Overheard on the Street - Self Medicating

Guy: I've been taking so much medicine ... I've been prescribing it to myself.  It's enough to rise someone from a heart attack.

Girl: How you know how to prescribe stuff?

Guy: I looked it up in my pre-med book.

Girl: What you been prescribing?

Guy: Tylenol.

Girl: Wow.  I been on Claritin and Robitussin all week long.

Guy: What!  You kidding me?  You could die of an overdose!

Girl: Really?  Oh no!

Me (under my breath): You're just jealous that she may rise someone from a heart attack.

Three Dog Night

Meet Floyd.   Floyd is my wonderful English Bulldog who I've had since my early 30s.  Floyd is a lovable big boo boo of a dog who is a great cuddler and loves watching TV with me ... specifically old HOUSE re-runs and anything that has Alyssa Milano in it.  This includes Dinotopia: Quest for the Ruby Sunstone where she does the voice of 26.  Now, you may wonder how Floyd knows that an animated dinosaur and Alyssa Milano have the same voice.  Yes, you may wonder.  I'll tell you ... Floyd is one smart dog.

So smart that he can add items and bark out the answer.  Like, if you have two tuna cans on the table and go to the cabinet and grab two cans of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup because you're going to make Tuna Noodle Casserole that night, and you say "Floyd!  How many cans of stuff does it take to make Tuna Noodle Casserole?" Floyd will bark four times.  Two for the Tuna and Two for the Soup.  See?  Smart.

This is Molly.  Quibbit brought Molly into the family, she was his dog for many years.  Molly is just a luvviebump ... she can't see too well so she's always bumping into things and it's really kinda cute.  When I come home from work sometimes the door whaps her right in the head, so I've learned to open the door slowly.  Molly's also a little lazy. 

 Take that same door ... say she's standing in front of it and just thinking one of her little bull dog thoughts.  If I'm coming home, I open the door slowly and then suddenly find that I'm pushing her along ... because she won't really get out of the way.  Because she's busy thinking some cute bulldog thought and I've interrupted her.

Molly's not so good with math ... not even tuna noodle casserole math.  Say Floyd is over there barking 4 times to show he knows 2 plus 2.  Molly will join right in, but then just not stop.  She will bark and bark and bark and even when you say "Molly!  That's enough of that!" she will keep barking.  She will usually stop if I put an old tennis ball in her mouth.  When I don't have one handy I give her a jelly doughnut.

Finally, this is Butters!.  Quibbit and I just got Butters! the other day.  She is our first dog together.  Contrary to what you might be thinking, she is not named after Butters from Southpark.  Her name is also not a derogatory remark short for Butterface.  For, as you can see, her face is adorable.  Rather, her name is a reference to Fazekas / Butters - the people responsible for the TV show Reaper.  Similarly her name is not pronounced "Butters" but rather "Butters!" with the "TT"s being soften to almost "DD"s and the whole name being forced out of your mouth in one big shout of joy.  BUTTERS!  Some find it as difficult to pronounce the exclamation at the end of her name as everyone but the Germans find it to pronounce umlauts.

Now, you may wonder how a bizzy gal such as myself can take care of three adorable dogs.  You may also wonder how I was able to squoosh them into my tiny 500 square foot palace.  

Simple.

They're pretend dogs.  Duh!  I don't have any dogs!   Gosh, if actual people are spending actual money on these dolls that look like real babies, the least you can let me do is tell a few stories about my fake dogs, huh?  

Your Cheatin' Heart

There's no easy way to say this, non-registered Luvviepuffaroo Followers (all 2 of you) ... I've been cheating on you. And I will continue to ... but I'm hoping you can allow me to blog here whenever I'm in (cyber)town while I still blog regularly with my new Heart's Desire. Think of it more like Big Love than a Hank Williams song. We can all be together, right? No one needs to get jealous and dig their keys into the side of my pretty little souped up four wheel drive or carve their names into my leather seats? Right?

Seriously though, in case you were wondering why there was a 4 month gap ... I will say nothing about it. Except that I have a secret identity now and I've become a weekly contributor to a great website ... writing about what I love ... and what I know best. Between the writing, the researching, the interviewing, the planning for new columns, well ... I just didn't have the time to keep up with this blog that has an average readership of FOUR ... while the other site has a readership of FIFTEEN THOUSAND per month ... and those readers know me by my real name (In fact, if you Google my real name now, I've got presence!). So rather than toil in anonymity here, I found the pull too strong -- I needed to own my little corner of the (cyber) world where people tune in to actually READ my words as opposed to here, where people linger for 5 seconds before hitting "next blog". I see you there, itchy-fingers! What do you think is so much better down the line? Some girl in Sweden posting pictures of her lunch taken with her Hello Kitty camera phone? Well, please, don't let my musings about anything stop you. Click away!

HOWEVER, having said that, I do enjoy the Luvviepuffaroo-ness of this black and green site and Ah jess cain't quit-cha.

