2 days 'til the kegger

- Fishnet and shells to put in it for decoration...CHECK
- Raffia door curtain...CHECK
- Keg of Anchor Steam...CHECK
- Plastic cups...CHECK
- Inflatable palm tree...CHECK
- Strands of lights to line the backyard with...CHECK
- Mini bottles of Malibu rum with a save the date card for the back home reception attached to each one along with a recipe for goombay smashes on the other side*...CHECK



* Goombay Smash
1 oz spiced rum
1 oz Malibu® coconut rum
1/4 oz apricot brandy
2 oz pineapple juice
2 oz orange juice

Mix all ingredients in a highball glass with ice and shake. Garnish with an orange slice and cherry.

Unfavorable review

I found the resort we're getting married at through tripadvisor.com. It's one of the highest rated resorts in St. Lucia on the web site. I still occasionally log on and read recent reviews.

The other day I read a review from a woman who got married there that was less than favorable. I couldn't tell from what she wrote if the things that went wrong were things that were contractually promised her or if she just assumed some stuff and was disappointed. So I sent her an email with some questions and asking for advice on how to avoid some of the pitfalls she experienced.

Her response to me was about as vague as her complaint on the web site but it sounded like she left A LOT to chance. I had asked her if she'd been working with the wedding coordinator before heading down there and she responded that I wouldn't even speak with that person until I arrived at the resort. Wrong. The wedding coordinator and I have exchanged about half a dozen emails already.

She then delightfully offered that she and her husband "got the runs on a daily basis."

Wow. Details I did not need to know. Or, if she felt they were THAT pertinent, she could have said, "You might want to be careful about stomach issues," or even, "Two words of advice: Pepto Bismol" would have been fine. Now I have this image, and that image includes sound effects. And I can't make it stop.

But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if having Destination Weddings Travel as our representative is helping us. Just yesterday my travel agent emailed me and asked me if the resort was treating me well because if we have a favorable review then they will start referring this resort to other couples (they hadn't worked with them before I found them). That's good for me to recognize because I have been thinking lately, with my insane attention to detail and my travel agent's simmering snootiness, that I didn't really need that company helping me wrassle my friends and family (seriously, if you could see my wedding web site...I am sure it resembles one of the President's daily briefing reports). But they offer protection. Like, if the resort screws us, I can go up to the manager, lean in real close and whisper, "I will destroy you!" and then turn on my heel and walk out.

Tomorrow, I walk

The Avon Breast Cancer Two-Day Walk takes off tomorrow at 7 AM from the Kennedy Center. I'm ready. I have four pairs of double-layered socks, Body Glide, Second Skin and sunblock. Oh, and three Kashi Go-Lean bars just in case they don't have snacky-snacks that I like.

I've raised $2100 - over $500 of it in the last four days (good thing since I was financially obligated to bring in at least $1800).

My run-in last week with that volunteer of ours really helped motivate me for this. I mean, I have been dreading this thing for the past month and praying for rain for the past two weeks so I could get out of it. But seeing her and knowing that she made it through seemed like a sign to me that I just need to shut up and walk.

And so I am. This is a shout-out to all my sisters living with breast cancer - and to all who fought like hell.

A good day at work

My organization had a big event yesterday - something we do annually that brings out a lot of folks and volunteers. Last year, I'd met a woman there who was volunteering with us, helping us set up. She told me she had come the year before and was so taken with it, that before she left that day, she'd put on a volunteer shirt and helped out the rest of the afternoon. As it happened, our National Office was looking to make a video to feature this event and exactly those types of people, so I got her phone number and promised to call her about it.

Over the next couple of weeks, I tried to reach her several times but couldn't. Now, when you work for a non-profit and you're asking people to do stuff for you for free, you quickly get used to not getting phone calls returned, but she seemed so enthusiastic and great that I kept calling (you also get used to the fact that you can't quick calling and asking until someone finally just says, "No. Stop calling me, you nut case.")

So I kept calling. Finally, one day, she called me back and told me that the week after our event, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Ugh. I stopped calling. But I only stopped calling to ask her to do the video. I would still call every month or so and check up on her because I just thought she was the neatest person and, as far as I could tell, she didn't seem to have immediate family in the area and I wanted her to know that folks cared about her and were thinking about her.

Finally, though, after about six months of calling, leaving messages and getting no call backs, I did stop calling. I felt a little stalkerish.

Fast forward to yesterday. I got called up to the entrance of the event. And there she was. She wanted to tell me that she'd made it through treatment. I burst into tears.

Lessons from Oprah

On an Oprah show the other day, a marriage counselor suggested that every night, before bed, a couple should express three things that they appreciated about their partner that day.

G and I have been trying to implement this. That fact that it is sometimes hard to come up with three things tells me that either we're not nice enough to each other or we don't appreciate the small things enough.

I've also learned that I need to start doing more things when he's awake. 'Cause when I wake up at 5:30 AM and clean the kitchen while he's still asleep, I don't get credit for it in the appreciation exercise later. I think I'm going to start dusting whenever he's in the room. Naked.

So far today, he's done about 20 nice things for me. The only nice things I've done for him are 1) not force him to go to a friend's happy hour with me (which I ended up not going to after all because I had too much work to do) and 2) not bitch about the fact that, once I got done with all my work this evening and came downstairs to hang out, he immediately went upstairs to play his video game. So, you know, nothing that's going to win me any Girlfriend of the Year awards. Maybe I should stop typing and bring him a beer. Naked.

Because there is just not enough going on....

Here's the latest crap in my head:

Grad school.

What? Fuck me, man. It just started, though, this idea. So maybe it will go away. But I'm thinking about an entire career change. Get out of the PR/advocacy stuff (and, not by accident, away from DC bullshit) and get my Master's in American History.

I've always mused about it while I've dragged my friends to John Mosby's grave or Antietam battlefield. I had three great history teachers in my life. Two were my parents, who would bring the car to a screeching halt to read an historical marker on the side of a highway and who brought me at age 16 to Andersonville prison in Georgia in the middle of the summer so that I could learn about Union dysentary (I insisted on at least one theme park on that trip just to keep me from losing my mind).

The other great history teacher in my life was Dr. Donald Horward at FSU. I mean, I loved him. But as much as I loved his class, and as much as it made me want to do what he did, and as hard as I worked, I barely eeked by with a B-. Perhaps (and this will be the only bad thing I'll say about my Alma Mater) if I hadn't been just a single student in a sea of thousands, my academic adviser (whom I don't recall ever seeing in person) would have convinced me not to give up.

Alas, here I am in a career that, frankly, bores me. And a job that is so goddamn simple that I think my brain has atrophied. And I look at the job listings and none of them sound interesting to me.

Sigh. But is going back to school the answer? All that money? What will it get me? What do I want it to get me?

I've emailed the folks at the Master's History program at the school I'm considering to ask for an appointment. Maybe one of them can help me think straight.