This is an e-mail I got from one of the best.
Shit. I was just going to call you, but I don't have your home phone number. Sigh, listen I emailed you last week to let you know that the wedding is on Friday, September 15 at 7 p.m. A little over a week from your birthday if my memory serves me right. But I am a quarter of a century old, so it's entirely possible I'm wrong. My message must have been lost in the great void out there. Anyway, I also asked about Shmuel in my note to you because you were nervous about meeting him and his parents. I told you not to worry
because you can only be yourself: no more, no less. Shmuel and I love you, so you've got to be good!
All this advice has come a little too late, though. From what you've written, sounds like everything went swimmingly. Although I haven't met Shmuel, I like what you've told me about him. I can tell from the writing on his web site that he's an introspective guy who turns thoughts over and over in his mind, like fingering a smooth stone in his pocket. It's good to have someone like that in your life to give you balance. Please, please, please bring him to the wedding. I'm anxious to meet him.
As for what's going on in my life? I could tell you about the wedding stuff, but quite frankly, I usually find that kind of stuff banal. When I tell women that I'm getting married it's the same schtick:
Them: OOOooo! When?
Me: September 15
Me: Meadowlark Gardens
Them: What are you wearing?
Me: A red dress.
Me: Oh. Did I say red? I meant an off-the-shoulder, A-line, silk organza Vera Wang dress. No. Really. It's red. I think that the wedding dress industry is a total racket. The only reason women wear white is because Queen Victoria made it popular...
I usually lose them for a little bit here, but women are tenacious when it comes to weddings
Them: How many bridesmaids are you having?
Them: What? You aren't?
At this point I'm convinced that most women have a ninety percent hearing loss.
Them: Well, what are your colors?
Me: I plan on having a lot of colors at the wedding.
That's when they give me that smile reserved for humoring their Great Aunt Trudy who's telling her gall bladder surgery story for the 50th time.
Poor Rodney has the opposite problem. Men usually mimic wearing manacles, toss their heads skyward and groan, "Oh man, your freedom won't last much longer. It's never the same after you're married." After a five-minute rant about the dangers of marriage, Rodney usually asks, "Then why are you married?" The men are usually quiet after that.
I think that the big story in my life right now is that we're going to get out of Dodge and move to a new place VERY soon. Our rent just went up a $100, a lot more than the 3%-4% inflation the U.S. experienced this year, and people around here are fucking mean. I've started mooing in the DC Metro, too, because I feel like cattle going down the chute. I hate my job and I've decided that I want to get my masters in journalism so that I can carry out my life's ambition to tell stories because that's what I do best. Even though I hadn't realized it, I've been trying to turn myself into somebody I'm not. You know? I'm not a science writer. There aren't any people in science. I like people (there are exceptions) and I like to write.
My plan is to give my notice mid-August and quit a week before the wedding. Rodney and I will take our 2 week honeymoon to Santa Fe, Albuquerque, and Taos, then we'll come back, pack up and be moved out by early November. Destination: we're still deciding. Boulder, Colo.; Ann Arbor, Mich.; and Madison, Wisc. are all in the running. I'd be very excited about being a Midwesterner with you...
I should be home any night except for Thursday when I have my belly dancing class, so call me!
I love you,