bustin' out all over

Something I ate at T&C's wedding tonight is fighting back by giving me this strange, virtually unrecognizable bloated stomach. Perhaps the staff poisoned me because they heard me being snarky with another guest about how awesomely unprofessional the service was?

We were standing next to each other during the ceremony, and we started talking about how badly we wanted wedding cake. It was a short jump from there to the revelation that we've both worked in catering, although he's been out for two years. We proceeded to spend most of the cocktail hour and the period between dinner and the cake-cutting talking. Way too much about catering, with the occasional foray into music, schooling, our "real lives." He's the guy behind He'brew, the Chosen Beer, which I'd heard of at the Estherminator Purim party at 111 Minna last spring. Pretty funny.

I was so glad to be at the wedding, so honored, but as dinner (and the speeches) wore on, I started to tire of the whole thing. Obviously I've seen a lot more weddings than your average bear, but I don't remember one whose speeches were so openly self-congratulatory--and so repetitive. I started to envy the waiters, who could go hide out somewhere. And of course I got sad. I still have faith that there is someone out there who's just going to love me to pieces, who wants to warm himself by my fire, but I'm not sure I've met that person yet...and weddings are hard.

I have to remember to try to repeat T's vow, because it was (not surprisingly, for T is an actor) quite dramatic and kind of funny too. I liked the part where he shouted, "C is my woman, and I am her man!" It was very atavistic. I don't know how I'd feel about someone saying it about me in that way, but it worked on them.

I rented a car for the weekend, since I needed it yesterday for work as well as driving out to God's Country, Marin today. Asked for an economy, but all they had available was a Suzuki XL-7. "Can you drive a 4x4?" asked the woman at Dollar. Oh boy. I couldn't believe it when the guy pulled it up. Long, high, narrow, and silver. Seats seven. Drips with doodads like sunglasses holders. I've really enjoyed having it, although I can feel how much the puppy wants to roll over, and I feel terrible about the mileage. I drive it and find myself rationalizing why I should have one of my own. "When I start bellydancing with a snake," was my fantasy today, "I'll need a big car so the snake is comfortbale going from job to job.

I mean, how silly?