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Weddings Are the New Treasure Hunts

September 4, 2013 Leave a comment

     My daughter is getting married December 1st.  She is not in her home state at present and will not arrive home until the end of September.  Phone contact is spotty as she works in the mountains.  Texting gets through once in awhile.  She wants a big, white wedding with a dinner and dancing and formal attire and her groom is bringing his guests over from Europe.  We don’t even have a dress yet.  

Anybody who has ever put together a wedding recognizes the insanity of the above paragraph.  

How will this all happen, you say, in such a short amount of time?  Jesus, that question is why I am frazzled, writing for therapy, and have been drinking coffee in my nightgown since 2 this morning.   Well, apparently, I am doing this.  

Yesterday was the day from wedding hell.  After having two venues fall through (Ashland Springs Hotel who insisted I sign a contract saying that -if the wedding never even happens at all – I STILL owe them very penny of the 5 grand it costs) and Callahans Lodge whose owner was all smiles and gave me a grand tour and told me it  would easy, the banquet rooms free with just the cost of the dinners, everything done for me, no worries – sent me off in a cloud of euphoria – and THEN HAS NOT RETURNED MY CALLS AGAIN FOR THREE WEEKS!    I had to venture out and look for new places to have a wedding.

Firstly, most people marry in the summer.  I now see why.  Theoretically you could just host the thing on your dang lawn if all else fails.  In the winter you are forced into hotels,  restaurants, wineries.  bed and breakfasts that are massive enough to host you inside, churches, –  mmm –   how about under bridges?  bus stations?  the airport lobby?  big coffee shops?  after hours at the mall?   –  These things now pop into my head at odd moments.   Sort of like a facial tic or something.

We aren’t religious and, even though I would work with a church, my daughter states she “has no emotional connection with a church.”  Well – Gees!  Does she have an emotional connection with a hotel?  I don’t know.  I am getting snarky now because I am on the line alone now.

Do you know how you order invitations these days?  You call a printer.  He is nice, but refers you to his wonderful comprehensive website.  He tells you that – AFTER the final draft has been approved – it will take two weeks to print these out.  He gently disengages from your gasp of tortured surprise.  You go to his website.  How many forms of invitations for weddings can you find one ONE little local printer’s website?  1,112.    Yup.  I am supposed to choose from over a thousand invitations for my daughter’s wedding.  And, whoa be to ME if I choose incorrectly.   A pissed off bride is NOT what you want arriving home end of September and living with you for the next year or so until they get on their feet.  Uh uh.  Want to do it right.

I visited tons of places yesterday.  Started at the Jacksonville Inn, a historic hotel restaurant in downtown Jacksonville, Oregon.  Nice guy named Platon (he is Greek and charming!  Calls everyone,   Daaahling!)  is the event planner.  He showed me the dining room and it was fine.  Bride and Groom could marry in one part of the room in front of the fire and dine in the other part.  Would work great.  Where would we dance, I asked?     “Oh, Daaahling!  You can’t dance in this hotel.  It was built in the 1800’s and the floors would not take contemporary pounding music.  Somebody would go through the floor with Gangnam Style, you know, daahling?”  

   Paton was helpful, though.  He got into his address book – he knows everybody.  I went out on his referral to a  historic mansion – beautiful, but $2,000 just to walk in the doors.  Food, decorations, everything on top.  Figured the wedding would be open ended cost time.  Too Scary.     On to a winery.  Beautiful views, lovely facility, same drill.  $1,500 just for 3 hours of rental.  Includes nothing.  Another money pit.  A beautiful suite of rooms in Medford regularly hosts ballroom dancing.  Our wedding would not be that big, but I wondered if they maybe had a smaller set of rooms or something.   The guy asked my wedding guest number.  I told him it could be as small as 25.  He just kept laughing.  “We could stick you in a corner?  Which corner would you prefer?”  

    Okay, today I have some tenters coming.  Yes, tenters.  They could make me a big tent on the lawn or something.  We’ll see.

