Thursday, August 30, 2007

Censoring Sucks

So, if you're looking for an update to the wedding craziness, you'll have to check back in after September 3rd. At the request of my mother, I've removed the last two posts. Not to worry--both the posts and a third, update-to-the-update post, will be here after the wedding. My mom just didn't want anyone (relatives) finding my snarky commentary.

More to come.

UPDATE: the last two posts are back up. More info (and yes, craziness) tomorrow.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Wedding Craziness Update

Thanks so much to everyone who commented on my last post! You'll be unsurprised, I'm sure, to learn that there are already updates to the wedding craziness. Once again, we'll work up to the craziest story.

Update about Aunt Mary, the aunt who told my sister she would throw her a pool party, then asked Stacey to only invite her "closest" friends, creating an A-list and B-list of friends and out-of-town guests:
Monday, 6 days before the planned party, Aunt Mary's husband Allan, my dad's brother, called my parents to say that Mary was worried about being too sick to host the party. Mary suffers from chronic pain. There are days she doesn't leave her house or even her bed. This begs the question--
a) why did she offer to have to party in the first place?
b) couldn't Allan host the party?
After all, it's not like my sister and her friends need supervision. You buy some soda, beer, chips, and deli meat, set everything by the pool, and you're done. Is Allan incapable of going to the store? Apparently yes, because when my parents offered to buy the groceries, Allan and Mary suddenly had a change of heart. Well, if my parents could buy all the food, that would take a lot of pressure off of Mary. Uh huh. And some pressure off his wallet...

New story about Aunt Susie, my dad's sister:
Aunt Susie is married to Uncle Charlie. Charlie has had some medical problems recently--his heart isn't doing so great and he is supposed to be on oxygen (which he has refused). Apparently he went to see his doctor a few days ago. His doctor recommended he check into the hospital for tests because he might need surgery--OPEN-HEART SURGERY. Now, I'm no doctor, but that sounds kind of serious to me.
Charlie told his doctor that he couldn't check into the hospital because (get this) he had a wedding to attend. In 9 days. Now, maybe if it's your wedding you try and reschedule surgery. MAYBE if it's your kid's wedding you see how urgent the need for surgery is. But a niece? No. No! What is wrong with these people?

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Weddings Make People Crazy

As many of you know, my sister Stacey is getting married. In fact, she's getting married one week from today. My little sister! A wife! So strange. But, by far the strangest part of this whole experience is how people (i.e. relatives) act when there's a wedding in the family. It seems to make everyone crazy.

I'm the only one who got nicer. I spent 11 hours calligraphy-ing (?) the envelopes for my sister's invitations. I spent 4 hours calligraphy-ing (I'm going with this spelling as you know what it means) the place cards for all the the tables. Plus, I made necklaces for the bridal party and let's not forget about the cross-stitch wall hanging. But enough patting myself on the back--you want to hear about the assholes.

I'm not going to bother telling you about my 45 year-old cousin who has changed his mind about attending 5 times. Nor am I going to write about how the groom's boss decided that since his girlfriend wasn't coming (which my mom found out about accidentally--hello uneaten sit-down meal) he wasn't going to bother with the $89 hotel room, but just crash with the groom's other co-workers. No, no! We'll work up the ladder of craziness, starting with my aunt Mary.

My aunt Mary offered to host a pool party on the Saturday afternoon before the wedding. Great. Nice. In a rambling conversation, she told my sister that even though she knows Stacey only likes that "organic stuff" and that feeding her and her friends would cost a fortune, she'd be happy to do it. Ok. Great. Pool party.
So, my mom's friends are making hospitality bags for all the out-of-town guests. Tucked inside each of them is a sheet outlining the weekend's activities such as the rehearsal dinner, the brunch and the pool party. Fine. Except that Aunt Mary called Stacey yesterday to say that she really doesn't want all of the out-of-towners to come to the pool party, only Stacey's closest friends. Which means that my mom's friends need to make an A-list gift-bag insert and a B-list gift-bag insert. And hope they don't mix them up. And hope no one talks to the "B-listers" about the pool party.

Next up is my aunt Barbara. In general, I'm a big fan of Barbara's. She's very creative and crafty. She taught me how to knit and has helped me with more sewing projects than I can count. Plus, she's pretty loud and speaks her mind and I admire people who stick to their convictions. Hell, who have convictions. But--this time her convictions seem a little bizarre.
She offered to have a dinner on Friday night for all the out-of-town guests. Not to be confused with the rehearsal dinner on Saturday night that my sister's in-laws are hosting, this dinner is a casual affair of cold cuts and sliced bread. Aunt Barbara said that all of the out-of-towners were invited. All of the out-of-towners and no one else. The groom's sister who lives in town? Nope--not invited. Stacey finally convinced her that she would feel uncomfortable if I was invited but the groom's sister wasn't. Fine, but that's where Aunt Barbara drew the line. She informed my mother that neither my mom's mom nor my dad's mom were invited. What. The. Fuck. The bride's grandmothers? Not invited? These two old ladies who would probably eat two pieces of turkey between them are not invited because they live in town? My 89-year-old Bubbie is supposed to sit at home on Friday night while all her kids and grandkids gather together without her? How does this even make sense?

