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Posts Tagged ‘Courtship’

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life. Let me share mine through music.

FRIDAY

Out Tonight
From “Rent
René and his partner Cris accompanied me for more recon for my PR project. I actually changed out of work clothes this time to go out. That’s commitment.

All Night Long
Buckcherry
There were three bands scheduled for this venue: The Sagas, Dank (formerly Dank Sinatra) and Casual Cadenza. We had an interesting conversation on the Lyft ride over about the word “credenza,” which would have been a better band name. The ride to the bar also featured this quote from Cris about my college drink of choice:

There’s nothing good at the bottom of a bottle of Boone’s Farm.

So true. Did you know they still make it? (Did you get a case of the clap from just thinking about those days? Just kidding. It was herpes. KIDDING. Maybe.)

The Sagas

The Sagas: The best band of the night. I’m bummed I didn’t take the photo before the singer took off his gold tablecloth.

Deadbeat Club
The B-52’s
I really didn’t understand the audience for many reasons. They paid to see these bands, yet they stood like recently reanimated corpses, dressed like they were going to a casting call for L.L. Bean catalog work. The men outnumbered the women at least 10-1. And all of these guys seemed like they were one drink away from switching sides.

A Toe Needs a Shoe
The Replacements
Apparently, Dank was the main attraction. I couldn’t see why, but all the stiff white people were THRILLED that this band had gotten back together after a reported six-year hiatus. In that time, they clearly did not give much thought to their stage wear for the big reunion. Or maybe they did. (That’s worse.)

IMG_1022

What is going on here? This is a true wardrobe malfunction.

Mean
Taylor Swift
When I read “Southern rock sound” in the Casual Cadenza bio, I thought I would like them. I did not. They sounded like a bad lounge band. Like I could smell Nick WintersBrut by Faberge. René should be happy he had to leave early because he had an early-morning flight.

Little T & A
The Rolling Stones
At some point in the evening, I got the booking manager’s email on a napkin (for the aforementioned PR project). I stuffed it in my bra for safekeeping. Somehow, it went missing. (I don’t know how; I promise the only hands in my bra were my own.) I got the email rewritten on a piece of register tape. It also went missing for a bit. It turned up the next morning. When I relayed this story to my “client,” my friend Simon, he called it “the Narnia Bra.” That’s bloody brilliant!

Seen in the ladies room. Nicky will what?

Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)
The Monkees
For the second time in a month, I was still in the bar when they turned the house lights on. No one looks good when the house lights come on. No one. Cris and I scuttled away like roaches.

SATURDAY

Morning has broken
Cat Stevens
Sweet mother of God, that came quickly. Got to get up, because …

Take Me Out to the Ball Game
Jack Norworth
My youngest son is into baseball. I’m not into baseball. Yet there I was at his AAA game. Early morning. So early. Bundled up, sipping coffee, hiding behind sunglasses, and waiting for the Tylenol and English muffin to kick in. The game was a nail-biter. His team was up 6-1 going into the fifth inning of six. Then the wheels came off the cart. They went into the sixth down 7-9. My son managed to score the eighth run, but then the tying run was called out at home plate. The kid looked safe to me, but what do I know?

Gideon gets ready to score.

During the game, though, the coach used that classic line from “A League of Their Own” with a couple of the kids:

Lay off the high ones!

Pumped Up Kicks
Foster the People
My sons went to a paintball party for a neighbor friend. I dropped them off then dropped my top (of my convertible — come on!). Loud singing commenced.

I love my home town.

Don’t Leave Me This Way
The Communards version
When I got home, I resumed binge-watching “Game of Thrones” with Eddie, who had just gotten home from work. I know I’m late to this party; I’m only up to season five. I said to Eddie:

I really like Davos. I guess I’d better not get too attached to him.

I’m still attached to Jon Snow. I know, I know.

Chicken Fried
Zac Brown Band
I’ve lived in the South almost my whole life. I cook all the time, yet I’ve never made chicken and dumplings. Until now. Damn it was good.

Temptation Waits
Garbage
On Friday night, the bartender’s friend told Cris and me about another live-music venue we needed to try. Cris is only in town for a few days, so we decided to check it out. We agreed to go easy; our “check liver” lights were still on. The bar looks super shady from the outside, real dive-y on the inside, but we knew immediately it would be fun.

I love this photobomber.

