I guess that I'm some sort of Sappho Whisperer. Not the Zafo Whisperer. That's totally different.
I get along with lesbians really well. I don't know why. I mean, I'm pretty awesome. And lesbians like pretty awesome things.
There's many a social situation where a lesbian comes up to me and she starts talking and I start talking back to her and then the next thing you know - fast friends! And sometimes, I don't even know that they're lesbians until much later! And I'll think to myself, "Of course. Lesbians. We really understand each other." But why? Because we both like women? Because I'm tall? Do lesbians like height?
There's this lesbian named "Lana" (not her real name) who I see in my travels around town quite often. We get along (obv.) but she must be running some sort of lesbian bootlegging system because whenever she shows up, there's usually a gaggle of lesbians that turn up within 20 minutes of her arrival. It's like Lana goes into the middle of the street, blows into her her magical lesbian conch shell that emits a fantastical pitch that only lesbians, dolphins, and lesbian dolphins can hear. And then they just start arriving. Scaling down the sides of buildings, climbing down trees, roller skating down off ramps. There they are. All shapes and all sizes and Tennessee visors. But while the pack mentality may scare others off, they welcome me. They ask me how tall I am. They ask me if I know they're a lesbian. (I usually don't - at least not right off. I've been told I have ridiculously inferior gaydar. I mean, sure - once 6 girls who get blind drunk on PBR start punching each other in the arm and dolphins are all "eek, eek, eeking" and shit all over the place, I start to get a pretty good idea.) They ask me if I'm cool with them being lesbians. I always tell them I am. A.) Because I am cool with it. And B.) I'm scared if I said no, they'd kick my ass. I'm not saying that in a way to feed the, "butch" lesbian stereotype but in that my ass is usually pretty easy to kick.
I guess it's not too weird that I get along with lesbians so well. I get along with gay guys, straight guys and straight women mighty fine too. But the lesbians and me? We be tight. It's just different. Always has been, probably always will be. I've had crushes on girls only to find out later they're lesbians. But instead of feeling like, "was it my fault?" I think, "of course I felt a special connection. She's a lesbian!" Maybe I'm a lesbian trapped in the body of a straight man? Do lesbians really like Maura Tierney and Kermit the Frog? I bet they totally do. I need to look into this. I can't be a lesbian . . . can I? Either way, M & I are covered b/c NH isn't one of those asshole, "We'll decide who gets to get married in this state" states. We like our granite old man ghosts and straights and gays marrying whoever they please.
I just hope no one blows one of those conch shells at the wedding. There's a sand volleyball court on site and things could get . . . out of hand.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Mr. Magic Wedding Stegosaurus, Send Me A Dream!
Make my wedding the easiest and stress-free event that I've ever seen!
The wedding is happening in just under 9 months. Not that I'm counting days. Or hours. Assuming everything goes according to plan, our friends and family will witness M and I get married at a summer camp just north of Winnipesaukee on the Center Harbor / Moultonborough line. It's called Camp Quinebarge. And they have a lot of stuff. And a lot of things. M & I? Also have a lot of stuff. And a lot of things. And a group of friends the size of Pennsylvania. And a contingent of family the size of two Pennsylvanias. M's mother is 1 of 2,000 and her dad is 1 of 47. That's a lot of tantes and oncles.
I'm not even worried about the normal things one worries about when planning a wedding; Chocolate fountains, ice luges, ice cold chocolate milk dunk tanks, etc. I'm mostly worried about the guest list. How on EARTH have all you people done this? More importantly, how is someone like ME supposed to do this?
1. I have attachment issues. In that, I feel attached to every single person, pet and mineral I've ever met. In my life. Ever. And I want to invite all of them/it. Grade school, middle school, high school & college classmates. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. Second Cousins. Nephews. Nieces. Teachers. Co-workers. Old roommates. Bus drivers. Living pets (Niko & Misha), former refugee pets (Chef Chen Kenichi), & dead pets (Baby Girl, Lucy, Zoe, etc. - don't worry, my mother's been storing their ashes for years just for such an event). Swim lesson instructors. Movie theater concession workers. Crossing guards. Amazing Spider-Man #334. Camp counselors. My Happy Meal Toys. Hawaiian Tropic Suntan Lotion (it smells so coconutty!) Sunday School teachers. The entirety of Zach's Trivia Night Trivia Teams. My prizewinning cantaloupe as optical nerve project from sophomore Biology. That's just the tip of the pathological ice berg! Why, I even want to invite . . .