And now for the main attraction:
My Auntie Bettie, my Bubbie's sister (and dad's aunt) who lives in Minnesota, was invited to attend the wedding. We love Auntie Bettie. She's the great-aunt who smoked pot with my older cousins several years ago and who told me I needed to get married soon "for all the old ladies." Spunky and kooky, she's a lot of fun to be around and I was looking forward to seeing her. Over 80, Auntie Bettie wanted to take a guest as an escort to help her navigate the way. However, neither of her two sons could go, nor could her niece, Sue Anne. Sue Anne's son, Max, was recruited.
I don't know Max. None of my family in Kansas City does. But, if Auntie Bettie wanted to bring him, that was fine. Where does the craziness fit in, you ask? Well, it started when Auntie Bettie called my Bubbie to say that she'd no longer be attending the wedding. But Max would. Wait. What? No. You can't pick and choose like that. Max was invited as someone else's guest, not actually to the wedding. 20, Max lives in St. Louis and attends a "special" college. I don't know how slow he is, but apparently he's able to live somewhat independently. So, my mother called Max to explain that while she would love to meet him should he be in Kansas City, if he wasn't going to be escorting Auntie Bettie, she didn't think there would be room for him at the wedding. After all, no one's kids were invited. All of my dad's cousins were invited but none of their children--it might seem kind of odd if Max was there. But maybe they could all have lunch together in St. Louis sometime? Fine. My mom thought it was done. Until Sue Anne called my mom, crying. How dare my mom uninvite Max? Didn't she know how much he was looking forward to the wedding? Didn't she know that family was everything? My mom turned to her sister-in-laws for support. Aunt Barbara, the same woman who didn't want our grandmothers to come to a deli dinner said she wasn't going to tell my mom what she thought because she wanted to remain friendly with her. Again, what. the. fuck. Each guest would be invited to the Friday night dinner, the Saturday pool party (well, that was before we knew about the "A-list"), the rehearsal dinner, the sit-down dinner at the wedding on Sunday, and the Monday brunch. That is a lot of money for some random that no one knows.
Stacey stepped in. She called to Sue Anne to try and smooth things over. Sue Anne was even more hysterical talking to Stacey. Didn't Stacey know that Max was there as a representative of her family? That he would be the only one from the Minnesota side. Fine, Stacey told her, relenting. Stacey figured Sue Anne wanted Max to come much more than Stacey wanted to keep him out. Fine. Done. Until two days later when my mom received a note in the mail from Auntie Bettie saying that my mother's true colors were finally apparent and that it was obvious that even after 35 years, she didn't consider them family. Auntie Bettie addressed the note to "Eileen." My mother spells her name "Ileene."

What have I learned from all this crazy shit? Elope. Elope. Elope.

Friday, August 24, 2007

Virginity Underwear

Last night I went to dinner with a friend and Matt went to dinner with a friend. While I was waiting for him to get home, I changed out of my work clothes into a sexy pair of red, lacy underwear. You know, one of those frilly things that you don't actually wear for real, only change into, oh, about 10 minutes before you end up taking them off again?

As I'm not a big fan of lingerie, I probably own about 4 things matching this description. The particular pair of underwear I changed into, however, have historical context: they were the underwear I wore when I lost my virginity.

Is it weirder that I:

a) know the pair of underwear I was wearing when I lost my virginity?
b) still have underwear from 12 years ago?
c) can fit into underwear I wore when I was 18?

Monday, August 13, 2007

I'm Glad You're Home but I Wish You Were You

I don't go out anymore. It's kind of strange, since one of the primary reasons I moved to New York was to drink and dance and party. I kind of feel like I've grown out of it--it's not that fun, I feel like shit afterward, and I can't get anything done the next day. Plus, you know, I'm Old and practically married and living in Brooklyn.

But on Saturday I was bored. And pumped from a good workout at the gym. And alone all day since Matt went out with some friends. So I decided to end my 8 month self-imposed going-out hiatus and headed to my friend Amete's.

Vodka! The problem with making your own drinks is that you start thinking "it's free to drink here--I should have strong drinks so I don't need to drink at the bar." Ah, logic, you are a bitchy friend. We drank. We drank a lot. More and more people came over--at one point there were a dozen people in Amete's 450 square foot apt drinking, listening to music, and playing video games. At around midnight, we all headed downtown to some new club.

New club! Amete got us in for free! Music! Lights! Dancing! Oh God--so many lights. So much standing. And the music--so hard to hear anything or move at all or really do anything and all I wanted to do was sit down. I remember the cab ride home. I remember waking up at 8:22am. Matt filled me in on the rest.

"Hi Sweetie," I said as he oped his eyes.


"I don't feel terrible. Huh. I wish I wasn't up so early."