So, I'll do a little recap of all the posts I WOULD have written, had I been writing and not ... you know ... off CHEATING on my OWN BLOG with ANOTHER BLOG:

The Randomness of Time
2008 kicked me in the pants, no doubt. While it was one of the most fulfilling years ever (see archive) it was also one of the most devastating years ever (see archive). When 2009 arrived I was SOOOOOOOOOO ready for 2008 to be over. And yet ... does a moving digit at the end of 3 static digits mean ANYTHING? Not to be existential yet again ... but why does ANYTHING mean ANYTHING? Still ... I was sure glad to ring in the New Year, down on the promenade like every year, kissing Quibbit, and making that sound Xena, Warrior Princess used to make.


Worst. Translation. EVER ... (click here)
I'm sorry, Germany, but even little Estonia has you beat. In second place would be Sweden who's non-sequiter title is more funny than anything else. And props to France for throwing away the whole "murder" theme and going with some random title that is usually saved for dancers or decorations on mosque walls.

Random Celeb Sightings to add to The List (for list click here)
While sitting in the sixth row of American Buffalo (which starred John Leguizamo, Cedric the Entertainer and Haley Joel Osment and which opened and closed within a month) I saw Maury Povich and his wife, Connie Chung. I desperately wanted to tap him on the shoulder and say "You ARE the father ..." but then I actually didn't want to seem like I watch his show. So I just stared at him and THOUGHT the sentence at him very loudly.

While having some pre-holiday party drinks at Viceroy I spotted Baryshnikov a few tables away, wearing a jaunty beret. How very French-by-way-of-American-by-way-of-Russian of him. He looked so continental!

Frowny Martha Stewart who couldn't be less interested in performing the task came to my office and judged a cooking competition. When she was asked to give a quick note on how the two finalists' dishes compared she said "Well, one was edible and one clearly wasn't". Ouch. This was for Charity, Divine Ms. M. Guess you left your charm at home that day.

You know how some celebrities look better in person than they do on the screen and some look worse? Steve Buscemi is someone who definitely looked better. I bumped into him (literally ... face to face, tummy to tummy) in my office cafeteria and my first thought was "Wow, that guy could pass for Steve Buscemi's good looking twin brother". He must like that he looks good in person.

No to repeat myself but ...
You know how some celebrities look better in person than they do on the screen and some look worse? Jude Law looks worse. He came to my office with Jeremy Gilley to promote his Peace One Day campaign and my oh my ... he just didn't do it for me. And this is a man I drooled over in one of my top 10 favorite movies The Talented Mr. Ripley! (Then again ... we've all aged a great deal since then, eh ...?)

On the other hand ...
I saw Nigel Barker in Chelsea Market one Saturday afternoon with his little daughter and literally was speechless for around 1/2 an hour afterward. He was so amazingly gorgeous that he literally parted a crowd of people who stopped in their tracks to gawk at him. I see him on ANTM all the time and while he's relatively attractive when he's on that judging panel, in person he's literally STUNNING.

A few weeks later Jonathan Ames came to my office (Yes, it's true ... they all come here. Don't ask why ... but if you knew where I worked you'd understand why) to discuss and promote his graphic novel, "The Alcoholic". I love Jonathan Ames ...everything about him. I love his books, I love to hear him speak (I'd seen him once before at a writing seminar where he was the closing speaker) and he just really really has me at Hello. He read aloud from the book and it was so LOL funny that I immediately went out and bought a copy. The scenario that involves Monica Lewinsky (who I saw once at the performance of Sweeney Todd) was hysterical.

I was lucky enough to score 2rd row seats for "The Third Story" and got to see the amazing Charles Busch and Kathleen Turner do their thang. I've been a longtime fan of both.

Just the other morning I was heading toward the train and came upon Ana Gasteyer pushing her young son in a stroller right outside my local CVS.

And finally, I can't be 100% sure but I'm 99% sure that I caught a glimpse of recent ANTM winner McKey on the subway. She was waaaay too tall and beautiful to be NOT her.

So, that's my fill-in for now. I'll pop back in every so often to reassure you that I still love you but when you've got a weekly column that often gets quoted (!), it's kinda hard to keep doing these headstands here in this empty room. Still, you were my first, so I'll always love you best.

Hugs, Luvviepuffaroo

Dr. .... Who?

I like to think I'm pretty up on things when it comes to pop-culture. Armed just with a subscription to Entertainment Weekly and a healthy curiosity about all things Hollywood I've been able to fake my way through DOZENS of conversations through the years.

I once had an 8 year old's mother (who brought her child to work on "Bring Your Child to Work Day" and then promptly parked her at my desk for the next 8 hours and asked me watch her) who was convinced that I knew all the Pokemon by heart. I did not.

I knew how to say Pikachu using one of the variants that Pikachu uses some times "Pika-pika ... CHOOOOOO" and I just happen to remember (in detail) one episode I saw when I was home sick. Armed with the names of merely three Pokemon I was able to converse with this child all afternoon. Because, really, all a child wants is to babble about their favorite thing in the hopes that you know all about it too.

