One Good, Hectic Weekend (the prologue)
May. 5th, 2003 12:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pameladeanIf anybody had presented this weekend's timetable to me beforehand, I would have recoiled in horror. As it is, things accreted gradually, and instead I recoiled in horror when, Sunday evening, I finally looked at my accumulated Friends' List postings. Aieeee. Now, naturally, I am colluding in making other people who had busy weekends feel the same, rather than actually catching up on anything in particular.
Two local friends of Eric's had invited him to their wedding, and left a space on the invitation for bringing a guest, so he asked me if I'd like to go with him. I was unambiguously thrilled to be asked.
A noon wedding on a Saturday in early May in the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden. That sounded very nice, really. And while I think I am mostly free, or at least aware, of the gender-role nonsense I was raised with, I still have a strong fondness for, hmm, I'm not sure it is quite fair to call them Stupid Monogamous Couple Tricks (the adjective refers to "Tricks," so put those ruffled feathers down), but to more or less traditional demonstrations of affection and commitment, despite the highly untraditional nature of my relationships.
In much the same way, though not so romantically, I was thrilled when my mother asked me if I'd spend a night in her place to keep the cat company while she was out of town, and said, "You can bring anybody you like." She meant, "It doesn't have to be David, and yes, you can sleep in the same bed." This was just as well, since David had not just a busy weekend but a very busy week, and has a decided preference for remaining at home and sleeping in his own bed when that is possible, especially during otherwise busy times.
During a telephone conversation on Thursday evening, Eric suggested that I might want to spend the night at his place on Friday, since the location of the wedding is much closer to his place than to mine, and he knows I am a very reluctant early riser. I agreed to this. In addition to its obviously attractive aspects, it would mean that I could not waste time on Saturday morning putting on and then discarding various garments in a desperate last-minute search for something that would miraculously make me look like somebody else or allow me to pass as mundane. I could do that, the latter that is, when I was young and thin, but the effort required to do it now is far greater than I am willing to expend and indeed squicks me heartily when I consider of it. This does not prevent the last-minute search for the miraculous garments, however.
I was scheduled for a (free, to those without health insurance) mammogram on Friday. Or I thought I was, but I couldn't find my appointment slip. (Subsequent investigation revealed that I had failed to remove it from my pissed-on knapsack before putting the knapsack in the wash; even had I found it, it was not legible as to time or date.) I called the clinic and found the appointment was half an hour earlier than I remembered its being.
I was a bit fussed at having to go downtown and do medical stuff, but became quite cheerful and even manic on the realization that nobody was going to take my blood pressure. I could have lots of coffee, I could walk from Nicollet rather than grabbing an 8th Street bus, I could get overheated or annoyed or dehydrated if I damn well pleased. I didn't please, really, but I could.
I was early and they took me early. It went all right. Those side views hurt like anything, but I must say the technology is vastly improved over the first time I had a mammogram in the early 1990's. Then the technician had to come out from behind her little leaden screen and manually release one from one's ignominious and painful condition. Now the upper plate just automatically moves away as soon as the picture is taken. Also, the technician had a little trick for making the small sticky rounds with lead buttons on be less painful to take off. She pressed them briefly against the fabric of the hospital gown, which either removes excess adhesive or lints it up, or both.
I walked over to Target afterwards -- it was a splendid spring day -- and having gotten some sensible necessary stuff, found myself wandering around looking for the perfect cheap dress or skirt or trousers or, well, something. I found a couple of nice linen things that might have done and that were dauntingly, to anybody with a social conscience, cheap. But I just could not face the fitting rooms. Then I went to buy a pair of socks, but I couldn't even do that. Nor could I buy a hat. Not a shopping day, obviously.
I came home and took my cat out on his leash, which he appreciated very much indeed. His project for the year is to turn himself into a gray cat, which he does by rolling his muted-orange self assiduously in any patch of dust that offers. The weather up to that point having been quite dry (the rain and wind were saving themselves for the May Day Parade, evidently), he found no shortage of dust for his purposes.
I had attempted to say hello to David several times, but he was never in. I knew he was off to do wedding photography, or more accurately reception photography, in the early evening, so I sent him email about where I'd be. I had some nice conversation with Raphael, glared briefly at my book, packed my knapsack, moved some dirty dishes around, watched the latest "Buffy" with Raphael. Ehhhnnnnng. If I were presented with a plot summary I'd probably say it was fine, but I don't like the way they are doing most things at the moment. No, don't do that scene that way; no, don't gloss over this and emphasize that; what in the world is wrong with your notion of pacing, if you even have one? Grump. Some very nice character bits here and there.
I got the 9:45 bus to Eric's, my knapsack bulging with wedding clothes and one of Elise's necklaces. (Eric had been very soothing about my dress, saying that if I dressed with the same color sense he'd seen and wore one of Elise's necklaces, I would be fine. I took "Questionable Information from Rabbits," which is possibly the most versatile one of hers that I have.)
Thus endeth the prologue.
