Mean Girl to the Rescue!

How'm I gonna save the world when the world ain't ready?

Monday, May 22, 2006

District of Booblumbia

Our trip to D.C. was fun, in large part due to the fact that we treated it as a weekend getaway rather than a shit!-I-have-to-work-and-pay-my-own-way kind of a thing (though the latter was what it really amounted to). My husband, the illustrious Booby*, made last-minute hotel arrangements in a relatively swanky chain located in D.C.'s gayborhood, drove us down on Friday night, took me for noshies and malt/hop-based beverages at the Brickskeller, took me for brunch at Afterwords, and, and, AND even walked me to the building I had to get to for work purposes on Saturday afternoon. I swear, for as much as he gets on my nerves, I do love that man, and I understand that I am a lucky woman to have found someone so sweet and so impervious to my rages. Not that those happen often, ha ha!**

Anyhoo, our late-night stop at the 'Skeller found us practically begging the waitstaff to bring us drinks, until finally Booby went and fetched from the bar. "Well, OK," said the barman, "But for the next round, you gotta order from the waitress!" No shit, dude, and don't you think we would've if she would come within ten feet of us? Also, thanks for realizing that you overcharged us by like, $15 for that heffeweissen. Luckily, a very sweet, but very drunk girl at the adjacent table came over to chat with me while Booby was at the bar, and she steered me to the correct waitron, whom I then cornered and menaced (well, really I just asked her for menus. But I only didn't menace her so she wouldn't loogie in my food). Sweet drunk girl then bought us a round of lemon drops as an apology for waving her butt in our faces while doing some booze-fueled country line dancing (she was quite talented; she had on high heeled boots and she didn't miss a step). She then asked if we were on our first date (ha!), asked when we were having kids (I decided to forgive her this faux pas, for how could she know this is a bad thing to ask? Aren't I magnanimous?), and told us she was an aerospace engineer. Booby didn't believe her, but she seemed sincere to me. And then, we had to wait so freakin' long for the chicken fingers I'd ordered that we got them for free (and they were delicious, because we were like starved hyenas in the Serengeti by the time they arrived. I even ate them with BBQ sauce, and I hate that stuff (I'd rather honey mustard, if you please).

Saturday we did the brunch thing, as referenced above, and I ask you, O Denizens of Our Capitol (or frequent visitors), what is up with the bad service in eateries? We asked for cream for our coffees about 4 times and never got it, plus the food arrived kind of cold. But whatevs, I had a good time anyway, and by some miracle I didn't think twice about it and skipped along my merry way (I was wearing new pants that I liked and looked good in, which sometimes make all the difference, really).

So now my complainy rant is over, even though for all my complaining I had a wonderful time. I hope you all had a fun weekend, the details of which I can read about in your blogs today!

*and likely reason for some of the pervier search strings that lead people here, although an innocent reference to "happy endings" in a recent meme brought someone Harridan-ward, looking for a "masseuse" in the area. Sorry I couldn't help you, dude. Might I suggest a RealDoll?

**Lies. I am on a near-constant PMS rotation, who am I kidding?

Friday, May 19, 2006

May 24

You may have seen me reference my bipolar ex-boyfriend, P, here and there on this blog. He committed suicide almost 6 years ago, and this May he would have turned 36. Until I met my husband (otherwise known as the most patient man on earth), he was one of the few people, and certainly the only man, whom I felt understood me.

P and I met in February 1993. My friend Frau Doktor and I went dancing at a club called The Bank, which had been, naturally, a bank before it became a dance club. It was my favorite club at the time. She was dating her now-husband and I was living with my then-boyfriend, much to my parents' dismay. I was working a retail job after having dropped out of college, and they felt (perhaps rightly so) that my life was going nowhere fast. Moving in with J.D. didn't help the matter.

P had dated a co-worker of mine from a bookstore job I'd held perhaps a year earlier. She was a sweet Southern girl with a drinking problem who felt trapped in her relationship with her live-in boyfriend, Vidar (I think he was Swedish). When she told me P's name, I realized he was the former basketball hero of my parochial high school alma mater - his name was gold in my neighborhood. She and P ended up having a bad breakup, but she stayed with Vidar, probably because he had money. So I knew who he was when I saw him smile at me that night. I suggested to Frau Doktor that she flirt with him, since he was the sort of handsome that you see in Ralph Lauren ads. She laughed; she was happy with her boyfriend, but she agreed that anyone would think he was attractive. The next thing I knew, P had grabbed her and asked her to bring me over to talk to him. He didn't remember me, but I didn't mind, and we talked about movies, saying we should get together to see Mike Leigh's Naked. My boyfriend was the furthest thing from my mind.

