Josh teased a bit to Ned’s Cabin yesterday. He said, and I quote, “blah blah blah Ned’s Cabin.”
You might ask yourself, who is this Ned, and why do I have to stay in his cabin?
I’ll tell you who Ned is. Ned is NOT IMPORTANT and stop asking, you nosy so-and-sos. Ned is a man, just a man with a cabin, and we are renting that cabin, and you are staying in that cabin, and that is the end of the discussion.
If you must have more information, our parents have rented this cabin called Clear Lake Point which we call Ned’s Cabin, right across Clear Lake from where the wedding ceremony will be held. The house sleeps fifty people comfortably, or 19 in beds. It’s enormous, and it has often been called “The Graceland of the Upper Midwest” because of its numerous bowling alleys and the solid gold chandelier that hangs in the Honeymoon suite above the revolving bed.
Some of you may not know this, but being in our wedding party is a Huge Pain in the Ass*, (and splendidly large hats are NOT cheap) so we thought, what better way to say thank you than to treat you to a big cabin in the woods with kayaks and paddleboats and canoes and warm water and loons so that if you have the time, you can have a little mini-vacation before you have to stand there in your mint green tuxes before God and everyone and commit to being our friends forever. Josh and I hope this will tempt some of you to come out as early as Wednesday before the wedding to enjoy Hayward and all that it has to offer, namely, loons. There are enough real beds to sleep everyone comfortably and a huge kitchen and satellite tv and pizza delivery options available. There is a pool table and a fire pit and even a piano for sing-a-longs of “We’re in Business.” It is ten minutes from the original Famous Daves. Frankly, I would go there right now if I didn’t think my bosses would frown upon it.
Please come join us at Ned's, oh party of ours. We hope it will in some way offset the choreographed number you’ll be doing to “We’ve Got Tonight” after the ceremony. We hope.
*See: What do you think of this dress? Really? You don't think it's too slutty? Do I look fat in it? You'd tell me if I looked fat in it, right? Maybe we should try on some more dresses. What are you doing this weekend?
Friday, September 7, 2007
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Wayward in Hayward
This blogging thing is complicated. For one thing, you are supposed to do it more than once a month, apparently, so that people don't forget about your blog! But who has the time? Some of us have jobs, people!
Also, our URL isn't accurate anymore, as She-Bear pointed out in our last post. That renders the counter on the left inaccurate as well! Gah! Our wedding date is now moved up a week, to July 12, 2008. See, we called to book hotel blocks and discovered that apparently there is a monthlong sleepaway camp going on near Hayward, and that the campers' moms and dads had already reserved all the rooms in town for parents' weekend on the 19th. That created a huge problem, because we knew that some of our guests (my friend Pat, my brother Gabe) would want to try to meet girls at the sleepaway camp, and who needs parents interfering with yo' game, playa? Too, we figured that some of you nellie-nellies would want hotel rooms. Come on!
So, the lady and I are going to have a talk about this blog. In the meantime, though, I will tell you about OUR FABULOUS WEDDING-PLANNING TRIP, from which we have just returned.
For starters, how apropos that we should make the journey over the Labor Day weekend, because wedding planning is a lot of work. To the casual observer, this may not be apparent, because it just looks like a bunch of flipping through magazines and pointing at the things inside of them, but the casual observer doesn't understand just how many things there are to point at. Also, you are not just pointing! Some of the things in the magazines must be admired, some must be mocked, and some must be torn out and put into a binder! I am really glad I'm not in charge of that last bit, because whenever I tear something out to store in a binder, I end up with a binder full of stuff that I never look at again, which ends up getting stored in a cardboard box with a bunch of other binders full of stuff I've never looked at again. The box keeps getting bigger and bigger, and frankly, it's getting too heavy and real old at this point. When I started this system back in college, I was pretty sure I'd have an attic soon where I could leave the box until I died, after which my kids would go through it, thinking it was all really important to me. That was so long ago. I am 31 now, and there is still no goddamn attic in my future. We don't have attics in New York. That would be preposterous. Please, please, let this wedding happen soon and then let me write a best-selling novel and then let us move back to the Midwest or somewhere with attics. PLEASE.