Pamela
Two local friends of Eric's had invited him to their wedding, and left a space on the invitation for bringing a guest, so he asked me if I'd like to go with him. I was unambiguously thrilled to be asked.
A noon wedding on a Saturday in early May in the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden. That sounded very nice, really. And while I think I am mostly free, or at least aware, of the gender-role nonsense I was raised with, I still have a strong fondness for, hmm, I'm not sure it is quite fair to call them Stupid Monogamous Couple Tricks (the adjective refers to "Tricks," so put those ruffled feathers down), but to more or less traditional demonstrations of affection and commitment, despite the highly untraditional nature of my relationships.
In much the same way, though not so romantically, I was thrilled when my mother asked me if I'd spend a night in her place to keep the cat company while she was out of town, and said, "You can bring anybody you like." She meant, "It doesn't have to be David, and yes, you can sleep in the same bed." This was just as well, since David had not just a busy weekend but a very busy week, and has a decided preference for remaining at home and sleeping in his own bed when that is possible, especially during otherwise busy times.
During a telephone conversation on Thursday evening, Eric suggested that I might want to spend the night at his place on Friday, since the location of the wedding is much closer to his place than to mine, and he knows I am a very reluctant early riser. I agreed to this. In addition to its obviously attractive aspects, it would mean that I could not waste time on Saturday morning putting on and then discarding various garments in a desperate last-minute search for something that would miraculously make me look like somebody else or allow me to pass as mundane. I could do that, the latter that is, when I was young and thin, but the effort required to do it now is far greater than I am willing to expend and indeed squicks me heartily when I consider of it. This does not prevent the last-minute search for the miraculous garments, however.
I was scheduled for a (free, to those without health insurance) mammogram on Friday. Or I thought I was, but I couldn't find my appointment slip. (Subsequent investigation revealed that I had failed to remove it from my pissed-on knapsack before putting the knapsack in the wash; even had I found it, it was not legible as to time or date.) I called the clinic and found the appointment was half an hour earlier than I remembered its being.
I was a bit fussed at having to go downtown and do medical stuff, but became quite cheerful and even manic on the realization that nobody was going to take my blood pressure. I could have lots of coffee, I could walk from Nicollet rather than grabbing an 8th Street bus, I could get overheated or annoyed or dehydrated if I damn well pleased. I didn't please, really, but I could.
I was early and they took me early. It went all right. Those side views hurt like anything, but I must say the technology is vastly improved over the first time I had a mammogram in the early 1990's. Then the technician had to come out from behind her little leaden screen and manually release one from one's ignominious and painful condition. Now the upper plate just automatically moves away as soon as the picture is taken. Also, the technician had a little trick for making the small sticky rounds with lead buttons on be less painful to take off. She pressed them briefly against the fabric of the hospital gown, which either removes excess adhesive or lints it up, or both.
I walked over to Target afterwards -- it was a splendid spring day -- and having gotten some sensible necessary stuff, found myself wandering around looking for the perfect cheap dress or skirt or trousers or, well, something. I found a couple of nice linen things that might have done and that were dauntingly, to anybody with a social conscience, cheap. But I just could not face the fitting rooms. Then I went to buy a pair of socks, but I couldn't even do that. Nor could I buy a hat. Not a shopping day, obviously.
I came home and took my cat out on his leash, which he appreciated very much indeed. His project for the year is to turn himself into a gray cat, which he does by rolling his muted-orange self assiduously in any patch of dust that offers. The weather up to that point having been quite dry (the rain and wind were saving themselves for the May Day Parade, evidently), he found no shortage of dust for his purposes.
I had attempted to say hello to David several times, but he was never in. I knew he was off to do wedding photography, or more accurately reception photography, in the early evening, so I sent him email about where I'd be. I had some nice conversation with Raphael, glared briefly at my book, packed my knapsack, moved some dirty dishes around, watched the latest "Buffy" with Raphael. Ehhhnnnnng. If I were presented with a plot summary I'd probably say it was fine, but I don't like the way they are doing most things at the moment. No, don't do that scene that way; no, don't gloss over this and emphasize that; what in the world is wrong with your notion of pacing, if you even have one? Grump. Some very nice character bits here and there.
I got the 9:45 bus to Eric's, my knapsack bulging with wedding clothes and one of Elise's necklaces. (Eric had been very soothing about my dress, saying that if I dressed with the same color sense he'd seen and wore one of Elise's necklaces, I would be fine. I took "Questionable Information from Rabbits," which is possibly the most versatile one of hers that I have.)
Thus endeth the prologue.
Pamela
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-05-05 01:13 pm (UTC)B
no subject
Date: 2003-05-05 01:45 pm (UTC)Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-05-05 02:29 pm (UTC)B
no subject
Date: 2003-05-05 04:29 pm (UTC)Here's the good part: whew it isn't just me who does this. Okay, we can all feel better now.
MKK
no subject
Date: 2003-05-05 07:16 pm (UTC)Pamela
no subject
Date: 2003-05-05 07:18 pm (UTC)B