Ugh, bachelorette parties.

I've been on-site this entire week and haven't even made it to my desk for lunch until this afternoon. Well... Technically, it's not my lunch break anymore, since I went out for Cuban food, but I have a few minutes until my next meeting to drink some Diet Pepsi and digest those plantains.

Thus far this week, it's been alternating between sunny and POURING RAIN every other day, and I've done random things like have piano lessons, go jogging, spend fifty bajillion dollars at White House Black Market, where I went in search of an outfit for...

My celebration! It's this Saturday. Rini, Lovely, Natty and Pepper will be there, as Batman and RH are in their respective Faraway Lands, and it would be inappropriate to invite anybody not invited to the wedding.

I despise formal bachelorette parties. You know, the ones you accidentally run into at a random bar of a spring Saturday evening? Raucous, drunken girls, one wearing a plastic tiara and bandolier proclaiming her to be the "Bride-to-be" or somesuch? And what are they celebrating? The last few hours/days/weeks of "singlehood"? Commit debauchery (or posture as if you're committing it) before the weighty fetters of marriage are firmly clamped to your submissive wrists? Grow up, people. And grow some class. Attitudes like this are byproducts of a mistaken societal tendency to associate marriage with a loss of individuality and freedom.

No. I'd rather dress up in haute couture, have some fancy dinner and some champagne with awesome people, and then go dancing - to celebrate something awesome! And there are plenty of awesome things to celebrate, so who needs an excuse?

Joie de Vivre

After the necessary family, friends, health, love, career, education...

I'm thankful for people wiser with more insight than myself... And that they write it all down. Smart people learn from their mistakes; wise people learn from the mistakes of others. I'm not sure if I think of myself as having made "mistakes" in the true sense of the word, and my regrets are admittedly transient... But I'm appreciative of the opportunity to percieve life, love, god, sentience, novelty and routine through perspectives that would never have occurred to me without the words of others.

I've got an interesting booklist lined up for the next month or so:

Graceling, by Kristin Cashore
Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Tales, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Mistborn, by Brandon Sanderson
Buddhist Scriptures, by Anonymous and Edward Conze
The Sparrow, by Mary Doria Russell

I'm almost done with The Sparrow, Mistborn, and Graceling, and I'm sure I'll have something more to say about The Sparrow when I finish it, oh, probably tonight. Graceling is significantly below my reading level in terms of plot complexity and character development, but the concepts are fun. Mistborn is brown and gray and fascinating... But it's still brown and gray. I have all three books in that series, which were Christmas gifts from Caspian last year, and they're well-reviewed, so I should read them!

The Sparrow is thoroughly infused with Catholicism, which doesn't resonate a whole lot with me. While the personalities of each character are dramatically distinct and amazingly well-developed, they each have the same goal. I question the author's broad spectrum scientific assumptions, and one of the characters claimed that cuttlefish have two pupils in each eye. Huh? There's also a lot of puking in the book, quite a bit more than required, imho.

Despite having read The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes multiple times and the other books and stories at least once, the Complete Works are the treat I'm looking forward to reading during "vacation." I have a feeling that wedding is not equal to vacation.

The introduction to Buddhist scripture I'm currently reading perplexes me. There are core tenets, there are principles to be followed by monks (and each sect has different requirements), and there are stories that illustrate the lives and lessons of the Buddhas and bodhisattvas, among other writings of interest. There are elaborations on the meanings and implications of various concepts, and different interpretations thereof.

Why are women portrayed as creatures of frivolity, and are either a) suitable for marriage/sex or b) unsuitable for it? Why do the five core tenets apply only to men (as far as I can tell, the extended Buddhist definition of "sensual misconduct" is inherently impossible for a female to commit)? Why can't women be enlightened? I must explore further. Anyway.

I'll have to talk about the TRIAL I HAD TO TESTIFY AT AS AN ASSAULT VICTIM another day - it's a long story and deserves its own blog post!

On the morning of Thanksgiving, I was up at the crack of dawn, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (har), eating E.L. Fudge cookies and Haribo raspberry candies, gearing up for the 8k. Rini (formerly just R) came over at about 7:20a, and Caspian drove us to the race, which was packed with people. 3000 runners were expected! It was cool, foggy and calm, a perfect morning for a jog. We spent about 45 minutes freezing in our tech shirts and tights, mingling with the crowd and trying to warm up.