Anyway. Here are some highlights of the trip:
Ned's cabin. Our wedding party will be staying here next summer, and man, are you guys in for a treat. This place is enormous and has a pool table, a boating area, and, yes, a hot chicks room. Perfect for those of our friends who are into "the lifestyle," which is all of them.
The McCormick House. This is where the reception will be, and this joint is so stylin' that when you see it, you are not going to believe you're in Hayward, Wisconsin. You will probably think it's Eau Claire, perhaps Madison. One word, people: topiary. And one more word: reflecting pool.
Dragonfly! No joke, we were out on the dock and this dragonfly came and sat on my shirt for, like, an hour, until I had to forcibly remove him. We're pretty sure he was ancient and about to die, and just wanted to spend his last few minutes with a man society press has dubbed "god of the dragonflies—and the kitchen." He got me instead, but I don't think he knew the difference.
There is more, but I can already tell that this is going to be one of those posts that Kelly just shakes her head at. I will be back tomorrow, with a more composed manner, better things to say, and entirely better ways of saying them. Thanks for understanding—this wedding stuff just wipes you out.
Also, our URL isn't accurate anymore, as She-Bear pointed out in our last post. That renders the counter on the left inaccurate as well! Gah! Our wedding date is now moved up a week, to July 12, 2008. See, we called to book hotel blocks and discovered that apparently there is a monthlong sleepaway camp going on near Hayward, and that the campers' moms and dads had already reserved all the rooms in town for parents' weekend on the 19th. That created a huge problem, because we knew that some of our guests (my friend Pat, my brother Gabe) would want to try to meet girls at the sleepaway camp, and who needs parents interfering with yo' game, playa? Too, we figured that some of you nellie-nellies would want hotel rooms. Come on!
So, the lady and I are going to have a talk about this blog. In the meantime, though, I will tell you about OUR FABULOUS WEDDING-PLANNING TRIP, from which we have just returned.
For starters, how apropos that we should make the journey over the Labor Day weekend, because wedding planning is a lot of work. To the casual observer, this may not be apparent, because it just looks like a bunch of flipping through magazines and pointing at the things inside of them, but the casual observer doesn't understand just how many things there are to point at. Also, you are not just pointing! Some of the things in the magazines must be admired, some must be mocked, and some must be torn out and put into a binder! I am really glad I'm not in charge of that last bit, because whenever I tear something out to store in a binder, I end up with a binder full of stuff that I never look at again, which ends up getting stored in a cardboard box with a bunch of other binders full of stuff I've never looked at again. The box keeps getting bigger and bigger, and frankly, it's getting too heavy and real old at this point. When I started this system back in college, I was pretty sure I'd have an attic soon where I could leave the box until I died, after which my kids would go through it, thinking it was all really important to me. That was so long ago. I am 31 now, and there is still no goddamn attic in my future. We don't have attics in New York. That would be preposterous. Please, please, let this wedding happen soon and then let me write a best-selling novel and then let us move back to the Midwest or somewhere with attics. PLEASE.
Anyway. Here are some highlights of the trip:
Ned's cabin. Our wedding party will be staying here next summer, and man, are you guys in for a treat. This place is enormous and has a pool table, a boating area, and, yes, a hot chicks room. Perfect for those of our friends who are into "the lifestyle," which is all of them.
The McCormick House. This is where the reception will be, and this joint is so stylin' that when you see it, you are not going to believe you're in Hayward, Wisconsin. You will probably think it's Eau Claire, perhaps Madison. One word, people: topiary. And one more word: reflecting pool.
Dragonfly! No joke, we were out on the dock and this dragonfly came and sat on my shirt for, like, an hour, until I had to forcibly remove him. We're pretty sure he was ancient and about to die, and just wanted to spend his last few minutes with a man society press has dubbed "god of the dragonflies—and the kitchen." He got me instead, but I don't think he knew the difference.
There is more, but I can already tell that this is going to be one of those posts that Kelly just shakes her head at. I will be back tomorrow, with a more composed manner, better things to say, and entirely better ways of saying them. Thanks for understanding—this wedding stuff just wipes you out.
