EastGirlsWest

My favorite line from “Hay Fever“, the Noel Coward play I saw on Saturday night at The Old Globe:

I want to kiss you and kiss you and kiss you and then break everything in the house and go jump in the river!

I’m leaving town tomorrow for Israel, to do my PBS pledge thing for this concert, featuring the talented David Broza with Jackson Browne and - one of my favorites - Shawn Colvin (her cover of the Tom Waits song ‘The Heart of Saturday Night’ slays me every time). In fact, I’m hoping to get to interview Jackson and Shawn on camera. Which will be perfect, since clearly I’m already on a first-name basis with each of them.

We’ll be shooting live on location, and I just heard it’s approximately 800 gazillion degrees at this exact spot in the desert. I wonder if it was that hot when the Jewish-Roman war was fought there? Also, I will be spending 300 gazillion hours on a plane to get to this parched piece of earth. But really? I don’t care because I’M GOING TO ISRAEL.

In the meantime, life does not stop here in San Diego (GASP). Dave Hampton (who is one of those people who can only be referred to by first and last name) is holding another fantastic Objects USA event this weekend with his partners Ron and Steve. Titled Summer Survey, the highlight of this event will no doubt be the insane, bizarre, beautiful, puzzling, intriguing and just plain out there body ornaments, showcasing a unique facet of California Design. I have it on good authority that live models will be draped and adorned with these…pieces. Some of which involve bird skulls. Don’t miss it.

As for the weekdays: if you’re looking for an addictive addition to your daily blog rounds, if you are perhaps lusting for something new, then check this out. Producer, photographer and culture junkie Angela Carone has got one helluva platform for her musings and recommendations - which are always worth reading.

More soon from points east.

Moments before we leave for the ceremony

(Photo by Angela. You can see more of her pre-wedding pics here.)

What can I say? It was a grand day. An absolutely perfect time - full of family, friends, love, joy and delightful surprise. I think the photos tell the story better than I can…so check ‘em out! A few on my Flickr page (by Peggy & Allen), plus more on Susan and Aaryn’s pages. Many, many more to come.

P.S. The Betrothed is now The Husband!

It’s 90 degrees out here in the desert, people. Palm Desert, to be specific. And truthfully, hot feels pretty good right now - especially after my flirtation with the low 20s in Chicago earlier this week.

I’m here for a mini-mini Blogger/BlogHer gathering, generously hosted by Susan. We’re joined by four, fabulous other women: Katie, Tamara, Leah and Aaryn. So far it’s been wonderful, with a quiet morning at Susan’s a leisurely walk and lunch along The Paseo this afternoon. And art. We saw lots of photogenic art. There were two rides in a bright yellow golf cart.

Everyone’s got a big, fancy camera except me. I feel like I’m being followed by the paparazzi.

We’re all blogging and uploading photos and laptopping. We’re all taking pictures of each other taking pictures. I just commented on one of Angela’s Flickr photos while sitting three feet away from Aaryn who was looking at it. It’s all very meta.

So for several weeks now, one of the most emailed articles on NYTimes.com has been Questions Couples Should Ask (Or Wish They Had) Before Marrying.

Of course I emailed this to The Betrothed the first day it was published. And of course he rolled his eyes when I told him I thought we should discuss all the questions, one by one. I lieu of a good, long DTR (Discuss The Relationship), I not-so-subtly tackled the questions one by one, over the course of about ten days. Generally, I waited until we were trapped in the car, or caught him in a different place that he couldn’t flee easily - like the shower.

The questions included:

#14: If one of us were to be offered a career opportunity in a location far from the other’s family, are we prepared to move? Well, we’re screwed on that one. Let’s hope I never get offered that dream job in Iowa.

#8: Do we truly listen to each other and fairly consider one another’s ideas and complaints? I don’t know. We reached a stalemate on this one because he wouldn’t listen to me while I told him how wrong he was.