There were hardcore people, walkers, baby-pushers (whom I admire - those ladies should definitely be included in the "hardcore" category), little kids, fat but tireless old guys, and beefcake dudes whom I surmised would be unable to make it past the first mile-marker without walking. I can spot these types from a few hundred feet away, having spent about a million and three hours in various gyms over the course of my life. They tend to believe that function follows form, so they pump iron until they look like gods but get winded after one flight of stairs. I'm ruthless.

We chose a reverse strategy at this race: Jog leisurely on the downhills and 0% grades, and charge maniacally up hills shouting "HILL! HILL!" It resulted in an unhurried 9:30 mile average, but extreme soreness the following day. 650 calories' worth of Thanksgiving ginger snaps, torched!

Caspian and I went to his parents' for lunch (and the traditional Cajun crawfish dressing), and my parents' for dinner. It was a blast!

I spent the rest of the vacation hanging out with Natty & Pepper, eating, running (there's a 5k this weekend, right before my bachelorette party), and reading. We put up our baby Christmas tree. I sold 70% of my clothes and permanently discarded my forward helix earring. After being a lifelong piercing advocate, I have decided that au naturale is indeed the most beautiful. Caspian chose his tuxedo - with a close-fitting notched lapel, 2-button, satin-edged black jacket, ivory shirt, ivory vest and ivory bowtie.

I've successfully convinced a portion of my joie de vivre to return from vacation. I can't wait to be married to my singer, poet, book-connoisseur, lover and fellow bad-joke-generator. Who else could I spend my life with?!

Five Remembrances

1. I am sure to become old; I cannot avoid aging.
2. I am sure to become ill; I cannot avoid illness.
3. I am sure to die; I cannot avoid death.
4. I must be separate and parted from all that is dear and beloved to me.
5. I am the owner of my actions, heir of my actions, actions are the womb [from which I have sprung], actions are my relations, actions are my protection. Whatever I do, for good or for evil, to that will I fall heir.

I have trouble with all of these, but I'm perplexed that contemplating them doesn't incite a huge internal earthquake. I'm even relieved that it is inevitable that I'll face aging and illness, death and separation. It means that somewhere along the way, I'll be forced to give up all of the nonsense of daily existence in our petty, addictive, unhealthy culture. Maybe, just maybe, I don't have to be forced.

It truly is comforting - and not in any macabre way! - that we'll all be reduced to quivering neurons in the end, feeling the same pain and sleeping the same sleep, and then washed clean by the earth, abandoned by all of the beloved crap that never loved us in return. I'm content knowing that my wedding ring will long outlast the surfaces of my retinas and the imprints of the memories in my cerebral cortex. I'm tired of the Dali paintings of advertising and trash media, which trick the eye and warp reality. The detailed documentary of realist art is tiresome. I'm weary of seeing and ready to feel.

Plort.

I'm going through some sort of superficial life crisis and it's irritating the hell out of me. I think that it has something to do with the war between my zen nature and perfectionist tendencies. I fear that the perfectionist is now wearing the neatly coiffed, veiny, rictus-plastered visage of bridezilla.

Actually, the wedding as an event isn't even part of this debacle at all. More like, with the gravity of this humongous gel (intr. verb: to take shape and achieve distinctness; to become cohesive) of my future, all aspects of my life have to magically fall into alignment, to be pure, radiant and immaculate. I have five weeks to grow my own personal style, cleverness, vividness, cohesion and brand of offbeatitude. Bah! It's more of an attitude than any form of desired control. I am strongly tempted to sell all of my clothes and start anew and I'll probably do it. Wtf? What does this symbolize? Nothing pleases me anymore. I find superficial flaws in myself and others that a scanning electron microscope might pass over. My work isn't good enough, isn't stimulating enough, isn't important enough - but only because it's not perfect. Even my plans for the future are too evanescent and not grand enough. I'm too introverted, too non-photogenic, too thoughtless, too formless and fickle. I can't believe I'm writing this shit.

I've become a brainwashed pessimist. I'm tired of complaining about myself. Maybe I should start watching Les Imbeciles a la Fox News for some inspiration. ;)

The "emo" label in my little label cloud over to the right is getting bigger and bigger. This has to stop!

Friday night, I met Natty and Pepper at the tailor and had my wedding dress fitted. It went beautifully. I waited for Caspian to get home (which wasn't until 7 due to accidents on the interstate) and then we sallied forth in the direction of Campbell University for Rooney's senior recital... Which we couldn't find. We drove around in the darkness, dodging deer and sailing through fogbanks over mysterious rivers and passing the same cluster of Subway+McDonald's+Kangaroo oh, maybe 10 times. We were lost for 1.5 hours and totally missed the recital. We found the recital hall just in time to see Lovely, Rooney and his jubliant band members (check out Old Avenue - they're going on tour next year) exiting the building. We went to Rooney's place nonetheless for some champagne, and then followed Natty and Pepper home, where we went out for dinner at a bar at around midnight and chowed down on onion rings, quesadillas and spinach dip.