Monday, August 13, 2007
It's Not That We Haven't Been Blogging
It's just that we've been blogging on the NEW site. The correct site. You know, july122008.blogspot.com*? I can't believe you haven't heard of it. It's very popular. So popular, we're currently in negotiations for a book deal. We're not much into writing, but don't worry--I hear Karl Rove has plenty of free time to ghost a book for us these days.
Wait, why the confused look on your face? Hadn't you heard? We changed the date of the wedding, making this website completely irrelevant. (And irreverent!) July 19th, 2008 seemed like a good day for a while, but we thought better of it. The thing about July 19th, 2008, is that besides being the original date of our intended nuptials, it also happens to be the one day that a crack opens up between this world and the next letting out all the mystic wolf-spirits so they can feed on our fragile tendons while we cower in fear. I don't know how we forgot about that. It happens every Leap Year, and yet somehow it still sneaks right up on you.
Anyway, once we realized that, and also after we heard about Hayward, Wisconsin's famous Summer Solstice Tantra-athon, we knew June 21st was the perfect new date for our wedding. Everyone involved hustled to change our plans and renegotiate with our vendors for the new date. It all came off without a hitch. There were hotel rooms, there were available caterers, there were plenty of free members of Cirque de Soleil. It was a Christmas miracle, right in the middle of summer! It was too good to be true.
Who could have known that while our wedding team (also known as Team My Mom) scrambled to make the necessary changes, the guys at “Nampfh” (or National Association of Musky Fishermen) were also making a major schedule change. While they had originally hoped to hold the Hayward Lakes Annual Musky Fest on June 28th next year, those annoying dopes in Rice Lake had moved the date of their Musky fishing contest, making conflict unavoidable. No one wanted to see Rice Lake and Hayward go toe to toe for the greatest Musky fishing talent in the Northwoods, least of all this bride and groom. So we changed our wedding date again. A big sacrifice, but for a worthy cause.
So, in conclusion: July 12, 2008
Go ahead and mark your calendars in pen. This is the date we're sticking to. I'll be damned if I'm going to see another event get scheduled over our wedding, be it otherworldly or just plain supernatural. That is why I am starting a petition to get the Hayward Area Chamber of Congress to put my wedding on their official "Events" calendar for all to see (sign up in comments section). If someone wants to schedule something else on July 12, 2008, may God help their souls.
Just to be on the safe side, though, you probably should all keep the entire summer free for now.
*Obviously there is no such blog. You’ll have to keep coming to this inaccurately-named site for the latest wedding updates. But that doesn’t give you an excuse to show up for the ceremony a week late, Gabe.
Wait, why the confused look on your face? Hadn't you heard? We changed the date of the wedding, making this website completely irrelevant. (And irreverent!) July 19th, 2008 seemed like a good day for a while, but we thought better of it. The thing about July 19th, 2008, is that besides being the original date of our intended nuptials, it also happens to be the one day that a crack opens up between this world and the next letting out all the mystic wolf-spirits so they can feed on our fragile tendons while we cower in fear. I don't know how we forgot about that. It happens every Leap Year, and yet somehow it still sneaks right up on you.
Anyway, once we realized that, and also after we heard about Hayward, Wisconsin's famous Summer Solstice Tantra-athon, we knew June 21st was the perfect new date for our wedding. Everyone involved hustled to change our plans and renegotiate with our vendors for the new date. It all came off without a hitch. There were hotel rooms, there were available caterers, there were plenty of free members of Cirque de Soleil. It was a Christmas miracle, right in the middle of summer! It was too good to be true.
Who could have known that while our wedding team (also known as Team My Mom) scrambled to make the necessary changes, the guys at “Nampfh” (or National Association of Musky Fishermen) were also making a major schedule change. While they had originally hoped to hold the Hayward Lakes Annual Musky Fest on June 28th next year, those annoying dopes in Rice Lake had moved the date of their Musky fishing contest, making conflict unavoidable. No one wanted to see Rice Lake and Hayward go toe to toe for the greatest Musky fishing talent in the Northwoods, least of all this bride and groom. So we changed our wedding date again. A big sacrifice, but for a worthy cause.
So, in conclusion: July 12, 2008
Go ahead and mark your calendars in pen. This is the date we're sticking to. I'll be damned if I'm going to see another event get scheduled over our wedding, be it otherworldly or just plain supernatural. That is why I am starting a petition to get the Hayward Area Chamber of Congress to put my wedding on their official "Events" calendar for all to see (sign up in comments section). If someone wants to schedule something else on July 12, 2008, may God help their souls.
