can't imagine her training horses and being part of the "horse" culture. When I think of people who ride/train horses, I think of the Kennedy's. The cultural (and financial) elite. This woman doesn't seem to be either.
To make matters even more flabbergasting (it's a word), she trains the horses in ALABAMA! Um, what? Don't you live in Chicago? Yes she does. So every few weeks, she flies down to Alabama to be with the horses. Uh huh. I can't even make it to my family's cabin in Wisconsin that often, and it's just a 2.5 hour drive.
And that's what baffles me most. Fine, you like horses. You even like training and riding them. You own several of them. Wouldn't you want them, oh, I don't know, within 1000 miles of you? Could it possibly be cheaper to board the horses in Alabama and fly back every few weeks than it would be to board them in Chicago? Barrington has plenty of nice horse farms. Or maybe, you move a little closer to where the horses are.
It's just an odd choice of how to spend your time, which is what bothers me most. It's like someone from South Dakota being an avid sailor. Or someone in Florida who loves to snowmobile. That's fine if that's where your personal interests lie. But maybe you should move to where the action is. You know, so you can actually enjoy your avocation a little more frequently and with greater ease. I don't know. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm the crazy one.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Kid Nation!
Have you heard of Kid Nation. I just did and I'm so excited I can hardly tipe. Er, make that "type." Okay, they're taking 40 kids and putting them in charge of their own "ghost" town for 40 days. It's going to be like the wild west, but with kids (and presumably no guns, but you never know with today's kids).
This sounds AWESOME. There are going to be cliques and fights and stupidness. And the best part is that there's almost certainly going to be dorks and geeks who get forced to clean the outhouses. Oh my. Like, how long will it take before the "sheriff" gets convinced by the bully to let his gambling operations go. And what about the 12-year-old girl who decides the best way to make money is to start a brothel!
This makes Lord of the Flies look like a joke. Conch shell my ass! They only killed Piggie in Lord of the Flies. There's a chance that EVERY kid is going to get killed on Kid Nation. I don't know that I can possibly NOT watch it. Honey, please set up the DVR. Let the fall TV season begin!
This sounds AWESOME. There are going to be cliques and fights and stupidness. And the best part is that there's almost certainly going to be dorks and geeks who get forced to clean the outhouses. Oh my. Like, how long will it take before the "sheriff" gets convinced by the bully to let his gambling operations go. And what about the 12-year-old girl who decides the best way to make money is to start a brothel!
This makes Lord of the Flies look like a joke. Conch shell my ass! They only killed Piggie in Lord of the Flies. There's a chance that EVERY kid is going to get killed on Kid Nation. I don't know that I can possibly NOT watch it. Honey, please set up the DVR. Let the fall TV season begin!
300!
No, this isn't a post about the bloody movie where a bunch of ripped men run around in their underwear for 2 hours. (Not that that's a bad thing. It's actually a great movie. Though admitting it kind of makes me feel like the pilot in Airplane. "Joey, do you like to watch movies about gladiators?") I've actually written 300 posts in my blog. And you poor saps have READ them! Ha! Jokes on you!
Anyway, it's kind of dead here at work now. And that's being generous. Half the office is on vacation because they KNEW it was going to be dead around here. Stupid me and it being my first full year. It's actually rather amazing because I've been here almost a year (that'd be a record or something) and I've been busy the whole time. From the day I walked in, I had work to do. But now I have nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Bupkus. (I think more people should use that word. Like football announcers should say, "And that's the end of the first quarter with the score bupkus-bupkus.")
When I first started working as an actuary, the work was more spread out. Summers were generally more busy. But now with Sarbanes-Oxley (if you don't know what it is, you're lucky), companies have a little more urgency to get their results sooner. What results? Come on, I know you don't really care. You're just humoring me. The point is, before they didn't care when they got them. Now they care. And they want them early.
So this year, my spring was horrendous. Lots of work, lots of overtime (do they still call it overtime if you don't get paid for it?), lots of stress. But now all those projects are done. So everyone's kinda sitting on their thumbs.
The good news is that it isn't just me. I have people beneath me (heyo!) asking me for work. And I keep asking people above me with no luck. There just isn't anything to do. And to make matters worse, I think people are hording projects. Imagine (if you will) that you have no work to do. Something comes across your desk that should take about an hour to do. Do you do it yourself (thus giving you something to break the monotony AND add to your billable hours for the year) or do you give it to someone else? If you're budget-conscious, you hand it down. But if you like getting big bonuses, you keep it. Unfortunately, I'm not at the phase of my career where clients call me directly. Otherwise, I might have projects to horde. Jerks.