    I am sure everything will be okay.  The lady from Callahans might decide to call me after 3 weeks.  Maybe she had the flu or something.  Jacksonville Inn could let us dance on the street?  Ashland Hotel could drop the contract because who else is going to put a wedding on a Sunday night mid winter?  

Invitations?  I will just open my browser onto the Printer’s website, pick a midway  price point,  close my eyes, put my finger on the screen and – choose those!  Oh, woops, those were for recommitment ceremonies – okay try it again.   How about …..those?  Well, pumpkin is a little weird for the color.  I’ll try it again.

Today I tour another winery!    It is historic.  It is affordable.  It is set up exactly like a neighborhood bar, though – kind of looks like  Cheers inside – I know because I have been to “tastings” there.    I can just SEE my Mormon sister arriving for the wedding.  Oh,  crap.  Maybe not.  

Wish me luck, people.   And if you know of any abandoned old haunted houses or anything – I will be happy to check them out.  I could RENOVATE for the cost of this wedding.  

Kaye D Proctor

 
 
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Men’s Room Etiquette – a Refresher Course for Neanderthals.

September 20, 2012 Leave a comment

Some guys just don’t know when to keep their mouths shut.  So for those of you who didn’t get the memo, here it is:

DO NOT START A CONVERSATION WITH A COMPLETE STRANGER IN THE MEN’S ROOM.

PERIOD.

NO EXCEPTIONS.

No exceptions means no banal pleasantries like “So, how’s your day goin’?”  Here’s a clue: my day was going just fine until you took an interest in me as soon as I pulled my dick out.  No exceptions mean no stupid, sophomoric jokes such as, “How’s it hangin?” or, “So, is this where all the pricks hang out?”  Ask me that, and I’ll pee on your leg.

There is an un-written, un-spoken code of conduct that, apparently, some guys are unaware of or blatantly ignore: you don’t chitchat in the men’s room.  You go in, you drain your radiator, you wash your hands (please, for the love of all that is holy, wash your freakin’ hands) and you leave.

Quietly.

No eye contact.  No chattering.  No exchanges.  Strictly business.  You keep your eyes, your hands, and your thoughts to yourself.

Speaking for all men everywhere, I say this: I am only pulling my wanker out in this semi-public place because it’s socially unacceptable to pee myself, so don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, don’t acknowledge my presence.  I do not exist to you.

So here’s the bottom line for all you Chatty Charlies out there; if I have my dick in my hand, I want some privacy.

Now that I’ve had a prostate exam, I’m going to Disneyland

May 4, 2012 2 comments

I just came back from my annual physical this morning and am glad to report a clean bill of health.  My blood pressure was 114/72.  Doesn’t get much better than that.  I could stand to lose an extra ten pounds but frankly, for a 52 year-old guy, I’m not doing too badly.  My doctor did want to know how much I drink.  They always want to know how much you drink.

I lied.

There is a reason men don’t like to go to the doctor and I’ll tell you why.  It’s a lot like taking the car to a mechanic: you just know they’re going to find something really expensive and you’re never going to get your old parts back.

My doctor is a woman too, by the way, which is a little weird for me because it’s sort of like having my mom checking under the hood.

“Mitchell, where have you been?  What have you been doing?  Well, now I’m going to have to palpate your testicles.”

I’ve been seeing this particular doctor since we moved here in 2005 and the first time I went in, she asked me the question all men dread: “When was the last time you had your prostate checked?”

The last time I’d had my prostate checked was when I had surgery in 1997 and I was knocked out cold.  As it should be.  We’re talking about an output device here.  Not an input/output device.

Strictly.

Output.

Device.

So she gave me the standard boilerplate lecture.  You know.  One out of every five men will develop prostate cancer and blah, blah, blah…

So I said okay.  Let’s do this.  But you have to promise me something.  She asked, “What’s that?”

I said, “You have to promise me that when we’re done here, you will write me a note, that I can take home to my wife, that says you have personally checked, and my head is not up there.”

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