Just to be on the safe side, though, you probably should all keep the entire summer free for now.
*Obviously there is no such blog. You’ll have to keep coming to this inaccurately-named site for the latest wedding updates. But that doesn’t give you an excuse to show up for the ceremony a week late, Gabe.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
LISTEN UP, PEOPLE.
Josh and I have picked a WEDDING LOCATION. If that's not reason to shout, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS.
I'm not going to lie to you: We didn't do it without a couple of stiff drinks. But we did it. I can't imagine how hard it would have been if we would have had more than three places to chose from, two of which were VFWs. Yet another reason not to get hitched in NYC.
Here is the location: The McCormick House Inn and Repository of North Woods Style. Shh! We haven't put down a deposit yet. The McCormick House is in Hayward, Wisconsin, home of the cheese curd. (This is not actually true. The true home of the cheese curd is in my belly.) It is the only B&B in the Midwest that notes their sheets' thread count on their website. Also, and of much greater interest to me, they have two porches and plenty of parking.
Here are some things to do in Hayward, Wisconsin, because let's face it, you're coming.
See the WORLD'S LARGEST MUSKIE. Again, I feel the shouting is called for.
Race the Birkie. This does not look hard at all. If I were you, I wouldn't train; just show up and go for it.
Saw in the Lumberjack World Championships. Assuming you qualify for the finals, of course.
Attend the Crappie-A-Thon. Really. I regret to inform you that we won't be getting married during the Crappie-A-Thon, so if you yearn for all things crappie, you'll need to make separate arrangements.
If you need bait while you're here (you'll need bait), just swing by the Happy Hooker. The Happy Hooker is also where you'll want to go if you need anything else, such as Q-tips. Pat, we are arranging for them to stock extra condoms, so don't worry.
If you're hungry, why not drop in on the Norske Nook? You will not be surprised to learn that the Norske Nook is a chain. If I find out that you go to Hayward, Wisconsin, but do not visit the Norske Nook (and I WILL find out), you are in big trouble. You will go there, and you will get the strawberry rhubarb pie, and that is the end of the matter.
And finally, I know we'll all be hanging out at the Wild River, where the menu features "Deep Fried Delights and Mexican" and the party rocks All Night Long (or until 1 AM, whichever comes first). Go, Tony! Go, Tony! Break it down, Tony!
I'm not going to lie to you: We didn't do it without a couple of stiff drinks. But we did it. I can't imagine how hard it would have been if we would have had more than three places to chose from, two of which were VFWs. Yet another reason not to get hitched in NYC.
Here is the location: The McCormick House Inn and Repository of North Woods Style. Shh! We haven't put down a deposit yet. The McCormick House is in Hayward, Wisconsin, home of the cheese curd. (This is not actually true. The true home of the cheese curd is in my belly.) It is the only B&B in the Midwest that notes their sheets' thread count on their website. Also, and of much greater interest to me, they have two porches and plenty of parking.
Here are some things to do in Hayward, Wisconsin, because let's face it, you're coming.
See the WORLD'S LARGEST MUSKIE. Again, I feel the shouting is called for.
Race the Birkie. This does not look hard at all. If I were you, I wouldn't train; just show up and go for it.
Saw in the Lumberjack World Championships. Assuming you qualify for the finals, of course.
Attend the Crappie-A-Thon. Really. I regret to inform you that we won't be getting married during the Crappie-A-Thon, so if you yearn for all things crappie, you'll need to make separate arrangements.
If you need bait while you're here (you'll need bait), just swing by the Happy Hooker. The Happy Hooker is also where you'll want to go if you need anything else, such as Q-tips. Pat, we are arranging for them to stock extra condoms, so don't worry.
If you're hungry, why not drop in on the Norske Nook? You will not be surprised to learn that the Norske Nook is a chain. If I find out that you go to Hayward, Wisconsin, but do not visit the Norske Nook (and I WILL find out), you are in big trouble. You will go there, and you will get the strawberry rhubarb pie, and that is the end of the matter.
