It has been a busy and productive past two days. This morning I did as I mentioned in my last post, and got up (fairly) early. I drank a pot of coffee, popped an allergy pill, and then dressed myself to go to the gas station to fill the 2-gallon gas tank I use for the mower. While there, I found that 1.8 gallons of gas (it began to overflow the tank) was something like $7. Yikes. Then I remembered that I haven't filled that little tank since...oh, spring 2011-ish, and that it had lasted me and the mower well over two years. I could've topped off the car's gas tank as well, but as I've only driven 22 miles total since my last fill-up, there was little point to it. What, put less than a gallon in my car? Why bother?
From there I drove back up the street to the car wash. I'd brought quarters with me -- eight dollars in quarters, in fact -- to wash the car. It's $1.75 in the machine per "cycle," which, if you've not gone to a self-service car wash since the 80s or 90s...is exactly like the self-service car washes of the 80s and 90s. I did a soak cycle, a soap pressure-wash cycle, and did half-and-half of a rinse and spot-free rinse cycle. This is almost always what I do. It takes about ten minutes to wash and rinse off the car. And damn, did my car need it. As I said yesterday, it was getting hard to tell that the car was actually black once, seeing as it had a brown-grey layer of dust and dirt on it from over a year of going unwashed. When I power-washed it with the gun, I watched that brown-grey stuff run off in layers. Most of the car's paint and clearcoat is still really good; there's a little rust around some of the edges, and/or cracks in the plastic molding here and there (at some point before I bought it, someone smacked it gently in the front right quarter panel area, and it's bent in a bit towards the headlight), but overall the car's body and paint is in pretty good shape. The only place where the paint is really faded is on the hood (the hood is almost grey at this point) and on the front part of the roof, where it looks like someone had attached a luggage rack or police light to it at some point.
Before leaving the car wash, I bought two packs of the pre-moistened glass-cleaner towels out of the vending machine there and stuck them in the car; at some point I need to clean off the inside of the windshield, as it's dusty and fogs up really easily. It's not smoke residue, just dust and dirt (I only very rarely smoke in the car, and never when I'm driving because I can't focus on the two things at once).
I returned home, came back upstairs to drop off my pocket stuff (wallet, phone, keys, etc) and went back downstairs, where I filled the empty gas tank of the mower and began mowing.
It was a nightmare.
I don't like to over-dramatize things, but, it sucked. A lot. The rains have made the grass grow not three, but at least four or five inches in the past two weeks. I also don't have a flat yard; both my front and back yards have some incline to them, the back more than the front. And I have a dinky, four-year-old, $80 push mower from Walmart. Therefore, my yard was a jungle more than it has been for the entire summer. And, unbeknownst to me, unseen under that thick jungle, it was also a wet, muddy swamp. This was after three full days of no rain, and after yesterday when everyone in my neighborhood seemingly mowed their own yards with no issue.
It took me more than twice as long to mow the grass as it normally does. The mower got clogged with wet grass and sputtered off no fewer than fifty times, which was basically once per pass in the back yard. It was tiring and infuriating. Add to this that I took extra time (probably close to an hour) trimming the weeds out front with scissors and hand clippers as well, since they're so tall and against structures that the mower won't get them, and my back muscles are sore now. By the time I was finished with everything, it was close to 4PM, and my thick t-shirt was soaked through with sweat almost to the point where it looked like I'd showered with my clothes on. I stripped in the basement and took a long, cold shower upstairs to cool off. Even with the coffee to supply me with energy and the allergy pill to keep me from dying due to pollen overload, I was still absolutely exhausted. It felt like a thousand-mile walk to put the mower back into the garage from the back yard.
Perhaps, just perhaps, I may be a bit out of shape.
This is not, however, the "big story" of the weekend. The big story of the weekend is that I have assembled my "groomsmen" party for the wedding, but, well, the process behind that has been an interesting one.
For a while, as you may know, I was considering not having any sort of groomsmen or a "groom's party" at all. Daisy has already picked all the members of her bridal party save for one, and all of them knew without a doubt they'd be in the bridal party from the beginning. I, however, had it much harder -- while Daisy is surrounded by family and friends in Omaha, mine are few and far between out here in Kansas, and many of them have already graduated and moved on (or will graduate and move on before the wedding occurs). This wouldn't normally limit me, but with us both right in the middle of the country, for anyone not in the surrounding area it will not only be expensive for them to attend the wedding, but they more than likely will choose against it due to the travel factor. I've got many people who love me dearly all across the country, but I don't know how many of them love me enough to be able to afford a few days off work and the airfare to fly to Omaha. Especially dudes, which is generally what a party of "groomsmen" is supposed to be. They're traditionally all male.
