Yo yo yiggity yo....
Hey peeps... I know it's been a while... hope the past 6 months have found you all in good health and spirits. So, I know you are all wondering about the reason for my prolonged absence. As always, real life has a pesky way of getting in the way, but that's not the only reason I have to offer. Seems I've come to the proverbial fork in the road (so to speak)... You see, my story has been in the process of being converted from a novel to a screenplay. Can you believe it??? I mean, ME!!! In the movies....!!!!! It's a long and arduous process, and, as a result, my story has changed a tad bit. Don't worry... I'll get you up to speed... all in due time! In the meantime, there are words in a story that you just can't find in a script, and since these words might be ixnayed in the silver screen edition... I wanted to leave you with some of my famous last words from the book edition. They are my favorite quotes and contrary to popular belief, I think they hold a lot of wisdom. Thanks for checking in and stay tuned.... as Arnold would say... I'll be back!!! Cheers...
“There are few things on this earth that can make me cry.
The slow, drawn-out roll of a cello. A single, lonesome
strum of a guitar. A beautiful waltz. Seeing my uncle
crumble like a deck of cards.”
“There are different degrees of missing someone. You
can miss your girlfriend, when she has to work late one
night and is not there to take your phone call immediately
when you find yourself in the middle of some silly crisis.
You can miss your dad, who died too early in life but it’s
just something you’ve learned to live with. Or you can
miss the outline of your lover, lying next to you in bed
and caressing the trace of your palm like it was the most
natural thing in the world. And in that moment, I missed
Jack. I missed him so intensely and so acutely that it
actually hurt to breathe.”
“I brushed by him and ran down the stairs and out onto
the street. I gulped in the fresh air with huge breaths,
trying to stop my insides from collapsing . I didn’t know
where I was going and I didn’t know if Jack had followed
me outside or if he was yelling my name in vain. A part
of me was afraid to look back; both because I was afraid
he would be there and because I was afraid he wasn’t. I
just ran. I ran and ran, trying, I think, to outrun the
burden of my penance.”
“That’s it for now. Everything else is a work in progress.
One thing I’ve learned is that you take each day as it
comes, and when you least expect it, life usually
surprises you. And when things don’t work out the way
you planned, hold on tight and enjoy the ride. You just
don’t know what’s waiting for you around the corner.”
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Crazy Cowgirls
Howdy Cowboys and Cowgals,
Sorry about the hiatus... I was at a li'l old wedding down in Crawford, Texas this past weekend. I'd tell you more but the press has put a gag order on me... you figure it out. Here's a clue... I did get to arrive via Airforce One!!
So last I left off regaling you with tales of my western adventure I told you all about Bruce Walker, father of the bride and ex secretary of state. Bruce is quite the character if you can recall but I'll tell ya... his daughter, Daisy, is just as loony. I mean, I just didn't see the connection between Randy and Daisy in the beginning. Randy was a quiet, sweet Walmart manager whose true passion was dancing and Daisy was a true western "spitfire", at least that's what Tony, the chauffeur, told me. Among other things Tony told me was that Daisy used to have a thing with Luke Cassidy, great grandkid of Butch and a certified badass, not to mention outlaw. Luke got caught throwing rodeos and is now biding his time in the state penitentiary where, it is rumored, Daisy has been known to show up riding Spitfire, her horse. I told you cowboys really exist.
Anyway, suffice it to say that I wasn't seeing the draw of Daisy to Randy. Daisy liked to drink beer, belch in publc and take off for days at a time, unannounced, on Spitfire, to go pick flowers by the Rio Grande. And as far as I could see, the only thing Randy liked to do was to dance and stare at Daisy with a dreamy, whimsical look in his eye like he was a lovesick puppy. Randy was a super nice guy but, even though I hate to say it, he looked like sort of a wuss next to Daisy. Daisy exuded energy, not to mention a touch of mental instability, but in the end it turned out to be Daisy who taught me a thing or two about love. I can rant on and on at weddings about what makes a marriage tick, about what the secrets to sustaining love are, on the unique details of a relationship, but the truth of the matter is I don't practice what I preach. I don't swallow my own medicine. I don't listen to what I say... I merely craft the words. Well, Daisy changed all that for me. Even though Daisy was as different as night is to day from Randy, and even though she didn't love him exactly in the same way that he loved her, she did love him. As Daisy put it, "I might take off for three days on Spitfire but I'd always come back, eventually. I'd always come back. Now, aint that love?" And I have to ask, isn't it? It might be of an unconventional nature, it might require Randy to make more of a compromise or effort in the relationship than Daisy, but if it worked for them then who was I to argue?
And then I thought of Jack. My Jack. And I realized that I was nothing more than a coward. Daisy still retained who she was but still lived up to her honor and obligation... not that she owed anyone anything but she did love Randy, whereas I had runaway, literally, at the alter because I didn't want to risk anything for love. But that's just the thing I've learned, in matters of love, it is not only recommended but necessary to risk things, and that's what makes it all the sweeter in the end. As the saying goes, "nothing ventured, nothing gained" and I've come to learn firsthand that it's true.
Anyway, that's it for my western adventure in Jackson Hole. It still remains one of my top travel destinations and every time I go, I can't help but do a two step or twirl out on the dance floor. I must have a little cowgirl in me afterall, among other things. Oh, and you'll be happy to know that I earned a pair of spurs myself. Turns out I made quite an impression on Bruce Walker afterall. I mean, he is the one who hooked me up with the White House in the first place. That's it for now. To discover how else my feelings for Jack changed since JH, stay tuned. Although I can't promise when I'll write again, I can promise that I will (at some point). Until then... cheers.
Sorry about the hiatus... I was at a li'l old wedding down in Crawford, Texas this past weekend. I'd tell you more but the press has put a gag order on me... you figure it out. Here's a clue... I did get to arrive via Airforce One!!
So last I left off regaling you with tales of my western adventure I told you all about Bruce Walker, father of the bride and ex secretary of state. Bruce is quite the character if you can recall but I'll tell ya... his daughter, Daisy, is just as loony. I mean, I just didn't see the connection between Randy and Daisy in the beginning. Randy was a quiet, sweet Walmart manager whose true passion was dancing and Daisy was a true western "spitfire", at least that's what Tony, the chauffeur, told me. Among other things Tony told me was that Daisy used to have a thing with Luke Cassidy, great grandkid of Butch and a certified badass, not to mention outlaw. Luke got caught throwing rodeos and is now biding his time in the state penitentiary where, it is rumored, Daisy has been known to show up riding Spitfire, her horse. I told you cowboys really exist.
Anyway, suffice it to say that I wasn't seeing the draw of Daisy to Randy. Daisy liked to drink beer, belch in publc and take off for days at a time, unannounced, on Spitfire, to go pick flowers by the Rio Grande. And as far as I could see, the only thing Randy liked to do was to dance and stare at Daisy with a dreamy, whimsical look in his eye like he was a lovesick puppy. Randy was a super nice guy but, even though I hate to say it, he looked like sort of a wuss next to Daisy. Daisy exuded energy, not to mention a touch of mental instability, but in the end it turned out to be Daisy who taught me a thing or two about love. I can rant on and on at weddings about what makes a marriage tick, about what the secrets to sustaining love are, on the unique details of a relationship, but the truth of the matter is I don't practice what I preach. I don't swallow my own medicine. I don't listen to what I say... I merely craft the words. Well, Daisy changed all that for me. Even though Daisy was as different as night is to day from Randy, and even though she didn't love him exactly in the same way that he loved her, she did love him. As Daisy put it, "I might take off for three days on Spitfire but I'd always come back, eventually. I'd always come back. Now, aint that love?" And I have to ask, isn't it? It might be of an unconventional nature, it might require Randy to make more of a compromise or effort in the relationship than Daisy, but if it worked for them then who was I to argue?
And then I thought of Jack. My Jack. And I realized that I was nothing more than a coward. Daisy still retained who she was but still lived up to her honor and obligation... not that she owed anyone anything but she did love Randy, whereas I had runaway, literally, at the alter because I didn't want to risk anything for love. But that's just the thing I've learned, in matters of love, it is not only recommended but necessary to risk things, and that's what makes it all the sweeter in the end. As the saying goes, "nothing ventured, nothing gained" and I've come to learn firsthand that it's true.
Anyway, that's it for my western adventure in Jackson Hole. It still remains one of my top travel destinations and every time I go, I can't help but do a two step or twirl out on the dance floor. I must have a little cowgirl in me afterall, among other things. Oh, and you'll be happy to know that I earned a pair of spurs myself. Turns out I made quite an impression on Bruce Walker afterall. I mean, he is the one who hooked me up with the White House in the first place. That's it for now. To discover how else my feelings for Jack changed since JH, stay tuned. Although I can't promise when I'll write again, I can promise that I will (at some point). Until then... cheers.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Cowboys and Cuban Cigars
Yo Yo Yiggity Yo,
(Sorry... I just watched Juno. The dialogue is quite catchy). It's been a while. Blame it on (in no particular order) appendicitis, a birthday and a spa getaway with the girls. Anyway, back to the tangled spiderweb that is my life.
So last time I left off I was headed west to Jackson Hole to toast the nuptials of Randy and Daisy Walker. My first impression was that cowboys still exist in America. Jackson Hole is full of rodeo riding, smart talkin', swaggering men donning cowboy hats and boots WITH spurs. It's quite a sight. And no cowboy is larger than life than Bruce Walker, father of the bride and ex secretary of state, if you can believe that. Bruce Walker commands presence. You can hear his spurs jangle a mile away and when he comes into view, puffing away on his cuban cigars, you practically quake in your own boots.
Don't get me wrong... he's not a bad guy... jusst a little bit intimidating. Secret service men crawl around his ranch, aptly named The Homestead, and the walls are lined with stuffed heads of large animals that evidently he hunted himself. Now do you see what I mean by intimidating?? Huge heads of moose and bear surrounded me and looked at me like I had no business being there. And that's what I felt... particularly when, at dinner, Bruce and Daisy made jokes that the sirloin we were eating had names like Daisy and Bessie and were former residents of The Homestead. What can I say? I'm an east coaster; I didn't pick up on the wild west lingo or inside jokes at first glance. That was followed by Bruce's swift excusal from dinner because of a nine o'clock "appointment", which ended at ten with light, swift laughter trailing down the hallway and the secretive adieus behind closed doors.
But now things are different. Daisy and Bruce remain close friends of mine. I may be a lot of things but first and formost I'm irresistable. You can't help but not like me. Anyway, that's the 411 on Bruce Walker. Next entry I'll enlighten you on Daisy, which is a whole story unto itself. Jackson Hole remains a favorite travel destination of mine and isn't nice to know that I have FAMILY to stay with every time I blow into town. That's all for now. Tune in next time for more of my wacky west adventure. Until later... Cheers.
(Sorry... I just watched Juno. The dialogue is quite catchy). It's been a while. Blame it on (in no particular order) appendicitis, a birthday and a spa getaway with the girls. Anyway, back to the tangled spiderweb that is my life.
So last time I left off I was headed west to Jackson Hole to toast the nuptials of Randy and Daisy Walker. My first impression was that cowboys still exist in America. Jackson Hole is full of rodeo riding, smart talkin', swaggering men donning cowboy hats and boots WITH spurs. It's quite a sight. And no cowboy is larger than life than Bruce Walker, father of the bride and ex secretary of state, if you can believe that. Bruce Walker commands presence. You can hear his spurs jangle a mile away and when he comes into view, puffing away on his cuban cigars, you practically quake in your own boots.
Don't get me wrong... he's not a bad guy... jusst a little bit intimidating. Secret service men crawl around his ranch, aptly named The Homestead, and the walls are lined with stuffed heads of large animals that evidently he hunted himself. Now do you see what I mean by intimidating?? Huge heads of moose and bear surrounded me and looked at me like I had no business being there. And that's what I felt... particularly when, at dinner, Bruce and Daisy made jokes that the sirloin we were eating had names like Daisy and Bessie and were former residents of The Homestead. What can I say? I'm an east coaster; I didn't pick up on the wild west lingo or inside jokes at first glance. That was followed by Bruce's swift excusal from dinner because of a nine o'clock "appointment", which ended at ten with light, swift laughter trailing down the hallway and the secretive adieus behind closed doors.
But now things are different. Daisy and Bruce remain close friends of mine. I may be a lot of things but first and formost I'm irresistable. You can't help but not like me. Anyway, that's the 411 on Bruce Walker. Next entry I'll enlighten you on Daisy, which is a whole story unto itself. Jackson Hole remains a favorite travel destination of mine and isn't nice to know that I have FAMILY to stay with every time I blow into town. That's all for now. Tune in next time for more of my wacky west adventure. Until later... Cheers.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Western Bound
Hey Everybody,
I'm stuck in Witchita because of a weather delay. There are better places to be stuck than Witchita I suppose but I'm en route to Catalina so I guess I really can't complain.
