..instead of finishing wedding stuff.
First:
I guess I really don't need to worry about how porcine I may look in my wedding pictures.
I'm probably going to hell for all this humor I find at the expense of others.
I should be:
1. Sleeping
2. Burning CD playlists
3. Washing Clothes
4. Sleeping
5. Packing for honeymoon.
le sigh.
Just because I couldn't figure out how to work both Nine Inch Nails and Radiohead into the wedding ceremony music doesn't mean they won't be present. I'm putting them all on a playlist that will play before the ceremony as the guests come in.
There's a catch. Ever heard of The Vitamin String Quartet? They basically redo a bunch of popular music as a string quartet. Most of it is gorgeous stuff. (There is a really iffy "Tribute to Pretty Hate Machine" that I'm just not fond of.) I'm using their arraignments of songs for my Pre-wedding playlist.
So the Pre-wedding music playlist is:
Today (Originally by the Smashing Pumpkins)
Here Comes Your Man (Originally by The Pixies)
Chasing Cars (Originally by Snow Patrol)
Just Like Heaven (Originally by the Cure)
Nothing Else Matters (Originally by Metallica)
The Fragile (Originally by Nine Inch Nails)
Airbag (Originally by Radiohead)
Beautiful Day (Originally by U2)
Paranoid Android (Originally by Radiohead)
In Your Eyes (Originally by Peter Gabriel)
In My Place (Originally by Coldplay)
Transatlanticism (Originally by Death Cab for Cutie)
I do regret that the Vitamin String Quartet version of NIN's "Ringfinger" is wretched. I would have put it up for a little bit of irony.
Most of them are off the Modern Wedding Compilation album with a few nods to specific albums. I have, in their entirity, the Nine Inch Nails and the Strung Out on OK Computer one.
I keep messing around with the order of the songs. I can't quite decide which one should follow which. Some of them don't "end" very well, The Fragile is kind of abrupt. I also wanted to kind of sneak the cooler ones towards the end so that my friends that are most likely to be last minute guys will get to hear some of them.
I will say this that Just Like Heaven is my Favorite on the playlist.
So, I was absent for a while from teh internets, from this blog, and from all kinds og activities and pastimes. I found out I had a condition. I was horrified. I found out that it was parasitic in nature, develops in severity over time and requires countless hours of medical and professional attention.
I know you all dig the gory pictures, so here it is:
Suprised for sure. There I was, 8 weeks along. Nearly 30-years-old, living a directionless, selfish, and irresponsible existence. I made the mistake that I wasn't ready to handle at the time. (I still have those omygodwhathaveidone moments.) I had a fair-weather boyfriend that my parents didn't know about-- we had lived together for years and then broken up a year ago but gotten back together about the same time the 'lil Squiddy was concieved. They didn't like him because of several reasons, too many petty and insignificant to list here.
Since then I've:
1. Moved to a bigger apartment. Yes, it's still an apartment. No, there's not a better idea for now.
2. Planned a wedding in little over 90 days. I don't recommend anyone do this, ever. Seriously. Despite trying to legitimize the foetus, this is a bad idea.
3. Made peace between future-husband and his future in-laws. It's not a binding peace but it's a start.
4. Dealt with a high-risk, high-stress pregnancy.
I am currently 23 weeks and fine, thank you. I have a doctor I see weekly, insulin injections daily and a support group of girlfriends (and a few boyfriends) that can make me smile while the hurricane outside is a'brewing.
One of my bridesmaids and I are tasked with throwing together a really really quick joint Bachelor/ette party for this Friday night. We found out when it was going to be last Saturday night. One of the groomsmen, HB (Hey! Hey Billy!) has rented the kareoke room at the bowling alley that we frequent. Yes, this is rednecky. But it's okay. It's not going to be a blowout, but we get a private Bartender and a private Kareoke guy and basically we get to have our own little spot. BA (the bachelor) asked the very conservative Christian manager whether "Midget strippers" were allowed to be invited. This of course is a big joke, but it was funny just to see the guy sqirm a little bit. To his credit, HB repeated the story when he called several of those stripper-for-hire services and asked, "Hey, do you have any midgets?" After several "No! *click*
So LL started scouring the internet in search of moderately tasteful bachelor/ette party decorations. It is amazing what people will attempt to sell you online. There's a hopping vagina, to start and several other vulgar, common things.
Some where along the way I mentioned the lack of subtleness in these decorations and that we should go "all Georgia-O'keefe" but no one would get it.
And she's like Geo-what? And I have to stop to explain to her that Georgia O'Keefe painted flowers that looked like femine anatomy. She of course knew nothing about what I was talking about since the subject wasn't 1. male anatomy and physiology or 2. 7th grade earth science.
So, I prepared for her an email that shows some of Miss O'Keefe's handiwork.
Here's what I sent her:
"Georgia O'Keefe, an American artist, has been a major figure in
American art since the 1920s. She is chiefly known for paintings in
which she synthesizes abstraction and representation in paintings of
flowers, rocks, shells, animal bones and landscapes. Her paintings
present crisply contoured forms that are replete with subtle tonal
transitions of varying colors, and she often transformed her subject
matter into powerful abstract images.
Her early images began with organic abstracts such as Music Pink and
Blue II (1919), and evolved to a series of flowers such as Red Canna
(1923) and Black Iris II (1927)."
Personally, I feel kind of naughty when I think about Mrs. O'Keefe displaying these huge flower pictures to the artsy elite in the early 20's that frankly, looked like girl-parts. I mean, I can see her, all-Zelda-Fitzgerald,-cocktail-in-hand, asking these uppity Manhattanites what they thought of her flowers. At least that's how I imagine it.
