As you may have surmised from my last couple of blog posts, or if you know me personally, I was 'let go' by my man-cub, about 3 months ago. He's a wonderful person, and I understand him not wanting to be with me, I mean, shit, I frequently don't want to be with me, but I'm stuck here. Still, it blows. To add insult to injury, I was invited to five - count 'em! FIVE weddings this late summer/fall. (I'm not sure what heinous deed I must have perpetrated in another life to engender this particular type of payback bitch-slap, but it must have been a doozy!) Four of them were dear friends of mine, one was a dear friend of his who is now a new friend of mine (but of course I let him have that wedding...I'm not a monster).
The first, my dear, darling friend Meg's, was a beautiful 4 day event starting with a BBQ and including a spectacular Wedding Eve dinner cruise on Lake Union and culminating in a sweet, simple and elegant ceremony outside in the 'back yard' of Cafe Juanita, with dinner inside afterward. The food was simply amazing. The bride was GORGEOUS and well, how many times can I say elegant before you say, "OK, elegant, elegant, we get it."
Next up was his friend Jennifer's wedding, and since I did not attend I can't give any first hand accounts, but according to posts on Facebook it was almost as lovely as the bride herself.
Third in line was my dear, sweet, charming, kind and perfect-in-every-way friend Sarah (not to take away from any of my other friends, but well, Sarah IS perfect, and no one else on the planet is. Sorry. You are all FABULOUS and I love you but Sarah is special, as anyone who has ever known her will attest). The wedding weekend took place in Leavenworth at the splendid Sleeping Lady Lodge (she married a Sikh; there's no such thing as a small, modest, laid-back Sikh wedding. It was a freaking BLAST!!!!!!). I shared a cabin with my Favorite Cousin Lily* who was flown in from NY to photograph the nuptials (www.lilykesselman.com/) and all the surrounding activity. I have known Sarah since she was seven years old and I was on the wrong side of 30. We did not have a faux mother-daughter relationship, or an auntie-niece relationship, or a mentor-student relationship. We were friends, from the get-go. I know it sounds odd, but she was always wise beyond her years and I have always been immature and petty, so when she was seven we were a pretty good match! She was only a little more mature than I at that point. She finally met a man (Virtaj) who understands that he (likewise, I) are not worthy of her, and he vowed to spend the rest of his life trying to be deserving of her love. (We all heard you, Virtaj. There were like, 120 witnesses.) One of the readings, which I usually kind of hate and secretly roll my eyes over during all wedding ceremonies, was from The Velveteen Rabbit. Leave it to Sarah to find the one passage that could have made me cry, and to see past the child's nursery theme into what is at the core of the matter, which is of course, love. I want to share it with you, dear reader...
THERE once was a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen.
For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard or on the nursery floor, and no one thought very much about him. He was naturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys quite snubbed him. The mechanical toys were very superior, and looked down upon everyone else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended they were real. The model boat, who had lived through two seasons and lost most of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missed an opportunity of referring to his rigging in technical terms. The Rabbit could not claim to be a model of anything, for he didn't know that real rabbits existed; he thought they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out-of-date and should never be mentioned in modern circles. Even Timothy, the jointed wooden lion, who was made by disabled soldiers, and should have had broader views, put on airs and pretended he was connected to the Government. Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all was the Skin Horse.
The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive and boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those play things that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.
"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."
That passage gets to me in so many ways, on so many levels, not the least of which is the disturbing term "Skin Horse". What the fuck is that? Anyway, "Does it hurt?" Hell yes. I wish I didn't mind it so much, but I will take it over the alternative. I'm pretty sure I don't break easily, or have to be too carefully kept, but I prolly have one or two or 18 sharp edges. Working on that.
The fourth one was Genevieve and Peter's wedding, this past weekend on San Juan Island. They are a lovely, delightful couple, and well-matched in every way. She is particularly beautiful but more importantly, wickedly funny. I arrived solo (as usual) and was instantly set-upon by a youngish man I know who accosted me and said, "Hey Kate are you still dating that cool musician guy, D_____?" "Ummm, no, no I'm not", I replied. "Oh. That's too bad. I really like him", said he. "Yeah, me too. Thanks for bringing that up. Here. Now. In front of everyone. At a wedding." Asshole. OK, to be fair, this guy is definitely NOT an asshole, but I have been in a really bad mood now for like 3+ months and I'm getting a little short tempered. (OK, fine: more short tempered than usual) Anyway, this darling young woman I know sidles up to me as I'm standing awkwardly, alone, at yet another fucking wedding reception and asks if I perchance know the man with the dark curly hair I was just speaking with and if I know whether or not he is single. I answer affirmatively and then I decide to be the bigger person and introduce them, and then I decide to become somewhat officious and meddlesome (OK, fine: more officious and meddlesome than usual) and arrange the place cards so they are sitting across from each other at dinner. Well, the rest, as they say, is history because he asked her out and they had their first date the next night and their second is coming up. So I guess you can add "match-making" to my skill-set!