"Fast" girl that I was then, I looked up his number in the phone book and left him a message a few days later. I'd given him my work number, but I was terrified he wouldn't call. That was how the relationship started; I have no one to blame but myself.

I ended things with J.D. about a month later, and dated P for the next 9 months, moving home with my parents (who still weren't happy with me, exactly, but thrilled that I had begun to date a nice Irish Catholic boy from the neighborhood). P's mother was slowly dying of cancer (though we didn't know then that she would die), and mine had been a breast cancer survivor for a year, so we bonded over that and many other things we had in common. I felt nervous, but happy in his presence. I didn't quite understand why someone like him wanted to be with someone like me, but I was happy he did.

I'm not really sure where things started to fall apart, or why he started exhibiting strange behavior - he became intolerably moody, and would vacillate between needing lots of space to "think," and coming to my house or calling very late at night, insistent on seeing or talking to me. I was fairly unconcerned with what I should be getting out of the relationship. My whole mindset was that this was the person I was Meant To Be With, and I would do anything to keep him happy, even if it meant subverting what I wanted out of a partnership. He decided that we saw too much of each other because of his "gluttonous" tendencies, and that he was was miserable if he wasn't able to see me every day. Things devolved quickly from there, and he dumped me, apparently to remove the source of the problem.

Every once in awhile, I'd see P on the street while I was walking somewhere. He had a habit of turning up like a bad penny every couple of months. No matter who I dated, I still felt like I was in love with him and always would be. It all seemed very star-crossed at the time. When I did see him, I was rendered nearly incapable of functioning, such was my emotional upset. It was not a good way to be. I gradually got over it, as more and more time elapsed between sightings, and eventually I reached a point where seeing him just made me feel a bit odd. I still felt overly fond of him, but it was less crippling.

Perhaps eight years after our initial relationship, we ran into one another on the street and got to chatting. I felt proud of myself for being able to do this, stand in the street with my ex who had decimated me, nattering about work and what was new. I had missed him as a person after having made him into some kind of runaway Golem, feeding off my romantic despair. He was still frighteningly smart, and having dated any number of dumb guys in the interim, I enjoyed the witty conversation I was able to have with him, which is probably what led to my dating him again.

This time, it was tougher. Gone were the issues with having to see me every day, but there was a very high level of commitment there that I couldn't match. I was gun-shy, terrified of having my heart broken a second time. When he revealed to me that he thought he had a chemical imbalance that led to acute depression, I wanted to help, but there was little I could do, except talk to him, and encourage him to talk to his family and continue to see a therapist and take medication. From that point on I felt as if I were the only person keeping him anchored, and I wasn't able to do a very good job of it. He went from delirious happiness and gregariousness to dark depressions in which he wouldn't leave his apartment for days. I felt more and more stifled, and poorly-suited to helping him get better. I recognize now that his behavior was classically bipolar, but he was not being treated for it. I tried to get him to discuss the possibility with his therapist, but he didn't agree that manic depression was his problem, so he refused. I got a call from an ex-boyfriend wanting me back, and used it as the excuse I felt I needed to bow out of the relationship, an act that makes me burn with shame when I recall it now. A day or two later, I received a very long email from P, advising me that I would soon be hearing about his untimely demise, and that I could go ahead and blame myself for having caused it through my pretense of caring, my callous betrayal. I called my parents and had them contact his father so he couldn't actually hurt himself, and he was placed in care at a facility not long after.

I didn't hear from him for a several months after that. Occasionally we IM'd or emailed one another, and he told me about how he had tried to cut his wrists and wore sweat bands constantly to cover the scars. I shouldn't worry, though, he said, he was doing well, and he knew better than to do anything like that again. I told him to call me if he ever felt like it was going to happen again, and he promised he would.

In September of 2000, we met up for an afternoon as friends, over Labor Day weekend. We had a nice time, just chatting away and having lunch together. He had put on some weight from the anti-depressants he was on. He wanted to tell me about why he had attempted suicide, but when I turned to listen to his story, he clammed up. I tried a few times to get him to talk to me, and then dedcided that he would tell me later, when he was ready. We sat in silence for a little while, and then he left. I never saw or spoke to him again.