Don’t Stand So Close to Me
The Police
Cris and I carved out a great space for ourselves off the dance floor, protected by a long table and a load-bearing column. We could dance in peace and still watch the excellent band — the Wasted Potential Brass Band — and people in the bar. So many interesting humans. It reminded me of the George Clinton concert: a medley of shapes, ages, colors, proclivities. We heard an older man say to a younger woman, “Can I pay you?” We watched a lady pull a whole wad of money out of her own Narnia Bra. We observed one fellow creep on every single female in the place. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my waist. Guess who!

Him: You have a way of galvanizing the troops.
Me: What?
Him: You are fantastic.
Me: Um … thank you.
Him: Do you want to dance?
Me: No, thank you.

And I slid closer to Cris.

Props to Creeper for creativity in opening lines, though. Here he is with his final score and her poncho.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said to him. Yes, SHE said that to HIM. And he had just grabbed her by the hair, all caveman style!

Closing Time
Semisonic
After the band’s second set, the atmosphere changed. It happened quickly. Suddenly, patrons were sloppy and desperate. Cris and I had enough. So had these guys, clearly:

Go home, fellas.

SUNDAY

Sunday Morning
No Doubt
Oof. That is all.

The Luck You Got
The High Strung
Brunch with Brian and Cindy, two friends from high school. There’s such joy in being with people who have known you since you were a wee lass and still like you (I think).

Back in Black
AC/DC
“Black Panther” lives up to the hype. Top-notch acting, strong women, great costumes and storyline. Go see it. Drop everything.

Atomic Dog
George Clinton
Gideon and his friend Miles started a dog-walking business in the neighborhood. My older son, well … unless you can get paid for playing “Fortnite,” he’s not going to be flush any time soon.

K-9 Kids Dog Walking, $5 per dog

Celebrity Skin
Hole
Oscar party at the home of the president of my university. I’m so fancy (Iggy Azalea) that I wore a fake fur scarf I picked up at a Leek thrift shop for £2. I had a great time catching up with a friend from college (even though we got shushed by a woman who didn’t realize she was in the fun room). The host kept score from our ballots on huge pieces of paper he taped to his French doors. (Have I mentioned how much I like my job?)

Can’t wait to see what next weekend has in store. Anyone up for a mission with me? Eddie just rolls his eyes as I revert to my 20s.

Don’t “Call Me” (Blondie) because I hate to talk on the phone (Right, Trish?). Text, tweet, FB message me or comment here if you want to “Stand and Deliver” (Adam and the Ants).

See you next weekend!
Beth

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Dear 1980s,

I’ve been thinking about you lately. It should be no surprise as I just wrote a post about growing up as your child. For those who did not experience you (or don’t remember because of all the crack cocaine), let me walk through your decade via all five senses.*

SMELL: Love’s Baby Soft and Polo by Ralph Lauren

Love's Baby Barf

Love’s Baby Soft, made of the tears of girls who realized they could never be real princesses, smelled like baby powder and desperation, roses and acne medicine. Every female wore it. How could our teachers stand it?

 

 

 

Polo by Ralph Lauren, made of the seeping testosterone of pubescent boys, smelled like cat piss in pine straw. Every boy wore it except my friend Rob. He wore Lagerfeld, I think. At any rate, it was something different, and I loved him.

 

 

 

SIGHT: Jessica McClintock and Bugle Boy

Little House on Central DriveFor any event — school dance, church, confirmation, scheduled pining for John Taylor, etc. — you were not a real girl unless you had a Jessica McClintock for Gunne Sax dress. Every dress had lace or florals — often both. I don’t know what kind of fever dream we all were having, but we looked like we were trying to channel Laura Ingalls Wilder. These concoctions went well with the Love’s Baby Soft, and the hope by our parents that our vaginas would stay hidden forever. I think I had the dress to the left. I remember it itched.

 

Every boy in my school, fat or thin, tall or short, wore black parachute pants. No one looked good in them. No one. So many pockets. Yet you couldn’t put anything in those pockets because the pants were so freakin’ tight. I think the boys had to tuck to get them on.

 

 

 

SOUND: Pac-Man and Rush

There is no sound as distinctive as the sound of the game in action. That and, of course, the sound of the meet-cute cut scene with Ms. Pac-Man on her version. It was what was playing in the background of every attempted hookup in the arcade when we girls had shed our Gunne Sax dresses and slid into high-waisted acid-wash jeans. The boys remained encased in their parachute pants, probably until they could be cut out of them at night by their parents (who likely were thrilled that the sperm count had to be way down).

