The wedding I attended yesterday was wonderful. The ceremony was one of the most amazing I have ever attended. It was very religious with two presiding priests, psalms, standing, kneeling and lots of hymns. Both families are devoutly religious, as is the couple.

At other weddings I've attended people don't exactly sing along to the hymns and it ends up being a dull murmur that's a little lackluster in the joy department. Not yesterday. I'm pretty sure that all attendees other than myself have spent a significant portion of their lives singing in choirs because the guests knocked my socks off -- and even presented the opportunity for me to sing out because all of the amazing voices were available to drown me out.

We sang one of my favorite hymns and when we hit the refrains and all of the voices joined together in the refrain, I got chills:

God is love, and where true love is God himself is there.

It was a day of praise and celebration. It was beautiful and I am honored to have been in attendance.

Friends on Facebook and Twitter know that I attended a wedding this weekend. They may have noticed that I tweeted and removed tweets, and renamed a picture album no fewer than 10 times. I wanted it to be perfect, and I didn't want to tick people off or alienate anyone.

It was a gay wedding.

To be perfectly technical, it wasn't a formal marriage but rather a blessing of a civil union and commitment. And my reason for fear?  Well, I didn't want to be judged as being an inferior Christian for attending. I'm just now becoming involved in Christian blogging circles and well, homosexuality is quite the divisive issue. Not only do people disagree, they view it as a black and white issue and completely discredit those on the other side.

Yes, this wedding was between two devout Christians. Two people who have been called to minister to others and to spread the Word of God vowed to love and honor Christ -- and to love and to love and honor each other. 

God is love, and where true love is God himself is there.

I know not everyone agrees. I understand. I know people have theological differences and I respect that. I hope that others can respect that I'm unable to find fault (and don't believe it would be my place to) in two adults of sound mind and body who love each other so much that they've chosen to remain together forever. I am honored to call them friends and to have witnessed such a wonderful ceremony.

If you have questions or comments I'm happy to talk about them.

In the midst of the all of the packing, unpacking, and repacking I have done recently, I managed to leave my razor at home when I traveled to Boston yesterday. I noticed when I unpacked my shower bag this morning (I use multiple Ziploc bags to organize myself because I am lazy and tres classy) and apparently there is a yeti somewhere in my family tree because I needed to shave my legs in a very bad way. Obviously I wore pants today.

But this place that I'm staying? It's pretty far from, well, everything and we're basically sequestered here. And, because of the summer heat? I only have one pair of pants on hand. The front desk has a ridiculous amount of sundries behind it* so I asked. I asked the totally adorable (and probably single) guy behind the front desk if they had a razor, and he handed over two. I feel a little insulted by the fact that he assumed I was so hairy I needed not one, but two razors, because why am I not giving off the air of being the delicate, non-hairy flower that I am or at least try really hard to pretend to be?

Anyway. The razors. Guys, I'm a little scared.

There's no curiously viscous green stuff that leaves a trail on your legs of what is most likely elf snot. There are no little rubber guards meant to idiot proof the sharp parts so I can retain as much skin as possible and spare myself of the indignity of cutting myself and not knowing it until soapy water seeps into the nick and starts burning/stinging/annoying the heck out of me and I subsequently start hobbling around trying to move that portion of leg out of the way because of the burning and have to contort myself so that not only is it out of the stream of water,  but also so no water runs down the leg. There are no special rubber grips on the handle to keep the sharp object firmly placed in my hand  so it doesn't get slippery and fly out of my hand at some inconvenient point and accidentally  shave off an eyebrow. There's only one blade! I'll have to get all of the hair in one swipe because it won't have the backup blades right there to pick up the slack. Sure I've been shaving for nearly seventeen years but that doesn't mean I'm even remotely good at it. You see, even with all of the niceties of the Venus, Venus Breeze, Shick Intuition, and various other razors over the years, I still manage to hurt myself on a regular basis, or at the very least, forget to shave a large portion of one calf.

Clearly my complaining about the quality of a free razor I needed as a result of my own incompetancy is a lovely little first world problem, but what I'm trying to say is: if I happen to bleed to death in the shower tomorrow, now you know why.

*Yes, the front desk seems to have EVERYTHING back there. I'm keeping a running list of things I plan to ask for over the next couple of days to entertain myself. Items include, but are in no way limited to: a BumpIt, a frying pan and Chuch Norris.