The fifth and final wedding is being held at the end of the month in Hawaii, and I won't be able to attend. Too far away, too much money, and this time I'd be stuck on an island thousands of miles away at a wedding, all by myself, with no one to talk to or hang out with. Sorry, even I am not that much of a glutton for punishment. I adore Kristi, but I just. can't. do it. Forgive me, Kristi! I'll send a nice gift!
*I'm contractually obligated to call her Favorite Cousin Lily. Don't get your panties in a bunch, all hundreds of other cousins!!! See the August 2011 post for more information on Favorite Cousin Lily.
Showing posts with label Weddings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Weddings. Show all posts
8.09.2011
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Wow, I had no idea having a new job where I would have to learn all kinds of new stuff and not use hardly any of my old stuff (which was hard to learn and for which I had to go to school and get a degree and all that crap, then start at the very bottom-or wait...what's below the bottom? start there and now here I am again...) but which is still taking up a lot of space in my haid, (yes I mis-spelled it on purpose. Sound it out.) crowding out space that should rightfully be devoted to shoes, would take so much out of an Old French Whore for so many months, but that's exactly what happened. I had NOTHING left for writing in my blog. I had to make a hard choice...put the time and energy into the thing that they pay me to do, thereby keeping a door over my head and the roofies from the wolf, or whatever that melodramatic saying is about not being homeless and having food is ***OR*** writing in my blog, which to paraphrase (actually completely butcher, cannibalize and otherwise misappropriate) a Marlo Thomas after school special title, is free, and doesn't contribute to my bank account AT ALL. Well, don't act surprised. Look at the title of my blog. It's called Old French Whore, not Old French Starving Artist. Anyway, I'm finally getting caught up on sleep and play, not in that order, and I feel refreshed enough to pound out a thing or two.
Soooo, I went on a vacation. Just got back 2 days ago. A real vacation. The kind where you have tons of fun, laugh your ass off, meet new people, eat buckets of delicious fattening food (mostly lobster and cookies-go figure), watch two impossibly beautiful people get married on the seashore in Maine and then let the maid clean up after you. THAT kinda va-ca-SHONE. I told my boss when he hired me I had to have this week off for my friend Lara's destination wedding (who thinks this shit up? 'Destination Wedding', like that's really a thing. Like 'Fascinators'. Like people have been wearing them for YEARS, dahling...that's not a fucking THING. They made that up. And those poor gnarled spawn of Fergie & her inbred royal ex-husband bought it hook, line and sinker and made complete fools of themselves on international TV when their cousin got married and they attended in those ghastly things that looked like i.u.d.s. God, don't get me started). So, the royal wedding that some of us may or may not have gotten up at 2:50 a.m. on April 26th to watch probably cost less than the wedding I attended in Maine, and was not half as tasteful. My friend Lara has better taste than Martha Stewart and Jackie Onassis combined. She also has money. But money cannot buy the kind of impeccable eye my friend has. One of these days I might learn how to post photos and get one or two of the wedding of the century up here...but for now you'll have to listen to me prattle on about. Well, listen in your head, because you're actually reading this.
First, I flew into New York to see my Favorite Cousin Lily. I'm contractually obligated to always call her Favorite Cousin Lily. Don't hate me, other cousins. It's in our contract. I can't break it. I love you all very much. Admittedly, some more than others...but that's another story. Maybe later in the week I'll write about the B_______ Family Reunion I attended last month...damn, now that's a story. Damn, I'm tired and I am getting sidetracked. Damn.
