I am deep in party planning and let me tell you, this is going to be the event to end all events. This is going to make a royal wedding look austere. I'm talking naked models painted gold, 1000 white doves, fois gras hotdogs for all.
Well, not really.
I am finding the wedding industry incredibly dispiriting, so am skipping most of it. I have the advantage of not actually getting married, so can skip things. I met with the florist - nice, seems to be able to stick to a rather tight budget. Here's the one I liked best from her book. Too bright? Do I care? I dont know. I'm meeting w the dessert woman today. This is an excuse to eat lots of gooey things - and to think that Iain does not want to come with. Check it out here and let me know if there's anything that looks especially good to you. Next, I am sorting out transport. Very glamorous, this wedding shit.
Iain is doing amazingly well, thanks to all who have asked. He can be a total infant when he gets a cold, but he has turned into Clint f-ing Eastwood after this surgery. He REFUSES to take the prescribed Vicodin (relax - its already spoken for) because he has this ridiculous belief that "pain is your body trying to tell you something". Personally, I'm pretty sure we dont need his body to send us an email and know why his knee hurts. THEY CUT IT OPEN. Oh well - its his pain, not mine.
Breaking Sewage News
Iain has just informed me that the men digging up our sewer outside have hit a power line. The neighborhood is rioting in the street in their nightgowns (or as much as a bunch of second assistant directors and out of work screenwriters in nightgowns can riot at 1030am). I asked him to take pictures of the hilarity for your blog pleasure, but he trotted out the damn knee excuse. What a poser.
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1 comment:
i dont know about the rest of you but ill be thoroughly disappointed if you dont have men in daisy dukes dancing on cubes, or preferably, cages.
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