To make matters worse, there's nothing good on TV and I have no time to see movies. I'm pretty excited about Superbad coming out this week. I'm a big fan of Judd Apatow, who did 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up. I'm also a sucker for teen movies like Dazed and Confused and even Can't Hardly Wait (I almost just threw up there. I can't believe I admitted that.) Combine Judd Apatow and teen movies and that's a winner.
In other news, I've been watching old episodes of The Wire on my iPod. It's an HBO show that I'd heard good things about. Now I understand why. It's basically about a bunch of cops who try to bring down an organized crime ring. (I've only seen 2 seasons so far and it's been the same cops, but different rings each time.) It's a fascinating show. It really shows how painstaking the evidence-gathering process is and how the whole thing can change in an instant. I should be watching seasons 3 and 4 soon, so I'll have to give my impressions of those too.
The other show I've been watching is Battlestar Gallactica. I kept hearing good things about this show too. I watched the first 4 episodes and was ready to call it quits because it just wasn't doing it for me. But after the 5th episode, I think I may be hooked. I'll give it a few more before I make my final call.
Anyway, it's kind of dead here at work now. And that's being generous. Half the office is on vacation because they KNEW it was going to be dead around here. Stupid me and it being my first full year. It's actually rather amazing because I've been here almost a year (that'd be a record or something) and I've been busy the whole time. From the day I walked in, I had work to do. But now I have nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Bupkus. (I think more people should use that word. Like football announcers should say, "And that's the end of the first quarter with the score bupkus-bupkus.")
When I first started working as an actuary, the work was more spread out. Summers were generally more busy. But now with Sarbanes-Oxley (if you don't know what it is, you're lucky), companies have a little more urgency to get their results sooner. What results? Come on, I know you don't really care. You're just humoring me. The point is, before they didn't care when they got them. Now they care. And they want them early.
So this year, my spring was horrendous. Lots of work, lots of overtime (do they still call it overtime if you don't get paid for it?), lots of stress. But now all those projects are done. So everyone's kinda sitting on their thumbs.
The good news is that it isn't just me. I have people beneath me (heyo!) asking me for work. And I keep asking people above me with no luck. There just isn't anything to do. And to make matters worse, I think people are hording projects. Imagine (if you will) that you have no work to do. Something comes across your desk that should take about an hour to do. Do you do it yourself (thus giving you something to break the monotony AND add to your billable hours for the year) or do you give it to someone else? If you're budget-conscious, you hand it down. But if you like getting big bonuses, you keep it. Unfortunately, I'm not at the phase of my career where clients call me directly. Otherwise, I might have projects to horde. Jerks.
To make matters worse, there's nothing good on TV and I have no time to see movies. I'm pretty excited about Superbad coming out this week. I'm a big fan of Judd Apatow, who did 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up. I'm also a sucker for teen movies like Dazed and Confused and even Can't Hardly Wait (I almost just threw up there. I can't believe I admitted that.) Combine Judd Apatow and teen movies and that's a winner.
In other news, I've been watching old episodes of The Wire on my iPod. It's an HBO show that I'd heard good things about. Now I understand why. It's basically about a bunch of cops who try to bring down an organized crime ring. (I've only seen 2 seasons so far and it's been the same cops, but different rings each time.) It's a fascinating show. It really shows how painstaking the evidence-gathering process is and how the whole thing can change in an instant. I should be watching seasons 3 and 4 soon, so I'll have to give my impressions of those too.
The other show I've been watching is Battlestar Gallactica. I kept hearing good things about this show too. I watched the first 4 episodes and was ready to call it quits because it just wasn't doing it for me. But after the 5th episode, I think I may be hooked. I'll give it a few more before I make my final call.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Curt Schilling -- Reborn!
As I mentioned in my last post, I got a pretty nasty blister on my heel from walking my bike and dancing at the wedding in rented shoes. Well, Monday morning, I decided to go for a run. I needed it after the debauchery of the weekend. When I got home, I looked at my sock and realized that my blister (or whatever it actually is) had bled all over my sock. I felt like Curt Schilling in the World Series. Only with a lot less money.