2. . . . people/things that I DON'T know! Like the cast of Freaks and Geeks, NewsRadio & The State. The writing staff of the A.V. Club. The Chipmunks. Neve Campbell (so she can cough uncomfortably when Rick asks if "anyone should have any reason that Party of Five stars should marry Zach instead, speak now or forever hold your peace"). Jack Bristow. Evangeline Lilly. Kermit the Frog. Mrs. Peacock. The Ghost of the Old Man in the Mountain. Don Draper & Roger Sterling. Wally the Green Monster. Brian Daubach. The Baseball Diamond from The Great Muppet Caper. SuperGrover.
But we simply CAN'T invite everyone/thing on my dream guest list. Sigh. I mean . . . it's just . . . double sigh. There's just not enough room in the barn / cabins / archery course / camouflage canoes! Well . . . except for you Brian Daubach. I'll never cut you from the list! NEVER!
3. Most parties I've ever attended / held follow a pretty similar pattern. I make an entrance (grand or otherwise). Then I mingle a bit. Then I pull a "Houdini" and am found hours later either a.) playing video games in some side room, b.) talking on the phone in some side room, c.) passed out in some side room, or d.) dancing/singing to Starship's "We Built This City" in some front room. All but possibly Choice D are unacceptable options for one's own wedding. M has already told me that I'm not allowed to "take off" at any point during the reception. If Tom & Huck are allowed to watch the own funeral from above, then shouldn't I be allowed to watch my own wedding from the lake? All underwatery except for my nose and up? And then I'd spring forth at an opportune time (perhaps between the best man and the comptroller's speeches?) and everyone would rejoice and I'd plunge a jagged rock into the synthetic heart of my clone that I had created for this exact situation. My clone would look at me with a cyber tear in his eye and he'd whisper - so only I could hear - "It was you. You were the real one all along. It was always you." And I'd whisper back - so only he, and maybe anyone within a 4 foot radius, could hear - "I know, handsome. I created you. It was never a question. They never knew until it was too late how to tell the difference between us. The freckles on your right arm form Orion's Belt while mine form the Dippers Big & Little. It was so simple it was genius if I do say so myself to myself." And then there'd be about 2 minutes more of rejoicing. And then cannolis would be served in the shape of a Sachem. And the comptroller would award me with the, "2nd Best Semi-Underwater Surveillance Award"! (Frederick would win 1st prize because he fell asleep under the dock.)
4. According to Wii Fit I need to lose between 50 - 70 pounds between now and then. That's . . . a lot of pounds. That only gives me 38 weeks! (Not that I'm counting.) 2.1 lbs a week?! Who does the Wii think I am, some sort of reverse vampire Paula Deen?! [For those of you who ate too much paste as a child, reverse vampire Paula Deen cooks only with rootmarm, not the copious amounts of lard that butter vampire Paula Deen uses.] I'm thinking of weighing in on the Wii Fit next time while holding Misha and then not using the Misha the time after that. Instant 22 lbs. loss! Huzzah! Well, writing a blog isn't going to help me lose the poundage. So I guess I better get my special Wii Boots on and apply the special Wii Warming Lotion and get to work.
The wedding is happening in just under 9 months. Not that I'm counting days. Or hours. Assuming everything goes according to plan, our friends and family will witness M and I get married at a summer camp just north of Winnipesaukee on the Center Harbor / Moultonborough line. It's called Camp Quinebarge. And they have a lot of stuff. And a lot of things. M & I? Also have a lot of stuff. And a lot of things. And a group of friends the size of Pennsylvania. And a contingent of family the size of two Pennsylvanias. M's mother is 1 of 2,000 and her dad is 1 of 47. That's a lot of tantes and oncles.