So last time I left off telling you the tale that it is my complicated life I had just gotten fired, I was fighting with my mom and Dolly and Hor had gotten hitched. Things got infinitely better after that. The perpetual gray cloud that had taken residence in my head began to lift and believe it or not, I was looking forward to the prospect of toasting another wedding. Well, one day anyway. Problem was, there were no prospects on the horizon. Until Daisy Walker called.
Daisy called on a random Thursday afternoon in January. I had never met Daisy Walker before and had no idea who she was but she had a western twang that I found oddly charming and she was very persistent. Turns out Daisy was engaged to Randy Rhodes... the quiet, somewhat pathetic, cowboy I had met at Sam and Ella's wedding who was a friend of Dolly's. Dolly had told me at the time that Randy had had his heart broken over some vixen of a girl. Turns out that vixen was Daisy. Anyway, things seemed to have turned out inifinitely better for them after all. Anyway, yadda, yadda, yadda... Randy told Daisy about me and she called, hoping I might be able to fit them in for a February wedding. I wasn't the sought after "it" girl I am now (it was my pre-celebrity period) so I had no problem making room in my already empty schedule. It's not like I had a job to go to. So I accepted. Little did I know at that time that Randy and Daisy's wedding was going to have a profound affect on me. Not only did it catapult me into semi-celebrity stardom and kick off my career, but it affected me more than the other weddings in some ways. I began to change on the inside.
So just how did Daisy and Randy's wedding change me? To hear more about my adventures in Jackson Hole tune in next time. And you won't want to miss making the acquaintance of Bruce Walker, Daisy's dad. To this day, he is still, I think, the most eccentric character I've ever met, and I've met a few in my time... believe me. But until then... cheers
I'm stuck in Witchita because of a weather delay. There are better places to be stuck than Witchita I suppose but I'm en route to Catalina so I guess I really can't complain.
So last time I left off telling you the tale that it is my complicated life I had just gotten fired, I was fighting with my mom and Dolly and Hor had gotten hitched. Things got infinitely better after that. The perpetual gray cloud that had taken residence in my head began to lift and believe it or not, I was looking forward to the prospect of toasting another wedding. Well, one day anyway. Problem was, there were no prospects on the horizon. Until Daisy Walker called.
Daisy called on a random Thursday afternoon in January. I had never met Daisy Walker before and had no idea who she was but she had a western twang that I found oddly charming and she was very persistent. Turns out Daisy was engaged to Randy Rhodes... the quiet, somewhat pathetic, cowboy I had met at Sam and Ella's wedding who was a friend of Dolly's. Dolly had told me at the time that Randy had had his heart broken over some vixen of a girl. Turns out that vixen was Daisy. Anyway, things seemed to have turned out inifinitely better for them after all. Anyway, yadda, yadda, yadda... Randy told Daisy about me and she called, hoping I might be able to fit them in for a February wedding. I wasn't the sought after "it" girl I am now (it was my pre-celebrity period) so I had no problem making room in my already empty schedule. It's not like I had a job to go to. So I accepted. Little did I know at that time that Randy and Daisy's wedding was going to have a profound affect on me. Not only did it catapult me into semi-celebrity stardom and kick off my career, but it affected me more than the other weddings in some ways. I began to change on the inside.
So just how did Daisy and Randy's wedding change me? To hear more about my adventures in Jackson Hole tune in next time. And you won't want to miss making the acquaintance of Bruce Walker, Daisy's dad. To this day, he is still, I think, the most eccentric character I've ever met, and I've met a few in my time... believe me. But until then... cheers
Monday, March 31, 2008
Do It With Passion
Hey Guys and Gals,
Well, it's not April first yet and I managed to get another entry in before March comes to a close. Between jetting off to exotic locales (Jamaica, London, Aspen) and not so exotic locales(Cincinatti, Tacoma, Raleigh-Durham) and feeding my addiction to reality TV (Jabbawockeez won America's Best Dance Crew- Yahoo! And the new season of The Hills just kicked off!) I've barely had a moment to breathe. Sorry for the extended absence but hey, that's life.
Speaking of crazy schedules, dwindling hours in the day and a constant state of sleep deprivation (I only speak for myself but I know a lot of you out there can relate) does it ever make you wonder what the hell we're all doing? I mean, what's the point of it all if we can't find a moment to spare in our busy lives just to enjoy the moment, or better yet, something we really enjoy? Why do we wake up at some god awful hour every morning and go to sleep early each night just to go through the motions of another monotonous, overly stressful day? I don't know the answer either.. that's why I'm asking all of you, but it's something worth pondering.
One of the contestants on America's Best Dance Crew made a good point. She said, "If you're lucky enough to find a passion in life then stick with it. It's what makes life worth living." Seems like pretty good advice to me. So whether it's painting or cooking or dancing like a B-Boy... find SOMETHING you love and do it with passion. Our passions are what make life enjoyable and certainly not traffic jams or overtime or prickly bosses. Find something that can see you through to the other side. Then you just might be able to get through that dreaded 9:00 am meeting with dreaded clients a little bit easier. So let me know... what's YOU'RE passion? I'd love to hear your comments. I'm over and out for now. Until later... cheers
Well, it's not April first yet and I managed to get another entry in before March comes to a close. Between jetting off to exotic locales (Jamaica, London, Aspen) and not so exotic locales(Cincinatti, Tacoma, Raleigh-Durham) and feeding my addiction to reality TV (Jabbawockeez won America's Best Dance Crew- Yahoo! And the new season of The Hills just kicked off!) I've barely had a moment to breathe. Sorry for the extended absence but hey, that's life.
Speaking of crazy schedules, dwindling hours in the day and a constant state of sleep deprivation (I only speak for myself but I know a lot of you out there can relate) does it ever make you wonder what the hell we're all doing? I mean, what's the point of it all if we can't find a moment to spare in our busy lives just to enjoy the moment, or better yet, something we really enjoy? Why do we wake up at some god awful hour every morning and go to sleep early each night just to go through the motions of another monotonous, overly stressful day? I don't know the answer either.. that's why I'm asking all of you, but it's something worth pondering.
One of the contestants on America's Best Dance Crew made a good point. She said, "If you're lucky enough to find a passion in life then stick with it. It's what makes life worth living." Seems like pretty good advice to me. So whether it's painting or cooking or dancing like a B-Boy... find SOMETHING you love and do it with passion. Our passions are what make life enjoyable and certainly not traffic jams or overtime or prickly bosses. Find something that can see you through to the other side. Then you just might be able to get through that dreaded 9:00 am meeting with dreaded clients a little bit easier. So let me know... what's YOU'RE passion? I'd love to hear your comments. I'm over and out for now. Until later... cheers
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Unexpected Surprise
Hey Y'all,
I apologize for my skimpy presence as of late but hey, I told you I travel a lot. I had doubleheaders in San Diego and Toledo.... that's in Ohio, in case you didn't know. Anyway, S.D. was great, Toledo... well, let's just say there's not a whole lot to do.
Anyway, I know you're all DYING to know what happened to Uncle Hor. Last I told you, he had walked out in the middle of our Thanksgiving dinner at a chinese restaurant (is that an oxymoron or what?). It wasn't the greatest episode of my life. I got fired (I think I already told you that) and me and my mom were practically not even speaking. Anyway, long story short, on Christmas morning the doorbell rang (at an ungodly hour, I might add) and who was it but none other than Dolly and Hor. They had gotten hitched! And, believe it or not, on their ride home from Nashville (which coupled as their honeymoon) they made a pit stop in Sarasota (Uncle Hor had wanted to visit Clearwater since I told him abot my adventures) and ended up buying the unit next door to Morty and Addy! Now I'm offically related (sort of) to the Sarasota gang! It's funny how life turns out sometimes. You never know what's waiting around the corner. Until later... cheers
I apologize for my skimpy presence as of late but hey, I told you I travel a lot. I had doubleheaders in San Diego and Toledo.... that's in Ohio, in case you didn't know. Anyway, S.D. was great, Toledo... well, let's just say there's not a whole lot to do.
Anyway, I know you're all DYING to know what happened to Uncle Hor. Last I told you, he had walked out in the middle of our Thanksgiving dinner at a chinese restaurant (is that an oxymoron or what?). It wasn't the greatest episode of my life. I got fired (I think I already told you that) and me and my mom were practically not even speaking. Anyway, long story short, on Christmas morning the doorbell rang (at an ungodly hour, I might add) and who was it but none other than Dolly and Hor. They had gotten hitched! And, believe it or not, on their ride home from Nashville (which coupled as their honeymoon) they made a pit stop in Sarasota (Uncle Hor had wanted to visit Clearwater since I told him abot my adventures) and ended up buying the unit next door to Morty and Addy! Now I'm offically related (sort of) to the Sarasota gang! It's funny how life turns out sometimes. You never know what's waiting around the corner. Until later... cheers
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Truth in a Fortune Cookie
Hey People,
Well, I'm back and feeling groovy. And the best part is... it FINALLY stopped snowing in Beantown!! The sun has actually been out the last two days and the temp has actuallly creeped over freezing! Spring is coming my fellow New Englanders!
So I want to give a shout out to the lone reader who answered my plea for advice on whether I should tell Uncle Hor that I saw Dolly in Tennessee. Thanks hlr!! You'll be happy to know that I took your advice! It was Thanksgiving Day, no less, and I was sitting with Mom and Uncle Hor at the Duck Wok holiday brunch (we don't typically celebrate holidays the traditional way). Uncle Hor was eating hos chow lo mein, without a care in the world, and all of a sudden it hit me how pathetic he seemed. And I don't mean that in a bad or condescending way, only that his life could have been so much more than eating Thanksgiving dinner in a chinese restaurant with his niece and grand niece.
So I told him. I just blurted it out somewhere between the chow lo mein, the eggrolls and the crab rangoon (my personal favorite). I couldn't stand the possibility of what might of been looming over Uncle Hor, or over me. Sometimes a leap of faith is required. Nothing is gained without risk, so I risked my better judgment and Uncle Hor apparently risked his voracious appetite. He stood right up and walked out into the rain, without even cracking his fortune cookie, and we didn't hear from him for three weeks.
Needless to say, Mom was NOT happy with me but I thought Uncle Hor deserved to know. You can't go after what you want unless you know it's a possibility, otherwise, what the hell is the point? Anyway, that's all I got for tonight. If you want to find out how all of this translates and transpires, tune in next time. Until then... cheers
Well, I'm back and feeling groovy. And the best part is... it FINALLY stopped snowing in Beantown!! The sun has actually been out the last two days and the temp has actuallly creeped over freezing! Spring is coming my fellow New Englanders!
So I want to give a shout out to the lone reader who answered my plea for advice on whether I should tell Uncle Hor that I saw Dolly in Tennessee. Thanks hlr!! You'll be happy to know that I took your advice! It was Thanksgiving Day, no less, and I was sitting with Mom and Uncle Hor at the Duck Wok holiday brunch (we don't typically celebrate holidays the traditional way). Uncle Hor was eating hos chow lo mein, without a care in the world, and all of a sudden it hit me how pathetic he seemed. And I don't mean that in a bad or condescending way, only that his life could have been so much more than eating Thanksgiving dinner in a chinese restaurant with his niece and grand niece.
So I told him. I just blurted it out somewhere between the chow lo mein, the eggrolls and the crab rangoon (my personal favorite). I couldn't stand the possibility of what might of been looming over Uncle Hor, or over me. Sometimes a leap of faith is required. Nothing is gained without risk, so I risked my better judgment and Uncle Hor apparently risked his voracious appetite. He stood right up and walked out into the rain, without even cracking his fortune cookie, and we didn't hear from him for three weeks.
Needless to say, Mom was NOT happy with me but I thought Uncle Hor deserved to know. You can't go after what you want unless you know it's a possibility, otherwise, what the hell is the point? Anyway, that's all I got for tonight. If you want to find out how all of this translates and transpires, tune in next time. Until then... cheers
Saturday, March 1, 2008
How About Them Apples?
Hey Everyone,
Sorry I've been MIA as of late... I've been holed up with the flu. And as I am writing this, the greater Boston area is being pummeled with snow (yet again). Figures I don't have a wedding this week in some hot, exotic locale. I could really use a shot of sunshine right about now. It's times like these when I really envy Morty and Addy down there in Sarasota.