Monday night, I had a softball game. It's 16-inch, which I love. I played 14-inch for a few years and wasn't that fond of it. It's a lot harder to hit. And, not just because it's smaller. For some reason, they pack the 16-inch ball tighter than the 14-inch. So when you hit the 16-inch ball, it GOES. The 14-inch ball just kind of dies. Riveting analysis, I know.
Anywho. So I'm in a league with people at work. For some reason, we're constantly able to field a full team. In fact, we have to ask people to NOT play every week because we've got too many people. Craziness.
I'm clearly the oldest person on the team, but surprisingly, I'm also one of the best. That almost sounds like I've got an ego. But the people on our team are REALLY bad. Like so bad that they can't even make contact with the ball. The thing is 16-freaking-inches! How can you NOT make contact? Of course, I don't think all these people are from the Chicago area. They didn't grow up playing 16-inch softball every spring/fall day in gym class like I did. And, clearly, they can't match the overall phsyical prowess of an accomplished triathlete like me.
Speaking of my physical prowess, I'm now 4 for 4 in my two games played. And not a single one of those balls made it out of the infield. The only thing I have going for me is that I'm actually pretty fast. And I don't hit the ball far. So I'm generally able to run to first base before someone can get to the ball. Yeah, I'm a tower of power. Although I shouldn't complain. One of the guys on our team hit an absolute bomb last night and it was caught. If you hit it on the ground 5 feet in front of home plate, it's not getting caught.
As I was running the bases yesterday, I made a boneheaded move that turned out to be great for the team. I was on second with two outs. There was a man on third. The ball's hit to the shortstop, so I head to third. Except the shortstop threw to third. Crap. I'm sure to be out and end the inning. So I turn around and head back to second, caught in a rundown. Except I know that the second baseman can't catch. So as I'm running back to second, the runner goes home. I avoid the out and now we have a man on first and second with two outs (and one run scored). Fantastic! Except all that running re-opened my blister. So now I'm bleeding on my sock again. But there are worse things than looking like Curt Schilling in front of your softball team. You could look like an old, out-of-shape white dude. (Oh wait, that IS what Curt Schilling looks like.)
Monday night, I had a softball game. It's 16-inch, which I love. I played 14-inch for a few years and wasn't that fond of it. It's a lot harder to hit. And, not just because it's smaller. For some reason, they pack the 16-inch ball tighter than the 14-inch. So when you hit the 16-inch ball, it GOES. The 14-inch ball just kind of dies. Riveting analysis, I know.
Anywho. So I'm in a league with people at work. For some reason, we're constantly able to field a full team. In fact, we have to ask people to NOT play every week because we've got too many people. Craziness.
I'm clearly the oldest person on the team, but surprisingly, I'm also one of the best. That almost sounds like I've got an ego. But the people on our team are REALLY bad. Like so bad that they can't even make contact with the ball. The thing is 16-freaking-inches! How can you NOT make contact? Of course, I don't think all these people are from the Chicago area. They didn't grow up playing 16-inch softball every spring/fall day in gym class like I did. And, clearly, they can't match the overall phsyical prowess of an accomplished triathlete like me.
Speaking of my physical prowess, I'm now 4 for 4 in my two games played. And not a single one of those balls made it out of the infield. The only thing I have going for me is that I'm actually pretty fast. And I don't hit the ball far. So I'm generally able to run to first base before someone can get to the ball. Yeah, I'm a tower of power. Although I shouldn't complain. One of the guys on our team hit an absolute bomb last night and it was caught. If you hit it on the ground 5 feet in front of home plate, it's not getting caught.
As I was running the bases yesterday, I made a boneheaded move that turned out to be great for the team. I was on second with two outs. There was a man on third. The ball's hit to the shortstop, so I head to third. Except the shortstop threw to third. Crap. I'm sure to be out and end the inning. So I turn around and head back to second, caught in a rundown. Except I know that the second baseman can't catch. So as I'm running back to second, the runner goes home. I avoid the out and now we have a man on first and second with two outs (and one run scored). Fantastic! Except all that running re-opened my blister. So now I'm bleeding on my sock again. But there are worse things than looking like Curt Schilling in front of your softball team. You could look like an old, out-of-shape white dude. (Oh wait, that IS what Curt Schilling looks like.)