Last week the blog world was rocked by the loss of Maddie Spohr. Then the loss of Thalon Myers. Two babies were taken suddenly from their families. Two babies with loving, friendly, hysterically funny mothers. In my corner of the internet people seem paralyzed because it still doesn't feel quite right that life should go on as usual. The people they used to laugh with are not laughing right now and instead are hurting more than any person should know.

I was stunned when I read about Maddie's passing on Tuesday night. I was stunned when I heard that Thalon might not survive. I do not know their parents and I've felt gripped by their situations. I've donated money, cried and prayed. I wish I could do more.

I'm a new and struggling Christian. Situations like these shake my faith. Part of my faith is believing there's a God charge of the world and to trust that He works in ways that I may not understand, but that He has a plan and it is good. It's really hard to believe that sometimes. It's really hard to believe that when bad things are happening to babies. Cute, smiling, happy, innocent BABIES.

When Maddie first died I tried to think of a way to explain it, to explain why such a beautiful, happy spirit should be taken from the earth so soon. I know I can't actually justify the loss but it was impossible not to question it. In my worldly naivete I figured maybe Maddie was an answer to prayers. Her parents had almost lost her several times in pregnancy and through complications of prematurity. Maybe she was an answer to those prayers. After all, what better, cuter answer could there be? That was the explanation I had settled on: Maddie, in her short time on earth, was a miracle and an answer to prayers.

If only tragedy were that easy and succinct.

For the Spohr family someone will always be missing. Every moment they had with her will still be one too few. An explanation of any sort will never make that better.

And then Thalon died. Another baby. Another family torn apart. Two adoring older sisters who are thrust into this pain. A mother whose vision of SIDS will never leave her no matter how long she tries.

No explanation will ever help that kind of pain.

So far in 2009 I've followed the stories online of Emily Mandell, Harper Brown, Stellan, Cora, a friend's infant cousin who is battling Neuroblastoma, Isabel who lost her pregnancy in the second trimester, Jen and Britney who are both in the respective hospitals fighting to stay pregnant. Oh, and how could I leave the Nielson family off of this list? I look at my groups of friends: Cancer, divorce, family troubles, fertility struggles, financial issues, general suckitude.

I don't even want to talk about the evening news.

It's too much.

I feel guilty for feeling blessed. As horrible as I feel for those suffering I cannot help but thing I'm so glad it's not me, I couldn't handle it. Please God don't let stuff like this happen to me.I feel ridiculous having material desires, petty wants and prayer requests.

Since I started on my initial journey to see what this whole faith thing is all about there have been two moments that made me stop and think, whoa, maybe these people are on to something. The first was reading about Jody Ferlaak's family after stumbling onto her blog from a design blog. Jody's family went through an incredible tragedy when a woman attempting to commit suicide drove her car into a restaurant while the Ferlaaks were eating breakfast. They lost their daughter Teagan and each of the other family members sustained serious injuries. The family has since rebuilt their life. It's not the same, but it's a life that's filled with joy and happiness. The kicker for me was that when the Ferlaaks testified in the trial against the driver they expressed their desire to help her and make sure she doesn't repeat the same mistakes when she is released from prison. Whoa. The family relied strongly on their faith to get them through the worst of times. Not only did they survive, but they came through it strong, faithful, hopeful and compassionate.

The second story is of Christian singer Steven Curtis Chapman. His daughter died last May and I had never heard of him before. To be honest, I probably would have flipped off anyone who suggested I pay attention in any way, shape or form to Christian at that point. Maria Sue died in a tragic accident in the family's driveway when her older brother, Will Franklin, pulled in and she ran into the path of the moving car. In a Good Morning America interview Steven talks about how after the accident and he was on his way to the hospital he yelled out the window of his car, "Will Franklin, your father loves you!" In that moment, I got chills. Since the tragedy the family has struggled with their grief and their faith in God. As the interview went on, he said they're a family with a lot of questions and having questions is exactly what faith is.

For me, that's the hardest thing, not having answers, only questions. And thus came the hardest realization for me: not only is having faith a choice, it's an active choice.  

In the past I've also followed the stories of Kristie's daughter Kendrie. The Scott Family who lost their little girl Allie several years ago. Christi Thomas. Moreena's daughter Annika. Tricia and Gwyneth. Audrey's family. And others, I'm sure. People have struggled and lived, people have struggled and died.

The amazing thing I've seen through these stories is that people do laugh again. They will always grieve, but they are still able to exist, still able to love, still able to breathe and laugh. Broken, but repaired with cracks and flaws in place, and embraced.The capacity of human resiliency is amazing. 