So I nodded enthusiastically and when asked "Who's your favorite Pokemon?" I simply replied "Beside Pikachu? Well ... that's hard, but I'd have to say ... Charmander ... or maybe Jigglypuff." She nodded seriously and said "Yeah, they're good ... but I like ... " and then she named some little critter with a crazy name and I said "Oh! I forgot all about that one!" and so a friendship was born.

I do the same thing with other shows too. I've never seen one episode of The Office (not that I'm avoiding it ... I think I must be busy that night or something ...) but I know stats about it that I could report on for days. I know story lines, actors ... the name of the company they work for ... all because I pay attention to all the pop culture channels that criss-cross this great state of ours. So mired in pop culture am I that my dream is to be not Faulkner or Beckett but Cody. Diablo Cody. EW column, Oscar and all. (Well, not ALL ... I'm a bit over the hill to pull off the stripping thing ...)

So imagine my surprise when Quibbit starts netflixing Doctor Who and I reply ... Doctor Who? Imagine how even more startled I was to find out that EVERYONE I mention this to says "Oh!!! I LOVE Doctor Who!" ??? WHO?

Imagine my even bigger surprise when I Google "Dr. Who" and came upon a treasure trove of information that would rival the sites devoted to LOST, Babylon 5, Star Trek AND Star Wars ... COMBINED! I felt like Truman ... from The Truman Show ... the Doctor-Who-less world I'd lived in for the past (mumble) years was a FAKE UNIVERSE because Doctor Who is some sort of God that I am only finding out about now. It's like not knowing Mr. Rogers. Actually, it's worse. Because apparently Doctor Who is very, very, very cool (and Mr. Rogers is only very, very, very cool when you're still counting your age in months.) Cool enough to warrant his very own "The Weakest Link" episode!

So now I've spent the last few weeks watching (or rather, falling asleep to) the early Doctor Who episodes while Quibbit watches, enthralled. I've stayed awake just long enough to eye roll my way through the bad over-acting in the pilot episode, the horrible "special" effects, and the long, long, long, long exposition scenes. People tell me the show gets better ... I'm sure it does. Nothing that sustainable can be that bad. And because Quibbit is such a devoted fan I'm sure I'll see that arc happen right before my sleepy eyes, since he's put every Doctor Who available to man in his netflix queue. He even, for my benefit, broke chronology and got "The Five Doctors" so I could get a sense of the marvelous, amazing Doctors to come. Well, I did manage to stay awake for that one ... sorta. And I do see how it could be charmingly kitschy, hysterically campy and just good ole fashioned fun. But it turns out that my favorite part of this whole phenomenon came from the bonus materials.

For some reason, while I'm not yet aware of all the inside jokes, I could watch this first clip over and over again. It simply gets funnier and funnier every time I watch it ...




... and this clip has become my favorite simply because at least they're aware of how campy the whole thing is. And therefore NOW I LOVE THEM.



Meet you in the TARDIS ... Doc-TOR!

An Open Letter to Cirque du Soleil: I'll Start Coming To Your Shows When You Stop Naming Them After Your Pets - OR - Kooza? Seriously?

I can not, as a proud adult woman, BEAR to pick up the phone and say to ANYONE "Hello, may I purchase 2 tickets to Kooza, please?" It's just so ... undignified.

But say Quibbit got them for me, because he has no trouble saying any word in any language, be it real, made up, or an amalgam of the two (which Cirque would have us believe is how they get all their names of their shows). But then one night Ant calls and asks me if I've got any plans this week.

Luvvie: We're seeing that new Cirque du Soleil show.
Ant: Oh, which one?
Luvvie: The new one.

Ant: What's the name of this one?

Luvvie: No idea. Quibbit bought the tickets.

Well, that I can fake. But then what happens AFTER?

Inquiring Friend: I want to buy tickets to Cirque due Soleil. Have you ever see one of their shows?

Luvvie: Yup.

Friend: Which one?

Luvvie: I can't remember.

Friend: Was it Wintuk?

Luvvie (cringing): Nope.
Friend: Saltimbanco?
Luvvie (cringing): Nope.
Friend: Zed? Zaia? KÀ? Zumanity? La Nouba? Quidam?
Luvvie: NO! Stop naming them all!
Friend: Which one was it? Why won't you tell me?

Luvvie: (in tears) BECAUSE I CAN'T!!! (flees room, jumps into convertible Mustang, drives madly along the Pacific Coast Highway accompanied by the swells of violins until car runs off cliff a la Thelma and Louise.)

Sounds stupid? NOT AS STUPID AS "KOOZA". So please, Cirque, start naming your shows "Twenty" or "Fred" or "Toasted Almonds and Mint". I'd even see "Gazillion Bubble Show ... with Acrobats". But I just can't go to something that sounds like a thing I sneezed out.

It Was the BUST of Times ...

Around 12 years ago my old friend Won't bought me a BUST Magazine because it had a funny article on Madonna in it, and I've got some Madonna worship in me. It was their Goddess Issue, filled with wonderful tidbits and clever articles written by, and about, gals just like me circa 1996 - single, a little left of center, a lot interested in having a different perspective on things. It was the complete antithesis of Cosmopolitan, not so much in subject matter as much as viewpoint.