Monday, August 13, 2007
Celebrate Good Times (Come On!)
What a weekend! I don't even know where to begin. But I think this is going to be a long one, so go grab some food and buckle yourself in. One of my oldest and dearest friends (is it possible to say that as a male and not sound, um, gay?) got married. I met Groom in first grade and we've been friends ever since. Whether we were riding our bikes to Randhurst, watching The Larry Sanders Show in college, or getting drunk all over the city of Chicago, we spent a lot of time together. So it was with great joy that I got to stand up in his wedding. Of course, his wedding ended up being a three-day affair. Not that I'm complaining.
First of all, they had the rehearsal on Thursday. I've already commented on that, so I'll skip it here. On Friday, there was a BBQ at his brother's house in Downers Grove. The party started at 6:00. Being the prompt people we are (which is unusual now that we have kids), we arrived at exactly 6:00. We were the first one there. By a long shot.
This might be a good time to bring up the fact that Groom is constanly running late. It's so chronic that we call his own internal time "Groom Time." (Except, of course, that we don't call him "Groom." We call him "Asshole." But I'm trying to be polite here. After all, he'll probably read this eventually. Good thing he's unable to read parenthetical comments.) So it was no surprise that Groom showed up to the BBQ at 7:30. Actually, I wasn't even sure if was going to come. Last minute wedding stuff always pops up. Still, it was nice to get out and see some of my friends, especially since we were able to take our kids with. I dig my kids and it's nice showing them off. I'm really looking forward to when they get older and they can put on shows for my friends. "Luke, show Uncle Groom how you can do long division! Courtney, draw an atom of Chlorine!"
It was a relatively early night for us, since we had the kids. I was in bed by 10:30. My plan was to wake up early and go for a bike ride. I didn't bother setting my alarm, and sure enough, at 5:30 I woke up and couldn't sleep any more. I think my stupid body is getting a little too used to waking up so early. (Case in point, today, I woke up at 4:57, which is 3 minutes before my alarm usually goes off. Might as well just get up at that point.) So I got all ready and went for a bike ride. Somewhere along the way, I noticed a few more bumps than usual. That's when it occurred to me that my rear tire might be losing air. I finally got off to check it about 5.5 miles into the ride, which was in a straight line away from home. That was a bad idea because I think I squeezed whatever air remained out of the tire. Given that my bike cost $1000 and I don't want to ruin the aluminum rims by riding on a flat tire, I walked my bike home. 5.5 miles. At 7:00 am.
I must have passed (no kidding) 1000 cars. Not one single person stopped and said, "Hey, that's a nice $1000 bike. How come you're walking it? Would you like a ride home?" I think that if someone would have done that in the last mile, I would have sworn at them. "What the fuck is your problem? Where the hell were you 4.5 miles ago? Jerk." The worst part of the walk home was that I started to get a blister on my heel. Apparently, my bike shoes are not made for walking long stretches. (Which is why they're "bike" shoes, not "walking a bike with a flat tire" shoes.) You don't have to be a genius to realize that "new blister" + "wedding in rented shoes" = "problems."
Anyway, the plan was for the groomsmen (all 7 of us) to arrive at the hotel at 12:30. We were going to get dressed there and then head to the church in the Limo Bus at 1:45. The wedding started at 3:00. So that would have been plenty of time to drop us off, come back to pick up the ladies and return to the church by 3:00.
I was about to leave for the hotel when I lost the card we were giving to Bride and Groom. I was looking all over the house. I asked The Wife where it went. She said it was on the kitchen table. Hmmm. Then I looked on the kitchen counter and realized there were a bunch of magazines there. Was it possible that The Wife had cleaned up the kitchen table and put the card that SHE KNEW I was going to give to Bride and Groom on the BOTTOM of that pile? Not only was it possible, but that's exactly what happened. It all worked out well, though, because she gave me a good story to put inside the card. I never know what to write in those things. This time I had a cautionary tale of the joys of marriage (the continuous attempts to thwart your spouse's efforts). Thanks, honey!
I left a few minutes later than I wanted and I knew I was going to be late to the hotel. I was stressing out a bit. (I hate being late.) But the whole time I was driving over, I was thinking, "Well, it only serves Groom right! After years of US waiting for HIM, the shoe's going to be on the other foot!" That didn't calm me down much. I ended up being 10 minutes late. So I called Groom and asked what room he was in. "Oh, I'm not there yet. I'll be there in like 10 minutes." Sigh. Groom has topped me yet again.