A week or so later, I got a call from Frau Doktor while I was at work.
"They prayed for P at mass this past weekend," she said. "But, the thing is, they prayed for him as one of the recently deceased."
"Oh, there must be some mistake. I'll call the church and find out what the deal is."

It wasn't a mistake. P had carefully taken everything out of his wallet except for his ID and a note indicating that his uncle (a police officer) was to be contacted, and stacked it all on top of his coffee table. He didn't leave a suicide note. Then he walked to the train station that was about a block from his apartment, and jumped in front of the last scheduled train of the night.


If you have a friend or family member you think might be bipolar, please be a better friend to him than I was to P. Contact the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance and get help. Not a day goes by that I don't wish I had.

Everybody else is doing it, so why can't I?

My search tags for this blog for the past couple of weeks are thus:
  1. "max loads" supplement volume mobility (from Australia, that one)
  2. Grand Funk (from Peru! Who knew that Grand Funk Railroad had a following there?)
  3. Trashy Girls Next Store (my first thought was, Shouldn't that be "next door"? But now I think it'd be a great name for a thrift boutique)
  4. dogs sperms shots (I'm ... speechless. Who would want to see that?)
  5. america's next top model joanie's heart necklace (I was more impressed with those massive chandelier earrings she wore at final panel)
  6. plants from pineapple crowns (Mine are still alive, incredibly)
  7. asian big booby movies (are there such things? I guess if there's a website for dog sperm, there's one for this, too)

In other news, my gardening is going swimmingly. We've already harvested 3 radishes (those things are great; they make you feel like an accomplished gardener with very little work because they grow so quickly and easily), 6 broccoli crowns, and several huge red oak lettuce leaves (which are a little bitter, but not bad). I'm hopeful for an eventual harvest of strawberries, raspberries, several varieties of tomato, cucumbers, peas and a few different types of pepper (never mind the fact that we still have frozen peppers from last year). I have a couple pumpkin plants in the ground, but they're not thriving, so I won't hold out hope for their survival.

Booby and I are off to D.C. this weekend for a little work/play combo, so maybe that will inspire a photo post, or something. I've been something of a little crabapple lately, wanting only to sit and sulk or stand outside picking aphids off my roses. All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl, and this little trip might be a good kick-in-the-pants for my psyche.

Have a wonderful weekend, everyone.

Friday, May 12, 2006

WHO will be eliminated tonight?

I don't know if many of you have seen Rich's America's Next Top Model recaps at Four Four, but if you haven't, you really should. His posts usually make my Friday, and I end up doing the furtive giggle-snort in my cube.

You can read all his recaps here (and he includes sound files of each week's "Tyraisms," which any habitual watcher of the show will recognize as Tyra's bizarre turns of phrase), and share in the joy of Jade eviscerating the English language, Joanie's tooth woes, and Danielle's general awesomeness (but don't blame me if you pee yourself laughing). It seems clear from the previews of next week's show that the continued discussion of Danielle's accent foreshadows (like a large blunt instrument) that she's getting the axe after royally flubbing a fake Cover Girl commercial, but damn! I'll be sorry to see her go.

But please, lord, don't let Jade win. That's all I ask.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Twenty questions and then some

I've been tagged by Teebs who was tagged by Schmutzie, and since they are both on my reading roster I feel compelled to do this little (or not so little) MeMe.