And finally, I know we'll all be hanging out at the Wild River, where the menu features "Deep Fried Delights and Mexican" and the party rocks All Night Long (or until 1 AM, whichever comes first). Go, Tony! Go, Tony! Break it down, Tony!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Ask A Cat!
Ever had a burning question that you wished you could ask a cat, but found you were too embarrassed to do so? You should not be embarrassed! And was it really burning? Because there is a cream for that, although it is not the kind that you lap from a dish.
Q: How come there are no formally announced positions for cats in weddings?
A: That is a very good question! In fact there are two very formal positions for cats in weddings: Cats can be on the floor, or cats can be on a chair! Cats should not be on the table, or someone will squirt them with the spray bottle!
Q: But what about being a bridesmaid or groomsman? I'd like to honor my cat at the wedding, but I don't know the right way to do it.
A: Cats are neither maids nor men, so they cannot be bridesmaids or groomsmen. Some couples choose to have a best cat or a cat of honor, but I will be honest with you: Cats do not plan the best bachelor or bachelorette parties—usually, they schedule a trip to a fishmonger's. Also, many countries do not recognize cats as legal witnesses to a marriage. One option is to have the cat be your ring bearer, but you will probably have to shake a can of Pounce™ treats to make sure the cat brings the ring to the front of the church. Cats do not make good flower girls, because they often eat the flowers.
If you have a question for ASK A CAT, please leave it in the comments! ASK A CAT welcomes questions from everyone and about everything, but specific areas of expertise include etiquette, napping, interpersonal relations, and tuna fish.
Q: How come there are no formally announced positions for cats in weddings?
A: That is a very good question! In fact there are two very formal positions for cats in weddings: Cats can be on the floor, or cats can be on a chair! Cats should not be on the table, or someone will squirt them with the spray bottle!
Q: But what about being a bridesmaid or groomsman? I'd like to honor my cat at the wedding, but I don't know the right way to do it.
A: Cats are neither maids nor men, so they cannot be bridesmaids or groomsmen. Some couples choose to have a best cat or a cat of honor, but I will be honest with you: Cats do not plan the best bachelor or bachelorette parties—usually, they schedule a trip to a fishmonger's. Also, many countries do not recognize cats as legal witnesses to a marriage. One option is to have the cat be your ring bearer, but you will probably have to shake a can of Pounce™ treats to make sure the cat brings the ring to the front of the church. Cats do not make good flower girls, because they often eat the flowers.
If you have a question for ASK A CAT, please leave it in the comments! ASK A CAT welcomes questions from everyone and about everything, but specific areas of expertise include etiquette, napping, interpersonal relations, and tuna fish.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Never Trust Rhode-Bots
I apologize for totally forgetting the BEST PART OF THE MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND, and that is when Dr. Bob showed us this video:
We are well aware that it's been around since last November. Are we getting to the party late? Fashionably late, if anything. We don't spend all our time goofing off on the Internet, people. OUR LOVE keeps us busy, as do our jobs. So don't hate. And thank you, Dr. B!
We are well aware that it's been around since last November. Are we getting to the party late? Fashionably late, if anything. We don't spend all our time goofing off on the Internet, people. OUR LOVE keeps us busy, as do our jobs. So don't hate. And thank you, Dr. B!
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Divine Providence
Hey, amigos. It's been a long time since I rapped at ya, and I know you are wondering: How did Kelly and Josh and THEIR LOVE spend Memorial Day weekend?
The answer is: We spent it in Rhode Island. But we cannot prove it, because nobody took any pictures.
Yes, we went up to see our friends Bob and Kelly—better known, to eliminate confusion, as Dr. Bob the Astrophysicist and Kelly 2/Kelly Austero—and basically, our weekend consisted of drinking, watching TV shows on DVD, drinking, drinking, running to the liquor store (and by "running," I mean "driving"—but safely), and drinking. We did some eating, too, and went to an arts-and-crafts fair (the ladies protested, but Bob and I were adamant about going).
And yes, we did have to tell Bob and Kelly 2 to stop trying to swing with us, too. I don't know, man. Maybe we need to stop showering, stop working out, stop just lookin' so damn good. Maybe we're just friends with a lot of open-minded people. I don't know, man.