Saturday... I did some mysterious things and went over to Batman's parents' house - his sister was home from Charlotte and we did some chilling before I went to my parents' for several hours. Caspian showed up a couple hours after we did, and after brooding heavily for no particular reason (I did, not anybody else), decided to go to Mitch's (bar from my college days) and meet all sorts of friends. There were maybe 12 or 13 of us. I had two strange concoctions invented by Caspian involving Firefly, and around midnight we decided to call it quits for the evening, and then I had some sort of breakdown. Refer to the first two paragraphs of this post. It wasn't pretty.

Our cake tasting was supposed to be on Sunday afternoon, but the cake artiste called me early in the morning to tell me she didn't want to bake her head cold into our cakes. Bah. So I slept and slept and slept, and slept some more. I'd wake up for a minute to appreciate the deep state of relaxation I'd achieved and then I'd be out cold for another hour. I think I was being mysteriously comforted and distilled.

When I woke up, I was more levelheaded than I've been in a week or two. Caspian came home (he'd been conducting his choir for a few hours) and we met Natty & Pepper one last time for pizza, coffee, Scharffen Berger chocolate and ginger snaps.

I've been shot!

With a non-infectious, purified viral protein of influenza, in a clinic at work, for free! I'd get the H1N1 vaccine in a heartbeat, if they'd give it to me, but I'm not "at risk."

We met with Strawberry (pseudonym for our officiant, since she expressed appreciation of the shirt I was wearing, which featured a giant velveteen strawberry) last night to design the ceremony, which Caspian and I wanted to be very spiritual and poetic without being religious. There will also be a Shinto-Buddhist guest or two, and I want them to feel just as touched and included as everybody else. I specifically wanted a female officiant, mainly to express to my Catholic relatives my strong belief that women are excellent and worthy spiritual leaders. The nuns are the jewels of the Catholic church and I'm disappointed that they aren't allowed the decision-making power that they deserve. Much of the Catholic leadership base is comprised of naive, sheltered men who were educated and supported by Church funds, in an outdated, dogmatic environment.

Together, Caspian and I removed all mention of deities, and rewrote our vows to be a simple, lovely mix of modern and ancient language. We designed the ceremony to be simple, beautiful and universal.

We were idly chatting online this afternoon. He was researching the word "Caspian" and read an excerpt of C.S. Lewis' Prince Caspian, which I've never read. C.S. Lewis' work is blatant propaganda, although I did enjoy Out of the Silent Planet, which I read in an insomnia-fueled reading marathon several years ago. He quoted to me:

"During the voyage, Caspian meets the unnamed daughter of the retired star Ramandu. They marry and have a son, Rilian." Caspian's wife doesn't even have a name even though her husband is featured in three books. Her only purpose is to pop out little Rilian, who at least has a name, if not a novel.

During our discussion last night, Strawberry mentioned old school wedding ceremonies, which sometimes culminated in a priest pronouncing the happy couple "Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Snaardenvark" or whatever the groom happened to be named. She then exclaimed, hands thrown aloft, "WHERE IS SHE?" Meaning Arthur's lovely new acquisition. The woman's individuality disappears. Her name disappears, her freedom disappears, she must now fulfill her vows by loving and obeying, until death.

I'm still shocked that wedding ceremonies were actually like this - are actually like this. Are they still ever like this?! Dogs obey their masters. Children obey their parents until they can make educated decisions. A woman, whom is neither a pet nor ignorant, should NEVER be ordained to submit to her husband's will. The concept of submission shouldn't even be an element in a permanent partnership between two people. The presence of the word "obey" in traditional wedding vows casts a pall over all of humanity. It's as jarring to me as the image of a bride processing to the altar wearing fetters instead of bracelets. Or a Monet with a scribble of permanent marker on it. The history of marriage itself, when these views are upheld, is sullied.

I didn't intend to go on a rant when I started this post, but there you have it. In today's world as a highly-educated female in an intelligent and diverse work environment, I automatically assume that it's my rightful place. I forget all too easily that these "mythical" stories of oppression aren't myths. Even my examples are pale shadows of oppression compared to the discrimination, isolation and persecution of women in some conservative Islamic cultures.