It's hard to ignore the beauty that does eke out from under the blankets of grief. The internet is an amazing, powerful place. The world is. Prayer chains, donations, community, love. It's beautiful. People are still suffering, that's never going to stop. But there is an innate human kindness that in times of tragedy and crisis binds people. There's hope that one day things might not hurt as much, there are still miracles and there are still baby belly laughs out there. They will smile again.

I'm choosing to have faith.

----

Thalon's family will be having services Friday, April 17th at 11:00 am. My thoughts and prayers are with the family for comfort and peace. If you would like to help alleviate their financial burdens during this time, you can find more information here.

I have been away for work since last Monday. Somehow I have managed to overcome my TV addiction and survive in a hotel that does not have TV. No, really, it doesn't. It's been a great trip. The weather has been lovely. Though there have been short bursts of rain they've been celebrated since it is so desperately needed here.

The bed in my hotel room is AMAZING. I have two balconies off of my hotel room and I sleep with the doors open on one. Cool, gentle breezes and no bugs, I have to love that. The other balcony is off of my bathroom and while I'm generally pro dramatic Evita-inspired balcony scenes, I just don't feel comfortable doing it while seated at the loo or in the shower. It's been suggested that perhaps I'm too guarded and I just need to learn to be free, but I really don't care about those things: I don't like audiences. 

There's been a ton of great food; amazing fresh produce has been the mainstay, but all of the work I did was made possible through the copious ingestion of cookies. It's also possible that I now weigh an actual ton.

There's been lots of work, some good downtime, and let's face it, downtime means shopping. While I didn't have the amazing luck at the magic shoe store that I did last year, I will be schlepping one new pair of shoes back with me. Plus a t-shirt. And a cardigan. All purchased at amazing prices. And then there are the books, all ten of them* purchased in used bookstores.

Just when I start to think I'm getting comfortable living this healthy, laid back California lifestyle, I start to feel pangs of homesickness. I'm always ready to go home at the end of a trip, to get back in my bed. But this time? I realize that my eagerness to get home is strongly based on spending Tuesday, a day off, becoming one with my couch and catching up on a week of TV. Big Love is waiting.

Maybe I do have a TV problem.

*they are Screwtape Letters, The Commoner, A Primer on Prayer, Under the Banner of Heaven, Case Histories, Stiff, O! Pioneers, My Antonia, The Battle for God, and Sister of My Heart.

Back in the olden days when I planned weddings, I was googling my company's name one day and came across one of our brides. It was on a famous wedding site (that one. yes, you know the one I'm talking about) and said bride had created a profile (yeah, I really do not want to be easily searched by those who frequent the site so we're going to call it a profile). Of course I was fascinated by this so I clicked on her username and began reading her posts. Since I was doing this at work I, of course, called my coworker in to see.

The bride had a GORGEOUS wedding. Stunning. Amazing. She was quite popular, especially among those who were similarly profile obsessed. She was also quite popular among some haters who didn't necessarily agree with some of her extravagant wedding expenses. She had a premier wedding photographer. Her pictures are unbelievable. There have been times since then where I've seen her pictures used in inspiration board and wedding posts across the net. Everything was top of the line. The pictures, the registry, the elaborate nature of the wedding, the professions of love, everything, everything, everything announced how amazing and perfect things were.

The biggest disconnect we saw was in the bride's review of the wedding. The discussion of how her guests proclaimed it to be the best, most amazing wedding they had ever seen was what sent us over the edge and into a fit of laughter. HARD LAUGHTER. She used the word 'amazing' a lot.

During the planning we found that the bride was nice, a little overly detail oriented which is kind of comical in the wedding industry because there are a lot of things that guests never, ever notice. The elaborate plan for the wedding day was bound to be awkward, and this was mentioned, but she had a vision.

Unfortunately I can't give details because this wedding will live on in legend and would be easily identifiable if I gave specific details of what happened, but, well... The guests didn't exactly enjoy themselves. It is the only wedding I have seen, or heard of, where the guests were royally pissed off. Angry. Some were even ballistic. Let's just say that the guests didn't eat for nearly 12 hours. It was a very expensive destination wedding where none of the guests were actually able to experience the destination. And wow, I need you to trust me that this is only the tip of the iceberg. When the group finally arrived at the reception hours late, it still required an intervention from the staff and family members to allow the guests to eat before the bridal party was done with all of the dances and such. Oh, and that was after some guests left to go get food. (My company was only involved in the reception.)

There were so many, many things that when I talk about this (one of my many cocktail party tricks) I have to reinforce that really, this all happened at ONE wedding.