As for words of wisdom, I don't have a lot to say today.... blame it on a runny nose that just won't quit and a head that feels like it's going to spin around and explode. Though in one of my lucid moments, I did find an interesting article on yahoo. seems the new hot place to meet guys for all you single ladies out there is the Apple Store. Makes sense when you think about it... men do like toys and the ones hanging out in the Apple Store are usually smart. And rich. Or at least, not poor. Anyway, thought it was interesting enough to pass along to all you single ladies out there. Just don't forget who pointed you in the right direction. I'm always looking to build my client base. Until later... cheers.
Sorry I've been MIA as of late... I've been holed up with the flu. And as I am writing this, the greater Boston area is being pummeled with snow (yet again). Figures I don't have a wedding this week in some hot, exotic locale. I could really use a shot of sunshine right about now. It's times like these when I really envy Morty and Addy down there in Sarasota.
As for words of wisdom, I don't have a lot to say today.... blame it on a runny nose that just won't quit and a head that feels like it's going to spin around and explode. Though in one of my lucid moments, I did find an interesting article on yahoo. seems the new hot place to meet guys for all you single ladies out there is the Apple Store. Makes sense when you think about it... men do like toys and the ones hanging out in the Apple Store are usually smart. And rich. Or at least, not poor. Anyway, thought it was interesting enough to pass along to all you single ladies out there. Just don't forget who pointed you in the right direction. I'm always looking to build my client base. Until later... cheers.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Ghost from the past
Hey Guys and Dolls,
Well, it's Sunday and I always keep my word (except when someone asks if I'll marry them). So back to Sam and Ella's wedding. After I gave my (kickass) toast and the party started to die down (not that ANY party dies down when the Calhouns are present. They put the "hoot" in hootananny) a woman with tomato red hair (dyed, of course) and an ol' southern twang approached me and I almost fell off of my seat. The last time I had seen her was close to twenty years ago when she had broke Uncle Hor's heart. Yup... it was none other than Dolly herself. She had had her one hit wonder in Nashville and had been reduced to writing and performing commercial jingles.... which is how she came to be a guest at Sam Cartright's wedding. She had collaborated with him on a public service announcement to clean up the river and save the trout. Actually, it's a catchy little tune. Anyway, Dolly was as gracious as ever and actually it was good to see her. She was accompanied by a polite, solemn cowboy named Randy although strictly in the friendship capacity. Randy choreographed the commercial. Anyway, although it was great to see Dolly again, it sort of put me in a bit of a conundrum. So, I'm asking for all of your help again. Do I tell Uncle Hor, who had his heart broken by this woman two decades ago that I actually broke bread with her (so to speak) at a trailer park in Tennessee? Or do I let sleeping dogs lie and continue to let Uncle Hor live in ignorant bliss while he plays his harmonica in a band of seniors who practice in a garage and play pancake breakfasts at the local Knights of Columbus? Weigh in and let me know what you think. Until then... cheers
Well, it's Sunday and I always keep my word (except when someone asks if I'll marry them). So back to Sam and Ella's wedding. After I gave my (kickass) toast and the party started to die down (not that ANY party dies down when the Calhouns are present. They put the "hoot" in hootananny) a woman with tomato red hair (dyed, of course) and an ol' southern twang approached me and I almost fell off of my seat. The last time I had seen her was close to twenty years ago when she had broke Uncle Hor's heart. Yup... it was none other than Dolly herself. She had had her one hit wonder in Nashville and had been reduced to writing and performing commercial jingles.... which is how she came to be a guest at Sam Cartright's wedding. She had collaborated with him on a public service announcement to clean up the river and save the trout. Actually, it's a catchy little tune. Anyway, Dolly was as gracious as ever and actually it was good to see her. She was accompanied by a polite, solemn cowboy named Randy although strictly in the friendship capacity. Randy choreographed the commercial. Anyway, although it was great to see Dolly again, it sort of put me in a bit of a conundrum. So, I'm asking for all of your help again. Do I tell Uncle Hor, who had his heart broken by this woman two decades ago that I actually broke bread with her (so to speak) at a trailer park in Tennessee? Or do I let sleeping dogs lie and continue to let Uncle Hor live in ignorant bliss while he plays his harmonica in a band of seniors who practice in a garage and play pancake breakfasts at the local Knights of Columbus? Weigh in and let me know what you think. Until then... cheers
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Occupational Detour
Hey y'all,
Last post was one week ago today... VDay (or D Day as some might consider it). Hope all you lonely hearts out there survived. As for the delay in posting... my abundant apologies, but in my line of work, I'm not around much and believe it or not, not every place I travel to has wireless... as is the case in Bora Bora, where I just spent the last week and toasted the wedding of a retired entrepreneur and his MUCH younger fourth wife. Anyway, they wanted a destination wedding and as a result I got to spend a fabulous week in the tropics instead of the frozen tundra that is Boston, Massachusetts as of late.
But enough about entrepreneur guy (I'd tell you who it was but I had to sign a confidentiality agreement. Let me just put it this way.... ever heard of Apple?!). And Bora Bora isn't the only place without wireless. Turns out Shady Creek, Tennessee, home of Sam and Ella Cartright, doesn't have wireless either. Which is why I couldn't write my obits while I was there toasting their wedding. Which is why I got fired from the Hub. Yup... you heard me.... fired. I had no choice but to continue toasting weddings. As you now know, everything turned out great in the end but at that time, I was definately up the creek without a paddle. But you just never know how the universe works sometimes. Sometimes it's a necessary pre-requisite to go through all the bumps before you get to where you're really supposed to be. That's my take on it, anyway.
That's all I got for tonight but make sure you tune in tomorrow (or maybe Saturday... but DEFINATELY by Sunday). I have one more entry to delight you with on the topic of Sam and Ella's wedding, and believe me.... this one's a doozy. So make sure you tune in to see what I got to say. It's not to be missed! Until then... cheers
Last post was one week ago today... VDay (or D Day as some might consider it). Hope all you lonely hearts out there survived. As for the delay in posting... my abundant apologies, but in my line of work, I'm not around much and believe it or not, not every place I travel to has wireless... as is the case in Bora Bora, where I just spent the last week and toasted the wedding of a retired entrepreneur and his MUCH younger fourth wife. Anyway, they wanted a destination wedding and as a result I got to spend a fabulous week in the tropics instead of the frozen tundra that is Boston, Massachusetts as of late.
But enough about entrepreneur guy (I'd tell you who it was but I had to sign a confidentiality agreement. Let me just put it this way.... ever heard of Apple?!). And Bora Bora isn't the only place without wireless. Turns out Shady Creek, Tennessee, home of Sam and Ella Cartright, doesn't have wireless either. Which is why I couldn't write my obits while I was there toasting their wedding. Which is why I got fired from the Hub. Yup... you heard me.... fired. I had no choice but to continue toasting weddings. As you now know, everything turned out great in the end but at that time, I was definately up the creek without a paddle. But you just never know how the universe works sometimes. Sometimes it's a necessary pre-requisite to go through all the bumps before you get to where you're really supposed to be. That's my take on it, anyway.
That's all I got for tonight but make sure you tune in tomorrow (or maybe Saturday... but DEFINATELY by Sunday). I have one more entry to delight you with on the topic of Sam and Ella's wedding, and believe me.... this one's a doozy. So make sure you tune in to see what I got to say. It's not to be missed! Until then... cheers
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Happy V-Day
Hey peeps,
So, it's Valentines's Day. A day filled with red roses, candied hearts and more chocolate than I could possibly imagine consuming. For lovers, it's a day to celebrate; for thirteen year olds- a day filled with the promise of a kiss or the growing pains of unrequited love (sigh... remember THOSE days); and for the single, well, it's either a day of crushing despair or liberating freedom.
So where do you weigh in? As for me, I'll continue to celebrate my freedom. I get enough romance 365 days of the year. I've frequented more weddings than the Wedding Crashers and I've done my share of celebrating romance, even when it doesn't apply to me. Actually, I think I deserve some sort of medal or something. Anyway, today is just like any other day to me (well, in my line of work, nor exactly) and I'm cool with that. I'll leave Cupid to the lovers, the dreamers, the romantics and the seventh graders passing love notes in the hallway. I'm content sharing a rare night at home, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and watching America's Best Dance Crew (GREAT show if you haven't caught it... Thursday nights at 10:00 on MTV. I have a penchant for MTV reality shows... it's a guilty pleasure). But wherever and however you celebrate today... I wish you well. Until later... cheers
So, it's Valentines's Day. A day filled with red roses, candied hearts and more chocolate than I could possibly imagine consuming. For lovers, it's a day to celebrate; for thirteen year olds- a day filled with the promise of a kiss or the growing pains of unrequited love (sigh... remember THOSE days); and for the single, well, it's either a day of crushing despair or liberating freedom.
So where do you weigh in? As for me, I'll continue to celebrate my freedom. I get enough romance 365 days of the year. I've frequented more weddings than the Wedding Crashers and I've done my share of celebrating romance, even when it doesn't apply to me. Actually, I think I deserve some sort of medal or something. Anyway, today is just like any other day to me (well, in my line of work, nor exactly) and I'm cool with that. I'll leave Cupid to the lovers, the dreamers, the romantics and the seventh graders passing love notes in the hallway. I'm content sharing a rare night at home, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and watching America's Best Dance Crew (GREAT show if you haven't caught it... Thursday nights at 10:00 on MTV. I have a penchant for MTV reality shows... it's a guilty pleasure). But wherever and however you celebrate today... I wish you well. Until later... cheers
Friday, February 8, 2008
Southern Hospitality
Hey Y'all,
So, I'm over the Superbowl loss. I've had time to mourn and, hey, I even won $125 bucks from Uncle Hor. Things are definitely looking up.
So last time I left off on the story of my past, which was a few blog entries ago (I tend to deviate a lot), I told you how I had met Cruise Cartwright at Morty and Addy's wedding, and how I ended up in a trailer park in Tennessee. Sometimes you just don't know where life is going to take you. Anyway, I learned a lot during my time slumming it (J.K.- that was rude). First off, I learned how to use a digital camera, and I turned into a damn good photographer while I was at it. Second, I learned that you can squeeze a lot of stuff into 200 square feet of space; including a couch/lumpy bed, a microwave and a pseudo kitchen table. Lesson people; less is ALWAYS more. So clear our you closets and drawers and downsize for the good of the environment and your own sanity (that was my green plug for the day). I also learned that Tennessee breeds some of the best "herbal refreshment" around... not that I'd know form personal experience.... only that Uncle Huey makes quite a pretty penny from it. It enabled him to buy a whole three cases of Coors from the local convenient store for Sam and Ella's nuptials. But besides that, I learned that love can happen anywhere... even in a trailer park in Tennessee.
When I first met Sam and Ella, I thought Sam just wanted Ella's hot body and I thought Ella was definately a golddigger, and who could blame her... if I grew up in a trailer park, I'd want the easiest exit out, too. But then I began to see things that people in love just can't fake. Like, I'd see Sam unknowingly put his hand on Ella's shoulders and tickle them like he was speaking his own language. I'd see Ella look with wonder as Sam conducted a water test on the river and revel in the fact that, in their own way, they were trying to make the world a better place. I saw Ella make Sam eggs and bacon evey morning at 6:00 am because she wanted to. I'd hear the bed frame shake more nights than I care to count. And pretty soon I figured out that Sam and Ella were the real thing. There's no rhyme or reason to how love works and it certainly doesn't recognize geographical or socioeconomic boundaries. The best we can do is to recognize it when we see it and hold on tight and never let it go.
Or, at least, that's the way I see it as it applies to Sam and Ella, and the rest of the couples I've toasted. As for me personally, I'm happy being single, indpendent and in charge of my own check book (for now). Stay tuned to see if and when my own warped view on love changes. Until then.... cheers
So, I'm over the Superbowl loss. I've had time to mourn and, hey, I even won $125 bucks from Uncle Hor. Things are definitely looking up.
So last time I left off on the story of my past, which was a few blog entries ago (I tend to deviate a lot), I told you how I had met Cruise Cartwright at Morty and Addy's wedding, and how I ended up in a trailer park in Tennessee. Sometimes you just don't know where life is going to take you. Anyway, I learned a lot during my time slumming it (J.K.- that was rude). First off, I learned how to use a digital camera, and I turned into a damn good photographer while I was at it. Second, I learned that you can squeeze a lot of stuff into 200 square feet of space; including a couch/lumpy bed, a microwave and a pseudo kitchen table. Lesson people; less is ALWAYS more. So clear our you closets and drawers and downsize for the good of the environment and your own sanity (that was my green plug for the day). I also learned that Tennessee breeds some of the best "herbal refreshment" around... not that I'd know form personal experience.... only that Uncle Huey makes quite a pretty penny from it. It enabled him to buy a whole three cases of Coors from the local convenient store for Sam and Ella's nuptials. But besides that, I learned that love can happen anywhere... even in a trailer park in Tennessee.