Lily, much like her town, never sleeps. No, she's not a crack whore. She's just energetic. As am I, most of the time. My friend/muse Daniel says he has to take a nap after he hears about what I've done in a day, it makes him so tired. Got in at 11:30pm, bed by 3am (we had to catch up!) up at 8, into the city in the afternoon to shop all day long,(oh, did I mention Favorite Cousin Lily lives in the Bronx? Well, she does) then back to the Bronx for dinner with Lily's Wonderful Husband Don (Don is a lawyer. I'm contractually obligated to always call him Wonderful Husband Don) and then home to tart ourselves up and totter on 'shoulder shoes' (think about it. Visualize it. Got it?) 10 doors down to Brian's gorgeous house for his FABULOUS birthday party (gay men throw the best parties!), then up at the fucking buttcrack of dawn for breakfast with literally everyone in the neighborhood at a Mexican place (I just wanted a waffle!!!), then a 20 mile bike ride from the Bronx, thru Harlem into Manahattan and around The Cloisters, down to 70th street on the other side and back again. I was dying. When we got home I said I couldn't believe I rode 20 miles. Wonderful Husband Don said, "How long have you been riding?" I looked at my watch and said, "About 4 hours." (We stopped for food and drink somewhere along the line. It's all a blur.) He said, "No, not today, silly." I said, "Yeah well, I rode a bike one other time in the last 30 years or so, so yeah, 4 hours about covers it." He was somewhat impressed, I think:-) I wasn't even sore afterwards. Well, my ass was. And my neck was, because the bike was built for a shorter person. But other than that, no pain! I'm gettin' me a bike! I must take after my dad, who took up bike riding at about this same age after having abandoned it as a teenager, and in his 70's rode to San Francisco (twice!) and Montana (once!).
Next day I was off to Maine to participate in The Most Beautiful Wedding The World Has Ever Known (hereinafter referred to as TMBWTWHEK). I knew I was in trouble when I received the 4 page wedding invitation. "Uh oh", thought I, "I'm gonna need a new pair of shoes. And Charm School. And some class." I did manage to get the shoes. Oh well.
Day one: arrived and carpooled with the photographers. Plural. Two of them. (she hired 2 from Seattle-Alante Photography I believe they are called - but we just called them Loren and Kim. Wonderful people. Incredible photographers. Check them out. I'm not getting paid to say this. If they knew I posted their names in my blog they would probably be mortified. Come to think of it, they don't even know I have a blog...) Then there was a local assistant hired for days 3 & 4. Anyway, we meet up and drive 2 hours to 'The Destination'. We dump our crap in our rooms and race down to town to catch the gaff rigged schooner (as if I frikken know what the hell a gaff rigged schooner is! It's a pretty boat with pretty square sails, and it was helmed by a real live salty Maine dog (well, he wasn't an actual dog, just what sailors call a 'salty dog'. I was married to a sailor - most OFW's were married to or had relations with sailors at one point in their checkered pasts, FYI) The Mate was his wife. She was BAD-ASS!!!! That woman put up and brought down the sails and brought the boom about and she had guns on her like you wouldn't believe and I am sure that woman could 'lower the boom' any time she wanted! She was very nice and freindly, but I tell you what, I would think twice about crossin' the bitch. The Sunset Sail was beautiful, the weather cooperated, the sandwiches were tasty and no one got seasick, so it was a good trip.
Day 2: The Welcome Dinner. One word. Lobsterbake. 'Nuff said. Word.
Day 3: TMBWTWHEK. Perfect weather, perfect bride, perfect groom, perfect Maid of Honor (Contance, an appallingly sexy and beautiful Amazon Woman from the frikken MOON!) and perfect Best Man. The outdoor ceremony was short and sweet. The bride in her Vera Wang gown honestly glowed. So did the groom, no lie. Afterwards, hors d'oeuvre and cocktails on the patio and in the gazebo, homey! Then the sit down steak and lobster dinner, the cake cutting, then back to the patio & gazebo for the dance and lounging and eating cake and drinking refreshing beverages.
Day 4: Brunch at the groom's mother's cottage. Just a beautiful day with beautiful people in a beautiful place. The coast of Maine is like a Fairy Tale. It's the Enchanted Kingdom. Everyone was so nice and welcoming and fun. I hated to leave, but leave it I did...
On Friday (the wedding was on Wednesday) back to NYC to see Favorite Cousin Lily and Wonderful Husband Don one more time. It was serious culture shock to get off the plane from the enchanted kingdom and walk out into the hot dirty muggy NYC air and catch the M60 bus to the N Train to get my ass downtown to Favorite Cousin Lily's office. But it was fun, too, and I feel equally comfortable on the coast of Maine surrounded by rich white people for whom the word 'summer' is a verb (we summer in Maine) as I do on the N Train surrounded by all different colors of people of many different and varying financial strata. That's one of the things I love about myself. I took Favorite Cousin Lily and Wonderful Husband Don to dinner at a great Italian place in the Bronx called Umbertos. If you are in the Bronx, you should go there. The food was great; authentic Italian, and since this Old French Whore lived in Italy for almost a year back in the day, you can take my word for it. Or not. I really don't care.