Of course, we can't get into the hotel room. Apparently, they didn't know there was a wedding in their hotel that night or something. So despite me getting to the hotel at 12:40 (and everyone else by about 1:00), we didn't get into the room until 1:25. Not that I'm anal or stressy or anything. Still, that's plenty of time to get dressed and get out by 1:45, right? Right? Did I mention Groom Time?
Tuxedos aren't the most difficult thing in the world to put on. Yet you'd never know it by watching the groomsmen trying to get dressed. The basics were easy enough. Most people were able to figure out that the shirt went on top and the pants on bottom. The hard part was figuring out what to do with the jewelry. I'm pretty sure I had to literally draw a picture of how the pseudo-button things go into the shirt for Groom. "No, it goes BEHIND the real button. No, from the BACK. NOOOO. Turn it around! No, the BIG part goes BEHIND the shirt. GAH!" And don't even get me started on the cufflinks.
Anyway, now it's 1:45 and I'm starting to stress out. Cuz after all, it's my wedding and it's all going to shit. Oh no, wait. It's not. (Yeah, I was a mess at my wedding. Control freak? You think?) Nobody's ready. Groom says that as long as we leave by 2:00, we'll be fine. Okay, so he built in a time cushion. Good idea. Except now it's 2:00 and we're still in the hotel room. Groom calls the limo (who's sitting out front) and says we'll be down in 5 minutes. (My brain: "5 minutes? Oh god, I'm going to explode.")
At 2:05, we're waiting in the lobby and I run into a couple of bridesmaids. One of them asks what the plan is. I say, "Well, 20 minutes ago, the limo took us to the church. It should be back any minute now to pick you up." Then they said that this wouldn't be a Bride wedding if things weren't running late? I said they must be confused. Groom is the one who's always late. No, it turns out they're BOTH always late. Hmmm. I don't know much, but I'm completely convinced that when they have a baby, it'll be born after the due date.
Anyway, we get on the bus around 2:10. The driver took us through a little detour and then missed the church completely as he gabbed on the cell phone. I'm getting way too stressed here. Again, not my wedding. Need to calm down. We get to the church and the limo turns right around. Fortunately, the wedding was only delayed about 5 minutes. Nobody else seems to care. I don't know why I get so stressed out about this. It's not like it's a live event that's being broadcast around the world. If it starts late, it starts late. Big deal. More time for people to find their seats. I've got to learn to cope.
Another uneventful wedding by the way. I think I watch too much TV that I'm fully expecting something awful to happen at a wedding, like the groom to faint or the church to burn down. With the exception of my brother's wedding where the wedding cake van crashed (thus ruining the cake), every wedding's gone off without a hitch. Sigh. One of these days, god willing, someone's wedding will be ruined.
After the wedding, we took a bunch of pictures. Shockingly. Is it me or are wedding photographers the most reviled people in the world? God, they're annoying. The finished product is usually great. But it's so freaking annoying having to sit there as he redirects people. "Now you move up front.Great. Now you two switch places. Okay, now everyone turn around and show your asses. " I really love the "creative" photos, like the one where the whole wedding party ran at the camera. I felt like I was filming the opening credits of a sitcom on the WB (er, make that the CW).
By the way, we were wearing rather tame-looking black tuxedos with champagne-colored vests and ties. My only complaint was that we took a handful of pictures outside in 90 degree weather. Thus, I think we should have worn white tuxes. The white tux has really slipped in popularity and I can't for the life of me figure out why. Wasn't Miami Vice a great show? Doesn't everyone else want to relive the 80's? Is it just me? Ah, nuts! Anyway, the white tux would have been significantly cooler for the 5 minutes we were standing in the sun. And the pictures would have had that timeless quality that everyone loves. Just like the ones from 1982 when I was a ring bearer wearing a powder blue tuxedo. That could have been any year (from 1980 to 1989).
All right. We arrive at the reception. This is where things start getting a little hazy for me. No doubt because of all the pure joy and fun I had that evening. And not because of the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed. Anyway, what I loved about Bride and Groom's wedding was that they basically invited everyone from my wedding (and then some). But the best part was that I didn't have to talk to any of my family. I could just party with my friends. Sweet!