I think the only way to fully express how awful this wedding is this: my dad, who cannot remember my date of birth, can recall details from this wedding.

The website, however, spoke of perfection. Of this wonderful day. It's true they did get married and I'm certain the ceremony was beautiful. And yes, that is the most important part of the day... but... There's no mention that they royally screwed 200 guests over. The people who fawned over this bride have no idea how angry she made family and friends during the process. My coworker and I were mesmerized by how this account of the wedding was so bizarrely detached from the reality of the day. I often say that you have to overlook the little things on the wedding day and just enjoy and remember the importance of the day. But... these things the bride said... they were... not true. Perfection doesn't typically include people hating you at the end of the day, you know?

Recently I've found myself rolling my eyes at different parts of the internet when people get a little... braggy. Or, even worse, when I feel like people are trying to push their agenda of how perfect their life is down my throat. I remembered this story last week and it reminded me that when people are writing on the internet, they're telling a story. They're telling the actual story of their life, or they're simply telling a story. Nothing is actually perfect and the more you try to prove it, the further from the actual truth you are. It was a nice kick in the pants.

Oh, one other little detail that was excluded in the tale of the amazing wedding on the fawned over profile and posts: it was all originally planned with a different groom in mind.

*Note* for those who are truly interested in the details, e-mail me.

Today I have read celebrity gossip blogs, I have gossiped about fellow churchgoers, I told Kristin to bite me over a football team (though, seriously, it could also be the nicest thing I've said to her in DAYS), I expressed my extreme distaste for a fellow churchgoer -- or two, I have checked my hometown newspaper to make sure no one I dislike is getting married before I am, I wished someone in Bible study would be quiet, and you know what, I'm probably only listing the tip of the iceberg here

I know: I AM AWESOME. Yes, you should TOTALLY read my blog.

There are many days now where I feel like slamming my head against the wall and exclaiming  Christianity = FAIL. (Obviously my own Christianity, not the concept of Christianity. Although...  definitely some concepts of Christianity which - let me just stop on this digression right now.) Anyway, I've been commenting recently that I am TERRIBLE at Christianity.

I like church. I like Jesus. I don't see going back to a non-church focused life. For me, there is an x-factor; there's a certain calm and sense of peace I feel. Yadda yadda yadda. As someone who always felt that religion was brainwashing, trust me, I wondered about this. And trust me, some of my family members and friends are freaked out that I'm saying these things. I've also wondered about the placebo effect and maybe I just want to feel this way so I do. But... I don't think that's it. It feels good and there's a certain - new - sense of joy.

Today I spent eight hours with church people. I went to a bible study conversation, I taught Sunday school, I participated in a church event, went out for brunch with church people where we discussed church things, then went to a party at the home of a church staff member. Oh, and two days ago I had dinner with my priest to discuss a committee I'm going to be sitting on and then yesterday I had a day long class about the denomination. I feel a little churched-out right now. It was all very good and I had a nice time. Actually, I had fun. But, it's not all fun and games. Obviously.

I'm constantly amazed at how hard it is just to plain be nice and think nice thoughts about people. I'm a person who, when walking behind someone who happens to walk slower than I do thus causing me to break my stride, well I'm a person who often thinks about shoving said slow-walker into the street. See, I SUCK at this. I'm a person who, upon being introduced to a couple where one spouse is significantly more attractive than the other, thinks SERIOUSLY. I'm a person who creates potential autobiography storylines for some of the celebrity children who are most ridiculously named (ahemBronxMowgliahem) (SEE! I did it again!) I'm a person who announces on a regular basis that spending time with person X would make me want to poke my eye out with a fork.  I'm a hopeless gossip (Ask Kristin and Rhi.) On more than one ocassion I've been pleased by the misfortune of others (extra points if their misfortune might cause them to shut the hell up about the perfection in their life.) I am plain old bad at being nice.

Every day I'm struggling more and more to be better, to be nicer, to stop being a jerk. It's freaking hard. But, regardless of religious influence, gossip isn't good for anyone. Fun? yes. Good? not so much. Being nice in general won't kill me. I should probably stop mocking people. I like the term I heard today that some people just require some extra grace to be in their presence (Extra Grace Required aka EGRs) and I could just use that instead. So if I know all of these things, why is it so damn hard to not get annoyed, to let things go and to think nice thoughts about other people? So. Hard.***

How do the nice people do it because I'm am struggling here?