When I stand back and think of humanity in all its tarnished glory, across time and space, it seems ludicrous that we divide our species up so readily.

Thursday Rambles

Ugh. I dreamed last night that I was engaged to Abusive Ex, meanwhile D was attempting to seduce me even though he was in a 'committed relationship.' Ugh, I say. I can't think of anything worse than being naive and self-destructive enough to even consider spending my life with AbEx. And, if it can be reliably evidenced by a few choice, fatal words exchanged between us, I'm not sure if a 'committed relationship' with D would be at all possible, but who knows, people do change. A statement along the lines of "Sorry Usagi, I can't help but want to sleep with other women I happen to see; all men want to do this, and they'd be liars if they told you otherwise" is not exactly a comforting thing to hear from the man you're exclusively dating.

This nightmare understandably put me in a morose mood this morning. Luckily the coffee maker didn't explode like it did yesterday. I noticed that some unknown awesome person has purchased for Caspian and I the Italian coffee maker that we had on our Crate & Barrel registry. Moste excellente. Kudos to you, coffeelover anon!

It's been a dreary November and I haven't been exercising like I should, what with this cold I've been nursing. The pizza, Cheez-Its and sangria have miraculously done me no wrong. Tonight is Caspian and I's (what's the proper grammar here?) meeting with the officiant/priest....ess? Pastor? Female spiritual leader? Tomorrow night is my dress fitting and Rooney's senior recital. Saturday is the annual Holiday Craft Fair and R's concert, and Sunday is the cake taste-testing. I have to call Batman's mom this afternoon and get in touch with Kira over at the reception venue to talk about the price of a champagne toast. Bah!

Speaking of Batman, he called me the other evening to tell me that things are going well with his new business, and that he's hired some promising new technicians and employees. He's in a cosmetic field, and has been spending much of his time visiting the most promising venues at which to attract clientele... Gay clubs. Apparently the majority of patrons that frequent these establishments can spot his straightness from a mile away, while a minority must rely upon a brief butt-grab to assess his condition. His descriptions of his adventures were very... Colorful. ;) Yay for Batman! He's great!

Sick and Snarky with a Side of Sarcasm

I've been home sick for the past two days with The Crud. I've been existing on Hawaiian pizza, white cheddar Cheez-its and cough drops. This does not bode well for my wedding dress-fitting appointment with the tailor on Friday. I read through the entirety of ErfWorld (despite being of the wrong genre of nerd to appreciate many of the jokes, but I really enjoy the dwagons), I'm a few years into Questionable Content, and our gift registries at Crate & Barrel and Macy's are now full of all of the typical newlywed items. ::snicker:: It'll be nice to have a toaster, and to not run out of clean bowls in two days. I'm so bored of being cooped up in this really nice apartment that the bright spot in my day is tonight's new episode of Dirty Jobs. One can vacuum only a certain number of times in a 48-hour period before wondering if one has been slipped a couple doses of crazy pills in her enriched bran flakes.

We received our very first wedding gift this afternoon! It's a deep blue rectangular pppporcelain pppplatter from Ppportugal. And I have decided that S's pseudonym on this blog will be Caspian.

Oh, the subpoenaed thing. Remember this post? Well, that guy turned out to be a really nasty person. I was called in, along with J my co-worker and R the security guard, to pseudo-testify to the DA, some kind of pre-trial deal. I'm wondering how this event could ever go to trial. I'm guessing that the drunk guy sobered up in jail, wondered what he'd done while sloshed, and claimed that he'd been panhandling, not propositioning me. Lies!

Natty told me a story today that caught my fancy. Here it is.

After work, Natty and her husband, Pepper, often go for walks or runs at a nearby city park. The trail in this park runs parallel to a wide creek, which flows down into the valley from the mountaintops.

Last night, after Pepper arrived home, they headed over to the park for their run. Pepper had forgotten his flashlight and Natty's flashlight turned out to be wimpy, so they ended up running in the dark. It was a particularly quiet, velvet evening; no cars in the parking lot, no sounds of children playing, no other pedestrians on the trail. As they ran in the deepening gloom, Natty spied a glow up ahead in the creek that she thought was a reflection, but there were no lights around for the water to reflect. Curious, they walked over to the bank of the creek, and caught in an eddy, was a lit floating candle! They sat and pondered it together for a few silent minutes, and then continued with their run... But they got scared in a particularly pitch-black section and went back to watch the candle for awhile longer.

I think that candle trumps any meteor.