Mike and Music

Wedding stuff has been relatively calm these days, so I’ve been watching more t.v. than usual (if you read this blog regularly, you may be clued into that fact already; my last post was about the “Half Man, Half Tree” show I saw the other night).  Today I was flipping through the channel and stumbled onto Logo, a gay and lesbian network.  First I watched a documentary on bears (defined on Wikipedia as “male individuals who possess physical attributes much like a bear, such as a heavy build, abundant body hair, and commonly facial hair”).  Then I did some things around the house.  When I was done with that, I turned on the television again, and it was still on Logo.  A show called “Noah’s Arc” was on, and I’ve become addicted to it in the last couple of hours of watching!

The show takes place in L.A. and is about the trials and tribulations and love and sex of four black gay men.  It’s a total cheesy soap opera, but it’s very engrossing.  The characters are (relatively) multidimensional, and I’m fascinated by the African-American cast.  “Noah’s Arc” may be my newest guilty pleasure!

I’m sitting here watching “Half Man, Half Tree,” a special documentary on TLC about men who have a strange medical condition where warts take over their extremities and grow into tree trunk-like limbs.  It’s truly fascinating.  In the case of the Indonesian man featured in the show, it was an extreme case of Human  Papillomavirus (HPV) that started the chain reaction of growths.  He is part of a group called “The Klan,” made up of other people with skin growths of various kinds, which is basically the equivalent of an old time circus freak show.  (Of course, watching the TLC show is a bit like viewing an old time freak show, too, just from a distance.)  The other man featured in the show lives in Romania.

The whole situation is very sad, but it also makes me thankful I live in a country with good medical care.  Who knows how many people are out there with this and other diseases and disorders, whose only hope of getting care for their condition is selling their story to a television show?

I love basketball.  Always have, always will.  I have no talent at playing the actual game, but I love watching it and have a lot of respect for the athleticism of those who play the sport.  One of my dreams has been to communications/community relations for my favorite team (the Lakers) or for the league, but those jobs are very hard to come by because there are a ton of people who share my dream.  For some reason lately, there have been a lot of jobs coming up, including a job doing communications and community relations for the Lakers.  That particular job was relatively low level (”coordinator”), and would have meant probably a 2/3 pay cut (that’s the other thing– everyone wants to work there, so they pay crap), but it sounded so cool!  Today I got an email (because I’m on the NBA jobs distribution list) for a director-level position in Houston doing communications stuff.  Of course, I like the job I have now, and Mike are I have purchased a house and are settled in San Diego, so it’s take something truly amazing for me to even apply.  But still– this is proof that when it rains, it pours!

This week, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t have a single meeting on my calendar.  Each and every work day of this week is an eight-hour stretch of freedom to do work.  Not sitting in meetings getting assigned work I don’t have time to do because I’m always in meetings.  Not sitting there thinking how much I could be doing if I went shuttling off to another meeting.  Not spending an hour to take care of what could be done in thirty minutes.  I now know how William Wallace (played by Mel Gibson in the movie “Braveheart”) felt when he yelled, “Freeeeeedom!”  It’s glorious!

Heard on the street: one of the funniest conversations about underwear ever.  Okay, it wasn’t on the street.  It was in my living room.  My brother came home with several pairs of new boxers and noticed they were all blue.  He then commented that he has to have a particular style of boxers.

Michael (brother, showing he thinks way more about undies than I ever do): I have to have the elastic band.

Mike (fiancee, sounding like he’s in a Hanes commercial): Really? Have you tried the Comfort Fit soft band?

Michael (emphatically): No.  I have to have elastic.

Mike (equally emphatic about the genius of the Comfort Fit): No, you have to try these.  Here, I have some.  And you don’t have to go far; they’re right in your bedroom.

Michael is staying in our guest bedroom, which is where Mike’s closet is (I get the closet in our bedroom).  That’s why Mike’s undergarments are so close to Michael.  Unfortunately (or fortunately), Mike couldn’t find a clean pair, so they’ll have to have the rest of that discussion some other time.  Preferably when I’m not here.

On the other hand, how nice that my future husband and brother feel so comfortable together.

Today, August 20, marks one day until our wedding.  Wow!  Where has time gone?!?

I think we’re in good shape.  All the big stuff is done, and a lot of the small stuff is done, too.  The guys have instructions on how to get their tuxes, the girls all have their dresses and shoes.  I have a dress (go in for my second fitting this Friday, in fact) and shoes.  Our guest list is mostly finalized, due to calls and emails Mike’s been making to those people who haven’t responded.

Imagine my surprise today to get two RSVPs in the mail, when the deadline was July 31!  But better late than never.

Best of all, today we confirmed that some very good friends of Mike’s will be attending, after they thought they wouldn’t be able to.  I’m very excited to meet these people, and am looking forward to getting to spend time with everyone in an informal setting the day before the wedding.

I’m sure it will be here before I know it…

Mike and I went to a local furniture store today to look for chairs and a table (or buffet or server or something) for a corner of our living room.  We always go to this store that makes furniture buying like buying a used car.  There are salespeople roaming the floor, you get attacked as you walk in, they have free cookies and popcorn and soda and coffee (okay, so the experience isn’t all bad).  Some time ago, we hooked up with Barry, one of the salesguys, and each time we go back, Mike and I fend off the other salespeople by saying “we’re with Barry.”

This store is huge– it’s like two furniture warehouses stacked atop each other– and we did a quick lap.  I found a wine server I liked (on sale, too), we decided we’d get it, found Barry, bought it, and were given directions to pick up the item.  We drove to the pick up place and got in line behind this weird woman and her two sons.  The woman seemed coked out, had bedraggled hair, and long, fake nails.  She was wearing these weird cropped genie-like pink pants (elastic top, tight at the waist, billowy through the thigh, more elastic at the calf) and funky platform shoes.  Her bag was this big hobo tote, and it was full of who knows what.  I immediately raised my eyebrow at Mike upon seeing this woman and we discussed, quietly, what her story was.  He asked what type of car she came in (they walked in just a minute before us, so I saw them pull up in a Mercedes), and that added to our game.

Her order was ready before ours, and after they walked out, I told Mike, “I bet she’s getting something really big.  Like a bed or something.  And I bet when we get over there, we’ll see them trying to tie it onto the roof of that Mercedes or something silly like that.”  Sure enough, no sooner did we go to pick up our furniture than we see this woman, looking perplexed, trying to cram a chair into her sedan, along with her two sons.  This wasn’t a dining chair, either.  It was an occasional chair, and not a small one.  I laughed and laughed and laughed, especially as I heard her on her phone calling someone to see if he could bring his truck to pick up the TWO chairs she bought.  How this woman thought she was going to get two chairs and three people into her sedan, I’ll never know, but I’m happy to know my instinct was right.

Who knew I could look this hot?

(Thanks to Erin Svalstad, a local makeup artist, who I’ve hired to do makeup for the wedding!)