Speaking of wedding blogs...

"Close friends and family began to trickle in and Shane snuck away to change into a Starbucks barista uniform – and it was a party! How special that they were able to celebrate with everyone!"

Twitch.

Via.

Love, marriage, and wedding blogs

I am very much in love, and not just because I got these for Valentine's Day.  MHM and I have an apartment, a car, two cats, and a Saarinen table between us.  We're trying to buy a house.  So why, both sets of parents ask, can't we just put a ring on it?*

The real answer is long and involved and political and makes me sound obnoxiously self-righteous (not allowing teh gayz makes the institution of marriage kind of worthless and unnecessary in my opinion, and I don't want in until everyone gets in), so I generally just laugh it off with "Marriage is a tool of the patriarchy"** and move on.

But I do enjoy the wedding blogs.  Sometimes seriously (I like pretty things!  Leave me alone, cool ironic me-at-23!), sometimes just for the writing (it seems like wedding blogging is a gateway drug to really interesting writing for lots of smart young women out there), and sometimes because of gems like this:

It’s so funny how you can always look back and see exactly why things turn out the way they do. Todd and I met eight years ago when I walked into his Chiropractic office after I was in a car accident. The moment I got my first glimpse of him, it was all over! That moment took my breath away. I continued to come in as a patient, always coming in right before lunch in hopes he would ask me to join…he never did! A few years (and two more car accidents) went by and we finally got together! We were engaged 2 years after that! (Haven’t had a car accident since…coincidence, I think not!) – the bride

Because every now and then, it's nice to be reminded that while I may be crazy, at least I did not get in car accidents in order to nail my manfriend.  


*Direct quote.  From my mother.  At a funeral so I couldn't talk back.
**This doesn't really work.  But I try it anyways.

It's a good thing I'm a lazy blogger...

'Cause this one writes itself.

Really, Omega?  Really?

hope

I've been glued to al Jazeera the past few days, in part because it's my job but mostly because of this:

12:35pm: Our correspondent in Alexandria says tens of thousands of people have gathered in the centre of Alexandria. He says Christians and others not performing Friday prayers have formed a "human chain" around those praying to protect them from any potential disruptions.

I am a pretty solid athiest, in part because religion is often such a destructive, divisive force, an easy excuse for power-hungry men to justify control of women, property, and lives.  But it is awe-inspiring to see everyday people take religion into their own hands, and say "I will protect you, because we are all in this together."

(I have more to say about democracy and human nature but I think I should wait until my warm glow has worn off lest I embarass myself.)

in which I consider writing a post of Substance but talk about nail polish instead

My nail polish is Chanel no. 505, Particuliere.  I discovered it at one o'clock in the morning on the hands of the girl sitting next to me at the Hemingway Bar in Paris.  She was young and drunk and charming and in the process of ordering drinks for her beautifully morose male companion when MHM and I came in for post-dinner champagne and sat next to her.  MHM was busy talking to the bartender about helicopters when she tapped me on the shoulder to offer me a nut, and then stuck her fingers in my mouth.  It is a testament to the atmosphere that this did not seem at all odd (her glowering frenchman just continued to stare moodily into his cocktail) and MHM responded by staring at her nails and saying "good god, I LOVE that color!" She told us what it was and then we all sang Piano Man with the drunk English businessmen to MHM's other side, much to the disapproval of the African diplomats in the back room.

I've been carrying the bottle with me for two months now.  I finally put it on yesterday and immediately fucked it all up trying to mail a package.  But now it is fixed and beautiful, and I am sitting here typing until it dries.

Why hello there, blog

I figure now is as good a time as any to introduce you to my staff accountants cats.

This is my tiny evil cat Beatrix.  She is small and gray and will Fuck You Up.

Beatrix likes cabinets, cereal bowls, and Fucking You Up.  She has a perpetual cold and a glitter collar and ears that are significantly too big for her head.  When she was even tinier, she chased my fully-grown cat Harvey under the bed and wouldn't let him out for three days.  I am quite certain that one day she will rule us all.

This is my large indifferent cat Harvey.  He is frequently mistaken for a rug.

Harvey speaks with a French accent and has been known to quote Sartre.  His favorite word is insouciant, followed closely by ennui.  He likes mid-century modern furniture and existentialist philosophy.  He is unlikely to Fuck You Up, but there is a good chance that he will stare at you disdainfully.