(I know talking about church and Christianity is uncomfortable for some. Not a problem. I TOTALLY understand and in the past have closed many blog windows when someone got too Jesus-y on me. Eventually I will move Christianity related posts to a new blog, but for now, they're here.)

*** That's what she said.

I got a phone call from the bank this afternoon telling me my beloved debit/Mastercard had been compromised in some type of break-in and was being replaced. This is not the first time this has happened on this account. More like the third. In two years. I happen to find this annoying. HUGELY ANNOYING.

Anyway, I am sans card. FOR TWO WEEKS. TWO WEEKS of no shopping.* No money. Especially the cash monies.

Obviously I will not be tipping anyone.

And the cab rides. Oh... I'll miss the cab rides.

This means no impulse shoe purchases. No Barnes and Noble. No perusing the anthropologie sale section on Tuesday morning. No making good use of my Shopittome salemail. No impulse chocolate purchases. No lunch from DiBruno's. No swinging by the GAP outlet on my way home from work. No browsing in the aisles while I wait for my prescription to be filled at CVS (seriously, how easy is it to spend an extra $50 there on stuff you do not need?) No grabbing a glass of wine after work. No extra chocolate.

I'm on a two week spending diet and this is going to be ugly. I mean, it's going to be nice for my savings account. Well, not really because it really just means that I'm saving for my trip to awesome JCrew shoe store next month. But it is just brutal to have all of my discretionary expenses flaunted in my face because I can't have them right now.

Needless to say, when these two weeks are up I'll be buying myself a present. Or three.

*So it's really not as bad as it seems. I was whining about it to my dad today (he has the same bank) and he asked, "Wait, you can write checks?" "Yeah." "And you have another account [at a separate bank]?" "Yeah." "And you have a credit card?" "Yes, but I don't like to use it.**" "So you don't need anything?" "Well, no." And it's true. The bills have been paid. I just did a big grocery shop yesterday. I'm pretty much totally fine except for the HUGE ANNOYANCE of spending money not being easy.

**I keep a card so I have credit. It was a PITA to get. Do you know what makes you a high risk credit person so it's hard to get a card? NO CREDIT DEBT. Seriously. No credit history screwed me over once. Also, it's useful for renting cars because you can't do that with a debit card in all areas.

I spent Thanksgiving with my dad's family. We had a nice time, but unfortunately my favorite uncle and his fiance weren't able to make it. They had some elaborate excuse about being busy and not wanting to drive several hours two days before their wedding, blah blah blah. I'm pretty sure they're just lazy.

(Also, maybe they knew their Thanksgiving leftovers would include stuffing. Why else would you have Thanksgiving leftovers? Seriously, NO POINT without the stuffing. Perhaps their hosts would never be so oblivious as to forget the stuffing.)

Anyway, my uncle was getting married on Saturday but he missed the... togetherness and jovial nature of an old fashioned family gathering. At the wedding there would be drinking and debauchery and it wouldn't be the same. We started brainstorming around the table and came up with some ideas of how to make Uncle P's day a bit more festive. The ideas were fairly basic, we figured we could just pick a word and any time it was said during the very secular ceremony we could yell out "Amen!", "Hallelujah!" or "Praise Be!" We couldn't find any foam fingers in time to do an adequate cheer or start the wave. We did have to practice saying the new wife's name because... yeah, that was an issue. Also possible: we're jerks.

Like most families, mine has lots of traditions. Some families have sing-a-longs, mine had a longstanding history of sending dinner leftovers to family members who could not make a holiday via the post office. (These packages, containing everything from lobster claws, shrimp tails, ham, and turkey carcasses, were often marked as suspicious by the post office and thus the practice stopped in 2001.) (And no... the packages were easily spotted and uh, we didn't open them. We simply put the entire thing inside a new package and sent it to the next recipient. They got quite large.)

Luckily, my dad's family had a large estate. An estate comprised almost entirely of Tacky Ass Shit.  Most of the family lives in the same, small town so the lack of mailing was easily addressed by doing drive-bys. If it was your birthday? Your car might be toilet papered. (Bonus points if you live in a gated community and security drives by twice without noticing anything askew.) The last round of ham was quite long (oh yes, I still have it somewhere) and was easily recognized by waking up or arriving home with a large package left in the driveway as thrown from a car.