1. First name? Who wants to know?
2. Were you named after anyone? Nope; my mom had names picked out for us which had nothing to do with relatives. Only my brother was named after anyone (my father). My name was going to be Peter if I were a boy. My youngest sister was going to be Roger.
3. Do you wish on stars? Maybe when I was young and less cynical.
4. When did you last cry? Sunday night, surreptitiously, as my husband slept unawares. I cry like a faucet these days.
5. Do you like your handwriting? I rather do, and I was often asked by classmates to fake excuse notes and signatures for them in grade school.
6. What is your favorite lunch meat? Turkey or ham (shredded, not thick sliced and in a gelatinous roll ... eurgh) and not without cheese.
7. When is your birthday? August 1971. I'm a Leo.
8. What is your most embarrassing cd? I have a lot of CD upgrades from my high school cassette tape angst days, hence, the collection includes Depeche Mode, That Petrol Emotion, and more Smiths than is strictly necessary.
9. If you were another person would you be friends with you? No, I would think I was too mean. Probably because I am too mean. I am nice to my friends, though.
10. Do you have a journal? I keep a sporadic paper journal in the form of a black marble composition book. I haven't touched it in probably a year. There was a traumatic experience once where an ex snooped in all my old journals, and then demanded I trash them. Like a fool, I complied, and have been sorry ever since.
12. Would you bungee jump? Probably not unless there was monetary compensation.
13. What is your favorite cereal? Cocoa Puffs. I'm cuckoo for 'em.
14. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Yeah, because I double-knot the laces, and untying makes it a lot easier to get them back on.
15. Do you think that you are strong? Strong like bull.
16. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Graham Slam by Turkey Hill.
17. Shoe Size? 8 or 8 1/2. Really, I should be taller with such giant dogs as those. Thank god for heels.
18. Red or pink? Equal parts both, which is probably a mistake with red hair. So much for being goth.
19. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? I have a very hairy neck. That's this week's thing. Next week it'll be something else. There's a laundry list of things, all the time.
20. Who do you miss the most? My ex-boyfriend/good pal who committed suicide 5 1/2 years ago.
21. Do you want everyone you send this to to send it back? Only if they feel like it.
22. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Sort of a dusty aqua pair of pants from Ann Taylor Loft that I got for super-cheap at an outlet mall, and black Cloud 9 flip-flops.
23. Last thing you ate? A turkey and brie flatbread sandwich and kettle chips.
24. What are you listening to right now? I can't seem to stop listening obsessively to Shake the Sheets by Ted Leo, my rock star boyfriend.
25. If you were a crayon what color would you be? Midnight Blue. Sing it, Lou Gramm.
26. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? The nice girl who took my anniversary dinner reservation at Django.
27. Fingers or toes? Definitely fingers. All my toes, save for the baby toe, are the same length. But I try to keep my fingernails in good nick.
28. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Eyes, fingernails (can't stand long/dirty fingernails).
29. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Yes. She's a good egg.
30. Favorite Drink? I like the fancy, flavored iced teas. Mandarin orange. Plum. Lemon Zinger. Boozewise, I like a nice Hoegaarden or Berliner weisse. Did I spell those right?
31. Favorite Sport? uh ...
32. Hair Color? Titian red blonde (just like Nancy Drew!).
33. Favorite office supply item? Sharpies. Especially in the new pastel colors.
34. Do you wear contacts? Unfortunately, yes.
35. Favorite Food? Mashed potatoes 'n' gravy, with a biscuit.
36. Last Movie You Watched? Friends With Money by Nicole Holofcener
37. Favorite Day Of The Year? My birthday is usually a good one.
38. Scary Movies Or Happy Endings? Happy Endings. But not at the massage parlor.
39. Summer or winter? Summer.
40. Hugs or Kisses? Sure
41. Favorite dessert? Creme brulee. Or Tiramisu. Funny, I would've thought something chocolate, but it's not.
42. What's On Your Mouse Pad? The moon.
43. What Did You Watch Last night on TV? America's Next Top Model and Lost.
44. Favorite Smells? Chocolate chip cookies, rain, Lush Karma perfume, my husband's aftershave.
45. Favorite Sounds? thunderstorms, Emma the cat whisper-meowing
46. Stones or Beatles? Stones via Liz Phair filter.
47. What's the furthest you've been from home? Ireland
48. What books are you reading? Garnet Hill by Denise Mina, and, for trashy nonsense, Size 12 is Not Fat by Meg Cabot.

I'm tagging ... let's see, Arabella, Sassypants, and Tits McGee. Have at it, ladies!

Monday, May 08, 2006

Here's to good friends

My husband has lots of friends. They're pretty nice folks. JG deejayed our wedding reception and is a real sweetheart, usually the first person I think of when I meet a single girl who would benefit from meeting a nice guy.
Robb is a solid citizen who races bikes and has a toddler who is the subject of many of her proud papa's photos. Rick is a quiet fellow who takes great pictures and adopted a kitten named Sanchez from us (and then paid $2500 to save the cat after the damn fool thing jumped into thin air and broke his leg in eleventy places).