Next day, my last full day before heading home, was perfect!!! Lily and I got dolled up and met my friend from high school, Betsy and 2 of her very cool friends, Amanda and Janice, at Bergdorfs for lunch. What a treat. Honest to god, I had Cucumber mint lemonade. I'm not making this up. It was to-die-for! I'm gonna try it here at home and see if I can approximate the deliciosity. Then we went straight to the shoe department where Betsy and I petted the shoes and purred and cooed at them, too. (We both pet shoes. We were surprised to find that our friends/family do not share this predilection. I thought EVERYONE petted the shoes! How else will they know how much you love them, especially if you can't afford to take them home?). Then we went to The Plaza and had coffee and pastry there and then walked and 'subwayed' (I now declare in NYC 'subway' is a verb. So let it be written, so let it be done. It is good to be king.) to a discount designer place Favorite Cousin Lily knows called Gabbays. Finally made it back to the Bronx, dead tired and starving by 8pm. We got Mexican take-out down the street and called it a day. That's the story of my excellent adventure in the polar-opposite worlds of Maine and NYC/the Bronx. Time for bed.
Soooo, I went on a vacation. Just got back 2 days ago. A real vacation. The kind where you have tons of fun, laugh your ass off, meet new people, eat buckets of delicious fattening food (mostly lobster and cookies-go figure), watch two impossibly beautiful people get married on the seashore in Maine and then let the maid clean up after you. THAT kinda va-ca-SHONE. I told my boss when he hired me I had to have this week off for my friend Lara's destination wedding (who thinks this shit up? 'Destination Wedding', like that's really a thing. Like 'Fascinators'. Like people have been wearing them for YEARS, dahling...that's not a fucking THING. They made that up. And those poor gnarled spawn of Fergie & her inbred royal ex-husband bought it hook, line and sinker and made complete fools of themselves on international TV when their cousin got married and they attended in those ghastly things that looked like i.u.d.s. God, don't get me started). So, the royal wedding that some of us may or may not have gotten up at 2:50 a.m. on April 26th to watch probably cost less than the wedding I attended in Maine, and was not half as tasteful. My friend Lara has better taste than Martha Stewart and Jackie Onassis combined. She also has money. But money cannot buy the kind of impeccable eye my friend has. One of these days I might learn how to post photos and get one or two of the wedding of the century up here...but for now you'll have to listen to me prattle on about. Well, listen in your head, because you're actually reading this.
First, I flew into New York to see my Favorite Cousin Lily. I'm contractually obligated to always call her Favorite Cousin Lily. Don't hate me, other cousins. It's in our contract. I can't break it. I love you all very much. Admittedly, some more than others...but that's another story. Maybe later in the week I'll write about the B_______ Family Reunion I attended last month...damn, now that's a story. Damn, I'm tired and I am getting sidetracked. Damn.
Lily, much like her town, never sleeps. No, she's not a crack whore. She's just energetic. As am I, most of the time. My friend/muse Daniel says he has to take a nap after he hears about what I've done in a day, it makes him so tired. Got in at 11:30pm, bed by 3am (we had to catch up!) up at 8, into the city in the afternoon to shop all day long,(oh, did I mention Favorite Cousin Lily lives in the Bronx? Well, she does) then back to the Bronx for dinner with Lily's Wonderful Husband Don (Don is a lawyer. I'm contractually obligated to always call him Wonderful Husband Don) and then home to tart ourselves up and totter on 'shoulder shoes' (think about it. Visualize it. Got it?) 10 doors down to Brian's gorgeous house for his FABULOUS birthday party (gay men throw the best parties!), then up at the fucking buttcrack of dawn for breakfast with literally everyone in the neighborhood at a Mexican place (I just wanted a waffle!!!), then a 20 mile bike ride from the Bronx, thru Harlem into Manahattan and around The Cloisters, down to 70th street on the other side and back again. I was dying. When we got home I said I couldn't believe I rode 20 miles. Wonderful Husband Don said, "How long have you been riding?" I looked at my watch and said, "About 4 hours." (We stopped for food and drink somewhere along the line. It's all a blur.) He said, "No, not today, silly." I said, "Yeah well, I rode a bike one other time in the last 30 years or so, so yeah, 4 hours about covers it." He was somewhat impressed, I think:-) I wasn't even sore afterwards. Well, my ass was. And my neck was, because the bike was built for a shorter person. But other than that, no pain! I'm gettin' me a bike! I must take after my dad, who took up bike riding at about this same age after having abandoned it as a teenager, and in his 70's rode to San Francisco (twice!) and Montana (once!).