#4: Have we fully disclosed our health histories, both physical and mental? Stupid question. Obviously not.

My favorite is #7: Will there be a television in the bedroom?

Wouldn’t you know, this question was the one we had the strongest solidarity on. We may not agree on how save or spend money, or how to raise children or if we’ll even have them. But when it comes to TV intruding on the marriage bed, we’re in lockstep. And this, I think, is an EXCELLENT indicator of our future happiness and the longevity of our relationship.

For as long as we both shall live, there’s no way we’re falling asleep to the eerie glow of the plasma screen in our own bed. NO WAY. We do that on the couch.

I pedaled on the elliptical alone the other day. Angela was traveling back from Erie, and Tay was out gathering supplies for our New Year’s Eve party. Forgetting to charge my iPod ahead of time, I was left with only my thoughts for 40 minutes. And in the final hours of 2006, I found myself focused on what a new year means.

Of course, one of the first thoughts I had was about resolutions. Would I make any this year? Then I realized that I make the SAME damn resolution every year: to commit to exercising. This year, for the first time in my life, I’ve made it happen. Chalk one up to progress.

On Christmas Eve my family played a game. Twenty-six pieces of paper were put in a bowl, each with a year written on it starting with 1980 (the earliest Tay can remember). We took turns drawing, and then had to share something about the year we got. It could be a small moment or a huge event. Something funny, sad or meaningful. Something that would be a good story.

It was hard for us to remember really specific moments within a year. We all tended to focus on a big event, like “I moved to Boston”. Or in some cases it became a year in review: “I switched jobs, started skiing and went to Italy.” The small moments blend together, especially the older we get. Oddly, the farther back the year, the easier it was to remember and share a smaller moment. I guess that’s just how we remember our childhood - unwrapping a special gift on our birthday, what we wore on the first day of school, who we sat behind in third grade class. Not years, just little pictures.

I drew 1985, the year I started high school. The first thing I remembered was walking to high school for orientation day with my best friend Jessie. We were both nervous, but she made me laugh the whole way there. Jessie died in 1994. Even the happy memories often remind us of what we’ve lost. People we loved who are no longer in our lives. Olde acquaintance, be forgot. And I suppose each year after a loss is another milestone in the healing of our grief.

When 2001 was drawn, it was hard for any of us to recall anything except 9/11 that year. We knew exactly where we were, what we were doing, and who we called first. And for all of us, 2002 represented a time, after the election of You Know Who, when this country took a devastating turn. And as much as YKW likes to wish it so, I can’t imagine that a decade from now I’ll remember 2006 as the year Saddam Hussein was executed. Likely I will recall it as the year that the majority of Americans finally woke up to the inanity of this war and made their feelings known during mid-term elections.

Leaving Cape Cod the day after Christmas, I sat next to The Betrothed on the bus to Boston. As we watched the bare trees beside the highway move by in a blur, we reminisced about the past year. Vacations, good meals, house projects, career changes, health challenges…I was only halfway through reciting this list of things that defined our year when The Betrothed interrupted. He just looked at me and said “I love you.”

My eyes welled up, and he put his hand over mine, and I could feel his chin on the top of my head when I leaned into his shoulder. I knew I would never have to try to remember that moment, because it’s always there.

And I think that’s what he was trying to say. Our year, our 2006, wasn’t the list of events. It was us - living it together. The list of events will change, some years more than others. Life will be hard, and wonderful. Some things we will remember, and others we will forget.

So maybe the calendar change just marks a renewed commitment to keep moving, alongside all the people I love. On the bus, definitely on the elliptical, and on my increasingly strong two legs.

Happy New Year.

I’m in Cape Cod. I just did an extremely satisfying and much-needed shot of Enbrel. Before that I drank two glasses of cabernet. Before that I spent the entire day driving around Massachusetts to retrieve our lost luggage. And prior to that I spent a day getting from the Pacific to the Atlantic. And in the beginning? There was shopping. Lots and lots of Christmas shopping.