When I first met Sam and Ella, I thought Sam just wanted Ella's hot body and I thought Ella was definately a golddigger, and who could blame her... if I grew up in a trailer park, I'd want the easiest exit out, too. But then I began to see things that people in love just can't fake. Like, I'd see Sam unknowingly put his hand on Ella's shoulders and tickle them like he was speaking his own language. I'd see Ella look with wonder as Sam conducted a water test on the river and revel in the fact that, in their own way, they were trying to make the world a better place. I saw Ella make Sam eggs and bacon evey morning at 6:00 am because she wanted to. I'd hear the bed frame shake more nights than I care to count. And pretty soon I figured out that Sam and Ella were the real thing. There's no rhyme or reason to how love works and it certainly doesn't recognize geographical or socioeconomic boundaries. The best we can do is to recognize it when we see it and hold on tight and never let it go.
Or, at least, that's the way I see it as it applies to Sam and Ella, and the rest of the couples I've toasted. As for me personally, I'm happy being single, indpendent and in charge of my own check book (for now). Stay tuned to see if and when my own warped view on love changes. Until then.... cheers
Monday, February 4, 2008
A Loss Observed
Hey Everyone,
In observance of the fall of the mighty Patriots, there will be no blog tonight (except for this blurb). I have much to tell about my weekend in Phoenix but I'm just not in the mood now. There is NOTHING more depressing than having to endure the utter bliss of drunk Giants fans at a wedding when your own beloved boys have fallen.
Anyway, that's it for tonight. Check out the cool link I added if you need something to lift your spirits. As for me, there is a bottle of pinot in the fridge with my name all over it. Stay strong New England. Until later... cheers
In observance of the fall of the mighty Patriots, there will be no blog tonight (except for this blurb). I have much to tell about my weekend in Phoenix but I'm just not in the mood now. There is NOTHING more depressing than having to endure the utter bliss of drunk Giants fans at a wedding when your own beloved boys have fallen.
Anyway, that's it for tonight. Check out the cool link I added if you need something to lift your spirits. As for me, there is a bottle of pinot in the fridge with my name all over it. Stay strong New England. Until later... cheers
Friday, February 1, 2008
Deviation Modified
Hey Guys and Gals,
Thanks for stopping by and a special shoutout to Anonymous who submitted his song... Good Things by the BoDeans which is a GOOD tune. Snaps to Anonymous and thanks for pointing out my faux-paus. Frequent flying can diminsh your mental acuity. And besides, all those New York teams are alike, anyway. At any rate, it's been corrected in the entry. So if you're reading this and have no idea what I'm talking about... phew!
So let's rewind a few blog entries and a few hundred weddings. How is it that I got from Morty and Addy's wedding to the wedding of a Cuban conquistador and his concubine? What could these two couples POSSIBLY have in common? The short answer is Cruise Cartwright. Well, sort of... in an indirect, not really related, roundabout way, but Cruise Cartwright ended up being my next client (sort of) which enabled this chain of events to ensue.
Let me start over.... so there I was after the toast at Morty and Addy's wedding. The Sarasota gang were drinking heavily, Morty and Addy were dancing cheek to cheek in the corner, oblivious to the world, and the rest of the guests were doing the Electric Slide. I was surveying the scene, enjoying a glass of wine when an eccentric, slick middle-elderly aged gent wearing a houndstooth suit saunters up to me, wanting to make my aquaintance. I had sort of sensed him watching me all night and it sort of gave me the creeps, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. Cruise Cartwright, head hauncho of Southern Grass Tobacco Company down in Charleston (and multimillionaire to boot) hires me to toast the wedding of his son and his bride-to-be.
But there are complications. Many, many complications. First one being; Cruise Cartwright hasn't talked to his son, Sam, in over a year. Seems young, idealistic Sam had better aspirations for himself than being groomed for the family business and making a mill a year (at least it's more than a kilo- Yikes! It still sounds funny.) Turns out young, idealistic Sam moved to Tennessee to clean up the mighty Tennessee River and save the TROUT. And not only does he live in backcountry Tennessee, but he lives in a trailer park. A TRAILER PARK! I'de be a fool's imbecil if I picked a trailer park over a million plus a year, but hey, I'm liberal. To each his own. Anyway, before I knew it, I was on my way down to ol' Tennessee, to toast the wedding of a chain-smoking, multimillionaire's son who wants to save the trout. Life can't get much stranger. But in fact it does... get stranger, I mean. Turns out I'm hired undercover. Cruise doesn't want his son to know he hired me as a gift to him, because of the rift and everything, and at this point I'm afraid to argue because I'm pretty sure Cruise is involved in organized crime in some manner. Anyway, I sign on to go undercover as a reporter from the Tennessee Tribune, hired to visually preserve the days leading up to, as well as the day of, the nuptials of Sam Cartwright, independent warrior out to save the river and his lovely, young bride. Things that wouldn't be big news up here evidently are big news in places like backcountry Tennessee.
To sum up, I was freaking. I didn't know a thing about photography, much less digital cameras and I was pretty sure that if I didn't learn how to use the expensive piece of technology bestowed on me, one of my limbs would be cut off. Not to mention my accommodations would be a trailer for a week, but like I said before, I never compromise the integrity of words for anything.
So I took it. I accepted the gig. Trailer park and all. I upped my price to two thou at this point and besides sleeping on a lumpy couch, it seemed like easy money. Boy, was I wrong. About a lot of things. To hear more about my time at Shady Creek (that's the trailer park), tune in next week. As for me, I'm off to the Superbowl, peeps! Wish me well! Until then... cheers.
Thanks for stopping by and a special shoutout to Anonymous who submitted his song... Good Things by the BoDeans which is a GOOD tune. Snaps to Anonymous and thanks for pointing out my faux-paus. Frequent flying can diminsh your mental acuity. And besides, all those New York teams are alike, anyway. At any rate, it's been corrected in the entry. So if you're reading this and have no idea what I'm talking about... phew!
So let's rewind a few blog entries and a few hundred weddings. How is it that I got from Morty and Addy's wedding to the wedding of a Cuban conquistador and his concubine? What could these two couples POSSIBLY have in common? The short answer is Cruise Cartwright. Well, sort of... in an indirect, not really related, roundabout way, but Cruise Cartwright ended up being my next client (sort of) which enabled this chain of events to ensue.
Let me start over.... so there I was after the toast at Morty and Addy's wedding. The Sarasota gang were drinking heavily, Morty and Addy were dancing cheek to cheek in the corner, oblivious to the world, and the rest of the guests were doing the Electric Slide. I was surveying the scene, enjoying a glass of wine when an eccentric, slick middle-elderly aged gent wearing a houndstooth suit saunters up to me, wanting to make my aquaintance. I had sort of sensed him watching me all night and it sort of gave me the creeps, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. Cruise Cartwright, head hauncho of Southern Grass Tobacco Company down in Charleston (and multimillionaire to boot) hires me to toast the wedding of his son and his bride-to-be.
But there are complications. Many, many complications. First one being; Cruise Cartwright hasn't talked to his son, Sam, in over a year. Seems young, idealistic Sam had better aspirations for himself than being groomed for the family business and making a mill a year (at least it's more than a kilo- Yikes! It still sounds funny.) Turns out young, idealistic Sam moved to Tennessee to clean up the mighty Tennessee River and save the TROUT. And not only does he live in backcountry Tennessee, but he lives in a trailer park. A TRAILER PARK! I'de be a fool's imbecil if I picked a trailer park over a million plus a year, but hey, I'm liberal. To each his own. Anyway, before I knew it, I was on my way down to ol' Tennessee, to toast the wedding of a chain-smoking, multimillionaire's son who wants to save the trout. Life can't get much stranger. But in fact it does... get stranger, I mean. Turns out I'm hired undercover. Cruise doesn't want his son to know he hired me as a gift to him, because of the rift and everything, and at this point I'm afraid to argue because I'm pretty sure Cruise is involved in organized crime in some manner. Anyway, I sign on to go undercover as a reporter from the Tennessee Tribune, hired to visually preserve the days leading up to, as well as the day of, the nuptials of Sam Cartwright, independent warrior out to save the river and his lovely, young bride. Things that wouldn't be big news up here evidently are big news in places like backcountry Tennessee.
To sum up, I was freaking. I didn't know a thing about photography, much less digital cameras and I was pretty sure that if I didn't learn how to use the expensive piece of technology bestowed on me, one of my limbs would be cut off. Not to mention my accommodations would be a trailer for a week, but like I said before, I never compromise the integrity of words for anything.
So I took it. I accepted the gig. Trailer park and all. I upped my price to two thou at this point and besides sleeping on a lumpy couch, it seemed like easy money. Boy, was I wrong. About a lot of things. To hear more about my time at Shady Creek (that's the trailer park), tune in next week. As for me, I'm off to the Superbowl, peeps! Wish me well! Until then... cheers.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Stateside
Hey Everyone,
Well I'm back stateside. Just a quick layover at home (isn't it sad when home starts to be considered a layover?) before I head off to Phoenix to toast yet another wedding. But can anyone say SUPERBOWL!!!! Yup, I'll be lucky enough to be gracing the stands in the VIP section during America's Favorite Sunday. As Morty would say, the timing is serendipitous. Just one of the perks of my job. The father of the bride is actually the owner of the Giants but fear not, fellow Bostonians and hearty New Englanders, I know where my loyalty lies. GO PATS!!!! I am from Boston and as a sports town, Boston rules. And besides, Tom Brady is pretty hot.
Anyway, Cuba was a blast, the toast a success, yadda, yadda, yadda,... lots of hot salsa dancers in Cuba, but at this point, all my weddings tend to be the same. It was the beginning of this whole strange trip that's much more interesting. Everything since, including Cuba, is just the byproduct of the beginning. So how did I end up going from a one shot gig at a retirement home in Florida to jetsetting to communist countries and other exotic locales globally? What happened between point A and point Z? Like I've said before, a story is a slow unfolding and I don't intend to rush. Read on and all will be revealed in due time (starting tomorrow).
In the meantime, I have to admit I'm a little disappointed. I haven't gotten one song from a one of you! You are all forcing me to entertain notions that the one song you would pick is some pathetic Milli Vanilli song. Is that really the music heritage you want to inherit?! Anyway, even though my call went unheeded, I'll just keep on keepin' on. I'm not discouraged easily. Until later... cheers
Well I'm back stateside. Just a quick layover at home (isn't it sad when home starts to be considered a layover?) before I head off to Phoenix to toast yet another wedding. But can anyone say SUPERBOWL!!!! Yup, I'll be lucky enough to be gracing the stands in the VIP section during America's Favorite Sunday. As Morty would say, the timing is serendipitous. Just one of the perks of my job. The father of the bride is actually the owner of the Giants but fear not, fellow Bostonians and hearty New Englanders, I know where my loyalty lies. GO PATS!!!! I am from Boston and as a sports town, Boston rules. And besides, Tom Brady is pretty hot.
Anyway, Cuba was a blast, the toast a success, yadda, yadda, yadda,... lots of hot salsa dancers in Cuba, but at this point, all my weddings tend to be the same. It was the beginning of this whole strange trip that's much more interesting. Everything since, including Cuba, is just the byproduct of the beginning. So how did I end up going from a one shot gig at a retirement home in Florida to jetsetting to communist countries and other exotic locales globally? What happened between point A and point Z? Like I've said before, a story is a slow unfolding and I don't intend to rush. Read on and all will be revealed in due time (starting tomorrow).
In the meantime, I have to admit I'm a little disappointed. I haven't gotten one song from a one of you! You are all forcing me to entertain notions that the one song you would pick is some pathetic Milli Vanilli song. Is that really the music heritage you want to inherit?! Anyway, even though my call went unheeded, I'll just keep on keepin' on. I'm not discouraged easily. Until later... cheers
Monday, January 28, 2008
America's Brothel
Ola Signores and Senioritas,
Greetings from Cuba. Been having a fab time living it up in old Havana. I've been frequenting Hemingway's old haunts, like the Floridita Bar and Bodeguita del Medio where the old man himself was known to throw a few back. Fabulous mojitos. I highly suggest you check out these watering holes if you ever find yourself in this communist corner of the world. Did you know Cuba was nicknamed "America's Brothel" in the twenties? It was "THE" place for old, staunchy, rich Americans to come party. Seems like communism is becoming quite en vogue. Anyway, Havana has certainly lived up to its name and its reputation, despite being communist. It's filled with hot, sultry air, seductive music, orgasmic dining experiences and libidinous salsa dancers. Not a bad place to spend a week in the dead of winter, particularly if you're from Boston. Like I've said before, our winters can really suck so its nice to be able to escape to someplace warm.