I spent most of the evening catching up with old friends. One of the people who showed up was this girl, Monica, who had a locker right across the hall from me in high school. And, as she pointed out, we made out at some point in high school. Really? Um, sorry I don't remember that. But I was such a swinger in high school, it's hard to keep track of all the ladies I made out with. I mean, I was so busy with math team, how could I possibly remember all the wonderful ladies? Yeah. So I hadn't seen Monica since high school. I was shocked to find out that she got married. And divorced. After 11 years. Not that I'm shocked that she got divorced. I just didn't think it was possible for someone my age to be married for 11 years. I'm still just 25, right?
The absolute best part of the wedding was the photo booth. You know those photo booths they have at malls and amusement parks? Well, they had one at the wedding. You could even cut up the pictures and create a scrapbook page for the bride and groom. Well, I couldn't care less about that. I was too busy cramming into the thing with 5 other friends and being goofy. I seriously must have taken 20 pictures. Make that 20 sittings because each sitting got me 6 pictures. You think they're going to be tired of seeing me? "Cripes, another stupid picture of The Dow! Why did we invite him anyway?"
When I wasn't chatting or taking pictures, I was dancing. I love dancing. And I'm terrible at it. (Of course, it didn't help that I had a blister on my foot from my earlier biking escapades.) I'm a cross between Elaine on Seinfeld and an epileptic seizure. The problem is that I hate dancing like a boring white person (which is the only dancing I should be doing). Instead, I do a full-out routine like I'm one of the Solid Gold dancers on a crack binge. It usually makes for good video. And the videographers generally push over old ladies and children to get a chance to film it.
After the wedding, there was a post-party at the hotel. Or so I'm told. I don't really remember much of it. I remember talking to a cousin of a friend. I don't remember what it was about. Then I woke up at my mother-in-law's condo a few miles away. Fortunately, we were planning on staying there. Otherwise, it would have been very awkward.
It was a fantastic wedding. I'm still thinking happy thoughts about it two days later. It was even worth all the pain I felt yesterday (and continue to feel today). I hadn't drunk that much in a LONG time. And I was pretty much hungover all day on Sunday. I'm still pretty sore, which I can only attribute to my dancing. And I'm very much looking forward to hearing stories about me being an asshole the next time I run into my friends. "At one point, you were arguing with the coatrack. And you lost." The only bad part is that I'm starting to run out of friends to get married. Is it wrong that I start hoping some of them get divorced so I can get a few more weddings out of the deal? Yeah, probably. At the very least, I hope Bride and Groom have several big anniversary parties. Cuz that was one hell of a wedding.
First of all, they had the rehearsal on Thursday. I've already commented on that, so I'll skip it here. On Friday, there was a BBQ at his brother's house in Downers Grove. The party started at 6:00. Being the prompt people we are (which is unusual now that we have kids), we arrived at exactly 6:00. We were the first one there. By a long shot.
This might be a good time to bring up the fact that Groom is constanly running late. It's so chronic that we call his own internal time "Groom Time." (Except, of course, that we don't call him "Groom." We call him "Asshole." But I'm trying to be polite here. After all, he'll probably read this eventually. Good thing he's unable to read parenthetical comments.) So it was no surprise that Groom showed up to the BBQ at 7:30. Actually, I wasn't even sure if was going to come. Last minute wedding stuff always pops up. Still, it was nice to get out and see some of my friends, especially since we were able to take our kids with. I dig my kids and it's nice showing them off. I'm really looking forward to when they get older and they can put on shows for my friends. "Luke, show Uncle Groom how you can do long division! Courtney, draw an atom of Chlorine!"
It was a relatively early night for us, since we had the kids. I was in bed by 10:30. My plan was to wake up early and go for a bike ride. I didn't bother setting my alarm, and sure enough, at 5:30 I woke up and couldn't sleep any more. I think my stupid body is getting a little too used to waking up so early. (Case in point, today, I woke up at 4:57, which is 3 minutes before my alarm usually goes off. Might as well just get up at that point.) So I got all ready and went for a bike ride. Somewhere along the way, I noticed a few more bumps than usual. That's when it occurred to me that my rear tire might be losing air. I finally got off to check it about 5.5 miles into the ride, which was in a straight line away from home. That was a bad idea because I think I squeezed whatever air remained out of the tire. Given that my bike cost $1000 and I don't want to ruin the aluminum rims by riding on a flat tire, I walked my bike home. 5.5 miles. At 7:00 am.
