Long time. Mexico was nice. Chris proposed. I said "OK." Which in retrospect was way less romantic than saying yes. We are painting the dining room purple, and the bedroom pink and orange. Hopefully Lindsay will be back in town soon.
If you're hearing about the engagement on the blog, I'm sorry I didn't tell you in person or on the phone. I've been busy. But I meant to call.
I have to go to work pretty soon. I am tired from painting, but it feels good to do work, to wake up early and get things done. It is a real accomplishment to do things, I think.
in mexico, the biggest choices are: beer? margarita? very different from normal life. so very nice. Bianca and Mickey are sweet. You'd think that your friends from higschool would never get married, but here we are, all getting married and shit. The ocean is warm, and the jacuzzi is too hot. I'm happy right now. It's a big change from before. Maybe what i needed was a vacation. Maybe what I needed was to see some people happy. Chris keeps insinuating proposals. (it's hard to type when so drunk)
I'm inlove with this place. I can undersand things better. Perspective is essential, and hard to get, day in, day out. There was a hermit crab race, and some pictionary. I had to draw "Ivanka Trump" and "Dinosaur Hookers."
To bed, and tomorrow, some weddings.
I'm in the Knoxville Hilton in East Tennessee, on the eighth floor, next door to Chris' parents' room, killing time as Chris takes a shower. I dreamt about not being able to get scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, and about sharing a bed with my dad, and talking to him about all sorts of stuff, kind of like we were just catching up. The lack of eggs nearly caused a riot. And this morning, Shelley, Chris' mom, kept bemoaning the lack of eggs in our hotel-supplied continental breakfast selection. Chris' brother Cyrus is a travelling salesman of sorts, so he booked our rooms for us, and we got all sorts of fancy extras. Well, really the only extra is the breakfast/appetizer/free cocktails/soda/bottled water. But that's enough, really, compared with all those suckers who don't get free Deer Park water.
Last night was the "rehearsal dinner." However, like most things tradition dictates, it had nothing whatsoever to do with rehearsing anything. It involved mostly the meeting of Chris' family (there are a lot of people, but we all had name tags where we could write out our relationship to the bride/groom: mine said "Amy S, girlfriend of cousin of Bride"), drinking wine (from Napa mostly, Francis Coppola's vineyard, where Marian and Shauna and Chris and I went a while back, and some Pinot Noir from the Carneros hills), eating pork and duck, square dancing danced by people mostly under 25 and from Orange County, smoking cigarettes with the landscapers/chauffers, and drinking coffee to sober up. Mark and Cathy's house is a completely renovated 1950s modern-ranch-hidden-in-the-forest retreat, with giant windows and nooks and a lovely deck. It looks like it could be in Dwell magazine. And they were so nice. The mother of the groom, Catherine, was born in the Congo, her parents missionaries, and she was evacuated in 1960, when almost all of the whites were sent out. I wrote my thesis about that, I said. The bride and groom are two beautiful people, and very sweet and kind. I was terrified before I went to the dinner, but it turned out just fine.
Time for the young-generation brunch. Maybe there will be eggs!
I'm going to go to some weddings. I had a difficult time packing until Chris sat down with me and went through all of my outfits. He would make a good mom.
Overwhelmed by the gravity, the grandeur, the complicated seriousness of buying a house, I've been more interested in my friend's reactions. Everyone is different. Everyone says congratulations, but there's so much more. Where will the babies go? almost everyone ask (the ladies ask). It's grown up. It's serious. I'm lucky. I'm settling down. I'm commiting.
Mostly, though: When is the housewarming party? July. Maybe July 4th. I'll let you know. It would be nice to have some beer.
I feel good enought to write, but only because of so many drugs, and Chris's insistence that I take a shower. Incredible headaches, and guilt that I'm not working. I should be working.
The decongestants make me never hungry.