The first few shopping trips are actually fun. I’m filled holiday cheer and the giving spirit. I buy beautiful and thoughtful gifts. I treat myself to an eggnog latte at the mall, and smile at my fellow shoppers.

Then quickly, it all goes to hell. By the last week before Christmas I’m a bitter, broken woman. I’m filled with stress, hate the mall, hate everyone, have no time for lattes and actual nightmares about people not getting presents. I think this photo that Aaryn took of the two of us at Fascist Valley a few days ago says it all.

But somehow the shopping gets done. And briefly, relief. It’s fleeting though, because mere hours after buying my last present I have to start packing all of my purchases into a too-small suitcase for transport to the east coast. (Here’s Tay, lying on a luggage conveyor at Boston’s Logan Airport. The same conveyor that did not deliver any of our bags, all containing gifts.)

Yet despite the shopping, and traveling and the stress, there is still some real Christmas joy. Yesterday afternoon my sister and I walked through the middle of Boston, arms linked, past the Macy’s Christmas windows, eating warm, roasted peanuts. I was wearing a hat, scarf and gloves, smelling the winter air, and listening to Jingle Bells play over the loudspeaker for all the pedestrians in Downtown Crossing.

And just tonight, in Provincetown, with my family, we found a Christmas tree made of lobster traps. The tree topper was a bunch of buoys. Only in New England, people. Only in New England.

Finally, there’s this. The most honest, hearwarming and real holiday video I’ve seen so far on The Internet. It’s two EastGirlsEast, my dear friend Mary and the love of her life, who completely charmed me with this wish:

I would like to erase abstinence-only funding on the federal level, as a stocking stuffer.

Watch it. It’s the best of Christmas and it will make you smile.

And any minute now, I will have come full circle back to that eggnog latte.

As you may already know, I’ve been married before. And there was a beautiful wedding, and a pretty dress, and a good time was had by all. I was in my 20’s and dirt poor, which made certain aspects of financing the wedding a challenge. But we also had some help (thank you, Mom) - and in some cases the lack of options made decisions very, very simple. For example:

Buying My Own Dress + no $$$ = Cheap Dress

See? So easy.

Now I’m older, wiser, prettier (let’s face it, women in their 30’s are hot), in a different relationship (Dreamy Betrothed) and a more stable economic situation. I am not in a “I’ll spend whatever the hell I feel like spending on my wedding” economic situation, but I can now actually pay my bills which sometimes leads me to convince myself I can live just a teensy, weensy bit beyond my means.

Tay and Angela took me out wedding dress shopping on Friday. Just in the nick of time it seems, because every bridal shop owner told us that dresses need to be ordered 4-6 months in advance of the wedding. (Apparently the seamstress is on a sewing schedule similar to my workout schedule, and then the dress is shipped to San Diego on a glacier.) We went to three beautiful shops, and I tried on the most stunning frocks I’ve ever worn in my life. I felt appropriately fairy princess-like and had a wonderful day (thank you, Tay & Angela).

We knew in advance that the establishments we were visiting carried a few dresses in my price range, but were also aware that most of the inventory would be decidedlly OUT of my price range. As in way out. As in not even close. There was a group decison made before we got out of the car: I should stretch the truth a bit about my budget, and then enjoy trying on the dresses.

We then told ourselves the following lies:

- I was just getting some ideas about what I liked and what I wanted.
- I was not going to fall in love with some dress I couldn’t afford on my first day of shopping.

Can you see where this is going?

I’m telling you, dress after dress made my heart swoon - and my shopping companions were quickly drawn into my web of fantasy. The first moment I crossed over to insanity occurred when I slipped into this dreamy Italian number. It was only two times my intended budget, which looking back now seems almost reasonable. But then I considered selling my car when I put this dress on. Also Italian. Even further out of reach.