I must have passed (no kidding) 1000 cars. Not one single person stopped and said, "Hey, that's a nice $1000 bike. How come you're walking it? Would you like a ride home?" I think that if someone would have done that in the last mile, I would have sworn at them. "What the fuck is your problem? Where the hell were you 4.5 miles ago? Jerk." The worst part of the walk home was that I started to get a blister on my heel. Apparently, my bike shoes are not made for walking long stretches. (Which is why they're "bike" shoes, not "walking a bike with a flat tire" shoes.) You don't have to be a genius to realize that "new blister" + "wedding in rented shoes" = "problems."
Anyway, the plan was for the groomsmen (all 7 of us) to arrive at the hotel at 12:30. We were going to get dressed there and then head to the church in the Limo Bus at 1:45. The wedding started at 3:00. So that would have been plenty of time to drop us off, come back to pick up the ladies and return to the church by 3:00.
I was about to leave for the hotel when I lost the card we were giving to Bride and Groom. I was looking all over the house. I asked The Wife where it went. She said it was on the kitchen table. Hmmm. Then I looked on the kitchen counter and realized there were a bunch of magazines there. Was it possible that The Wife had cleaned up the kitchen table and put the card that SHE KNEW I was going to give to Bride and Groom on the BOTTOM of that pile? Not only was it possible, but that's exactly what happened. It all worked out well, though, because she gave me a good story to put inside the card. I never know what to write in those things. This time I had a cautionary tale of the joys of marriage (the continuous attempts to thwart your spouse's efforts). Thanks, honey!
I left a few minutes later than I wanted and I knew I was going to be late to the hotel. I was stressing out a bit. (I hate being late.) But the whole time I was driving over, I was thinking, "Well, it only serves Groom right! After years of US waiting for HIM, the shoe's going to be on the other foot!" That didn't calm me down much. I ended up being 10 minutes late. So I called Groom and asked what room he was in. "Oh, I'm not there yet. I'll be there in like 10 minutes." Sigh. Groom has topped me yet again.
Of course, we can't get into the hotel room. Apparently, they didn't know there was a wedding in their hotel that night or something. So despite me getting to the hotel at 12:40 (and everyone else by about 1:00), we didn't get into the room until 1:25. Not that I'm anal or stressy or anything. Still, that's plenty of time to get dressed and get out by 1:45, right? Right? Did I mention Groom Time?
Tuxedos aren't the most difficult thing in the world to put on. Yet you'd never know it by watching the groomsmen trying to get dressed. The basics were easy enough. Most people were able to figure out that the shirt went on top and the pants on bottom. The hard part was figuring out what to do with the jewelry. I'm pretty sure I had to literally draw a picture of how the pseudo-button things go into the shirt for Groom. "No, it goes BEHIND the real button. No, from the BACK. NOOOO. Turn it around! No, the BIG part goes BEHIND the shirt. GAH!" And don't even get me started on the cufflinks.
Anyway, now it's 1:45 and I'm starting to stress out. Cuz after all, it's my wedding and it's all going to shit. Oh no, wait. It's not. (Yeah, I was a mess at my wedding. Control freak? You think?) Nobody's ready. Groom says that as long as we leave by 2:00, we'll be fine. Okay, so he built in a time cushion. Good idea. Except now it's 2:00 and we're still in the hotel room. Groom calls the limo (who's sitting out front) and says we'll be down in 5 minutes. (My brain: "5 minutes? Oh god, I'm going to explode.")
At 2:05, we're waiting in the lobby and I run into a couple of bridesmaids. One of them asks what the plan is. I say, "Well, 20 minutes ago, the limo took us to the church. It should be back any minute now to pick you up." Then they said that this wouldn't be a Bride wedding if things weren't running late? I said they must be confused. Groom is the one who's always late. No, it turns out they're BOTH always late. Hmmm. I don't know much, but I'm completely convinced that when they have a baby, it'll be born after the due date.
Anyway, we get on the bus around 2:10. The driver took us through a little detour and then missed the church completely as he gabbed on the cell phone. I'm getting way too stressed here. Again, not my wedding. Need to calm down. We get to the church and the limo turns right around. Fortunately, the wedding was only delayed about 5 minutes. Nobody else seems to care. I don't know why I get so stressed out about this. It's not like it's a live event that's being broadcast around the world. If it starts late, it starts late. Big deal. More time for people to find their seats. I've got to learn to cope.