The pages even LOOKED like me ... filled as they were with collages of retro images in arresting black and white all coming together like a young girl's bedroom cork board. (Oh, woe ... do young girls even HAVE cork boards in their rooms anymore? Or has Facebook et al relieved young girls of the need to pin up every single thing they ever got their hands on that suddenly seemed cool ... from a ticket stub to a business card from a funky store ... to a message scrawled on a post it note? Does anyone even WRITE in pen anymore? DAMN YOU, INTERNET! cried the Blogger ...)

Anyway, I loved this magazine. It reminded me of all the cool magazines I'd get during the 80s when New York was full of new wave and androgyny and black rubber bracelets. It was edgy and a little amateurish, but in an appealing way that worked.

Plus, all the models were real live girls who looked more like me than the usual fare served up by Elle, let's say ... or Glamour. (Well, truth be told, they actually looked more like those girls in that Gardasil commercial than they looked like me ... but still, on the spectrum, I was closer to their zone than the Christy Turlington zone).

I was working at TIME at the time ... such a very very different magazine in every way imaginable. I dreamed of working at a funky magazine like BUST... roaming the creative halls and living life on MY terms --- YEAH! (Air kick w. platform boots). Instead, I trudged to my boring little job every day, wishing I could be one of the fantastic San Fran chicks who popped into the BUST offices every day regaling their co-workers with the results of the fantastic new all-organic hair care products they'd tested the night before for one of the articles. Everyone got to participate there -- even interns! Whereas the closest I got to being a part of TIME magazine editorial was keeping up "space over day-rate" spreadsheets on all the contract photographers. Yeeeee. Haaaaaaaa.

I tried to tell a few women at work about BUST, but one woman mis-remembered the title and ... well ... let's just say she that when she asked for it at her local (New Jersey Transit) Hudson News she was pointed in the direction of a very different, more bosom-related aisle than she'd bargained for. It's BUST, my dear, BUST. Not Boobs, Busty, or Tiny Tops. BUST.

Anyway throughout my late 20s and early 30s I loved BUST ... I waited eagerly for it to come out (quarterly! oh no!) and when it arrived in my mailbox I raced up the 3 flights and read it cover to cover. Sure, I was embarrassed that the mail carrier got an eyeful when (s)he delivered the issue that had a full page ad for the Rabbit on the back cover (think that episode of Sex and the City), but then again ... so what! I was a liberated woman of the 90s! (yes, the 90s). It was my right to subscribe to any grrrrrl power magazine I chose, and who cared what they advertised. (Air kick with platform boots ... AGAIN!)

Throughout the years BUST changed. Not a lot at first, but enough. And, let's face it kids ... throughout the years I changed too. Again, not a lot at first, but enough. By the time BUST was perfect bound and printed on 80lb stock, I was just randomly flipping through it for the captions.

It was rare for me to actually sit down and devour an issue with the same fervor that I'd done in those early years. Still ... I kept subscribing and each time one arrived I put it lovingly to the side. Because I really thought I'd find the time one day to sit on a Sunday afternoon, in winter, as the light streamed in through the window, and curl up with a cup of strong coffee and read to my heart's content. Never happened. We'd grown apart, me and BUST. We were just phoning it in. (Cue that sad song from Toy Story 2).

Eventually, rather than just watch them stack up, I canceled my subscription. Sure, it was tough at first, but soon enough I got used to not having BUST around. Still, I just couldn't part with those archived issues. That's why the Container Store makes those boxes. For all those people with Magazine Guilt.

Recently after the honeymoon, Quibbit and I started re-arranging my small small small apartment to simultaneous a) get his stuff situated while also b) creating more space for two grown people to exist in. This, in reality, is much like the loaves and the fishes in reverse. I mean, seriously, how in the world can you expect to keep adding things and yet still have an empty basket - devoid of bread and fish?

Easy - you basically just do that Sell, Keep, Toss thing only in my case it's Donate, Keep, Toss. It's hard, sure. And if you've lived in the same place for 15 years alone ... well then it's REALLY hard. But not only did I do it, I was the one who demanded it, so really, I can't complain.

So, there I was ... staring down boxes and piles of never-read BUSTs. Wow ... seriously. Wow. Had it come to this? Marriage or BUST? Well, of course it had to, for the punny phrasing alone. Marriage or BUST - who ever heard of such a thing? As if I'd choose a magazine over a mate? hahahahaha. But I love a good pun.

So, out went the issues ... Bye-Bye Bjork, The Donnas, Le Tigre and Amy Sedaris. Bye old standby articles like Ayun Halliday's "Mother Superior". Bye ads for Repro Depot and Babeland and Damed Dollies (yes, that's one screaming her head off over there. Rock thought I resembled a Dolly. Note: we broke up just weeks after). I'll miss you, fo' shizzle, BUST o' My Youth. But, you know, the old girl's growing up.