I'd run the idea across Daisy's plate before about having female groomsmen, or exclusively female groomsmen. I thought it was cute and funny that she would have her bridal party all decked out in dresses and flowery shit, and I'd have a badass troop of women decked out in sport coats and pants. She thought this would be cool -- I could pick anyone I wanted for my "groomsmen" and we'd roll with it. I brought it up again last night -- because, clearly, if I'm getting married in nine months I need to get my proverbial shit together -- and asked her if she meant that, if she thought it would be a good idea. She once again gave me the affirmative.
Now, mind you, I do have male friends. I do. But, again, most of them are graduating or have already graduated and moved on in life. On the other hand, I have many more female friends than male friends (and it's always been that way, for some reason), and I tend to be a lot closer to my female friends than the guys, with only a few exceptions -- Parker being one of them, of course. So, I floated the idea publicly on Facebook:
Seriously considering my "groomsmen" to be comprised primarily of women (with the exception of Parker) dressed in jackets/slacks and tuxedo t-shirts. So not kidding. Thoughts?
I got many affirmatives and much support with this idea, so I decided to press forth with it -- or at least a version of it, anyway.
By the way, yes, that is the wedding attire for my side. I'll be wearing it too.
Parker was always a given; it had been decided many moons ago that he would be a part of the wedding in some fashion, if only to be in charge of my wardrobe (which yes, he supports wholeheartedly as well). I always thought he knew he was de facto in the groom's party because of this, yet he was taken aback and honored when we started talking plans for everything last week. I told him that of course he was in -- he was the first person to tell me he'd be at the wedding and offered anything he could do to help once Daisy and I announced our engagement back in February. So, with me and him in place, I could begin to assemble my group.
I will start by saying that there were several I had in mind anyway from the get-go. Daisy told me that a group of five or six is what she was shooting for, so that was my magic number as well...which was good, since even though the wedding itself is going to be fairly small and non-traditional, the number of people I wanted to involve with it on my side was about that many. I began to put together my A-Team.
I love it when a plan comes together.
First up was my brother -- my oldest brother who's married with three kids. If anyone in my family aside from my parents would actually come to the wedding, it would be him. I sent him a message last night about it, but got no response (he works weird hours, he plays in bands, etc -- this was to be expected). I moved on.
Obviously, if I'm doing this the way I want to do it, there was no way I was doing it without asking Rae -- and she accepted quickly and wholeheartedly. She's totally gung-ho for the occasion and has been since the beginning, much like Parker. Rae, of course, graduated with me this past spring, and now lives/works in her hometown of Cincinnati, but had already made plans to come back here for the wedding regardless.
Next was my friend Amanda, who I'm really close with but haven't really mentioned here in the blog. She's also a colleague and still a current grad student. She also immediately accepted; as a plus, she goes to Omaha all the time, so she knows the city.
That was four. I asked two other friends; one declined due to her upcoming graduation and not knowing where she's going to be or what she'll be doing by the time the wedding rolls around -- which I completely, and totally understand; for fuck's sake, I've been there, you know? A lot. Totally legit reasons there, with no hard feelings on either side whatsoever. The other was my friend April in Portland, who I've written about here before at length, and who already planned to fly in for the wedding and wished we could get more time together while she was here. Well, this was her chance. April also immediately accepted this afternoon, and was also totally gung-ho about it.
That only left my brother.
I've never been especially close with my brother; he's more than ten years older than me and we've always operated on slightly different wavelengths. He has also been married since I was in middle school, so for most of my formative years I only got to see him and spend time with him during the holidays or during gatherings of the extended family on my dad's side. As you may know, we're not related by blood; he's my dad's oldest son, though we have always looked upon each other as brothers, and that's never going to change. I haven't seen him in at least eighteen months, though we are in regular contact most of the time on Facebook. What he doesn't know is that I look up to him quite a lot, and always have -- he's got a wonderful wife and is a great father to three awesome kids, holds down a respectable, awesome job, and...oh yeah, he's covered in tattoos and has been in several fairly successful bands which have released actual, successful albums and have gone on successful tours. Yep, that's my brother. And I am very proud to call him that.