So on Saturday we woke up and hopped on the train. Super busy, so that we couldn't sit down for the first 45 minutes of the ride or so. The conductor said, "Should clear out by Stamford," and then, lo and behold, it cleared out by Stamford and we could sit and read and listen to our musics. Bob and Kelly 2 picked us up in New Haven, and after the obligatory jokes about people who go to Yale (except for Rory, bless her heart), we headed in the direction of Providence.
Every time we go to visit Bob and Kelly 2, they tell us what terrible, terrible drivers the native Rhode Islandese are, but this was the first time we had a chance to see the terribleness in all its full-blown glory. On the way to their house from the train station alone, we saw three deer get hit, two trucks flip over, and four familes die fiery, fiery deaths. Also, a bus full of nuns exploded. (At one point Kelly 2 said, "Bob, maybe you should pull over and Kelly and Josh can take off their clothes and use them to wrap up some of the injured people. We could all take off our clothes and use them to wrap up some of the injured people!" Subtle, K2, subtle.)
Once we'd arrived in Providence (actually it was Cranston—seriously, though: Chill, people) and put our bags away, we hustled down to the arts-and-crafts fair, where Kelly would not let me buy a comforter and pillow set with Yoda on it. I should have gone over her head on that one, but between that and the candy rocks, I just sort of got lost in a reverie. Yes, a lady was selling candy rocks. They looked just like gravel (kind of like the rocks you put on the bottom of your fish tank), but they tasted like delicious candy. Oh, and then, at a booth selling posters and other pop culture matériel, I overheard the greatest, most mind-bogglingest conversation ever:
20-year-old Girl: They have AC/DC posters. You like them, right?
20-year-old Boyfriend: No. They're to heavy metal what the Ramones were to punk. They suck.
Wow.
That night we dined at Lobstermania. On the one hand, it was awesome, because we didn't have to wait for an hour like the other rubes, thanks to Kelly 2's extraordinary reservation-getting foresight, and because we got to sit by the water, looking over the harbor; on the other hand, they only had two kinds of dessert: Grape-Nut pudding and mud pie, which our waiter described as—well, I can't remember what he said verbatim, but he used the words "cow shit." We chalked it up to his thinking that we were a "cool" table, probably because of our young good looks. Anyhoo, we passed on both and went to a café for cake and coffee. Then we went home, had some wine, and the ladies talked about physics while Bob and I talked about knitting. (It was very confusing; we were pretty drunk.)
The next day, Sunday, we went to breakfast at Mr. Peabody's. If for some reason, you ever find yourself in the Providence area, there are only two things you must do: #1. Eat at Mr. Peabody's. The food is delicious, and the folks there are the only friendly people in the entire tiny state. You think I'm making a sweeping generalization about Rhode Island, but Bob and Kelly Austero told us that everyone there was rude, and they weren't kidding. It's hard to put into words, but go there sometime and see for yourself. I think the rudeness is either because the state is so small and has an inferiority complex, or because of the dark forces lurking in the waters just off the shore. Which brings me to: #2. Sacrifice something or someone to Cthulhu. Not because H.P. Lovecraft grew up in Providence, but just because it's polite. Respecting your elders means the Great Old Ones, too, people.
After breakfast we went back to Bob and Kelly 2's and drank homemade sangria. Lots of homemade sangria. We kept making it and drinking it all and making more. We watched Arrested Development and drank some more sangria. Honestly, Sunday is kind of a blur. I mean, it was a blur when it was happening, and it hasn't become any more clear. All I remember is finally falling into bed with Kelly, telling her how glad I was that we were going to make it home safely the next day, that we hadn't gotten so intoxicated as to be tricked into swinging...feeling her strong arms wrapped around me and the stubble on her cheek grazing against my skin as she whispered sweet astrophysical nothings in my ear in her deep, deep voice...OMG. Nothing. Never mind.
The answer is: We spent it in Rhode Island. But we cannot prove it, because nobody took any pictures.
Yes, we went up to see our friends Bob and Kelly—better known, to eliminate confusion, as Dr. Bob the Astrophysicist and Kelly 2/Kelly Austero—and basically, our weekend consisted of drinking, watching TV shows on DVD, drinking, drinking, running to the liquor store (and by "running," I mean "driving"—but safely), and drinking. We did some eating, too, and went to an arts-and-crafts fair (the ladies protested, but Bob and I were adamant about going).