 

Every boy in my social circle went apeshit over Rush. “Moving Pictures,” “Signals,” “Grace Under Pressure” — they dissected each album like an archaeologist examines microscopic fossil fragments. Granted, I hung out with band geeks. In this dark period, we girls were left to our own devices, mooning over Rick Springfield, Duran Duran and George Michael (we didn’t know) until the boys started paying attention to us again in 10th grade.

 

TASTE: Jell-o Pudding Pops and Cool Ranch Doritos

At this point in time, the world loved Bill Cosby, and he loved to shill Jell-o Pudding Pops. We just added it to the rest of the sugar we were inhaling every day, all day. We started off with Smurf Berry Crunch cereal, gnawed on jawbreakers, Twizzlers and Nerds all day, then ended with Jell-o Pudding Pops. No wonder we loved neon. Our mood matched.

 

When Cool Ranch Doritos came out, our collective heads exploded. We had no idea such flavors existed in the world. And God help you if you had a party and did not provide the Cool Ranch Doritos. You would feel a cool breeze from former friends come Monday. (And yes, boys and girls, that is Jay Leno hawking them.)

 

TOUCH: Aqua Net and private parts

For our hair to reach such death-defying heights as expected, we needed Aqua Net. It would coat our hair with a layer of lacquer that repelled rain, hands, sonic blasts, etc. Pity the fool who would try to touch our perms crowned by sky-high bangs.

Here’s a wee little photo of me during the Aqua Net era (because any larger would make your eyes bleed). I think I’m wearing a half a can of Aqua Net. I could have fallen on my head from a great height and been totally fine.

 

 

In addition to getting to know our own parts, we also were getting to know the parts of others — at the arcade, on bleachers, in the back of movie theaters, in cars, in AP History class. (What’s that you say? Just me? Well then.) What a wonderful time to be alive! All the bits a tingling.

 

Some say there is a sixth sense. I can assure you that we did not have it then. For example, I thought I might have a chance with Mike M. When my friend Kari asked him, though, she was told to bring me back the news that I was a “dog.” Oh. OK. Back to Andrew McCarthy for me.

Anyway, I miss you sometimes, but I don’t miss the angst associated with growing up.

Thanks for the memories.

Love,
Beth

 

*I apologize that these reflections are gender- and heteronormative. These are my personal recollections as a cisgendered straight person.

 

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Dear Erin,

Thanks for letting me know about Eddie’s online dating habits. I had no idea. He has always passed himself off as a man who cannot even remember his iTunes password or use the calendar on his phone, but yet he has been able to carry on a secret life. I can’t even be upset because I’m too shocked and impressed.

This is just the kind of information I need around Christmas time. I’ll be sure to pay close attention to receipts for odd purchases. I won’t automatically assume they are gifts for me.

Also, what is the “thruth?” Is that the official name for realizing the truth about thrush? And what does that have to do with Eddie? Oh WAIT … are you trying to tell me something about my health? Egad! I didn’t even know that was considered an STD!

Erin, you have helped me out so much. Thank you for your interest in my well-being and marriage.

You are a true friend.

With gratitude,
Beth

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Screen Shot 2015-05-14 at 9.16.35 AMDear Verlene:

I want to help you — I do — but I don’t know what a “sex body” is. Maybe you should send me a link. Is it like one of those blow-up dolls they sell in adult stores? If so, I really can’t help you. Here’s a link so you can shop online.

Wait — maybe it wasn’t a good idea to share that link with you. Is that the “shit” to which you refer?

If I want to get in touch with you, why wouldn’t I just reply to your message? The email address you shared isn’t like any I’ve ever seen. I did a quick search and found this:

Screen Shot 2015-05-28 at 10.49.46 AMWho is Jennell, Verlene? Who else are you contacting with the same message? I thought you loved me for me, and now I find out that I’m just some random person to you! How can you call yourself the “one and only?”

We’re through, Verlene. 

Over you already,
Beth

 

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Photo courtesy of Shane Marshall Brown

Photo courtesy of Shane Marshall Brown

Dear Shane and Jason:

Thank you so much for inviting me to your wedding. I haven’t cried at a wedding in years, but I cried at yours. Seeing wuv, true wuv made me emotional! Not that straight people don’t have true love too, but they don’t have problems making it legally binding.

(You obviously know how I feel about same-sex marriage, so I don’t need to go into great detail here.)

I just think if people could see what I saw, then there wouldn’t be any opposition. Love is love. Shane, look at your sweet face in this photo!