Next day I was off to Maine to participate in The Most Beautiful Wedding The World Has Ever Known (hereinafter referred to as TMBWTWHEK). I knew I was in trouble when I received the 4 page wedding invitation. "Uh oh", thought I, "I'm gonna need a new pair of shoes. And Charm School. And some class." I did manage to get the shoes. Oh well.
Day one: arrived and carpooled with the photographers. Plural. Two of them. (she hired 2 from Seattle-Alante Photography I believe they are called - but we just called them Loren and Kim. Wonderful people. Incredible photographers. Check them out. I'm not getting paid to say this. If they knew I posted their names in my blog they would probably be mortified. Come to think of it, they don't even know I have a blog...) Then there was a local assistant hired for days 3 & 4. Anyway, we meet up and drive 2 hours to 'The Destination'. We dump our crap in our rooms and race down to town to catch the gaff rigged schooner (as if I frikken know what the hell a gaff rigged schooner is! It's a pretty boat with pretty square sails, and it was helmed by a real live salty Maine dog (well, he wasn't an actual dog, just what sailors call a 'salty dog'. I was married to a sailor - most OFW's were married to or had relations with sailors at one point in their checkered pasts, FYI) The Mate was his wife. She was BAD-ASS!!!! That woman put up and brought down the sails and brought the boom about and she had guns on her like you wouldn't believe and I am sure that woman could 'lower the boom' any time she wanted! She was very nice and freindly, but I tell you what, I would think twice about crossin' the bitch. The Sunset Sail was beautiful, the weather cooperated, the sandwiches were tasty and no one got seasick, so it was a good trip.
Day 2: The Welcome Dinner. One word. Lobsterbake. 'Nuff said. Word.
Day 3: TMBWTWHEK. Perfect weather, perfect bride, perfect groom, perfect Maid of Honor (Contance, an appallingly sexy and beautiful Amazon Woman from the frikken MOON!) and perfect Best Man. The outdoor ceremony was short and sweet. The bride in her Vera Wang gown honestly glowed. So did the groom, no lie. Afterwards, hors d'oeuvre and cocktails on the patio and in the gazebo, homey! Then the sit down steak and lobster dinner, the cake cutting, then back to the patio & gazebo for the dance and lounging and eating cake and drinking refreshing beverages.
Day 4: Brunch at the groom's mother's cottage. Just a beautiful day with beautiful people in a beautiful place. The coast of Maine is like a Fairy Tale. It's the Enchanted Kingdom. Everyone was so nice and welcoming and fun. I hated to leave, but leave it I did...
On Friday (the wedding was on Wednesday) back to NYC to see Favorite Cousin Lily and Wonderful Husband Don one more time. It was serious culture shock to get off the plane from the enchanted kingdom and walk out into the hot dirty muggy NYC air and catch the M60 bus to the N Train to get my ass downtown to Favorite Cousin Lily's office. But it was fun, too, and I feel equally comfortable on the coast of Maine surrounded by rich white people for whom the word 'summer' is a verb (we summer in Maine) as I do on the N Train surrounded by all different colors of people of many different and varying financial strata. That's one of the things I love about myself. I took Favorite Cousin Lily and Wonderful Husband Don to dinner at a great Italian place in the Bronx called Umbertos. If you are in the Bronx, you should go there. The food was great; authentic Italian, and since this Old French Whore lived in Italy for almost a year back in the day, you can take my word for it. Or not. I really don't care.
Next day, my last full day before heading home, was perfect!!! Lily and I got dolled up and met my friend from high school, Betsy and 2 of her very cool friends, Amanda and Janice, at Bergdorfs for lunch. What a treat. Honest to god, I had Cucumber mint lemonade. I'm not making this up. It was to-die-for! I'm gonna try it here at home and see if I can approximate the deliciosity. Then we went straight to the shoe department where Betsy and I petted the shoes and purred and cooed at them, too. (We both pet shoes. We were surprised to find that our friends/family do not share this predilection. I thought EVERYONE petted the shoes! How else will they know how much you love them, especially if you can't afford to take them home?). Then we went to The Plaza and had coffee and pastry there and then walked and 'subwayed' (I now declare in NYC 'subway' is a verb. So let it be written, so let it be done. It is good to be king.) to a discount designer place Favorite Cousin Lily knows called Gabbays. Finally made it back to the Bronx, dead tired and starving by 8pm. We got Mexican take-out down the street and called it a day. That's the story of my excellent adventure in the polar-opposite worlds of Maine and NYC/the Bronx. Time for bed.
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