All right ladies and womens and sir-ma'ams and ze's and she's and those who prefer to remain labelless.
This just in from a webiste off-shoot of my former East Coast daily:
Gay marriage now legal in California. Arnie says he'll uphold the ruling.
Step up.
Bride me. I'm ready. I won't propose via text. I will shower you with chocolate or flowers or kisses or bus tickets or fish eggs or vegan fish eggs or whatever you prefer.
Buy me an opal ring. Let's do this thing.
And some food for thought:As previously noted I dabble in magic. When I started this blog, Gay Marriage *was not* legal in California, though hardly anyone could quite believe it.
Less than 6 months later gay marriage *becomes legal*. Now I'm not saying there's a direct causative correlation, but I'm not not saying that either.
Think about it.
Showing posts with label bride. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bride. Show all posts
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Jetlagged and Cranky
Pretty much sums it up.
My international P-W (potential, prospective, or possible - wife) meeting didn't go as plan, but was nevertheless delightful, except for both of our sneezing and coughing and my snoring. We ended up only having one night to meet, the limbo of my trip when I arrived back in Berlin from Paris only to leave for the States in the morning. I arrived as a kind-of pathetic bride/groom; voice half there, burdened with baggage, running low on Euro. I came bearing a droopy wilted rose and a real Parisian croissant.....totally forgot she was vegan. But she took care of me and let me relax from my capable, independent traveller mode into a happily ignorant follower. The sick leading the sick. Each of us, independently was hoping to convince the other to go to the new Holocaust Memorial for our one-night, International date. I introduced her, in concept and image only, to Pee-wee. She translated everything and explained why Sweden may need my pleasure activist gospel. There's strange, mostly solo, soft-core porn on free Berlin TV late at night. She bought me octopus, and ate the croissant anyway.
Back up weeks ago to Berlin when I'm really there, there for more than the great, snotty, between flights date. I find and ad with a compelling photo on the artists section of Berlin Craigs List. I email the artist, telling her that while I realize she is not posting in the personals, I think her work and name are hot. Then I check out her site. She seems to be in the states, and holy shit, I think this may be my wife. The themes, the images, the my-typeness of it all....we are cut from similar conceptual cloth. I almost write her again just to say " And I think you may be my wife..." but refrain for the sake of appearances of sanity. Surprisingly, I get a reply, and quickly.
Even more surprisingly, she seems to have addressed my unspoken, unwritten lunge towards connection...well, ok, betrothal:
"Haha...well, thanks but I am happily hitched. Glad you liked the work.
~Kalliope"
Beautiful, talented....psychic!? But alas, apparently not for me.
It's cool though, I think the practice lunges keep me in shape.
I encourage you all to check out her site and give her money and shows.
My international P-W (potential, prospective, or possible - wife) meeting didn't go as plan, but was nevertheless delightful, except for both of our sneezing and coughing and my snoring. We ended up only having one night to meet, the limbo of my trip when I arrived back in Berlin from Paris only to leave for the States in the morning. I arrived as a kind-of pathetic bride/groom; voice half there, burdened with baggage, running low on Euro. I came bearing a droopy wilted rose and a real Parisian croissant.....totally forgot she was vegan. But she took care of me and let me relax from my capable, independent traveller mode into a happily ignorant follower. The sick leading the sick. Each of us, independently was hoping to convince the other to go to the new Holocaust Memorial for our one-night, International date. I introduced her, in concept and image only, to Pee-wee. She translated everything and explained why Sweden may need my pleasure activist gospel. There's strange, mostly solo, soft-core porn on free Berlin TV late at night. She bought me octopus, and ate the croissant anyway.
Back up weeks ago to Berlin when I'm really there, there for more than the great, snotty, between flights date. I find and ad with a compelling photo on the artists section of Berlin Craigs List. I email the artist, telling her that while I realize she is not posting in the personals, I think her work and name are hot. Then I check out her site. She seems to be in the states, and holy shit, I think this may be my wife. The themes, the images, the my-typeness of it all....we are cut from similar conceptual cloth. I almost write her again just to say " And I think you may be my wife..." but refrain for the sake of appearances of sanity. Surprisingly, I get a reply, and quickly.
Even more surprisingly, she seems to have addressed my unspoken, unwritten lunge towards connection...well, ok, betrothal:
"Haha...well, thanks but I am happily hitched. Glad you liked the work.
~Kalliope"
Beautiful, talented....psychic!? But alas, apparently not for me.
It's cool though, I think the practice lunges keep me in shape.
I encourage you all to check out her site and give her money and shows.
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