Anyway, it hasn't been all idleness and leisure. This is a business trip, afterall. I'm here to toast trhe wedding of a Cuban conquistador and his concubine, if you can believe that. Not only is this country communist, but it's also incredibly sexist. And I do have an issue or two with a groom who kills bulls for a living. I can't help it. I like animals. I mean, I'd have no problem staking a bull if it was coming at you out of nowhere and it was your only chance of survival, but to do it in an arena, for sport... it sort of gives me the heebie jeebies. Oh, well. Who am I to judge? They do things differently here. They might not approve of my shoe fetish.
Anyway, a job's a job and I'm getting paid handsomely for services rendered. The language barrier has been a problem, however. This is the first time a translator has had to shadow me while I work. Most international couples I toast speak English but I guess in Cuba they're still holding a grudge. Anyway, it's sort of annoying but I don't let it get to me. I mean, it's sort of hard to have an unpleasant time when you're in a place nicknamed America's Brothel.
That's it for tonight. Thanks to everyone who voted... not a bad turnout! But please see last night's post and do as I ask. Tell me your songs, people! Would you really have me think that given one song, you'd play some crappy one? Prove and redeem yourselves!! Until I return stateside... cheers
Greetings from Cuba. Been having a fab time living it up in old Havana. I've been frequenting Hemingway's old haunts, like the Floridita Bar and Bodeguita del Medio where the old man himself was known to throw a few back. Fabulous mojitos. I highly suggest you check out these watering holes if you ever find yourself in this communist corner of the world. Did you know Cuba was nicknamed "America's Brothel" in the twenties? It was "THE" place for old, staunchy, rich Americans to come party. Seems like communism is becoming quite en vogue. Anyway, Havana has certainly lived up to its name and its reputation, despite being communist. It's filled with hot, sultry air, seductive music, orgasmic dining experiences and libidinous salsa dancers. Not a bad place to spend a week in the dead of winter, particularly if you're from Boston. Like I've said before, our winters can really suck so its nice to be able to escape to someplace warm.
Anyway, it hasn't been all idleness and leisure. This is a business trip, afterall. I'm here to toast trhe wedding of a Cuban conquistador and his concubine, if you can believe that. Not only is this country communist, but it's also incredibly sexist. And I do have an issue or two with a groom who kills bulls for a living. I can't help it. I like animals. I mean, I'd have no problem staking a bull if it was coming at you out of nowhere and it was your only chance of survival, but to do it in an arena, for sport... it sort of gives me the heebie jeebies. Oh, well. Who am I to judge? They do things differently here. They might not approve of my shoe fetish.
Anyway, a job's a job and I'm getting paid handsomely for services rendered. The language barrier has been a problem, however. This is the first time a translator has had to shadow me while I work. Most international couples I toast speak English but I guess in Cuba they're still holding a grudge. Anyway, it's sort of annoying but I don't let it get to me. I mean, it's sort of hard to have an unpleasant time when you're in a place nicknamed America's Brothel.
That's it for tonight. Thanks to everyone who voted... not a bad turnout! But please see last night's post and do as I ask. Tell me your songs, people! Would you really have me think that given one song, you'd play some crappy one? Prove and redeem yourselves!! Until I return stateside... cheers
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Eagle Has Landed (Finally)
Hey Chicas and Chicos,
VERY short post tonight.... I mean it this time. I'm exhausted. I just arrived at my hotel in Havana after about 76 transfers. One of the conditions in my contract that I have my clients sign is that I always travel by first class and direct flights whenever possible. However being that Cuba is communist and all, I had to make an allowance this time. No direct flights to Cuba from the good ol' US of A, unless of course you're approved by the US Treasury Department. But they only approve journalists or diplomats or anyone going for good of country so since I'm here solely for my own financial gain, I had to make my grand entrance via Canada (by way of Akron, Little Rock and Cedar Rapids). Oh, well.... all in the name of love (and a fat paycheck). Havana seems like a pretty cool town, though. Check out the link to explore all things Cuba.
That's it for tonight. My head is literally about to hit the pillow. But thanks again for all your votes. Didn't quite make the 100 mark but that's ok; I can live with it. I just gotta up my game. Check out my complete profile if you haven't already and see my random question. It's a thought provoking one (at least I think so, anyway) but a fun one. So what would your song be? Send in your song via comments. I'm interested to know... truly. Music can say a lot about a person. My song would be Beast of Burden by the Stones, hands down. I don't know why... it just is. So let me know what yours is. I bet we could put together one funky soundtrack with all our picks. Until then... cheers
VERY short post tonight.... I mean it this time. I'm exhausted. I just arrived at my hotel in Havana after about 76 transfers. One of the conditions in my contract that I have my clients sign is that I always travel by first class and direct flights whenever possible. However being that Cuba is communist and all, I had to make an allowance this time. No direct flights to Cuba from the good ol' US of A, unless of course you're approved by the US Treasury Department. But they only approve journalists or diplomats or anyone going for good of country so since I'm here solely for my own financial gain, I had to make my grand entrance via Canada (by way of Akron, Little Rock and Cedar Rapids). Oh, well.... all in the name of love (and a fat paycheck). Havana seems like a pretty cool town, though. Check out the link to explore all things Cuba.
That's it for tonight. My head is literally about to hit the pillow. But thanks again for all your votes. Didn't quite make the 100 mark but that's ok; I can live with it. I just gotta up my game. Check out my complete profile if you haven't already and see my random question. It's a thought provoking one (at least I think so, anyway) but a fun one. So what would your song be? Send in your song via comments. I'm interested to know... truly. Music can say a lot about a person. My song would be Beast of Burden by the Stones, hands down. I don't know why... it just is. So let me know what yours is. I bet we could put together one funky soundtrack with all our picks. Until then... cheers
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thoughts on Juno
Hey Guys and Gals,
Short post tonight. I thought I'd let you all off the hook after that novelish post last night, but whoever said that that the sum of a person's life can be reduced to a page, especially when it comes to the good stuff? Besides, I'm headed off to Havana to toast a wedding, and getting there is going to be a bitch, given that they are a communist country and all. I have about 5,000 layovers. It is sort of a benchmark for me, though. Now I know I've made it big, seeing that I've broken into the communist market. Castro must not be such a bad guy afterall. Anyway, more on my adventures in Cuba in a different post... I haven't even gotten there yet. Anyway, back to the topic at hand... tonight's post will be short but no less riveting or rewarding.
First off, congrats to Ellen Page for an oscar nod for her performance as Juno! Any newbie that can play a role with such raw honesty and vulnerability deserves the statue, hands down. And any newbie screenwriter that can write a script with such wit, humor, cutting, edgy sarcasm and blatant honesty deserves a piece of rock, too. Not that I know what it's like to be a pregnant teenager or anything, but I can imagine. Anyway, if you haven't seen the movie yet, I suggest you put it first on your list of priorities. And check out the link, www.junoverse.com for your dose of everything Juno. It's a transcendental experience... trust me.
Speaking of Juno, there are two quotes from the movie I really like. First quote: when Juno says, "I know you usually fall in love before conception but I guess normalcy really isn't our thing." When you think about it, those words speak so much truth. There is no formula or fixed definition for love. There are all different types, all different conventions and all different relationships. There's interracial, interage, intergender and interclass. Whose to say what relationship is "normal?" That's the beauty of love... everyone has their own unique story. I mean, how boring would it be if it was all, like Stepford Love? So, I don't think normalcy should be anyone's thing. Live, love and be happy. It makes life exponentially more interesting.
Second quote which bears repeating: "You need to find one person who loves you for exactly who you are... when your happy, sad, a bitch... because they'll always think the sun comes out of your ass." Isn't it true? That's all anyone really wants, and it's not too much too ask for. Someone who will always think that the sun comes out of your ass... even when you're a bitch. Out of the mouths of babes; in layman's (if not vulgar) terms. But it's true. Number one rule about love that I've discovered in my line of work... you need to be able to be yourself, whatever your mood, and trust that your partner will be there in the morning, ready to wipe the slate clean and forgive you your humanness and shortcomings. We're all human. We all have faults and imperfections. Love allows you to be who you are, in the moment you're in. Now that's worth toasting.
Anyway, I'm waxing lyrical again. time to catch my flight. I'm Havana bound, baby. Areeeeeba!!! I'll try to blog if I can, but I am going to a communist country so you never know what overt activities are allowed. In the meantime, stop by and see what I have to say. And VOTE!! Or tell your friends to vote! Aren't we in the midst of a presidential election, people? It's good practice. Anyway, 80 votes to date (including the two "NOs", which really gets my goat). Twenty more! Let's get 20 more! One hundred is the goal!!! Until then... cheers
Short post tonight. I thought I'd let you all off the hook after that novelish post last night, but whoever said that that the sum of a person's life can be reduced to a page, especially when it comes to the good stuff? Besides, I'm headed off to Havana to toast a wedding, and getting there is going to be a bitch, given that they are a communist country and all. I have about 5,000 layovers. It is sort of a benchmark for me, though. Now I know I've made it big, seeing that I've broken into the communist market. Castro must not be such a bad guy afterall. Anyway, more on my adventures in Cuba in a different post... I haven't even gotten there yet. Anyway, back to the topic at hand... tonight's post will be short but no less riveting or rewarding.
First off, congrats to Ellen Page for an oscar nod for her performance as Juno! Any newbie that can play a role with such raw honesty and vulnerability deserves the statue, hands down. And any newbie screenwriter that can write a script with such wit, humor, cutting, edgy sarcasm and blatant honesty deserves a piece of rock, too. Not that I know what it's like to be a pregnant teenager or anything, but I can imagine. Anyway, if you haven't seen the movie yet, I suggest you put it first on your list of priorities. And check out the link, www.junoverse.com for your dose of everything Juno. It's a transcendental experience... trust me.
Speaking of Juno, there are two quotes from the movie I really like. First quote: when Juno says, "I know you usually fall in love before conception but I guess normalcy really isn't our thing." When you think about it, those words speak so much truth. There is no formula or fixed definition for love. There are all different types, all different conventions and all different relationships. There's interracial, interage, intergender and interclass. Whose to say what relationship is "normal?" That's the beauty of love... everyone has their own unique story. I mean, how boring would it be if it was all, like Stepford Love? So, I don't think normalcy should be anyone's thing. Live, love and be happy. It makes life exponentially more interesting.
Second quote which bears repeating: "You need to find one person who loves you for exactly who you are... when your happy, sad, a bitch... because they'll always think the sun comes out of your ass." Isn't it true? That's all anyone really wants, and it's not too much too ask for. Someone who will always think that the sun comes out of your ass... even when you're a bitch. Out of the mouths of babes; in layman's (if not vulgar) terms. But it's true. Number one rule about love that I've discovered in my line of work... you need to be able to be yourself, whatever your mood, and trust that your partner will be there in the morning, ready to wipe the slate clean and forgive you your humanness and shortcomings. We're all human. We all have faults and imperfections. Love allows you to be who you are, in the moment you're in. Now that's worth toasting.
Anyway, I'm waxing lyrical again. time to catch my flight. I'm Havana bound, baby. Areeeeeba!!! I'll try to blog if I can, but I am going to a communist country so you never know what overt activities are allowed. In the meantime, stop by and see what I have to say. And VOTE!! Or tell your friends to vote! Aren't we in the midst of a presidential election, people? It's good practice. Anyway, 80 votes to date (including the two "NOs", which really gets my goat). Twenty more! Let's get 20 more! One hundred is the goal!!! Until then... cheers
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Cynicism Explained
Hey Chillens,
Thanks again for stopping by. So last night I told you I'd enlighten you with how I came to have this cynical view of love, and, as always, I try to deliver on my promises. Anyway, here's the cliffs notes version:
It was just me and Mom growing up. My dad died when I was three in a car accident. My memories of him have faded and are all jumbled together now like a watery palette; unrecognizable as separate entities but filled with beautiful colors and bright spots just the same. There is a picture of the three of us I keep in a silver frame next to my bed. He was a handsome man. He has kind eyes and a magnetic smile. I wish I knew him. It makes me sad that I don’t and I wonder how I can be a complete person when a significant chunk of my history is gone.
I used to ask my mother to tell me the story of how they met repeatedly. I think my mother liked that I would ask her. It allowed her to hold on to something good and I think she liked that I wanted something of my dad to hold on to, too.
My mom walked into a shoe store one Saturday afternoon. She had a penchant for stilettos. My dad was the salesman who slid her foot in. “What’s the occasion?” He asked, not taking his eyes off of her. “Tango, “ my mother answered, although the only time she tangoed was in her underwear, in the living room. It worked at any rate. They went out for coffee when his shift was over… in Rhode Island. They raced along the interstate, trying to outrun a pepper gray sky, and wound up at a pier at the end of the earth with the sky turning pink over the Atlantic. They stayed for a week and came back married. And yes, they did tango.