The BUSTs got recycled, the space got made and lo and behold ... I could now see the floor around my desk. WOW! I should have done this years ago. But really ... we both know I had to wait till it was time ... Marriage or BUST indeed. Not to say I won't pick one up on the news stand some time. I might. But all in all, my BUST days are behind me.

When You're Done Here ...

Feel free to go here.

I laughed and laughed.

And laughed some more ...

I Thee Wed ...

Oct 16, 2008 - Thursday
Quibbit and I have the day off, and spend it doing last minute things. At the train station we run into Danielle Ferland another one for the list; her looks and voice are unmistakable ... I'd know that Little Red Riding Hood anywhere!

"Excuse me," she says to me ... pointing toward the tracks, "Does this side go to Brooklyn?" She's got her toddler son (or possibly nephew) squirming around in her arms.

"Yes, it does ..." I say, and then, before she has a chance to move away I blurt out (so un-Luvvie-like) "Are you a star?"

Of course she laughs. "I'm not a STAR, but I am an actress ..." and I cut here off here to continue my non-Luvvie-like intrusion ... "Into the Woods?"

And she smiles ... but it's clear she's got to get back to her toddler son (nephew) and get on with her "life". She gets off at Union Street and I wonder if she's auditioning for some community theatre thing ...

Oct 17, 2008 - Friday
Blissfully happy ... that I'm not starring in my own reality show!

As Quibbit makes his way to lower Manhattan to meet his dad and sister (fresh from the airport) and pick up the tuxes, I stay at home packing up various suitcases (one for the night at my parent's house, one for the wedding night). I vacillate between joy and hysterics as one moment finds me admiring my wedding shoes, while the next moment finds me unable to find the Marriage License.

Luvvie [on phone to mother]: We can't get married! They won't marry us! I can't find the license! I lost the license! We just looked at it! (This goes on for a while, as mother calmly interjects, at appropriate intervals)

Mom: Yes you can ... yes they will ... you'll find it ... no you didn't ... it's there somewhere ... don't worry ... (repeat till Luvvie is apoplectic - I won't be calmed down!!).

Of course, the license was right where we left it.

Rehearsal night was amazing ...
Seeing GoldenBoy and MattyMoo for the first time in YEARS, having everyone gathered in the church -- friends, kids, parents, siblings, all feeling wonderful, all laughing ... joking ... catching up. Then, to the neighborhood diner ... to heck with these fancy "rehearsal dinner"s!!! Just good old fashioned tuna melts, burgers, grilled cheese sandwiches ... and cup cakes for the kids from a neighboring table. Then, to bed early and dreaming of the day to come!

Oct 18, 2008 WEDDING DAY!
I wake up at my parent's house feeling amazing. Not nervous ... just the right amount of giddy but amazingly calm and joyful. I sing "Wedding Day! Wedding Day!" to my parents as we have some breakfast together, then mom and I are off to the beauty parlor at 10:00 for our hair. It's surreal to be there, on my wedding day, but in a really fun way, just soaking in the neighborhood women who told the stories of their wedding days ... the funny parts, the amazing parts ... so many hugs at the end, and still the day is just starting!

Meanwhile, on the other side of Brooklyn ...
Quibbit wakes up and gets ready for his haircut ... looks in the mirror and thinks he should do something about his dark eye circles. He (the furthest thing from a metro sexual) wanders into the M.A.C. cosmetics store around the corner and charmingly says ... "It's my wedding day ... help!" The girls are happy to help him, and full of good wishes. He then makes his way to cut his hair ... and throws in a manicure for good measure. ("Everyone will be looking at our hands!" I must have said a million times ... )

He goes back to the apartment, gathers up his bags, take the garbage to throw away, and heads to my parents' house. When changing at the express stop he looks down and realizes he has taken the garbage with him ... so he throws it in the nearest receptacle at the train station. Totally Quibbit.

Back at Mom and Dad's ...
Relatives start arriving, Honor Attendants, and flowers! Everyone is happy, no one is nervous, no one snaps. Makeup is applied, hair is curled, perfume, dusting powered, stockings, earrings ...

Photographer arrives and starts taking candid shots. Quibbit arrives and we play Marco Polo ... calling to each other but avoiding seeing each other. It's all a happy blur, and somehow all our clothes come on correctly,

and we start making our way to the Church. My voluminous dress takes up much of the back seat of the limo ... my Mom and Dad take up the other available spots.


At the Church ...
Di, Dad and I stand in the back, and oddly I'm not crying buckets the way I'd imagine I'd be. I'm just filled with this great happiness that seems to take me over and make me terribly gracious. I hear Clair de Lune being played and am very happy ... we'd asked the organist to play it. It's a moon song, and Quibbit and I have a moon theme ... and no one needs to know, but we know.