Metallic Christmas trees? Yep, they might end up on a front porch. Three foot wide metal peacocks with bronze accents? Well, someone might enter a home and hang them on the bedroom wall. Hosting a party, have no fear, one of my aunts will show up with several hundred previously used plastic forks that my grandmother saved. My dad drives a convertible in the summer and can pretty much guarantee that if one of his siblings drives by his place of work, a restaurant he's dining at, or well, anywhere, and sees his car sitting all by its lonesome, they're going to do a drive-by Santa-ing. There are other things involved, like fake police complaints involving vandalism, ransom notes, etc. But we don't need to go into that.

There's only one of the siblings who doesn't live in town, and it was his wedding. Santa WANTED to go. It was a last minute decision. Plans involving many, many bridal duckies had already been made. But we all knew that Santa neeeeeeded to be there. I mean, seriously, Santa is roughly 50 years old. He's family.

Here is is, nestled all snug in the car. Also, Santa is squeaky. (Don't worry, my aunt shook him out before getting in the car to make sure no rats had gotten snuggly in his interior.) (I insisted.)

Here's Santa getting ready to go inside the hotel

The front desk didn't flinch. I do wonder what the housekeeping staff thought. (Santa spent the night with my aunt because she's afraid of the dark and doesn't like to sleep alone.) (Heh. Once, when she was in the midst of moving, my cousin and I tucked Santa into her new bed and sent her pictures.)

On Saturday we had zero problems sneaking ducks into the ceremony. Let it be noted that I carried a purse because that seemed like a better idea than tucking them into my belt. (Not that I had a belt, but whatever.)

They got married.

But where was Santa? Well, he had to wait until the happy couple went to the reception for the surprise visit.

It had been a long journey so Santa hopped into the jacuzzi in the middle of their room.

He had to wait a long while for them to come home. In the meantime I tried to explain the concept of mirror self portraits to my father. I still don't think he gets it.

The groom later told my dad he was a bad best man because he used the bridal suite's access key in order to include Santa in the festivities. Oh well. This morning we were ready to take Santa home but the new bride declared that as a member of the family, she now wants to have control over Santa for a while. She argued about it with her new husband. He was a bit concerned over where they might store Santa and how they might transport him when the time comes. But she insisted.  We're all a little concerned since she we have no track record of her care and keeping of Very Important Things, but we all have to take a chance now and then. I'm sure she'll be just fine.

• I'm feeling great and mostly recovered from my surgery. I had my post-op visit with the doctor last week and I'm healing perfectly. 
• More importantly, the doctor showed me pictures from the surgery.
• My appendix looks perfect.
• As does my liver.
• The ovary they took out was destroyed.
• It's fine, totally wasn't my favorite ovary anyway.
• That doesn't mean I didn't cry when thinking about how maybe only the good ova that made babies who will sleep through the night  and would grow to be law-abiding citizens were all contained within my left ovary.
• I was still on Percocet when that happened.
• Not so much a fan of the Percocet and the bizarre dreams it gave me.
• In one dream I set Kristabella up on a date with Tony Danza. He was really into her and bitch wasn't appreciative at ALL.
• Since I've been off of the Percocet for a few weeks now, I can't really blame it for the weird dreams I've been having over the past two nights.
• In one dream a famous blogger posted about how awful I am.
• In another dream, one of my bosses told me I was going to hell.
• I blame Texas.
• I've been here in San Antonio since Wednesday for work.
• Slynnro assured me that I would hate San Antonio.
• On Wednesday and early Thursday I thought it was just lovely.
• And then I left my hotel.
• Dear San Antonio, directional signs on the Riverwalk would be awesome.
• I'm here for work and have tried to figure out what to say to several couples I know whose marriages stand to be affected by Prop 8.
• One of the biggest hesitations I've had with going back to church are the things other people do in the name of religion.
• It still is.
• Yeah, there's no good way to end after that.

I think napping multiple times a day suits my personality. There are a lot of other aspects about this recovery that I find annoying, like only being able to do something for about an hour and then falling asleep, only to wake up for a few minutes and fall back to sleep. I watched Oprah today to be schooled in what a clitoris is. Or, more accurately to be baffled by how many people have no idea what a clitoris is. HONESTLY?

But the napping? I ROCK NAPPING.

I haven't read anything because I can't seem to sit still and read without falling asleep. I have looked at the covers of multiple books and contemplated walking to B&N to buy more books I won't read.

Today's venture outside of my apartment was in search of the perfect sweater dress. Also acceptable would have been any item of clothing that doesn't touch my abdomen. I came home with fruit salad and orechiette.

Tomorrow I will be voting. And... yeah, that's pretty much it. My goal for the end of the week is to be able to stay awake during business hours. It's a lofty goal at this point.