945154_10101436977751987_279929453_n

I feel honored that I could be a part of your special day, meet a whole passel of fun, self-proclaimed “theater gays,” and witness something truly wonderful. It even offered a teaching moment for my boys.

Dominic: “Why are you packing?”
Me: “Remember I’m going to my friends’ wedding?”
Dominic: “Oh right. Which friends?”
Me: “Shane and Jason.”
Dominic (looking at me for a beat): “Is Shane the girl?”
Me: “No.”
Dominic: “Jason’s the girl?”
Me: “No.”
Dominic: “They’re both boys?”
Me: “Yes.”
Dominic: “They’re gay?”
Me: “Yes.”
Dominic: “Gay people can get married?”

Yes, Dominic. They can in some places, and they should in more.

Do I love you because you’re beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you? (from “Cinderella,” Rodgers and Hammerstein)

I think you two are beautiful. Thank you for letting me share in your big moment.

Love,
Beth

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Dear Friends in South Carolina:

I need you to explain something to me. How is it possible that Mark Sanford is a viable candidate for the 1st Congressional District seat vacated by Rep. Tim Scott? I realize that this district skews Republican. I get it. But even Republicans can’t possibly want to vote for THIS Republican.

Let’s recap his behavior as S.C. governor in June 2009:

Sanford and his lady love

Sanford and his lady love

His wife, Jenny, divorced him. Smart lady.

Even people in his own party called him out.

Irrational behavior. Lies, lies, lies. (Sen. Jake Knotts)

Yet S.C. voters haven’t kicked him to the curb. In fact, polls indicate that he and his Democratic rival, Elizabeth Colbert Busch, are neck and neck.

Elizabeth Colbert Busch

Yes, she’s a Democrat asking for a traditionally Republican seat. Yes, she’s the sister of Stephen Colbert, which works against her in some circles. But COME ON!

You’re going to believe THIS guy when he starts talking about ethics and values?

I believe in second chances, but this is ridiculous.

So I ask you, my friends: How is Sanford a viable candidate? Please tell me the polls just made the race look close. Please tell me he won’t win the special election today. Please.

Hello?

Sigh.
Beth

*UPDATE: He freakin’ won!

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Dear Universe:

Thanks for all the twists and turns that led Eddie and me to meet each other and get together. He is the only person I truly ever could have been with for the long haul.

Why? He just gets me.

For example, he knows when to do a good deed. I came home from work and he had put up the Christmas tree and decorated the house. Score!

When you’ve been married a while (17 years for us), gestures like that sustain the relationship and keep it from getting boring. You have to look for treasures among the familiar. The excitement among the mundane. The embers in the ashes.

Sometimes it is not the big things that have the most impact. Just think about all the little things there are to be thankful for on a daily basis:

  • The cool side of the pillow
  • A for-no-reason kiss and hug from your child
  • The first sip of coffee in the morning
  • A spectacularly groomed beard (Nicholas David, I’m talking about you!)
  • Simple white Christmas lights
  • A super-sharp chef’s knife
  • Justin Bateman’s ad libs in “Horrible Bosses
  • Using a triple word space in Words With Friends
  • A light that turns green as you approach
  • Really good cotton sheets
  • Chumlee
  • The SNL “Single Ladies” video parody (especially Justin Timberlake)

The holiday season is filled with big moments. I’m going to take the time to appreciate the little ones too.

I’ll take a cue from my moment-planning husband.

Thanks again, Universe!
Beth

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Dear Suzanne Venker,

I read your recent editorial, “The war on men,” on Foxnews.com (not my usual source for news or opinion, but my friend Travis knew I would appreciate your piece). Fox did not enable comments, so I have to share my thoughts here.

I have to hand it to you: You are a good writer. Persuasive, even. I can almost see readers’ heads nodding as you make the ludicrous argument that the problem with men is women.

[Women have] been raised to think of men as the enemy. Armed with this new attitude, women pushed men off their pedestal (women had their own pedestal, but feminists convinced them otherwise) and climbed up to take what they were taught to believe was rightfully theirs.
You’re kidding, right? There’s so much wrong with that paragraph, I don’t know where to start. Let me paraphrase:
Women=nervy
Feminists=bad
Equality=wrong
Oh boy.
But wait, there’s more:

[The rise of women] has also undermined [men’s] ability to become self-sufficient in the hopes of someday supporting a family. Men want to love women, not compete with them.

