Tuesday, October 16, 2007

It's Like Rai-ainnnnn on Your Wedding Day

So it's probably going to rain. I knew this all along, that the weather is of its own mind (okay, currents, anyway) and is not known for making exceptions for important events, but still, I'm bummed about it. Maybe the reason is the way I found out: I stopped by my midwife's office today (no, no surprises, she's a midwife who also provides Well Woman gynecological care) and ... I totally didn't mean to start talking about gynecology. Anyway, I picked something up from her and she said "I hear Saturday's going to be beautiful. It's going to rain Friday, but by Saturday it will clear up and be gorgeous." I'm hoping she didn't know my wedding was on Friday, because otherwise, what a bitch.

On top of the visions of damp chiffon and sunless photos dancing in my head, yesterday Jeff was felled by a stomach bug, so I came to work today in a foul mood.

So what did I do? I went out for lunch and got a ginormous burger, fries, and a beer, and then I took a break to sing 20 minutes of karoke with Bryan. Balm for the soul, if not for the arteries ... or vocal chords.

Sorry, I know I'm boring. But don' t worry, I won't tell you about my dreams (except that they involved my leaving the gas on and killing a bunch of possums that somehow materialized in my apartment).

3 days ...

Monday, October 15, 2007

4 Days and Counting: Anxiety Dreams Turn Bloody

So last night I was super stressed out. I had two guests back out at the last minute, which set in motion a ridiculously complicated chain of events that necessitated shifting tables and redoing 30 place cards. Not that you care.

But anyway, it was midnight and I was wired with anxiety, so I took a Xanax, hoping it would help me sleep. Well.

I not only slept through my alarm (OK, in all honesty I turned it off, but I don't remember doing it), but I had a series of horrific dreams that all involved me being hunted by crazed killers weilding guns, knives, and blowtorches. One of the killers was, inexplicably (but hotly) Chris Noth. At one point someone poured gasoline on me and lit me on fire as I bounced on a trampoline.

I'm no psychologist, but that can't mean anything good. So goodbye, Xanax. Apparently you try to kill me in my sleep.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Just Kidding, we WILL be in the NY Times

Thank Jeebus! I was secretly so pissed that I wouldn't get to join the ranks of Charlotte York-Goldenblatt.


Wednesday, October 10, 2007

9 Days and Counting: The Anxiety Dreams Begin

Last night I dreamt (hey! keep reading!) that I cut off all my hair like, the day before the wedding. Also somehow I had to change into my wedding dress while I was walking down the aisle.

In other news I have not heard from the New York Times, so I guess we're not silver spoon-y enough to make the cut. Sigh. I guess we can't all have names like Chauncy von Rockefellstein III.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Go Ask Alice

Hey, do you like Alice Sebold? If so, check out my interview with her here.

If not, don't worry, I'll be back to my normal, bitchy content soon enough.

Alas, it is too late to ask her to do the wedding cake

Behold the handiwork of Beth (I would put her last name, but then potential employers might find this, and while the ability to painstakingly craft tiny penises out of marzipan, to me, is a very impressive skill, it's possible the big publishing honchos might not see it that way).

If you would like Beth to make you and yours a cake for any occasion, email me and I will force her to start her own business.

Monday, October 8, 2007

Bachelorette Bash

Harper's Index
October 8, 2007

Number of days until Una's wedding: 11
Number of bachelorette parties had in preparation: 1
Height of heels (in inches) of shoes purchased for said party: 4
Number of painful blisters sustained as a result of said heels: 3
Number of marzipan penises needed to spell out "UNA" on cake: 10
Number of feather boas worn by bride-to-be: 1
Number of penis-adorned headdresses worn by bride-to-be: 1
Number of dares prepared by bridesmaids and friends: 10
Number of dares completed by end of night: 1
Number of strippers hired for party: 1
Number of strippers who showed up at party: 2
Length (in inches) of one stripper's hair: 18
Number of guests attended to by strippers: 9
Number of guests who opted not to be groped by strange men: 2
Number of times bride-to-be was turned upside-down: 3
Number of shots bride-to-be needed in order to allow this: 4
Number of cupcakes consumed by strippers post-performance: 3
Number of minutes late getting to karaoke bar: 80
Number of steps fallen by bride-to-be in attempt to get to karaoke room: 12
Number of bruises sustained: 2
Number of ballads sung by bride-to-be: 4
Number of men who stripped to their underwear inside karaoke room: 1
Number of inches of water that flooded said room soon after: 3
Number of inebriated guests who noticed: 0

More details and photos to come. For now:


Tuesday, October 2, 2007


OK, srsly guise thz maks me laff so hard i'z peed.


I'm on deadline and two weeks away from my wedding, so forgive the lack of new posts. Also, just to warn you, this one isn't funny.

Last Thursday, as I was rushing to an appointment with my florist, I got a call from the salon where I'm getting my hair done for the wedding.

"I'm calling about your appointment on October 19," the caller said. "I have some bad news."

"Um?" I said (I think.)

"Francis passed away." she said. Francis is my hairstylist. Was my hairstylist. And he wasn't old.

"Oh my God!" I said.

"Yeah," the operator sounded emotional.

I wish I could have hung up and left it at that, but my craziness kicked before I could think about it.

"Um, do you have anyone ... else ... who could do my hair that day?" I felt awful, but in my defense I had only seen Francis twice, so while it's very sad it wasn't a great personal loss for me. And these things need to be figured out. Also, I guarantee, you tell a bride her own FATHER has died and she'll say "Who's going to walk me down the aisle then?"

Anyway, Francis was a sweet and lovely man, and I'm so sad that I won't get to see him again.

Monday, October 1, 2007

30 Rock Rocks My World

Is it impressive or sad that Jeff and I watched the entire first season of '30 Rock' in about six hours this weekend?

I'm gonna go with impressive.
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