Category Archives: reception

music make me lose control

You know what I hate? I hate when I am listening to ridiculous pop hip-hop music, trying to shake it so hard I dislodge my fillings, and then they have to go and break the beat for several measures while the artist — the chicas are particularly egregious offenders — swoops into this ridiculous WAY-OHHH-WAYYY-EEEEIIIIII-OHHHH-YEAHHHHH singsongy thing, kind of like they are trying to perform a pop hip-hop opera, and so I stand there awkwardly for a minute like: I don’t know how to dance to this. I don’t care about your vocal range. Give me the fucking BASS BACK.

I can’t dance, by the way. I like to think I can, especially when I am fortified with vitamins.* But then I catch sight of myself in a mirror and my arm is doing some wonky thing and I’m biting my lip, yes, biting my lip, even though I know that is quickest way to out yourself as the ultimate white girl dance dork. That still doesn’t stop me, though. What I lack in skill I make up for in enthusiasm.

Then I go directly home and put on some Joy Division. Because I can only stand so many lyrics like:

“T, to the A, to the S-T-E-Y / girl you tasty” **

Before my brain starts to wither.

Oh yeah, weddings. How does all this pertain to weddings? I don’t know. I’m sorry, OK? I am not a professional blogger. I am just a chick with a keyboard and a WordPress account and unrestricted internet access. These are dangerous things in the wrong hands.***

Dancing. Weddings. Dancing at weddings. See? I had a topic the entire time.

The beau, in what I suppose can be classified as a reversal of gender stereotypes, wants to take dancing lessons before the wedding. Me, I am like, eh? Whatever. Because while the tiny sliver of myself that secretly wants to be a star wishes we could pull off some ridiculously campy choreographed performance, the reality of the situation is that we can get away with doing the classic prom shuffle-sway for our first dance and no one will notice or even care. In fact, they will probably be too engaged in conversation with their tablemates or too preoccupied taking shots to even watch us most of the time. This is a little truth nugget I’m going to carry with me like a precious gem, for those times I get all squirmy and hand-wringy about ohmigod center-of-attention-anxiety.

Slight aside: The fact that the beau wants to take dancing lessons at all suggests that he doesn’t recall that one time when we took a free basic salsa class and proceeded to step all over each others’ feet. I was always a half measure behind, and in misdirected frustration I hissed that maybe his arms were too short,**** and he didn’t seem to want to dance with me after that. I know, I can’t figure out why either. But if he wants to give it another go-round, I’m totally game.

Still. Lessons or no, I imagine we probably won’t get much farther than the basic shuffle for the first dance. This matters to me naught. For soon we will reach the vitamin-enhanced, put-on-your-crazy-face part of the wedding celebration. I’m definitely not making any guarantees on the quality of dancing during this portion of the evening.

But you can bet your sweet bippy that in every damn picture I’ll be biting my lip.

Are you doing a first dance? Are you dancing at all? Talk to me.


* Read: Alcohol.

** Yeah, I’ve stopped trying to figure out that one out, too.

*** Read: Mine.

**** Uh, whut?

if wishes were horses

Thank you, hair, for behaving today, which happens to be my birthday.* You are now forgiven for the other 364 days of the year.**

The league is full of Ovechkins, Khabibulins, Rafalskis, and Frolovs, and I get Johnson and Brown

On Saturday, the beau drove me to Los Angeles to see the Kings play the Calgary Flames. He surprised me with seats directly behind the Kings bench. We couldn’t really see either end of the ice, but I got a front-row view of what NHL players do when they’re not on the ice, which apparently involves chewing on their mouth guards and staring into the middle distance. The Kings ended up losing 5-2, but it didn’t matter, because OMG. Erik Ersberg looked at me! And Drew Doughty did, too. I was glanced at by professional hockey players FOR MY BIRTHDAY.***

After the game was over, we walked around downtown L.A. for a while, gawking. We ended up at Cole’s, where we sat at the bar and were each served a delicious Ginger Rogers. This got us talking about signature wedding drinks, and whether we should have them.****

One of our criteria for selecting a venue was that they permit liquor on the premises, so we’ve got that straightened out. Now we just need to figure out the drinks. Will we have a full bar, or a couple of select mixed drink options?

The beau is interested in liquor infusions, and I support this wholeheartedly, especially if my contribution involves sitting on the couch while the beau brings me delicious, delicious samples. He’s already done bacon-infused vodka (so good in bloody marys), so he’s looking for something new. Something like… ginger-infused gin? Ohhh, I would be happy if the Ginger Rogers was one of our signatures. We have some friends that aren’t into gin, it’s true. But if we had a basic bar to go along with it (whiskey and coke, vodka and tonic), no one would miss anything, right? Right?

Can we have signature drinks and a bar? Can we have both? Is this too much booze? Is that a dumb question? Are you having signature drinks? Is it to save money, or are you just interested in maintaining a unified theme?


* I secretly love the fact that my birthday falls on the same day as the fictitious, ill-timed wedding of Roger Sterling’s daughter Margaret on the show Mad Men. Yes, I am one of those crazy Mad Men people. Please carry on about your business.

** No, you’re not.

*** Have I mentioned the beau is awesome? For he is awesome.

**** I love how anything and everything in regular life gets turned into wedding fodder, these days.