So what you are saying is that men can’t be self-sufficient because those darn women are taking their jobs? (Hmmm … the fear of people taking jobs …  a strangely familiar talking point … )

 

And women “need men to pick up the slack at the office – in order to live the balanced life they seek.” If I were a man, I would be insulted. What you are insinuating is that men are only good at working. And of course, we women should get back in our binders, surrender to our nature – our “femininity,” as you put it. (Now where did I put that blasted apron?)
Men haven’t changed much – they had no revolution that demanded it – but women have changed dramatically.
Those poor, unevolved men. Such sad little specimens looking for the 1950s again. Perhaps they should get with the program and realize that it is more fun to have a partnership than a dictatorship.

 

My Puerto Rican husband, operating with a full tank of genetically predisposed machismo, happily handles “women’s work” such as cooking, cleaning, sewing, laundry, putting the kids to bed, etc. (In fact, he is vacuuming right now.) He does these things (unasked) almost as often as I do. And we both work full-time. When we both handle tasks around the house, then we get done faster and have more time to spend together. Score!

 

But aren’t you being a little hypocritical? I mean, you are working after all. You are potentially taking writing jobs away from men. I mean, I guess it is OK because Dr. James Dobson and Dr. Laura Schlessinger say you’re awesome. But still.

 

I know you’ve carved out a little niche for yourself, but really you need to butt out. (“Shut up” seems too harsh. Plus, I would never want to stifle another woman as she climbs up to take what is rightfully hers.) The Ward Cleavers of the world will find their Junes. The Tony Micellis will find their Angela Bowers and the Mitchell Pritchetts will find their Cameron Tuckers. The Elyse and Stephen Keatons will find each other.

 

And if they don’t, then it’s no one’s fault but their own.

 

Happily married to an equal partner for 17 years,
Beth

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Dear Eddie:

Seventeen years ago today, we paraded around in Forsyth Park. You were wearing a tuxedo and I was wearing a lacy concoction I’d never wear today. Your hair was super tall and curly. I had accidentally dyed mine black. We still looked OK — for ’95 anyway.

Most of our friends were there with us, wearing clothes they’d never be caught dead in today. Remember Pat’s teal suit?

Since that day, we’ve had so much fun together. We’ve traveled around the world, kept great friendships and made new ones, created two new human beings, and laughed with/at each other every day. You roll your eyes at my reality TV obsession while I sigh at your fitness ones. You sew while I like to raise chickens. You like to play the part of Megatron with the kids while I’m off playing Words with Friends. It works.

Some people get together and want the other person to change. But we don’t do that. We are essentially the same people we were when we got together. We’re both independent and self-sufficient. We don’t need each other; we want each other.

We’ve gone through some rough patches, but we both realize that marriage is work. That work reaps amazing rewards. I credit She Who Must Not Be Named for helping us strengthen our relationship early. It was the opposite of what she hoped, I know (cue evil laughter). And to Nancy Lopez, who said we wouldn’t last a year, well … [the title of a Cee Lo Green song applies here].

I think we’ve lasted because we took our time getting together in the first place. You know that saying: Good things come to those who wait. OK, yes, it was a ridiculously protracted time, but whatever. It worked.

And it doesn’t hurt that you look better now than you did when we got married.

I’ve seen pictures of some of the people I used to date and I think, “Dear God! What is that thing?” “Well, I certainly dodged a bullet.” “My husband is unusually handsome!” So thank you for not letting yourself go all to hell. And I hope you don’t think I look too raggedy. I’ve tried to keep it together.

Anyway, happy anniversary. I love you (duh!) but I also still like you. And I think that’s more important.

Love always,
Beth

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Dear Dad*,

I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is you’ll be able to see your grandsons more than once a year because we are not moving to Saudi Arabia.

The bad news is that Eddie and I are divorcing (which is OK under Deut. 22:13-21 because, well …). In the course of our research into how we should be behaving, we realized that we shouldn’t be married at all (Ezra 9:1-2). I had no idea I wasn’t supposed to marry a foreigner (and those Puerto Ricans are most definitely foreign to me). Plus, the Apostle Paul specifically states that light should not have fellowship with darkness (2 Corinthians 6:14). You’ve seen Eddie.

As it turns out, gay marriage does indeed lead to a Pandora’s box of heinousness such as group marriage, pedophilia and bestiality.

In our case, just talking about it led to this:

He says her name is Michelle and they are very happy together. I’m devastated, of course, but putting on a brave front for the kids’ sake (our kids, not hers).

Thanks for your support in this difficult time.

Love,
Beth

* Clarification (I can’t believe I need to provide one): This post and the preceding one are completely satirical. Please don’t send me hate mail.

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