Dad was a romantic at heart but a science guy in practice. He worked at the shoe store to put himself through MIT and invented the Fetch It, an aerodynamic contraption made entirely out of plastic and painted various psychedelic colors that allows you to throw a tennis ball for a dog with a longer range than humanly possible and adds the extra benefit of not having to pick up a slobbery, dirty, mangy ball to boot. Given the nature of my father’s invention, I always thought it was funny that we didn’t have a dog growing up. Anyway, the money my dad made from his invention allowed him to live the life he wanted and the royalties still allowed my mother and I to live a comfortable life even after he was gone.
One of my dad’s favorite things to do was to walk around the city and admire the great buildings that stood all around him. “Boston is an artist’s city,” he used to tell my mother. He had a keen interest in architecture, partly because of the science of it but mostly I think because my dad liked to find the beauty in everything. He didn’t just see an old building. He saw sharp, contrasting angles or a perfectly rounded dome topped with copper or the intricate details of crowned molding, heralding the city as loud as trumpeters. My dad was a keen observer of things. He noticed the details that most people overlook.
At least these are the stories my mother tells me; little bits of memory revisited that allows me to form a picture and a story in my mind. I have nothing else to go on except for what my mom tells me. Well, and my uncle Hor. Hor is short for Horatio and not some nickname that reflects a certain character trait. The thought of that makes me burst out in an obnoxious guffaw. Uncle Hor is plump and mushy with a shiny dome of a head and a gold-plated front tooth, but he has a big smile and can easily laugh at himself when the mean-spirited people of the world choose him to be their punching bag, which happens often because he has such a kind heart but is also, unfortunately, funny looking. Uncle Hor would take the shirt off his back if someone needed it. Anyway, he’s my mom’s uncle and he’s been there for us from the get-go. He has lived in our in-law apartment on Payton Street ever since I can remember. He lived there since before my dad died and has stayed ever since.
Sometimes I think Uncle Hor would have chosen a different path for himself. He dated a woman named Dolly for quite a few decades, but when she got the chance to go to Nashville and record a country music album, he stayed behind and that was that. That was in 1988. I think Uncle Hor stayed for my mom and me. He didn’t want to leave us alone, and for that reason, anyone who insults Uncle Hor in front of me will find my fist swiftly in his or her face. Uncle Hor is a good man and his loyalty absolutely humbles me. And I was perfectly pleased to hear that Dolly’s record flopped miserably.
For as much as my father was a romantic, my mother is not. Or, at least, not anymore. Sometimes I see glimpses of it when she tells me stories about my dad and she smiles unknowingly at the thought of him but she does not allow herself to get lost there and the moment passes. My mother prides herself on being practical, logical and efficient. That’s not to say that she is not a wonderful, warm, giving woman because she is all those things too, but I think my mom closed herself off to love when my dad died. I think she loved my dad so much and couldn’t bear the thought of going through heartache again that she virtually eliminated the possibility of it from her life. It’s sort of ironic because despite her silent battle with love and all things romantic, really my mom is the most romantic of all in her own way. Her whole life has been a love letter to my dad.
After my dad died, my mom went back to school and became a high school chemistry teacher, which she still is to this day. I think she needed something to focus on, a routine and a formula to follow, just to get her through the loneliness of another day. My mom likes following recipes that will lead you to a specific outcome. In her lab, mixing chemicals and co-agents, she knows what to expect. She knows what she’ll end up with at the end of the day. I don’t think it’s an accident that my mom went into science, even though my mom won’t admit it. It’s homage to my dad. It keeps him alive for her.
So that leaves me, Maggie McDonald, product of Lila and Oliver McDonald and a perfect half of each. Uncle Hor used to call me a perfect paradox. I have my mom’s dark hair and my dad’s blue eyes. I have my mom’s little turnip nose but my dad’s smile. I inherited a healthy dose of cynicism from my mom but a keen sense of observation from my dad. I think, deep down, there is a hopeless romantic in me, swimming around in my heart, looking for a way out, but, like my mom, I’ve learned how to keep it at bay. Play it safe and you can’t get hurt. No one wants the burden of a broken heart.
So I guess you could say I am more my mother’s daughter. I had the chance to love once and I let it go. I’ve learned from my mother’s example; her heartache, her strength and her success. But sometimes, when I’m lying in bed at night, trying to decipher shapes on the ceiling from the headlights that drive by outside, or when I’m watching a sappy movie with Carrie and Kate and find myself welling up at an inconvenient moment despite myself, or when I’m walking through Quincy Market and I see lovers linger in their kiss when they say goodbye, I wonder if my dad was around if the romantic in me would be more present. I wonder if I’d be more of a complete person. I guess I’ll never know, but what I do know is that I need to find myself. There is a part of me missing.
So, that's it chicas... in plain black and white. It's no big mystery, although, as with most things in life for most people, it's sort of complicated. Anyway, that's more of my authorized bio. More to come, more to come.... just keep poppin' by and reading away. And maybe we'll discover together if I become a changed woman afterall. Until then... cheers
Thanks again for stopping by. So last night I told you I'd enlighten you with how I came to have this cynical view of love, and, as always, I try to deliver on my promises. Anyway, here's the cliffs notes version:
It was just me and Mom growing up. My dad died when I was three in a car accident. My memories of him have faded and are all jumbled together now like a watery palette; unrecognizable as separate entities but filled with beautiful colors and bright spots just the same. There is a picture of the three of us I keep in a silver frame next to my bed. He was a handsome man. He has kind eyes and a magnetic smile. I wish I knew him. It makes me sad that I don’t and I wonder how I can be a complete person when a significant chunk of my history is gone.
I used to ask my mother to tell me the story of how they met repeatedly. I think my mother liked that I would ask her. It allowed her to hold on to something good and I think she liked that I wanted something of my dad to hold on to, too.
My mom walked into a shoe store one Saturday afternoon. She had a penchant for stilettos. My dad was the salesman who slid her foot in. “What’s the occasion?” He asked, not taking his eyes off of her. “Tango, “ my mother answered, although the only time she tangoed was in her underwear, in the living room. It worked at any rate. They went out for coffee when his shift was over… in Rhode Island. They raced along the interstate, trying to outrun a pepper gray sky, and wound up at a pier at the end of the earth with the sky turning pink over the Atlantic. They stayed for a week and came back married. And yes, they did tango.
Dad was a romantic at heart but a science guy in practice. He worked at the shoe store to put himself through MIT and invented the Fetch It, an aerodynamic contraption made entirely out of plastic and painted various psychedelic colors that allows you to throw a tennis ball for a dog with a longer range than humanly possible and adds the extra benefit of not having to pick up a slobbery, dirty, mangy ball to boot. Given the nature of my father’s invention, I always thought it was funny that we didn’t have a dog growing up. Anyway, the money my dad made from his invention allowed him to live the life he wanted and the royalties still allowed my mother and I to live a comfortable life even after he was gone.
One of my dad’s favorite things to do was to walk around the city and admire the great buildings that stood all around him. “Boston is an artist’s city,” he used to tell my mother. He had a keen interest in architecture, partly because of the science of it but mostly I think because my dad liked to find the beauty in everything. He didn’t just see an old building. He saw sharp, contrasting angles or a perfectly rounded dome topped with copper or the intricate details of crowned molding, heralding the city as loud as trumpeters. My dad was a keen observer of things. He noticed the details that most people overlook.
At least these are the stories my mother tells me; little bits of memory revisited that allows me to form a picture and a story in my mind. I have nothing else to go on except for what my mom tells me. Well, and my uncle Hor. Hor is short for Horatio and not some nickname that reflects a certain character trait. The thought of that makes me burst out in an obnoxious guffaw. Uncle Hor is plump and mushy with a shiny dome of a head and a gold-plated front tooth, but he has a big smile and can easily laugh at himself when the mean-spirited people of the world choose him to be their punching bag, which happens often because he has such a kind heart but is also, unfortunately, funny looking. Uncle Hor would take the shirt off his back if someone needed it. Anyway, he’s my mom’s uncle and he’s been there for us from the get-go. He has lived in our in-law apartment on Payton Street ever since I can remember. He lived there since before my dad died and has stayed ever since.
Sometimes I think Uncle Hor would have chosen a different path for himself. He dated a woman named Dolly for quite a few decades, but when she got the chance to go to Nashville and record a country music album, he stayed behind and that was that. That was in 1988. I think Uncle Hor stayed for my mom and me. He didn’t want to leave us alone, and for that reason, anyone who insults Uncle Hor in front of me will find my fist swiftly in his or her face. Uncle Hor is a good man and his loyalty absolutely humbles me. And I was perfectly pleased to hear that Dolly’s record flopped miserably.
For as much as my father was a romantic, my mother is not. Or, at least, not anymore. Sometimes I see glimpses of it when she tells me stories about my dad and she smiles unknowingly at the thought of him but she does not allow herself to get lost there and the moment passes. My mother prides herself on being practical, logical and efficient. That’s not to say that she is not a wonderful, warm, giving woman because she is all those things too, but I think my mom closed herself off to love when my dad died. I think she loved my dad so much and couldn’t bear the thought of going through heartache again that she virtually eliminated the possibility of it from her life. It’s sort of ironic because despite her silent battle with love and all things romantic, really my mom is the most romantic of all in her own way. Her whole life has been a love letter to my dad.
After my dad died, my mom went back to school and became a high school chemistry teacher, which she still is to this day. I think she needed something to focus on, a routine and a formula to follow, just to get her through the loneliness of another day. My mom likes following recipes that will lead you to a specific outcome. In her lab, mixing chemicals and co-agents, she knows what to expect. She knows what she’ll end up with at the end of the day. I don’t think it’s an accident that my mom went into science, even though my mom won’t admit it. It’s homage to my dad. It keeps him alive for her.
So that leaves me, Maggie McDonald, product of Lila and Oliver McDonald and a perfect half of each. Uncle Hor used to call me a perfect paradox. I have my mom’s dark hair and my dad’s blue eyes. I have my mom’s little turnip nose but my dad’s smile. I inherited a healthy dose of cynicism from my mom but a keen sense of observation from my dad. I think, deep down, there is a hopeless romantic in me, swimming around in my heart, looking for a way out, but, like my mom, I’ve learned how to keep it at bay. Play it safe and you can’t get hurt. No one wants the burden of a broken heart.
So I guess you could say I am more my mother’s daughter. I had the chance to love once and I let it go. I’ve learned from my mother’s example; her heartache, her strength and her success. But sometimes, when I’m lying in bed at night, trying to decipher shapes on the ceiling from the headlights that drive by outside, or when I’m watching a sappy movie with Carrie and Kate and find myself welling up at an inconvenient moment despite myself, or when I’m walking through Quincy Market and I see lovers linger in their kiss when they say goodbye, I wonder if my dad was around if the romantic in me would be more present. I wonder if I’d be more of a complete person. I guess I’ll never know, but what I do know is that I need to find myself. There is a part of me missing.
So, that's it chicas... in plain black and white. It's no big mystery, although, as with most things in life for most people, it's sort of complicated. Anyway, that's more of my authorized bio. More to come, more to come.... just keep poppin' by and reading away. And maybe we'll discover together if I become a changed woman afterall. Until then... cheers
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Paradox Paradigm
Hey Guys and Gals,
70 votes and going strong! (I won't count the two "NO" votes) Let's make it 100... a nice, round fat number! There are still 4 days left to vote so let's get the word out! Thank you all for your positive comments too... you guys rock like seniors!
So last time I told you what a deliciously good time I had down in Florida with the Sarasota Gang, but I really didn't give you the 411 on Morty and Addy and since I am in the business of toasting couples, I thought I'd give you the rundown. First let me start by saying that although I'm a professional wedding toaster, I'm also a cynic... especially when it comes to love. Don't get me wrong... I'm all for love and romance and happily ever after; it's just usually a tough sell on me in the beginning. And therein lies the great irony of my life. I have improved greatly in my cynnical outlook since I started this gig full time. I've been doing it now for about a year and I live and breathe all things wedding, and I'm happy to report that to date, I have a 0% divorce rate among my couples. I must be doing something right. But when I was just starting out, I wasn't always so convinced that my couples were doing the right thing by taking that long walk down the aisle (hell, I couldn't do it), and Morty and Addy were no exception.
Don't get me wrong; Morty charmed the pants off me (although not literally) at Carrie's wedding but Morty is, well, you know, old, and unfortunately, a little funny-looking. He wears Bermuda shorts and knee socks, his gums flap in the wind like a double-masted ship when he talks and he has to sit on a pillow when he drives his big ol' white Cadillac because he's too short to see out the windshield (driving with Morty is like having a near-death experience). And Addy.... well Addy's not (short or funny looking I mean). In fact, Addy's kinda hot, for a senior citizen I mean. She's tall and has beautiful silvery-white hair and the leanest tennis arms I've ever seen. I'M jealous of her tricepts. Anyway, when I first saw them together, I began to think that something might be rotten in Denmark, if you know what I mean. Morty is loaded afterall. But after spending the week with them, I realized I had it all wrong.
