Wedding Journal

Take that gas-guzzlers! (via MetaFilter).

Cheryl, (MC Lean’s spectacularly humorous mother) wrote us the other day that she would like to host a hot tub party in the hot tub adjacent to the Schreiber’s room at the Wild Horse Inn. Maybe it was my state of fatigue or distraction while reading her message, but I honestly thought she might be serious… for a minute or two… and images danced in my head of our equally zany sets of parents stewing, all beet-red in a hot tub at our wedding.

The result of this image was a two-day amnesia which was broken by a message on voice mail from Cheryl, “I hadn’t heard back from you since I e-mailed our hot tub party suggestion…I thought that you would die laughing when you saw it, but then I didn’t hear back from you, so I thought, ‘oh no, maybe she thought I was serious!’ but of course I wasn’t… [heee heee] so, anyway, talk to you later, Hon”

XX years on the web. 7 years employed by the inter-web… But finally I’ve found some content: THE WEDDING.
The idea is that MC Lean and I carry on about our wedding planning… but we open it up as a conversation. Will it be as interesting as Dooce’s constipation? We’ll see how it goes.

I was going to post about how I found a fantastic suit on Union street on Saturday… but that’s under embargo according to MC. So no pictures. More on the summer-weight-wool warm-gray two-piece later. Then again, it could be a nice tuxedo T.

It’s just that time of the year when you can work from home, not change clothes, and wear flip-flops all day.

ahhhhh.

I was having a work anxiety brainstorm about what to write for a weekly newsletter to the authors, when Stacey reminded me that I have lots of stories to share…  Like the uncritical attachment to a maroon Dior robe that I had at the tender age of 23 when Stacey met me.

I used to parade around the house in that thing (it was velour!); but finally I was convinced that the arms were too short because it was a women’s robe…  Wonder if anyone picked that up at a former yard sale?