Instant Coffee Tastes Like Mushrooms

I’ll repeat, instant coffee taste like mushrooms.  Fact.  That’s why, as I write this, there is a cup of zombie coffee by my side.  Anyway, these are, as ever, coffee-fuelled ramblings.

And so, this week, I went out for more real coffee with a friend.  I discovered many things:

1.  It’s OK that I can’t get through five pages of Saturday or Enduring Love.  It isn’t just me.
2. Apparently, I can’t go five minutes without talking about THE WEDDING.  And that’s OK.  But somehow less universal an issue than the density of Ian McEwan’s prose.

I’m going to be bold.  This post is not about THE WEDDING.  It’s not about the bike, either.  Or the shoes.  It’s about OTHER THINGS.

I’ve been writing a lot.  My last piece was rejected.  I’ve been trying to find words for this.  It sucks.  That’s two words.  Empty gaping hole.  There’s three more.  In all seriousness, this last knock sent me into a darkened room.  Really.  That’s where Sarge found me when he got home from work.  I tried to switch the light on, though.  And then I threw up.

And so, if I’m not talking about THE WEDDING, I’m talking about THE BIG FAT ‘NO’.  Or not talking about it.  I have since left the darkened room.  To watch Judge Judy.  Or The Sopranos.  Or this video.  Over and over.

Getting back to The Sopranos, Sarge and I are working through the box-set.  Two episodes left.  When the show was first on, I refused to watch the end.  I like to think the characters from my favourite shows live on in some funky parallel universe.  Which is kinda apt.  Because they’re ACTORS.

Coffee cup (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

I’m planning a post that lists my favourite episodes of The Sopranos.  I’ll give you a hint.  Christopher is my favourite character.  So THAT ONE won’t be on the list.  I guess I’ve always had a thing for guys with big noses.

Which reminds me of THE WEDDING.  But that’s another post.

And that was six minutes.  Which is more than five.

Wedding Planning With Skype

Skype Technologies S.A. logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And so, my birthday dinner was also what we liked to call the In-laws Summit 2012.  (Trust me, I have done braver things.  Like eat cheese in the presence of my future husband.)

In the spirit of togetherness, Sarge suggested we bring Hemingway to dinner so my mother could tune in via Skype.  We did not.  But it made me laugh thinking about it.  And Sarge got major points with Mom when I mentioned it to her.  She also thinks it’s a good idea for a Skype commercial.  (Contact me for my rates.  Ha!)

While this post is not product-placement, I have been using Skype a lot more since The Engagement.  I showed my mother my ring by flashing it in front of the screen.  She then showed me her not-so new dog, Dolly.  Dolly spends her time eating socks and terrorising Mom’s other dog, Daisy.  But that may be another post.  One that I might call ‘Lorna Has Two Sisters’.

My mother and I have another appointment while she knits a shawl that I may need to camouflage my football-player shoulders in what may turn out to be a strapless wedding dress.

It was Skype and hot beverages on our respective continents  for a three hour conversation with a friend to discuss what she might sing at our reception.  And Benedict Cumberbatch.

I also used a screen to tell one of my bridesmaids in New York that she, along with the others, can choose their own dresses/suits/clown costumes.  Because really, on the day, all I want to do is show up and get married.  And in terms of shopping, I have no desire to recreate the food-poisoning scene in Bridemaids.  Although, I did have bad Chinese food once.  But that may not be another post.

Getting back online, my mother thinks I should take Hemingway dress-shopping so she can suck in her breath at all the right moments.  We shall see.  Or Skype.

In the words of my mother, isn’t technology wonderful?

Have you ever planned an event using Skype?

The Essentials

This is what my Sunday looks like.  Books, popcorn and bed.  Bliss.  (The coffee is just out of shot.)

My book:  The Shape of Water (I have a new Cop-crush.)

Sarge’s book:  The Body Snatchers (Which I must read at some point this month.  The book-group says so.)

Back to it.  Happy weekend, all!

 

 

Yes, I’m The Bride. Who Are You?

I have a confession to make.  I have not been planning/dreaming of my wedding since I was six years old.  There are no scrapbooks, files, dog-eared wedding magazines from the ‘80’s.  The first and only time I made any kind of short-lived scrapbook, I glued my fingers together.  True story.

Two and a half years ago, I began to picture myself married.  To Sarge.   Being married, that is.  Not the wedding.

And so, when we began to discuss what the actual wedding might look like, I had only a few ideas:

I’d like to get married outside

To Sarge

He’d be in a skirt kilt

And my dress and I would sit comfortably in my chair, at the same time.