Morty and Addy met a few years back. They were neighbors at Clearwater and both upstanding members of the Sarasota Gang. They played Scrabble everyday (Addy used to let Morty cheat and use swear words) and one day, out of the blue, Morty said to Addy, "Let's get hitched." And Addy said, "Let's do it." And so they did. During my week with Morty and Addy, I saw them eat food off of each other's plates, hold hands under the table when they thought no one was looking, smile like children when the other one would enter the room and read to each other in bed at night, just for the comfort of hearing the other's voice. And the conclusion I came to was this; you can't fake that stuff. When you're not in love with someone, it's hard to act like you are, even if you are at the age where you might start forgetting your own name and street address. I saw a quote once that has sort of stayed with me; "True Love is friendship set on fire." That sums up Morty and Addy to a tee.
Morty and Addy remain dear friends of mine. In fact, you could say we're sort of related now, but more on that in another entry. I have been down to Clearwater to visit the Sarasota Gang on numerous occasions since and I'm happy to report that Morty and Addy are still going strong, both healthwise and lovewise (while still continuing to drink like fish- well, Morty does at any rate). And the one thing I realize, over and over again, everytime I go visit is that love is not soley reserved for the young. Love belongs to everyone, and that's the beauty of it. You can find love at any age. Another thing that Morty and Addy taught me is that old age can be a blast. Let's face it; everyone has an innate fear of mortality, wrinkles and either thinning or graying hair, but what really keeps you young is your state of mind and your spirit. I mean, I guess plastic surgery and anti-wrinkle creams can help too, but if you're young at heart, having a good time and have someone to share it all with, that just makes life all the sweeter. So fear not if you're lovelorn and lonely and approaching an age where you're body starts doing strange and unsightly things.... love is out there for everyone and Morty and Addy are proof of that.
So how did I come to have this jaded view of love anyway and why can't I practice what I preach, so to speak? How can I toast and celebrate the love of strangers when I chose to turn my back on it myself? More to come, dear readers, more to come. Life is a slow unfolding of events and 90% of it is always complicated. My story's no exception. Tune in tomorrow and I'll give you the 411 on why I'm such a paradox (and yes, more on Jack- I know you're all dying to hear more ). Until then.... Cheers
70 votes and going strong! (I won't count the two "NO" votes) Let's make it 100... a nice, round fat number! There are still 4 days left to vote so let's get the word out! Thank you all for your positive comments too... you guys rock like seniors!
So last time I told you what a deliciously good time I had down in Florida with the Sarasota Gang, but I really didn't give you the 411 on Morty and Addy and since I am in the business of toasting couples, I thought I'd give you the rundown. First let me start by saying that although I'm a professional wedding toaster, I'm also a cynic... especially when it comes to love. Don't get me wrong... I'm all for love and romance and happily ever after; it's just usually a tough sell on me in the beginning. And therein lies the great irony of my life. I have improved greatly in my cynnical outlook since I started this gig full time. I've been doing it now for about a year and I live and breathe all things wedding, and I'm happy to report that to date, I have a 0% divorce rate among my couples. I must be doing something right. But when I was just starting out, I wasn't always so convinced that my couples were doing the right thing by taking that long walk down the aisle (hell, I couldn't do it), and Morty and Addy were no exception.
Don't get me wrong; Morty charmed the pants off me (although not literally) at Carrie's wedding but Morty is, well, you know, old, and unfortunately, a little funny-looking. He wears Bermuda shorts and knee socks, his gums flap in the wind like a double-masted ship when he talks and he has to sit on a pillow when he drives his big ol' white Cadillac because he's too short to see out the windshield (driving with Morty is like having a near-death experience). And Addy.... well Addy's not (short or funny looking I mean). In fact, Addy's kinda hot, for a senior citizen I mean. She's tall and has beautiful silvery-white hair and the leanest tennis arms I've ever seen. I'M jealous of her tricepts. Anyway, when I first saw them together, I began to think that something might be rotten in Denmark, if you know what I mean. Morty is loaded afterall. But after spending the week with them, I realized I had it all wrong.
Morty and Addy met a few years back. They were neighbors at Clearwater and both upstanding members of the Sarasota Gang. They played Scrabble everyday (Addy used to let Morty cheat and use swear words) and one day, out of the blue, Morty said to Addy, "Let's get hitched." And Addy said, "Let's do it." And so they did. During my week with Morty and Addy, I saw them eat food off of each other's plates, hold hands under the table when they thought no one was looking, smile like children when the other one would enter the room and read to each other in bed at night, just for the comfort of hearing the other's voice. And the conclusion I came to was this; you can't fake that stuff. When you're not in love with someone, it's hard to act like you are, even if you are at the age where you might start forgetting your own name and street address. I saw a quote once that has sort of stayed with me; "True Love is friendship set on fire." That sums up Morty and Addy to a tee.
Morty and Addy remain dear friends of mine. In fact, you could say we're sort of related now, but more on that in another entry. I have been down to Clearwater to visit the Sarasota Gang on numerous occasions since and I'm happy to report that Morty and Addy are still going strong, both healthwise and lovewise (while still continuing to drink like fish- well, Morty does at any rate). And the one thing I realize, over and over again, everytime I go visit is that love is not soley reserved for the young. Love belongs to everyone, and that's the beauty of it. You can find love at any age. Another thing that Morty and Addy taught me is that old age can be a blast. Let's face it; everyone has an innate fear of mortality, wrinkles and either thinning or graying hair, but what really keeps you young is your state of mind and your spirit. I mean, I guess plastic surgery and anti-wrinkle creams can help too, but if you're young at heart, having a good time and have someone to share it all with, that just makes life all the sweeter. So fear not if you're lovelorn and lonely and approaching an age where you're body starts doing strange and unsightly things.... love is out there for everyone and Morty and Addy are proof of that.
So how did I come to have this jaded view of love anyway and why can't I practice what I preach, so to speak? How can I toast and celebrate the love of strangers when I chose to turn my back on it myself? More to come, dear readers, more to come. Life is a slow unfolding of events and 90% of it is always complicated. My story's no exception. Tune in tomorrow and I'll give you the 411 on why I'm such a paradox (and yes, more on Jack- I know you're all dying to hear more ). Until then.... Cheers
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Senior Break
Hello my peeps,
Thanks again for stopping by and for all the nice comments. And for voting!! Seems like I have a good thing goin' here... so I'll just keep it going. I'll try not to disappoint.
So last blog I told you I'd introduce you to Morty, and I always keep my word (well, most of the time anyway). Here goes:
So after the big toast at Carrie's wedding... yada, yadda, yadda... a funny little man appears out of nowhere on the balcony where me and Carrie and Kate ( Kate's our other best friend. We've been like the three musketeers since seventh grade) were sharing a moment together (with wine, of course. Wine seems to be a pre-requisite for us). He was quite an eccentric character, but in an endearing, charming sort of way. He sort of reminded me of George Burns but, then again, George Burns is dead, so maybe not so much. He was wearing a top hat for one thing and he had to be driving over 80, if you know what I mean. Anyway, he introduces himself to us as Morty Finkelstein, former window installer of Bangor, Maine and current Elks member extraordinaire. Morty was up in Boston from his retirement home in Sarasota for the annual Elks convention but either forgot what day it was or couldn't see the date he had written in his date book (I guess that happens when you're old). Anyway, he was staying at the Boston Harbor, which is where Carrie's wedding was, and happened to stumble into the wedding, quite by accident, looking for the men's room, at the exact moment I was giving my toast. As Morty still says to this day, it was "serendipitous". Anyway, Morty hired me right there on the spot to come and toast his upcoming nuptials down in Sarasota for one kilo (is that the right slang for a thousand bucks? The language of America's youth and gangster rappers seems to keep changing these days. Even though I'm hip, I just can't seem to keep up). He said he wanted to give Addy, his bride-to-be, the gift of words. For a kilo (Yikes! That sounds sketch!), who was I to argue?
Three weeks later, I was at Clearwater Retirement Home in Sarasota, Florida. I had my share of doubts and reservations about the whole thing. For one thing, I had not only agreed to, but actually suggested spending a whole week with the newly betrothed. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT??? Spending a week in Florida with a couple of senior citizens is NOT my idea of a vacation, but first and foremost, I am a woman of words. I mean, anyone can stand up with a mike in their hand and say "good Luck, good health and congratulations. That's not creative or insightful; it's just downright lame. As I said in yesterday's post, you need to witness the seemingly insignificant moments, because that's the stuff that speaks volumes. Anyway, because I believe in the integrity of words, I decided to suck it up and deal. You can't give a toast, or at least a good toast, when you don't know what the hell you're talking about.
Surprisingly enough, the universe had a thing or two to teach me. Like, first of all, seniors can party like rock stars. It's true. I thought I was going to like, a nursing home, with people in wheel chairs and moth-eaten afghhans draped across their shoulders, but this was like a four star resort. And the elderly can drink, let me tell you. My days consisted mostly of sitting by the pool and drinking with "the gang" (I have since dubbed them the Sarasota Gang because there are just too many of them to name each time individually), playing Dirty Scrabble on the patio (where curse words and sex words are double score or nothing. Hey, it wasn't my idea. I told you this crew could party) and drinking and watching reruns of Sex and the City (and drinking) with the Sarasota Gang. It was like spring break for the over 65 crew. And it was fun. I also developed an affinity for Shuffleboard while I was there if you can believe it. Turns out I have a mean shuffle. I was top scorer. Anyway, Morty and Addy didn't just teach me that seniors can drink and are an overall hoot and a half, they taught me a thing or two about love, too. But enough for this blog.... short and sweet wins the race. Tune in tomorrow and I'll tell you more about Morty and Addy and impart more of my "Maggie Wisdom" but until then... cheers. And remember, seniors ROCK!
Thanks again for stopping by and for all the nice comments. And for voting!! Seems like I have a good thing goin' here... so I'll just keep it going. I'll try not to disappoint.
So last blog I told you I'd introduce you to Morty, and I always keep my word (well, most of the time anyway). Here goes:
So after the big toast at Carrie's wedding... yada, yadda, yadda... a funny little man appears out of nowhere on the balcony where me and Carrie and Kate ( Kate's our other best friend. We've been like the three musketeers since seventh grade) were sharing a moment together (with wine, of course. Wine seems to be a pre-requisite for us). He was quite an eccentric character, but in an endearing, charming sort of way. He sort of reminded me of George Burns but, then again, George Burns is dead, so maybe not so much. He was wearing a top hat for one thing and he had to be driving over 80, if you know what I mean. Anyway, he introduces himself to us as Morty Finkelstein, former window installer of Bangor, Maine and current Elks member extraordinaire. Morty was up in Boston from his retirement home in Sarasota for the annual Elks convention but either forgot what day it was or couldn't see the date he had written in his date book (I guess that happens when you're old). Anyway, he was staying at the Boston Harbor, which is where Carrie's wedding was, and happened to stumble into the wedding, quite by accident, looking for the men's room, at the exact moment I was giving my toast. As Morty still says to this day, it was "serendipitous". Anyway, Morty hired me right there on the spot to come and toast his upcoming nuptials down in Sarasota for one kilo (is that the right slang for a thousand bucks? The language of America's youth and gangster rappers seems to keep changing these days. Even though I'm hip, I just can't seem to keep up). He said he wanted to give Addy, his bride-to-be, the gift of words. For a kilo (Yikes! That sounds sketch!), who was I to argue?
Three weeks later, I was at Clearwater Retirement Home in Sarasota, Florida. I had my share of doubts and reservations about the whole thing. For one thing, I had not only agreed to, but actually suggested spending a whole week with the newly betrothed. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT??? Spending a week in Florida with a couple of senior citizens is NOT my idea of a vacation, but first and foremost, I am a woman of words. I mean, anyone can stand up with a mike in their hand and say "good Luck, good health and congratulations. That's not creative or insightful; it's just downright lame. As I said in yesterday's post, you need to witness the seemingly insignificant moments, because that's the stuff that speaks volumes. Anyway, because I believe in the integrity of words, I decided to suck it up and deal. You can't give a toast, or at least a good toast, when you don't know what the hell you're talking about.
