The wedding is nigh…

One week from now my sister will be a married lady. And I will hopefully have a nice tan. Everyone’s entitled to their own goals, right? I mean, a trip to Hawaii is a trip to Hawaii, and even though there’s a wedding to go to one day, hopefully we can all still squeeze in some beach time.

So at any rate. After the dogwatching debacle of last week, matters between my sister, her fiance and myself improved. I stopped doormatting around (you will be happy to know, Jonathan). In fact I turned into a Roaring Woman, Extraordinaire. Happily I did it via text message, so no one’s eardrums were perforated or anything. And the soon-to-be-blissful married couple turned out to be tres understanding.

Unhappily, the rest of the fam…eh, not so much. They’re in full wedding mode, and every time I hear from any one of them, I get an earful: Have I gotten my shoes? How was ‘my’ bachelorette party? Do I realize that I need to pick up my dress from the seamstress myself b/c other people are very busy and can’t be bothered? (This last one from my other little sister, who works as a bartender 25 hours a week and keeps herself very busy the rest of the time brewing beer in the bathtub and looking up conspiracy theories online.)

The most important admonishment I’ve heard, though, is this: I need to not only show up, but show up and be completely undistracted, 100% in vacation mode, ready to party, and absolutely under no circumstances preoccupied with mood-killers like, um, my own life.  Deadlines? Contracts? Commitments? People waiting on me by the dozens? Psshhh. It’s all irrelevant.

The family dynamic, to me, is an interesting phenomenon. Family can not only tell you what to do, but they can tell you how to feel, and feel totally justified. (Yes, I know Jonathan, I don’t have to go along with it…but that won’t stop them In fact, they’ll try twice as hard.)

On the bright side, personally I couldn’t be in a better spot to be a maid of honor. I have had no social life for the past 2 months (okay, except for that one night in the Nicaragua bar), and therefore have nothing to distract me from the big, important relationship, which is my sister’s.

Actually, the last date I had wasn’t even a date–it was a halfway date? An almost-date? A quasi-date? With someone I’m quasi-dating, so I guess it fits. He’d been out of the country for a month, returned and kindly offered to distract me from my pre-wedding/book-writing hell by taking me out to dinner. I jumped at the chance–even I know what havoc all work & no play can wreak on a body. (Not to mention, a soul.) Anyway. Dinner was nice, and then I asked him to go pick up my sister before hitting the cocktail bar. She was lonely. Her fiance was working. She wanted to test out different mixed drinks, in the hopes of selecting ‘official wedding cocktails.’ I’d promised her I’d call…I mean, at this point I know there’s a place in the rule book that states: Official wedding cocktail selection is a priority. So we went and got her.

An hour later, he dropped us off and bailed. I’ve barely heard a peep since. I don’t really know what to think about that. Was the third wheel pickup inappropriate? Dunno. Do I care? Eh. Anyone who’d be put off by it was, let’s face it, off already.  (Actually I think this dude is way more enamored of my job than he is of me. You laugh, but repressed creative types are prone to that.)

So here it is Friday, and I must finish a chapter, and go to Los Angeles with my dog, and finish another few chapters, and be ready to fly on Tuesday. Indeed it is a good thing I don’t have a Friday night date.

(Truth? I want a Friday night date. Tonite, I deserve one.)

It’s not going to happen. Not tonight anyway. I am a maid of honor, a book writer, a sulky family member, a dog mama, a catsitter and a once-in-a-while doormat…and that, for now, is gonna have to be enough.

Torture by Construction

It is one of the great ironies of my life (circa 2007) that I–possibly the worst insomniac/vampire bat I know–have been randomly selected by the universe to live cheek-by-hairy-jowl with a team of 20 construction workers who clock into work at 8AM. These dudes are redoing the balconies of my entire building and ruining my life in the process. Not that they try. It’s just that I am used to going to sleep at 4AM (conservatively) or 5AM (normally), and when 20 kooks start banging on the walls with hammers at the crack of 8, it DRIVES ME MAD!!

Anyway. So. Where were we? Thu., 8PM, I arrive at a wine an cheese tasting 2 hours late, shmooze with a nice man from Frank Family Vineyards (yum! to the fabulous ’98 sparkling) who lives part-time in LA, part-time in my Nor Cal homeland. I meet 3-6 Mafia (spelling?) and various other folks, but fail to recognize them. I taste Frank Family sparkling wine, Cab and Sangiovese, and determine that it’s delightful.

Thu 10PM I arrive at Katana, the see-me-oh-please-see-me spot on Sunset in LA that’s frequented by visiting execs, European birthday parties and suchlike. On the way up, a man asks me, “Are you nervous?” I answer: “No, just really stressed out, been running around all day and have no idea what my friends look like.”

 

10:15PM meet friends thanks to miracles of mobile technology, as truthfully couldn’t pick them out of a crowd. Actually have only met a cpl before: Giles (see photo) and his friend Jackson. Giles is a muckety-muck for Bombay Sapphire; Jackson owns a film distribution company in London. Then there is a friend, and a brother. All are complete gentlemen, thank goodnesses…. it’s never good to go on drinking rampages with people who are less than gentlemen. Prior to the real rampage, however, I have meat skewers and many cocktails and a bit of chocolate this-n-that, and we speak of business.

12AM or thereabouts we head to Skybar, which is entirely overrated and just for tourists, in case you’re wondering. Since Giles, Justin etc. are tourists (albeit of a posh British sort), they tend to hang out there often. I, however, am never impressed by it–even less than usual tonight by 1:45AM, when the women’s toilet overflows and I have to high-jump onto the counter in 4-inch heels, after countless lemon drops, to avoid the flood. On that lovely ending note, we depart Skybar.

2AM. LA sucks. It closes down completely at 2. And I always have to hear about it from any friends who are visiting from anywhere else in the world. Tonite is no different. Two of the boys are still awake and raring to go. What can I do? Our choices are 7-11, a strip club, or someone’s hotel room. I opt for A) and then B). At the 7-11, I send Justin in to purchase me Marlboro Lights (I only smoke about 4 a month), and a four-pack of AA batteries for my camera. When he returns, I realize that my camera is no longer with me. Oh. Oops. I take the batteries anyway and deposit them in my handbag. One can never have too many AA batteries.

 

2:30AM We arrive at the strip club (right across from Trashy Lingerie) and sit as close to stage as possible. This proves to be a bad idea because almost no one else is there, and the few folks who are, are kind of tucked away in corners. So we get the strippers’ full and undivided attention… and in the middle of the night on a weeknight, when the talent isn’t all that great, this is a mixed blessing. Throw in the fact that they’re totally nude, and it’s no blessing at all. We sit uncomfortably, clearing our throats and feeling abashed, as girl after girl wiggles her business in our faces. Finally, when Andy Dick arrives and begins to ‘Hey baby’ me, we leave.

(Photos are of the Trashy Girls, who are hotter than the strippers I saw, but tend to keep at least a bit of their clothing on in public.)

4AM. Safely back in my house. In my bed. Had a snack. Want a snooze. As always, it’s tough to drift off. But I do, around 5:30. Ahh! Happy sigh.

8:30AM *BANG. BANG. CRASH.* the construction workers have arrived, once again.

 Note: Trashy Girls photos copyright Trashy Lingerie, 2007