Please note, nobody's nuptials were excised. I just like saying that.
Today I completed my last duty as a bridesmaid for Tink and Panda, delivering the final two wedding favors to friends who couldn't make the actual event. Which brings to a close approximately four weeks of wedding related business.
It all ended well, namely in a marriage. Everybody seemed happy and drama was at a minimum. At least as far as I could tell, which is good enough for me.
A lot can happen in three weeks, and in addition to wedding prep stress I had some other shit going on. It's funny how you can bury stuff. But it's also funny how some of that shit gets zombified and ends up popping up. To love is to bury.
Anyhoo, came home with the plan to crawl into my bed and sleep for three days straight. Ha. Ha. Ha. Instead we get Pointless Renovations At The Apartment!
It's like E.T. up in this bitch, except with more dust and fewer hazmat suits.
What's especially clever about this work plan is that instead of completing a set of windows in one room and moving on, the workers have opted to work on all windows in all rooms simultaneously.
So you could say seating, eating, and breathing have been a bit of a problem these last few days. They were supposed to be done by last Wednesday. I predict they will still be working by Tuesday. Just a guess.
Me and Lin Lin are going to see Star Trek Into Darkness this weekend. So excited!!!
Off to soothe my BBC withdrawals with YouTube clips of Q.I.
Nacho is gone now. So quickly the verdict turns from hope to death. And so quickly they provide that death.
Nacho deserved a far better life than the one he got. But he never seemed anything less than happy with what he had.
I am glad he was coddled and cared for in his final few days. I wish I
could have held him one last time. I wish I could have been there for
him in that terrible, cold, clinical room where they turn things from
warm and sentient to cold and insensate. Maybe I could have helped him
be a little less scared.
Though Nach was never scared of much. I think he was mostly just tired.
And though people always say, "Oh, be so glad you didn't see him at the
end. He looked so bad, better to remember the good times."
That doesn't really work for me. I always loved my big orange stinky baby no matter the circumstance.
I'm sorry, Nacho. You deserved better.
On the inescapability of death, the demise of hope, and all our wasted time. Funeral Blues--W.H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
He isn't my cat, but I ended up caring for him for several years.
I got a call today informing me that Nacho was having severe liver malfunction and the outlook was not good.
I have very strong feelings about this, including guilt, anger, more guilt, sadness, and resignation (and then more guilt about the resignation).
Nacho is a unique cat. He doesn't realize we are all different species. So he hangs out with dogs, humans, babies, whatever. Not much fazes him. He thought his mom was a chocolate Lab that he lived with. She wasn't thrilled with the notion, but it never stopped him from expressing his love.
He's super smart, scarily fearless, appropriately vocal, inappropriately fecally expressive about his displeasure, independent, tough, a great advisor, and fun to snuggle with.
And sometimes that help is looking up Q.I. from the BBC on YouTube.
We never change do we? We never learn do we?
And then other things happen.
Tink was very good to me today. Does that sound like junkie talk? I don't know anymore.
All I know is Pain is Pain. A cunning tracker, it (out of time) traced me through a hundred neuron firings, and knew it was me. (I was the one grimacing for no reason at the bar. There was a reason: pain.)
I probably shouldn't post this. But my ovaries hurt. And my uterus. And the myriad organs that don't like extra blood and extra pressure.
I've mouthed off too much. I retire this to Tink to find fit for consumption.
Or maybe I just approved it in her name and posted it(<---- so true).
I would buy a plane ticket and fly out to watch Star Trek: Into Darkness with them on opening day. We had so much fun at the last one. It seems wrong to see the movie without them.
I would organize a last minute reception and pull out all the stops for tink and Panda's wedding. Everyone would get everything they wanted and nobody would have to worry.
Not that money solves everything. But I'd like to be faced with some scenarios in my life wherein I had so much money that at least that wouldn't be the problem. One can dream.
And no matter what, weddings are stressful. Or perhaps I should say the planning is stressful. As with any other project, something(s) inevitably goes awry, someone(s) invariably fail to provide a promised favor, and, of course, family. (In the case of office project management, replace family with coworkers/staff). Even if you love them, they are going to pose some issue, at some point.
Flames. Flames on the side of my face. Burning.
Staying up here NorCal for a while, trying to help on aforementioned wedding. I don't feel like I do much, but I have driven around and been moral support on some shopping trips. The mall in San Jose/Santa Clara is whack, man. I think a casino architect designed it, because once you get in you can't find your way back out.
Being that it's me, Tink, and Panda, there is a certain amount of inherent silliness in a large percentage of our activities. Recent subjects that have reduced the group to tears (with no regard for any kind of sense):
cats with rockets in their asses (cat ass rockets)
lou diamond phillips' unfortunate marriage woes and resume
Unfortunately, due to last minute housing accommodations, I can no longer have a +1. Apologies to my disappointed potential dates.
Some are taking it better than others. In their own way.
I guess somebody else has to get married so I can make it up to these poor boys.
On the upside, I will be reunited with my wife, JDog. She's coming out for the wedding next week. Since our vows under the Wooster's wedding arch, I guess we are sort of automatically each others +1. It's not your traditional marriage. But there is photographic proof.
Which you will never see.
Did I mention I tried a Zumba class the other day? How did it go? They haven't made a gif with that much Pain, Fail, Stroke, and Wheeze to properly express the experience. I almost passed out. I was near to hurling once or twice.
The instructor was all like........
So I gave it a shot. . .
The spirit was semi-willing, but the flesh was oh so weak. . .
I have never in my life been so close to walking out of a workout. I think it scarred me for life.
That's enough for now. It has taken me hours to write this blahg post. So much effort for me, so little return for you. It's like I'm Corporate America or the Healthcare Industry.
But I wonder how effectively I've conveyed the horrific moroseness of those nocturnal roustabouts.
I mostly think it's punishment for not being a good enough person. But I think that about a lot of things. And surely the debt for that would be paid by now.
I'm Away From Home at the moment, which is a funny phrase to use considering I don't really have a home anymore. But I can't think on that too much lest I get into a state of Perpetually Boring Self Referential Philosophizing.*