With more butterflies than flowers around

This is the list we took venue-shopping a few weeks ago.

Now.  I’d heard that people selling their services don’t like to talk to the groom and direct everything to the bride.  We went to three places.   Two people directed their questions to both of us.  Super cool.  One person spoke only to Sarge.  Not cool.  He was a bit confused when we both answered back.  Which was cool.

The thing is this.  Sarge isn’t marrying himself.  I would be totally supportive if he wanted to, but he doesn’t.  He wants to marry me.  So, yes, Mr Co-ordinator who doesn’t like his job, that makes me the bride.  Disabled people get married, too.  I read it online somewhere.

For me, this means that if we were to get married outside, I’d need a flat aisle.  No carpets over grass.  We’d even make a platform.  But we’d have to be allowed to use it.  Not being allowed to use it would be a little thing called a deal-breaker.  That means we’re going to take our money and our wedding somewhere else.

We have provisionally booked an indoor venue more beautiful than any picture I could have pasted in a scrapbook, if I had one.  Which I don’t.

I do, however, have  some Pinterest boards, which are less messy.  Maybe.

This was taken a year ago. At a wedding. Do we look like we're practicing?

Reading Through the Stacks: February and March

Four to Score (novel) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ll admit, not a lot of reading has happened in the last two months.  I’ve been busy being engaged, drafting a bunch of my own words and getting older.

I read six books in January.  And seven more whole ones in February and March.

 

These are them:

 

Fante: A Family’s Legacy of Writing, Drinking and Surviving

Four to Score

Post Office

Tortilla Flat

The Snow Child

High Five

The Sense of an Ending

 

And they weren’t even very long.  Must improve.

 

What are you reading?

 

 

A Birthday Card From Dad

And click here to see the second thing to make me cry happy tears today!

Thanks, Dad.

Thinking Outside The Card

I’m 31 on the 31st!

Had to share my card from Sarge! Who else would it be from?

What did you do on your 31st birthday?  If you haven’t had it yet, make it up!

Real paragraphs tomorrow or Monday!

Sunday Song: Wedding Processional

Dear Readers/supporters of our mawidge,

And so, on Friday, Sarge and I were sitting around talking wedding music with my Dad and Anne.  Our song is ‘The Book of Love’, and that’s what I’d like to walk/roll/whatever down the aisle to.  (We’d like to get piped out after the deed is done, but that’s possibly another post.)

The thing is this.  I like the Peter Gabriel version:

 

And Sarge likes the Magnetic Fields’ original:

 

And so so, we thought we’d put it to a vote.

Which do you like?

Since we are the ones getting married, we reserve the right to rig the vote, but thought this would be fun.

Have at it!

Love,

The Butterfly and The Penguin (that would be us.  Hi.)

PS.  We first heard this on a road-trip with friends, and not on Scrubs.  Neither of us were really into it, and missed the final episode.  There’s that, too.

It Takes A Village

And so, as I was saying, a few weekends ago, Sarge and I took Frodo-Bob ring-shopping.

Maybe it was the complimentary champagne they gave us in the first shop, but the third ring I tried on made me cry.  It was as if it had always been there.  I (grudgingly) left it to traipse around other shops.  But every other ring looked like costume jewellery.  Which has its place, but not on your wedding finger.  And there was no more complimentary champagne.

I had found The One.

We met Dad, Anne and two of the bridesmaids for celebratory noodles, before the final sign-off on my ring and our wedding bands.  Sarge tried his on, and my heart skipped three whole beats.   Maybe ten.

We brought everyone with us to see the rings.  As I said to the very lovely and patient salesperson, ‘It takes a village.’

Now, my actual ring had to be made.  A two week wait.

The ring was early.  I may have screamed in Sarge’s ear when he told me it was.  As a matter of fact, I did.

On Saturday, we took Frodo-Bob to fulfill his purpose as ring-box.  Everyone in the shop was very impressed with him.

Sarge, FB and I carried the precious ring to the coffee shop where we ended our seven-hour first date.  He got on one knee and asked me.  Again.  And I said yes.  Again.

Sarge's lovely assistant.

 

And in a full circle moment, I believe the people at the next table were having their first date.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back to our story, some time later…

Mission accomplished.

 

 

 

Multitasking

My life feels a bit like this at the moment:

Stick with me, though.  It’ll be worth it.

P.S. Apparently, The Unipiper does weddings.