Finally, the song starts to play, and Di makes her way down the aisle. Dad and I are supposed to wait for her to get all the way down there but it's so far, and I'm so eager, and so we wait till she's half way down. As we start to walk there's so much flashing before my eyes, but all of it is coated in this misty happiness, and when I start to see faces smiling at me I can't help but smile back through these eyes shining with tears ... and I see M watching me ... her face is red with tears but she's smiling, and i just have to laugh with her ... we'd been in exact opposite spots five years ago, and I knew how she was feeling.

I looked up at one point, up at the huge cathedral ceiling of the church and just took in the huge expanse of it all, stopping the moment for a bit so that I could pick it up later and remember it ... remember this amazing feeling of perfectness as I walk down the aisle toward Quibbit.

Five feet from the end I have to just break into an enormous smile because everyone has their cameras out ... there are flashbulbs in my face and I feel like a celebrity, so many eyes on me ... but me just waiting to see my love.

The people part, and there's Quibbit ... I'm amazed at how regal he looks, how stately, and how his face is full of this overwhelming love for me. I kiss my dad on the cheek, then give him a hug ... then another little kiss ... it's a happy moment but I know he's been worried about crying too much, and I want to reassure him that he did just right.

I take Quibbit's hand and the ceremony begins. One by one, the Wonderful Moments happen. GoldenBoy does the first reading and when he's done he comes and gives me a kiss ... 24 years later and here we are, sharing this wonderful moment together.

All Through The Ceremony ...
Quibbit and I stay very present, we smile at each other constantly, we hold hands throughout, and we whisper to each other. Because, of course, we can.

We get ready to say our own vows ... when Quibbit reads his I'm astonished at how lovely they are, and of course at the same time I'm not astonished at all ... Quibbit puts 100% of himself in everything he does. His words are so powerful that even the priest feels they should be acknowledged ... and encourages everyone to applaud. it's a moment that makes us laugh. I say my vows and am overcome by how much I love Quibbit ... my voice cracks a few times, but I get through it. I look at Quibbit as he listens to me and we lock eyes ... it's been like this from that first moment.

We exchange rings, and then continue on ... at some point I look over at Di and she whispers "You're married now!" "I know!" I say, in an exaggerated way, and we both smile because we're being purposely playful. "You look different!" she says, and it's both true and a parody of the truth. I love her for saying it ...



The Ceremony is Over, and We're Married!
We fly down the aisle, so happy, so elated ... ebullient ... other words that mean bouncy. We stop and kiss, but the photographer didn't get it ... she tells us to do it again ... and again ... and we do ... because it's funny ...the whole church laughs. The receiving line is a big, happy, wonderful blur ... one fabulous face after another and everyone so happy ... people saying funny things ... Ant's opening line: "So, what's new?" So fun. Then bubbles, pictures, cheers, and more pictures! Everyone is happy, everyone is smiling, and Quibbit and I feeling like the eye of the (good) storm, just enjoying it all.

Then Into the Limo ...
Just the 2 of us ... finally alone and so very happy. We break open the champagne and drink ... smiling, laughing ... we've combined our last names into a hyphenated name for both of us ... we call each other Mr. and Mrs. Quibb-a-Roo and toast, and kiss ... awash in this amazing glow. Just around the corner from our reception our limo takes us through Times Square ... tourists are everywhere and the car is surrounded ... Strangers shouting congratulations! at us, taking our picture as we laugh, a little embarrassed at all the attention but so happy to be a part of people's excitement ... as much as they want to be part of ours. Even the limo driver has to laugh ... he's never been swarmed before.

Then to the Bridal Suite ...
On top of the world! The 21st floor overlooking all of Times Square ... Floor to Ceiling windows on 2 sides of the room, flooding it with lights that seem like fireworks, like the whole world is celebrating with us. More photos, then Quibbit goes down to see the guests (and get a platter of cheese) while Di works to bustle the dress. I slip on huge Mary Jane platform shoes that I'd worn at work, every day, for seven years ... they look monstrous but they're very comfortable and I can run in them if I have to. We laugh that these are actually my "comfy shoes".

Down to the reception ...
The place looks amazing. An old theatre, now refurbished, but still filled with the Ghosts of Broadway Shows Past. People are there, enjoying themselves, and all so happy to see us. We make the rounds, and it's one happy moment after another. Everyone is excited and happy, everyone can't wait to see the room which, till now, has been closed off.

And then it's time for us to be announced ...
First parents and sisters, then Honor Attendants Di and Quimica, and then us ... Mr. and Mrs. Quibb-a-Roo ... we head for the stage amidst clapping and a standing ovation ... like winning the Tony ... but better of course. Our first dance ... Dusty Springfield cooing "What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?" and the world disappears .... it's Quibbit and me twirling slowly under the lights, dazzling, perfect, his eyes locked on mine and I feel more love than I ever thought existed. Then our second dance, Polyphonic Spree's "Light and Day" just like we planned... a song that started out slow so that people would dance with us, then an exuberant burst of happiness ... Quibbit and I break apart and start jumping joyfully ... we're all over the stage like maniacs, like bubbles bumping around in a glass of champagne.