Because he's my brother, logic, tradition, and flat-out rank would dictate that he be selected for the title of "best man," though with a group as non-traditional as my A-Team was, I didn't even know if I should have a "best man" or "best person" at all. And, of course, I didn't want to offend Parker, the only other male in the group besides myself. I told Parker that I was asking my brother to be my best man, and hoped that it didn't offend him or otherwise cause ill will between us. Let me tell you, that was hard to say. I knew on some level that Parker wouldn't mind (and he didn't; he was flattered to be in the running at all) but for that split second, I had to make one of those tough choices that could have ended up souring proverbial milk between one or more parties. So I asked my brother if he wanted the job, and totally meant it -- not out of obligation or out of guilt, but because I want him there and want him to be a part of the wedding.
He got back to me this afternoon, accepting it and giving me the affirmation that he was incredibly honored to do so and be asked. I now have a family member in my wedding, something that I thought only Daisy would get to have, since I'm so far from the rest of my family.
So the gang was set. "The Raiding Party," as I called it, was complete. I made the announcement on Facebook. I have picked an ensemble of really eclectic people, only two of whom (Parker and myself) have no tattoos whatsoever. April and my brother are covered in them, and Rae and Amanda have several between them.
Well, at least I don't think Parker has any tattoos. He may have one hidden somewhere he never talks about; I've never asked, actually.
This is, of course -- in total Brandon fashion -- strongly contrasted with Daisy's bridal party, consisting of (those I know so far) herself, her two sisters, and two friends, one of whom is her best friend and maid of honor. In comparison to Daisy's bridal party, my Raiding Party is like the Addams Family, where Parker is the only normal one.
"Just think of the photography alone," I told the members of my party. "Seriously."
Imagine, if you will, all of Daisy's bridal party in their pretty dresses and flowers getting their traditional, sweet family-and-friends wedding pictures taken. And now imagine us, in tuxedo t-shirts, probably sneakers as well, with people who have multicolored hair (April is notorious for this, and I encourage it hardcore for the wedding), tattoos, and beards on the guys (well, again, except for Parker; the man is always clean shaven). We're going to look like misfit pirates in suits. And it's going to be awesome. I told my brother that he can cut the sleeves off the tuxedo t-shirt for our photo shoots if he likes, as that would let him show off the tats.
Seriously, all we need are a few motorcycles and some aviator shades, and we'd be a gang. And I already have the aviators.
So that's one more piece of the puzzle done. Like I said, Daisy still has to pick one or two more people, but I've got my side of things locked down. Travel, however, may be a problem. Again, as I mentioned, I didn't want to put people into a situation where they'd be taking off work and spending a bunch of money to fly to Omaha, but it looks like that's the way it's going to happen anyhow, at least for half of us. Me, Parker, and Amanda will all be here, but my brother's flying from Pittsburgh, April's flying in from Portland, and Rae (who I'm guessing will be flying) is coming in from Cincy. All of them would be coming anyway, but for some reason I still feel guilty about it.
Daisy is coming down this week; she should be here on Tuesday night or early Wednesday. It's the last time we'll get to see each other for a while with classes starting up for me in a week. Once more, she will come with me to campus, when I go down there on Thursday to see what I can set up with getting books and literature for my new classes. I need to have the syllabus for my 011 class finished and ready by Friday, as otherwise I won't be able to get copies of it made before class on Monday (especially if I don't have office space there somewhere by that time, whether it be with Parker or otherwise). On the first day of classes, it's not like anyone has time to make copies of syllabi for who knows how many GTAs and professors, and by that time I'll have to know how many copies I need, as well. The latest I can put in a copy order for my 101 syllabus is on Monday morning when I get there, and I'd have to have them made by the time I left that day, otherwise I'd be rushing around the West campus on Tuesday morning before class starts trying to get copies made there...which is probably not the best way to give a good impression to the West campus staff on my first day there. I doubt I'll have to rush a lot of this; I'm guessing I'll get a lot more information via email either tomorrow or Tuesday, but still, a bit of panic sets in when I realize that I don't have everything I need taken care of, I don't have access yet to my class rosters or most of the necessary materials, and classes start in a week. Once that first day hits, it's one long slog as always to the end of the road in December.
AND I just realized that I need to email back the university in Maryland to tell them that I'm teaching here this fall. Shit. Gotta do that tomorrow too.
So much to do, so little time, I suppose.
No comments:
Post a Comment