And yes, we did have to tell Bob and Kelly 2 to stop trying to swing with us, too. I don't know, man. Maybe we need to stop showering, stop working out, stop just lookin' so damn good. Maybe we're just friends with a lot of open-minded people. I don't know, man.
So on Saturday we woke up and hopped on the train. Super busy, so that we couldn't sit down for the first 45 minutes of the ride or so. The conductor said, "Should clear out by Stamford," and then, lo and behold, it cleared out by Stamford and we could sit and read and listen to our musics. Bob and Kelly 2 picked us up in New Haven, and after the obligatory jokes about people who go to Yale (except for Rory, bless her heart), we headed in the direction of Providence.
Every time we go to visit Bob and Kelly 2, they tell us what terrible, terrible drivers the native Rhode Islandese are, but this was the first time we had a chance to see the terribleness in all its full-blown glory. On the way to their house from the train station alone, we saw three deer get hit, two trucks flip over, and four familes die fiery, fiery deaths. Also, a bus full of nuns exploded. (At one point Kelly 2 said, "Bob, maybe you should pull over and Kelly and Josh can take off their clothes and use them to wrap up some of the injured people. We could all take off our clothes and use them to wrap up some of the injured people!" Subtle, K2, subtle.)
Once we'd arrived in Providence (actually it was Cranston—seriously, though: Chill, people) and put our bags away, we hustled down to the arts-and-crafts fair, where Kelly would not let me buy a comforter and pillow set with Yoda on it. I should have gone over her head on that one, but between that and the candy rocks, I just sort of got lost in a reverie. Yes, a lady was selling candy rocks. They looked just like gravel (kind of like the rocks you put on the bottom of your fish tank), but they tasted like delicious candy. Oh, and then, at a booth selling posters and other pop culture matériel, I overheard the greatest, most mind-bogglingest conversation ever:
20-year-old Girl: They have AC/DC posters. You like them, right?
20-year-old Boyfriend: No. They're to heavy metal what the Ramones were to punk. They suck.
Wow.
That night we dined at Lobstermania. On the one hand, it was awesome, because we didn't have to wait for an hour like the other rubes, thanks to Kelly 2's extraordinary reservation-getting foresight, and because we got to sit by the water, looking over the harbor; on the other hand, they only had two kinds of dessert: Grape-Nut pudding and mud pie, which our waiter described as—well, I can't remember what he said verbatim, but he used the words "cow shit." We chalked it up to his thinking that we were a "cool" table, probably because of our young good looks. Anyhoo, we passed on both and went to a café for cake and coffee. Then we went home, had some wine, and the ladies talked about physics while Bob and I talked about knitting. (It was very confusing; we were pretty drunk.)
The next day, Sunday, we went to breakfast at Mr. Peabody's. If for some reason, you ever find yourself in the Providence area, there are only two things you must do: #1. Eat at Mr. Peabody's. The food is delicious, and the folks there are the only friendly people in the entire tiny state. You think I'm making a sweeping generalization about Rhode Island, but Bob and Kelly Austero told us that everyone there was rude, and they weren't kidding. It's hard to put into words, but go there sometime and see for yourself. I think the rudeness is either because the state is so small and has an inferiority complex, or because of the dark forces lurking in the waters just off the shore. Which brings me to: #2. Sacrifice something or someone to Cthulhu. Not because H.P. Lovecraft grew up in Providence, but just because it's polite. Respecting your elders means the Great Old Ones, too, people.
After breakfast we went back to Bob and Kelly 2's and drank homemade sangria. Lots of homemade sangria. We kept making it and drinking it all and making more. We watched Arrested Development and drank some more sangria. Honestly, Sunday is kind of a blur. I mean, it was a blur when it was happening, and it hasn't become any more clear. All I remember is finally falling into bed with Kelly, telling her how glad I was that we were going to make it home safely the next day, that we hadn't gotten so intoxicated as to be tricked into swinging...feeling her strong arms wrapped around me and the stubble on her cheek grazing against my skin as she whispered sweet astrophysical nothings in my ear in her deep, deep voice...OMG. Nothing. Never mind.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)