I'm not even worried about the normal things one worries about when planning a wedding; Chocolate fountains, ice luges, ice cold chocolate milk dunk tanks, etc. I'm mostly worried about the guest list. How on EARTH have all you people done this? More importantly, how is someone like ME supposed to do this?1. I have attachment issues. In that, I feel attached to every single person, pet and mineral I've ever met. In my life. Ever. And I want to invite all of them/it. Grade school, middle school, high school & college classmates. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. Second Cousins. Nephews. Nieces. Teachers. Co-workers. Old roommates. Bus drivers. Living pets (Niko & Misha), former refugee pets (Chef Chen Kenichi), & dead pets (Baby Girl, Lucy, Zoe, etc. - don't worry, my mother's been storing their ashes for years just for such an event). Swim lesson instructors. Movie theater concession workers. Crossing guards. Amazing Spider-Man #334. Camp counselors. My Happy Meal Toys. Hawaiian Tropic Suntan Lotion (it smells so coconutty!) Sunday School teachers. The entirety of Zach's Trivia Night Trivia Teams. My prizewinning cantaloupe as optical nerve project from sophomore Biology. That's just the tip of the pathological ice berg! Why, I even want to invite . . .2. . . . people/things that I DON'T know! Like the cast of Freaks and Geeks, NewsRadio & The State. The writing staff of the A.V. Club. The Chipmunks. Neve Campbell (so she can cough uncomfortably when Rick asks if "anyone should have any reason that Party of Five stars should marry Zach instead, speak now or forever hold your peace"). Jack Bristow. Evangeline Lilly. Kermit the Frog. Mrs. Peacock. The Ghost of the Old Man in the Mountain. Don Draper & Roger Sterling. Wally the Green Monster. Brian Daubach. The Baseball Diamond from The Great Muppet Caper. SuperGrover.But we simply CAN'T invite everyone/thing on my dream guest list. Sigh. I mean . . . it's just . . . double sigh. There's just not enough room in the barn / cabins / archery course / camouflage canoes! Well . . . except for you Brian Daubach. I'll never cut you from the list! NEVER!
3. Most parties I've ever attended / held follow a pretty similar pattern. I make an entrance (grand or otherwise). Then I mingle a bit. Then I pull a "Houdini" and am found hours later either a.) playing video games in some side room, b.) talking on the phone in some side room, c.) passed out in some side room, or d.) dancing/singing to Starship's "We Built This City" in some front room. All but possibly Choice D are unacceptable options for one's own wedding. M has already told me that I'm not allowed to "take off" at any point during the reception. If Tom & Huck are allowed to watch the own funeral from above, then shouldn't I be allowed to watch my own wedding from the lake? All underwatery except for my nose and up? And then I'd spring forth at an opportune time (perhaps between the best man and the comptroller's speeches?) and everyone would rejoice and I'd plunge a jagged rock into the synthetic heart of my clone that I had created for this exact situation. My clone would look at me with a cyber tear in his eye and he'd whisper - so only I could hear - "It was you. You were the real one all along. It was always you." And I'd whisper back - so only he, and maybe anyone within a 4 foot radius, could hear - "I know, handsome. I created you. It was never a question. They never knew until it was too late how to tell the difference between us. The freckles on your right arm form Orion's Belt while mine form the Dippers Big & Little. It was so simple it was genius if I do say so myself to myself." And then there'd be about 2 minutes more of rejoicing. And then cannolis would be served in the shape of a Sachem. And the comptroller would award me with the, "2nd Best Semi-Underwater Surveillance Award"! (Frederick would win 1st prize because he fell asleep under the dock.)
4. According to Wii Fit I need to lose between 50 - 70 pounds between now and then. That's . . . a lot of pounds. That only gives me 38 weeks! (Not that I'm counting.) 2.1 lbs a week?! Who does the Wii think I am, some sort of reverse vampire Paula Deen?! [For those of you who ate too much paste as a child, reverse vampire Paula Deen cooks only with rootmarm, not the copious amounts of lard that butter vampire Paula Deen uses.] I'm thinking of weighing in on the Wii Fit next time while holding Misha and then not using the Misha the time after that. Instant 22 lbs. loss! Huzzah! Well, writing a blog isn't going to help me lose the poundage. So I guess I better get my special Wii Boots on and apply the special Wii Warming Lotion and get to work.
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