Another uneventful wedding by the way. I think I watch too much TV that I'm fully expecting something awful to happen at a wedding, like the groom to faint or the church to burn down. With the exception of my brother's wedding where the wedding cake van crashed (thus ruining the cake), every wedding's gone off without a hitch. Sigh. One of these days, god willing, someone's wedding will be ruined.
After the wedding, we took a bunch of pictures. Shockingly. Is it me or are wedding photographers the most reviled people in the world? God, they're annoying. The finished product is usually great. But it's so freaking annoying having to sit there as he redirects people. "Now you move up front.
By the way, we were wearing rather tame-looking black tuxedos with champagne-colored vests and ties. My only complaint was that we took a handful of pictures outside in 90 degree weather. Thus, I think we should have worn white tuxes. The white tux has really slipped in popularity and I can't for the life of me figure out why. Wasn't Miami Vice a great show? Doesn't everyone else want to relive the 80's? Is it just me? Ah, nuts! Anyway, the white tux would have been significantly cooler for the 5 minutes we were standing in the sun. And the pictures would have had that timeless quality that everyone loves. Just like the ones from 1982 when I was a ring bearer wearing a powder blue tuxedo. That could have been any year (from 1980 to 1989).
All right. We arrive at the reception. This is where things start getting a little hazy for me. No doubt because of all the pure joy and fun I had that evening. And not because of the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed. Anyway, what I loved about Bride and Groom's wedding was that they basically invited everyone from my wedding (and then some). But the best part was that I didn't have to talk to any of my family. I could just party with my friends. Sweet!
I spent most of the evening catching up with old friends. One of the people who showed up was this girl, Monica, who had a locker right across the hall from me in high school. And, as she pointed out, we made out at some point in high school. Really? Um, sorry I don't remember that. But I was such a swinger in high school, it's hard to keep track of all the ladies I made out with. I mean, I was so busy with math team, how could I possibly remember all the wonderful ladies? Yeah. So I hadn't seen Monica since high school. I was shocked to find out that she got married. And divorced. After 11 years. Not that I'm shocked that she got divorced. I just didn't think it was possible for someone my age to be married for 11 years. I'm still just 25, right?
The absolute best part of the wedding was the photo booth. You know those photo booths they have at malls and amusement parks? Well, they had one at the wedding. You could even cut up the pictures and create a scrapbook page for the bride and groom. Well, I couldn't care less about that. I was too busy cramming into the thing with 5 other friends and being goofy. I seriously must have taken 20 pictures. Make that 20 sittings because each sitting got me 6 pictures. You think they're going to be tired of seeing me? "Cripes, another stupid picture of The Dow! Why did we invite him anyway?"
When I wasn't chatting or taking pictures, I was dancing. I love dancing. And I'm terrible at it. (Of course, it didn't help that I had a blister on my foot from my earlier biking escapades.) I'm a cross between Elaine on Seinfeld and an epileptic seizure. The problem is that I hate dancing like a boring white person (which is the only dancing I should be doing). Instead, I do a full-out routine like I'm one of the Solid Gold dancers on a crack binge. It usually makes for good video. And the videographers generally push over old ladies and children to get a chance to film it.
After the wedding, there was a post-party at the hotel. Or so I'm told. I don't really remember much of it. I remember talking to a cousin of a friend. I don't remember what it was about. Then I woke up at my mother-in-law's condo a few miles away. Fortunately, we were planning on staying there. Otherwise, it would have been very awkward.
It was a fantastic wedding. I'm still thinking happy thoughts about it two days later. It was even worth all the pain I felt yesterday (and continue to feel today). I hadn't drunk that much in a LONG time. And I was pretty much hungover all day on Sunday. I'm still pretty sore, which I can only attribute to my dancing. And I'm very much looking forward to hearing stories about me being an asshole the next time I run into my friends. "At one point, you were arguing with the coatrack. And you lost." The only bad part is that I'm starting to run out of friends to get married. Is it wrong that I start hoping some of them get divorced so I can get a few more weddings out of the deal? Yeah, probably. At the very least, I hope Bride and Groom have several big anniversary parties. Cuz that was one hell of a wedding.