But I think my favorite of Booby's friends is Big Pugawug (so-called not because she is a large person, but to distinguish her from her adorable offspring, Pugawug), who is not only a nice person with an interesting blog of her family's daily life (with lots of photos!), but who also was sweet enough to send me a care package when I was feeling down. She knows I enjoy gardening, and so she sent me a HUGE packet of purple poppy seeds from her own garden, plus several cuttings of succulent plants to be rooted and grown as houseplants (I could summer them outside, too, and prettify my porch). I was really touched by the gesture.

Now I owe her a care package since she helped pull me out of my funk, so if she's reading, she should expect a little something in the mail in the coming week ... perhaps of the seed, cutting and bound printed matter variety.

For relaxing times, make it Suntory time.

Booby and I went to H-Mart, a new Asian supermarket, this past weekend. Our area has a pretty vital Koreatown happening, as well as many South Asian immigrants in residence, so there are lots of little cornershops featuring interesting foodstuffs and Bollywood movies (and the regular supermarkets even have a decent selection of international foods beyond Goya and La Choy). H-Mart is the only market in our immediate area that has fresh produce, several fast food restaurants, frozen food (including cheese and corn flavored ice cream and red bean popsicles), fresh bakery goods, fresh seafood ... the works.

We erred on the side of not buying too much, and Booby has photographed out modest haul here. Best items so far? The Suntory lemon drink (a less sweet, slightly fizzy lemonade) and the Vegetable Snack (sort of like Funyuns, but less gross, and lighter). Not pictured: a six pack of long green hot pepper plants which have since been planted, a pineapple, and a package of Asian pears. I'll try to take some garden photos this week to show what we've been up to (sadly, the cats ate many of our seedlings while we were away last weekend; Bailey has been extra sweet and cuddly to me since then, as if she senses that I would like to smack her furry head, with its walnut-sized brain).

I can't wait to go back and get some more stuff!

Pink is the new ... um. Wait a second.

I had to have beta blood taken this morning, and to reward myself I bought two things: a sausage, egg 'n' cheese on an English muffin at the local Dunkin Donuts, and a Kuhn Rikon Vase Grinder. Ooooh, pitty. I broke my old pepper mill some months ago, and decided that I deserved a fancy, pink, thirty-dollar grinder (plus I had some Coinstar Amazon dollars to put toward my purchase). I also bought myself pretty underwear yesterday in anticipation of being told that I am, yet again, not pregnant this week, after my beta results come back from the lab. Consumer goods quiet my nerves.

Speaking of significant pink, if you haven't already donated a bit of (tax-deductible) cash to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation's Race for the Cure, you should. My oldest sister, Lisa, does the race every year on Mother's Day, along with her good friend, who is a survivor. My mom is also a survivor (13 years this past December), so I try to support the cause whenever possible. If you want to donate to my sister's team (Pixie's Pack), please click here.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

You knew it was gonna happen ...

Someone actually got to my blog using the following search string:

"max loads" Dietary Supplement

The best news? I'm the third site in the serach. YEAH!
My name is now forever entwined with Max Loads.

I couldn't be prouder. Snif!

Tuesday, May 02, 2006


Strap in, peeps, this is a long one. But it's gossip-licious about people you don't know! Photos TK if I find any that are actually in focus.

So this past weekend, my dear friend M got married. I was fortunate enough to be one of her bridesmaids (or shall I say "attendants," as "bridesmatron" would really be more accurate, but that word is kind of ugly). Little did I know that my duties would include corralling all the other bridemaids (except for the Matron of Honor, who is the bride's sister, and needed no instruction from me, needless to say).

But first, some details: Bride and Groom had been dating for 6 years, so the joy at this long-awaited celebration was pretty profound. It was a big, beautiful, spectacular Italian wedding. Amazingly, I'd never been to one of those, but it wasn't too dissimilar to the average spectacular Irish wedding, so I felt right at home. The ceremony was lovely, with lots of personal touches, such as the bride's niece playing Let There Be Peace on Earth on the piano by the altar, and various nephews acting as ushers and ringbearers (thank god the rings were safely in the best man's jacket, is all I'm saying).