People are watching us, smiling ... they circle us and start to clap but this isn't a moment for the spotlight, this is a moment for everyone to join with us and jump around too ... and I gesture ... and they do. I'm amazed at the people jumping around ... senior citizens putting us to shame with their moves ...

Riding on the whirlwind of the dance...
Our friend Ohbeeb comes forward to give us our second ceremony ... our second blessing. She speaks of our Love Tornado that was sweeping everyone in the room into a joyful celebration. She invites everyone in the room to go and continue to spread the love that we inspired that night ... to continue loving with as much power as possible.

The night continues on ...
Full of treasured moments ... wonderful speeches, amazing food and drink, and crazy dancing! There are moments that Quibbit and I share privately (like taking the stage and tangoing across it as people sat an ate ... or dancing to our own private joke "Dreams of the Everyday Housewife" ...). There are moments that we shared with our families, and moments that we shared with the whole room!

When it was over some core people lingered ... we watched as the flowers were put away and finally allowed ourselves to be tired. Still as happy as we were when the day begun, probably even happier, Quibbit and I said our final good nights and went up to our room on the top of the world. It was the end of a wonderful day ... and it was just the beginning....

For Better ... For Worse ...

A quote from Ellen DeGeneres:

"Watching the returns on election night was an amazing experience. Barack Obama is our new president. Change is here. I, like millions of Americans, felt like we had taken a giant step towards equality. We were watching history.

"This morning, when it was clear that Proposition 8 had passed in California, I can’t explain the feeling I had. I was saddened beyond belief. Here we just had a giant step towards equality and then on the very next day, we took a giant step away.

"I believe one day a 'ban on gay marriage' will sound totally ridiculous. In the meantime, I will continue to speak out for equality for all of us."

FOR BETTER: On October 18th, 2008 I married my love, Quibbit.
FOR WORSE: Now, just weeks later, couples who finally got the opportunity to do the same, had the right cruelly taken away.

How in the world can someone be so bold as to insinuate their own lifestyle choices into the lives of others?

My big question for some time now has been ... what exactly does it mean to be married? Ever since Quibbit and I got engaged it's been a question I've turned over and over in my head. Why do people get married? More specifically ... why did Quibbit and I choose to get married? And then further ... why did we choose to have a wedding ... a church ceremony followed by a reception populated by our friends and family? And how would I feel if I was told that no matter how much I loved my partner, that I was simply unfit to have the same joy, the same process, the same rights, both legal and human as every other "acceptable" loving couple? All these years I thought my longstanding friendships with people who were gay gave me an insite into their struggle. But no one just took away my wedding day ... no one just undid my choice. I realize I know NOTHING of what it feels like.

When people say "I don't believe in marriage", I would like it so much more if they qualified it with "for myself" or anything else that keeps me out of their self referential loop. Further, I would ask the same for those who say "I don't believe gays should be married". Please, keep others out of your self referential loop. These are some of the same people who feel that being gay is a choice. A bad choice. What's bad is the CHOICE to be close minded. Love, in whatever form, on whatever level, abiding by whatever terms, is never wrong, never bad. And should NEVER be controlled by those who don't understand or participate in it. You simply shouldn't legislate an emotion, a belief ... a core essence of existence.

I know gay couples who have been together for years and are 100% committed without being married. I know straight couples who also aren't married but are committed. Look, I can't seem to pin down why a wedding is so much more than the components. I just know that to me it is. I KNOW that something magical happened the day Quibbit and I stood in church, bonding our lives together. I saw it in our friend's faces. I've read it in words of people who were so moved by our day that they needed to tell us how deeply they were affected. But that day was simply an outward manifestation of what we've felt for each other from the beginning.

Our love and celebration was all around us, intangible, sparkling ... amazing. And Quibbit and I, by a stroke of luck, were able to have our day because our genders are considered an appropriate pairing.

If someone came to me today and told me that my marriage was now overturned I wouldn't even know how to process that. Because, ultimately, you can't go back and undo something that's been done. It begs the question of why anything is important ... why anything matters ... why we navigate through challenges at all ... I don't know the answer. I'm just asking the questions.

When I saw Ellen and Portia's beautiful wedding photos, I'd never felt so happy for a celebrity couple. I saw love and celebration, contentment, happiness ... and above all ... a click. Two spirits who came together and found their origin in each other. Why would strangers want to overturn something so meaningful simply because they don't understand it? Once again, I repeat what I'd said MONTHS ago ... it's the fine line between understanding and appreciating. You can think you understand what a process means ... and you can even appreciate what that process means for yourself. But unless you are completely without prejudice (and talking all across the board here ... ), TRUE prejudice -- an adverse opinion or leaning formed without just grounds or before sufficient knowledge -- you simply cannot appreciate what the process means to other people. And therefore you have no right to meddle in it. I can't even imagine what it feels like to be hated by countless people for the simple expression of my love to my partner. I've been close friends with several gay people over the course of my life but until now I really didn't even slightly understand how awful it feels to be alienated by people who don't agree with how you choose to celebrate your love. I guess because it wasn't even an issue for me, I didn't understand that still, it was an issue for them.