Surprisingly enough, the universe had a thing or two to teach me. Like, first of all, seniors can party like rock stars. It's true. I thought I was going to like, a nursing home, with people in wheel chairs and moth-eaten afghhans draped across their shoulders, but this was like a four star resort. And the elderly can drink, let me tell you. My days consisted mostly of sitting by the pool and drinking with "the gang" (I have since dubbed them the Sarasota Gang because there are just too many of them to name each time individually), playing Dirty Scrabble on the patio (where curse words and sex words are double score or nothing. Hey, it wasn't my idea. I told you this crew could party) and drinking and watching reruns of Sex and the City (and drinking) with the Sarasota Gang. It was like spring break for the over 65 crew. And it was fun. I also developed an affinity for Shuffleboard while I was there if you can believe it. Turns out I have a mean shuffle. I was top scorer. Anyway, Morty and Addy didn't just teach me that seniors can drink and are an overall hoot and a half, they taught me a thing or two about love, too. But enough for this blog.... short and sweet wins the race. Tune in tomorrow and I'll tell you more about Morty and Addy and impart more of my "Maggie Wisdom" but until then... cheers. And remember, seniors ROCK!
Monday, January 21, 2008
Intro Please, Maestro
Hello Faithful Blog Readers,
Thanks so much for checking me out (NOT like THAT Dudes! You know what I mean...). It seems as though there is an audience for this blog and I am only too happy to accommodate. When you toast weddings for a living, you're used to speaking to a crowd. Anyway, I'll just keep blogging away until someone votes NO. Seriously, thanks for voting and for your support. You all ROCK!
Now that you all have the 411 on my life at the moment, you're probably wondering how I ever came to be a wedding toaster in the first place. Believe it or not, it all started with a wrong turn and a cup of coffee. Seriously.
Let me back up. One morning my best friend Carrie was running late for work, took a wrong turn and was forced to get her requisite cup of java at a strategically placed Dunkins instead of her usual drive through Starbucks. Anyway, long story short... yadda, yadda, yadda... she ended up meeting her husband-to-be, Ben, in line. All because of a wrong turn and a (much) needed cup of coffee! You just never know how the universe works.
Anyway, as a wedding gift to them, I gave a toast at their wedding. I had been Carrie's roommate (until I relinquished the apartment when they got married. That was my other wedding gift to them, and it was no small feat, let me tell you. That was a prime piece of real estate; it had a roof deck and everything) and I had spent a lot of time with Carrie and Ben. I was privy to events and observations that the rest of the general public was not. Whether it was sitting around watching TV with them or eating dinner together on some random Tuesday night, I was witness to the seemingly insignificant moments that have the power to sum up any relationship. What I think about love (and I am single so maybe my opinion doesn't count for much) is that it's the little things that speak volumes. It's when you're home alone together, caught unaware in little moments, that have the power to measure the scope of your relationship. Do you wrap your pinkies around each other while you're reading the paper and not even realize it? Do you make your lover chicken soup when they don't feel good or take the dog out even though it's not your turn? Do you APPRECIATE each other in private moments, when no one else is around to judge or you're not consciously trying to make a good first impression on your business client or your mother or your in-laws? Do you appreciate each other daily, even when life is boring and mundane? Anyway, Carrie and Ben did and I wanted to celebrate that. I think it's worth celebrating and besides, I am in the business of words afterall. I can kick ass at the podium and wax lyrical like no one's business.
When clients hire me, this is what they hire me for. Everyone's story is unique and if you look hard enough, you can find something to celebrate in all of them. That's what I do. I look hard and I celebrate the ordinary with words. And in doing that, I make it unordinary.
That's it for tonight. I believe in making things short and sweet instead of long and boring. But tune in tomorrow and I'll tell you all about Morty. You don't want to miss this edition... I still credit Morty with making me who I am today. He gave me my start, all because he either had a bad memory or bad eyesight (we're still not sure which), but at any rate, it's quite a story. As Morty would say (and it remains one of my favorite coined phrases), it was serendipitious. Anyway, until then.... cheers. And don't forget to vote! And leave a comment if you're so inclined to. I just may answer you personally.....
Thanks so much for checking me out (NOT like THAT Dudes! You know what I mean...). It seems as though there is an audience for this blog and I am only too happy to accommodate. When you toast weddings for a living, you're used to speaking to a crowd. Anyway, I'll just keep blogging away until someone votes NO. Seriously, thanks for voting and for your support. You all ROCK!
Now that you all have the 411 on my life at the moment, you're probably wondering how I ever came to be a wedding toaster in the first place. Believe it or not, it all started with a wrong turn and a cup of coffee. Seriously.
Let me back up. One morning my best friend Carrie was running late for work, took a wrong turn and was forced to get her requisite cup of java at a strategically placed Dunkins instead of her usual drive through Starbucks. Anyway, long story short... yadda, yadda, yadda... she ended up meeting her husband-to-be, Ben, in line. All because of a wrong turn and a (much) needed cup of coffee! You just never know how the universe works.
Anyway, as a wedding gift to them, I gave a toast at their wedding. I had been Carrie's roommate (until I relinquished the apartment when they got married. That was my other wedding gift to them, and it was no small feat, let me tell you. That was a prime piece of real estate; it had a roof deck and everything) and I had spent a lot of time with Carrie and Ben. I was privy to events and observations that the rest of the general public was not. Whether it was sitting around watching TV with them or eating dinner together on some random Tuesday night, I was witness to the seemingly insignificant moments that have the power to sum up any relationship. What I think about love (and I am single so maybe my opinion doesn't count for much) is that it's the little things that speak volumes. It's when you're home alone together, caught unaware in little moments, that have the power to measure the scope of your relationship. Do you wrap your pinkies around each other while you're reading the paper and not even realize it? Do you make your lover chicken soup when they don't feel good or take the dog out even though it's not your turn? Do you APPRECIATE each other in private moments, when no one else is around to judge or you're not consciously trying to make a good first impression on your business client or your mother or your in-laws? Do you appreciate each other daily, even when life is boring and mundane? Anyway, Carrie and Ben did and I wanted to celebrate that. I think it's worth celebrating and besides, I am in the business of words afterall. I can kick ass at the podium and wax lyrical like no one's business.
When clients hire me, this is what they hire me for. Everyone's story is unique and if you look hard enough, you can find something to celebrate in all of them. That's what I do. I look hard and I celebrate the ordinary with words. And in doing that, I make it unordinary.
That's it for tonight. I believe in making things short and sweet instead of long and boring. But tune in tomorrow and I'll tell you all about Morty. You don't want to miss this edition... I still credit Morty with making me who I am today. He gave me my start, all because he either had a bad memory or bad eyesight (we're still not sure which), but at any rate, it's quite a story. As Morty would say (and it remains one of my favorite coined phrases), it was serendipitious. Anyway, until then.... cheers. And don't forget to vote! And leave a comment if you're so inclined to. I just may answer you personally.....
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Life in a Nutshell
Hey Chicks and Dudes,
I'm Maggie McDonald and I'm a professional wedding toaster. It's pretty ironic actually, given that I bailed on my own wedding once upon a time and left my fiance standing at the alter with a crumpled note in his hand and a roomful of people to whom he had to attempt to explain the unexplainable.
I'm not a bad person; I like dogs and I always put change in a homeless person's cup when I pass them on the street. I even cry when watching the finale of America's Next Top Model if you can believe that, but I just don't want to do someone else's laundry or account for where the money in the checkbook goes. It is afterall MY checkbook, and I don't feel the need to justify what I spend my money on... I mean every girl needs her fill of Gucci bags and Jimmy Choos. Anyway, Jack was a great guy but like I said, it wasn't about him; it was about me.
I wasn't always a wedding toaster. I used to write a pet advice column for the Boston Hub, but then I got demoted to writing obits after I went AWOL. I took off for Australia for a couple months after my "wedding". Deciding on the day of your wedding not to show up is a very traumatic experience... I needed to clear my head. Anyway, this is my gig now. I toast weddings. Professionally. I know it's sort of an unconventional occupation but it has its perks. I get to travel to exotic locales and stay in palaces, mansions and/or luxe hotels (did I mention that my clients tend to be rich and famous?). I just flew in from Lima this morning, where I toasted the wedding of a diplomat's daughter. I've just recently broken into the South American market. It's pretty lucrative too. I charge a pretty penny for my services and my clients are only too happy to pay it. And it does allow me to keep a limitless supply of Jimmy Choos.
Not that it's always perfect. I'm gone Three out of four weeks a month. Except in the off-season (yes, even weddings have off-seasons). Then I'm gone usually two out of four weeks a month but it's usually to somewhere hot so I don't mind. The winters in Boston can really suck. But most of the time I don't even remember which city I'm flying to when I'm in flight. Just last month I thought I was en route to Phoenix but in actuality the plane landed in Denver. It's January, people. And the mile-high city is DAMN cold when all you have to wear are sundresses and daisy dukes.
Anyway, those are just some of the occupational hazards of my job. For the most part, I love what I do. I know I already mentioned the obvious plusses of my career, but there are others. Like, I've met some really quirky characters, who, if not anything else, make interesting topics of conversation at cocktail parties. But some of my clients have become very dear friends. I'll tell you about some of them on another blog entry, but everything in due time. And I have to admit, they've given me a thing or two to think about when it comes to matters of the heart. Like maybe, just maybe, there's a romantic in me after all.
Anyway, that's the 411 on my life up to now. As someone famous once said, "A quick recap is almost always better than the long, drawn out version." But I intend to share more... that is if people want to hear it. My story is a pretty wild one, I don't mean in THAT way, I just mean that it's pretty unbelievable. So how did I come to be a professional wedding toaster? Who are some of these quirky characters I've met? What do I have to say on matters of love and how do I really feel about Jack?
Keep reading to find out. This is my story... let me know if you're interested in reading about it. If you are... great! If not, I won't waste your time or my breath. Chances are I'll probably be running off to catch some flight anyway.... but let me know . You never know when you might learn something worthwhile. Until then, cheers...
I'm Maggie McDonald and I'm a professional wedding toaster. It's pretty ironic actually, given that I bailed on my own wedding once upon a time and left my fiance standing at the alter with a crumpled note in his hand and a roomful of people to whom he had to attempt to explain the unexplainable.
I'm not a bad person; I like dogs and I always put change in a homeless person's cup when I pass them on the street. I even cry when watching the finale of America's Next Top Model if you can believe that, but I just don't want to do someone else's laundry or account for where the money in the checkbook goes. It is afterall MY checkbook, and I don't feel the need to justify what I spend my money on... I mean every girl needs her fill of Gucci bags and Jimmy Choos. Anyway, Jack was a great guy but like I said, it wasn't about him; it was about me.
I wasn't always a wedding toaster. I used to write a pet advice column for the Boston Hub, but then I got demoted to writing obits after I went AWOL. I took off for Australia for a couple months after my "wedding". Deciding on the day of your wedding not to show up is a very traumatic experience... I needed to clear my head. Anyway, this is my gig now. I toast weddings. Professionally. I know it's sort of an unconventional occupation but it has its perks. I get to travel to exotic locales and stay in palaces, mansions and/or luxe hotels (did I mention that my clients tend to be rich and famous?). I just flew in from Lima this morning, where I toasted the wedding of a diplomat's daughter. I've just recently broken into the South American market. It's pretty lucrative too. I charge a pretty penny for my services and my clients are only too happy to pay it. And it does allow me to keep a limitless supply of Jimmy Choos.
Not that it's always perfect. I'm gone Three out of four weeks a month. Except in the off-season (yes, even weddings have off-seasons). Then I'm gone usually two out of four weeks a month but it's usually to somewhere hot so I don't mind. The winters in Boston can really suck. But most of the time I don't even remember which city I'm flying to when I'm in flight. Just last month I thought I was en route to Phoenix but in actuality the plane landed in Denver. It's January, people. And the mile-high city is DAMN cold when all you have to wear are sundresses and daisy dukes.
Anyway, those are just some of the occupational hazards of my job. For the most part, I love what I do. I know I already mentioned the obvious plusses of my career, but there are others. Like, I've met some really quirky characters, who, if not anything else, make interesting topics of conversation at cocktail parties. But some of my clients have become very dear friends. I'll tell you about some of them on another blog entry, but everything in due time. And I have to admit, they've given me a thing or two to think about when it comes to matters of the heart. Like maybe, just maybe, there's a romantic in me after all.
Anyway, that's the 411 on my life up to now. As someone famous once said, "A quick recap is almost always better than the long, drawn out version." But I intend to share more... that is if people want to hear it. My story is a pretty wild one, I don't mean in THAT way, I just mean that it's pretty unbelievable. So how did I come to be a professional wedding toaster? Who are some of these quirky characters I've met? What do I have to say on matters of love and how do I really feel about Jack?
Keep reading to find out. This is my story... let me know if you're interested in reading about it. If you are... great! If not, I won't waste your time or my breath. Chances are I'll probably be running off to catch some flight anyway.... but let me know . You never know when you might learn something worthwhile. Until then, cheers...
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