Stop number two yielded the most glamorous garment I’ve ever wrapped by body in, followed by what became (for about an hour) The Dress. The Dress was then later replaced by what is now THE DRESS. But we all loved The Dress. I wouldn’t take it off. I tried it on twice. I mentally emptied my 401K.

It just kept getting better and better. Or worse and worse, depending on your outlook.

Our last stop found me simultaneously laughing and weeping in a Carolina Herrera that I have convinced myself I can’t live without. I love this dress, and it loves me back. It DOES. It needs me to wear it. If I own it, I will at last be happy. Tragically, I will also need to sell The Betrothed’s car to get it, and then he will not marry me.

I’m pretty sure I’ve come to my senses.

As we ate lunch halfway through the shopping day, I was sighing over my food, talking through the dresses with Tay and Angela, trying to understand how the lies we told ourselves were just that: lies.

“Well,” Tay said. “It’s kind of like going to the pound and telling yourself you’re not going to get a dog.”

So true. I really, really want a dog. But since it looks like I’m not going to get one, I wanted to at least post the evidence that I spent some time getting to know the dog, and that I looked really, really good wearing it.

To be fair, it started with an innocent drive to the country to buy a pumpkin. It ended with two women in fetish gear on my couch.

You’re dying to know, right?

A few weeks ago:

Friend - “So, I have a friend, blah blah blah photographer, blah blah blah fashion shoot, blah blah blah favor, would love to use your house.”

Me & The Betrothed – “Sure.”

Last night:

Friend – “So thanks again, blah blah blah Suicide Girls, blah blah blah I’ll be there at the shoot.”

Me & The Betrothed – “Suicide Girls???”

The Betrothed, silently, in his head – “Oh yeah.”

Today:

Photographer – “Before the models get here, wanted to warn you, blah blah blah nude, blah blah blah fetish, blah blah blah riding crop, ball gag, you okay with all this?”

Me & The Betrothed – “Um, sure.”

The Betrothed, silently, in his head – “OH YEAH.”

So the girls showed up dressed for the first shot. Which involved them strutting down the middle of the street, in front of our house, with one of them leading the other by a leash. They were each wearing corsets, thigh highs and five-inch vinyl heels, and I’m pretty sure our 80-year-old neighbor had a massive heart attack. (Hopefully, because of the date, he thought they were just your average SDSU sorority girls dressed up for Slut-o-Ween.)

Of course, there was an audience indoors, as well. In addition to The Betrothed, the friend who set this up came over, along with another lucky gentleman. So just to review – that’s me, one photographer, two hot Suicide girls, and three men who were suddenly incapable of remembering their own names.

Now back to the pumpkin. We got up early and drove out to Bates Nut Farm, which is probably the least punk rock thing we could have done in preparation for this photo shoot. We returned with a lovely specimen, ready to carve. And carve we did! Once the photographer started snapping, we were obviously keeping an eye on the shoot. But, we didn’t want to stare, and after reviewing our iTunes libraries, surfing MySpace, and fully discussing the previous evening’s show (SoftLightes and Van She at Beauty Bar), the four of us not involved in the photo shoot had to find a way to keep occupied. So, like the wholesome, crafty people that we are, we carved our Halloween pumpkin while one girl tied the other one up and shoved her down onto all fours a mere 20 feet away.

We really did manage to distract ourselves, but every once in awhile a slice of conversation would cut through the din and silence us immediately. Something like “Well, why don’t we try a shot with me holding the whip and her licking my nipple?” Then the boys would all lean over in unison to get a better look at the scene. Hell, I leaned over right along with them.

The girls were lovely and quite sweet. By the time they finished the shoot, we were all chatty and it seemed quite normal that our living room couch had just seen some serious girl-on-girl action. And then, as they were packing up to leave, I noticed their ball gag lying on the coffee table, right over my copy of Martha Stewart Weddings.

I heart beef jerky.

On the way to Julian yesterday, we stopped and bought some at a roadside stand. Yummy.