"How are you awake and not completely hungover?"

"I don't know."

"You were pretty out of it last night. I don't think I've ever seen you like that. Do you remember what happened?"

"Uh, no....What are you talking about?"

"You were wasted when you got home. You kept telling me that you hated me."


"Yeah. And when I tried to get you to brush your teeth and take out your contacts, you just laughed at me."

"For real?"

"And you wouldn't let me take off your clothes--you just kept being surly and telling me you hated me."

"Oh, Sweetie!" I laughed. "I'm so sorry! I don't hate you--why would I say that?"

"I don't know. It was weird. You were completely incomprehensible."

"Like purple rainbow lobster?"

"Yeah. At one point, I told you that 'I'm glad you're home, but I wish you were you.' "

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Rock of Love Rocks My World

My boyfriend Matt teases me about my reality-show viewing, mainly because I like to deny the fact that I watch reality tv. For a long time, I ranted and railed against the medium--why would people watch this? I cried. It's not real! Who are these people? I hate them! As reality show mania swept the nation, I scoffed at mainstays like Survivor and American Idol.

The show that broke me? Project Runway. It's a talent competition, I would explain, as a way to justify my love for / addiction to the show. But, oh my, it's talent and drama. It's fantastic. And when a friend told me about the wonders of Tyra Banks on America's Next Top Model, I was, once again, hooked.

My newest reality show find? Rock of Love. Seriously, Rock of Love rocks my world. It's the Best Show On TV. If you haven't watched it, head over to for recaps. Scroll down and start from the beginning. You won't be disappointed.

Not in the mood for recaps? Ok, here's the quickie summary of the show: Bret Michaels, Rocker and frontman of Poison, is looking for love. 25 women are sequestered in a ginormous party house vying for camera time and Bret's affection. What kind of woman would subject herself to this kind of show? Slutty, fake-boobed, tattooed, CRAZY women--in short, women who are awesome to watch on tv. Even Matt is hooked on this inked-up, silicone-infused trainwreck.

In addition to hours and hours of entertainment, Matt and I have also scored some great lines. Perhaps their sheer profoundity won't translate if you're not a viewer, but I'd like to share my favorite lines here:

1) As you know, I like to rock. (This is how Bret introduces a "rocking" challenge.)
2) Meat and no meat can't live in the same house together. (Bret's astute observation when the crazy PETA chick gets into a fight with the only black chick in the house.)
3) I like rock and I like country and that's why I wear this hat. (Rodeo's revelation. Rodeo is the mid-40s scary-buff fitness trainer who rarely appears without her cowboy hat.)

Who will win Rock of Love and Bret's heart? Heather, who swears she only started stripping to pay off her college debt? Erin, whose boobs are so massive the other girls call her "circus tits?" Jes or Sam, the only two girls who seem both fairly genuine and lacking implants (no)? I don't really care--I'm just amused by the fight.

Monday, August 06, 2007

Things Your Mom Shouldn't Say

Swearing was never a grand taboo when I was growing up. Sure, my parents didn't want me peppering my language with 'bad' words, and my dad said cursing was "unladylike," but my parents never punished me for swearing. How could they when they, my relatives, and even my Bubbie punctuated their conversations with curse words?

So, even though I've heard my mom swear, there are still certain things I never want to hear her say.

We were on the phone yesterday while she was scrolling through her email.

"Why do I have so many emails?" she asked, "I shouldn't have this many."

"Maybe they're spam," I suggested.

"Oh, look at this one--Do you want Fuck Buddy? O-kay."


"Do I want to enlarge my cock?"


Hearing her say 'fuck' is bad enough, but I don't need to hear my mom say 'cock' for any reason.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Bachlorette Parties Suck My Ass

So my sister's getting married. In 5 weeks. The past 9 months have all led up to a ceremony being held in 5 weeks. I've been dieting in preparation. Well, actually, I've been planning on dieting in anticipation. I have 9 months to lose 5 pounds! I have 8 months to lose 5 pounds! Um, now I have 5 weeks to lose 5 pounds! Hmmm. I'll work on that. During my last haircut my stylist left my hair longer so I can put it up at the damn wedding. I spent 7 months working on a cross-stitch wall hanging as a present. I did all the calligraphy for the invitations. I'm making necklaces for the wedding party.

But the most annoying part of this whole damn process? The bachlorette party.

My sister lives in St. Louis but because she lived here for 3 years, she has plenty of friends. Friends from social work school. Friends from the Jewish social service program she attended. Friends from the nutritional holistic health counseling course she attended.

I didn't need to worry about the penis-wielding, stripper-hassling, rabble-rousing traditional grossness of bachlorette parties. No, no! Thus far, the girls have suggested we celebrate by either watching two documentaries about Haitian flood victims and globalization at the Park Slope Food Co-Op, or attending an Afrokenetic dance party.

People! Documentaries! Food Co-Op! Afrokentic! No!

Those penises and strippers are looking better and better.