The reception was a few hours after the Mass (that extra time was spent taking photos; falling on my mother with thanks after she brought us shawls, because it was freezing in New Jersey on Saturday; waiting for more pictures to be taken; repinning my hair; and finally, drinking champagne and eating Wheat Thins on a trolley car while driving to an outdoor park to have more photos taken), and took place at the Trump Marina. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of The Donald, but he was not amongst the hoi polloi, all of whom were smoking and drinking with abandon. The reception was also lovely, and only slightly marred by the fact that the trip to the ladies' room took one alongside a Hooters' which always seemed to have a large group of young men in the booth nearest the large windows that looked out onto the main drag of the casino. If I weren't already married, I feel sure I could have had a date or ten that night.

So let's get to the Bratty Bridesmaids:

C and B came with C's parents, after B flew in from Texas to Connecticut, where C lives. The two drove to Philly to meet C's parents with the notion that all would travel and room together (parents in one suite, girls in another). Unfortunately, the parents refused at the last minute, and when I met everyone at the nail salon, B had made arrangements at a Comfort Inn 40 minutes away, and had no transport. I ended up having her stay with me at my folks' house. Thanks, C's parents! You totally suck!

Fast forward to the Rehearsal Dinner, where bridesmaid T tells me that I should put on 10 lbs. or so if I want to get pregnant. Several times. Without being asked for her opinion. Sigh. Once we got home (Booby had joined us at this point), T calls me to talk smack on the other bridesmaids. "Aren't you talking to this person at 8 a.m. tomorrow?" Booby asked. "Get off the phone already." I couldn't fault his logic.

The ceremony itself went off without a hitch, except that the wedding party was asked to approach the altar whether they were receiving communion or not. The non-Catholics were not feeling that at all. B later told me that C was saying things like, "That's not my God," and looking everywhere in the pews for a Bible (I have no clue why, but as she's Jewish, I am pretty sure she wasn't looking for the Good News of Jesus Christ. Not that I am, either, and I'm nominally Catholic). Being in the front row afforded me the perfect seat to observe everyone taking Communion, even the non-Catholics, who seemed to think it was some kind of special candy being given out to those who had mastered the sit-stand-kneel marathon that is a wedding Mass.

At the reception, B endeared herself to no one by demanding that the bride's brother-in-law fetch her "diamonds my daddy gave me" (actually heart-shaped diamond necklace, not the velvet bag of family jewels one might expect from such wording) AND her special pituitary gland medication (and anti-deprerssants)<--no, really! from his car, which was valet-parked. Brother-in-law was feeling no pain, bride's sister told B to hold on a minute as she herded 3 children and drunk husband, B pitched fit. Will someone tell me why you would ever leave diamonds and regimented drugs in someone else's car at a wedding?

Meanwhile, there was one Single Male guest, with whom the bride had tried to fix up almost the entire female contingent of the wedding party at one time or another. The most recent victim, T, had been on 2 dates with him, declined to sleep with him, and never heard from him again. But her interest reared up once she saw him dancing with a woman from his table, whom she immediately declared to be both fatter and uglier than herself. She also insisted that I find out from the bride who this brazen hussy was (I demurred). Instead we went to "visit" my husband (while reconnoitering), who was seated at the same table. Later, I chatted with the brazen hussy herself (amazingly, I refrained from calling her a Whore of Babylon), where I discovered she was a sweet-natured cousin of the bride with no interest in the single man (I conspiratorially told her I thought he was a bit of a player, and she nodded knowingly. No flies on her).

Not to be outdone, C's mother, who has never been drunk, expressed concern at her daughter's having imbibed several rounds of shots (in C's defense, she was a happy drunk). C ignored her and cozied up to best man's 20 year old son (did I mention C was feeling spinsterish since she was 31 and unmarried?). She soon ditched him to change into street clothes and take up with Single Player Guy, causing an embolism in T's emotional cortex. C's mother appeared and gave C a stern talking-to about spinsters and alcohol abuse, or somesuch, and then C and Single Guy disappeared, never to be seen again that evening (C claims that they went to play roulette and "nothing happened." But when they left, they appeared to be in search of an empty broom closet, if you know what I mean).

To top it all off? C was pissed at us for not being around when she finally got done "playing roulette," so she made up a lame excuse about having to leave early and not take B to the airport. So Booby and I made sure B got on a flight to Texas with a mere 10 minutes to spare. Let's just say that I learned a lot about talking people into letting me butt in line that day. I'm still amazed she made it onto the plane.

And I can't wait to dish all this gossip with my newlywed friend upon her return from Honeymoonsville, since I tried so hard to shield her from it on Saturday.