"We don't need a piece of paper to prove our commitment" is often said. I find it odd that people even qualify that. No one needs anything to make something so. But if two people choose to get that little piece of paper ... isn't it hypocritical to demonize them for it? If you put meaning into something, then it holds meaning for you. Not to mention, it makes it legal, and give you protection under the law. So, in the most unromantic of lights, it sure does mean something.

All anyone asks for, ultimately, is understanding. And support of their decisions. And a little love along the way, instead of judgment. It's all I wanted from my friends ... and it's all I want for all my gay friends every where -- those who chose to have a ceremony, and those who didn't.

Quibbit, who's watched me cry over this, said that Proposition 8 may have some positive consequence ... becuase it forces people to re examine their feelings on this ... and brings people like myself to become even more committed to bringing about a change for equality. And he's right. While I've only stood on the sidelines for all these years, I now feel a desperate need to align myself with other like-minded thinkers and do all that I can to make sure that, as Ellen says, one day a "ban on gay marriage" will sound totally rediculous.

I just couldn't feel right about joyfully recounting my happiness without first mentioning how truly sad I am for every loving couple who was told their day didn't mean anything ... by people who had no right to say a word.

For All The Days of My Life

On Saturday, October 18th, I will marry Quibbit. We will join our lives together, we will join our names together, we will join our hopes together ... we will join our journeys together. We will take the best of who we were before and strive to be even better ... for each other.

Quibbit ... you make me happier than I ever thought I could be.

You are my heart.
You are my love.
You are my home ...

He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts.
Rest assured this troubador is acting on His part.
The union of your spirits here has caused Him to remain,
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name,
There is love. There is love.

Oh, a man shall leave his mother, and a woman leave her home.
They will travel on to where the two will be as one.
As it was in the beginning, is now until the end,
Woman draws her life from man
And gives it back again and there is love.
Oh, there's love.

Well then what's to be the reason for becoming man and wife?
Is it love that brings you here or love that brings you life?
For if loving is the answer then who's the giving for?
Do you believe in something that you've never seen before?
Oh, there's love. There is love.

He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts.
Rest assured this troubador is acting on His part.
The union of your spirits here has caused Him to remain
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name
there is love. Oh, there is love.

THERE IS LOVE (Paul Stookey)

- Wedding Song -

Not In So Many Words ...

CIRCUMLOCUTION \sir-kuhm-loh-KYOO-shuhn\, noun: The use of many words to express an idea that might be expressed by few.

I have been accused of circumlocution virtually since the day I started speaking. If you flip through the pages of my life and stop at almost any day, you'll find a conversation like this one going on:

Random Teen from the Past: Luvviepuffaroo and I are going to a party tonight. Wanna come?
GoldenBoy: I might as well ... I'm only going to have to hear all the stories about it later, and it will take less of my time I just go along now.

Flip further:
Luvviepuffaroo: Well, you know, I could just take an umbrella ... it probably won't rain but I'm thinking that at least if I have one with me, then if it rains I'll be dry, as opposed to NOT carrying it around and then being caught in the rain, WISHING I'd carried it around and thinking the whole time that if only I'd taken the umbrella I'd have a much better chance of being dry. I mean, ultimately I'd much rather do something and be on the safe side, than NOT do something and run the risk of being really upset by it later ..."
Random 20something Friend From the Past: OR, "Better safe than sorry ..."

GoldenBoy STILL delights in doing this to me on the phone ... I'm not QUITE as verbose as the paragraph above, but he still is able to distill my ramblings down to just a few words. (And points it out EVERY TIME. "I did it again! I did it again!") What can I say? I like to talk.

Nothing proved my circumlocution-ness more, however, than recently when I was putting the final touches on my Great American Novel. After thinking it was finished around 14 years ago I sent it out to literary agents with high hopes, only to get one rejection letter after another. After another. After another. (Repeat this phrase another 243 times ...) It got so I wasn't able to open my mailbox anymore without seeing the dreaded flurry of little SASEs tumbling toward me, all rejection letters from Agent X telling me they just didn't think my big book o' words was marketable. I put the manuscript away in a drawer and tried to forget about it. All 145,000 words of it.

To be clear: word count in the publishing world is like dress size in the modeling world. Same equation: lower number equals more marketable. Things would have started differently for JK Rowlings if Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone hadn't skootched by at just under 80,000 words -- 76,944 to be exact. Only when the crowd was clamoring for more could she (and her publishing house) feel confident about something that weighed in at 198,227 words (as The Deathly Hallows did). Agents balk at hefty books the way Janice Dickinson balks at hefty models. As in: Good ones exist, they just don't get through the machine as easily.

Years later I decided to give it another shot. I took my "finished" novel and presented it to my writing group. One hearty soul, the one man in the group, took the time to read the whole thing. His criticism was harsh, but fair ... great story, not so great writing. (Hey, I'd accused Stephen King of this my whole life ... ). It was salvageable, he said, it just had to be completely rewritten and heavily edited.

I decided to give it a shot. After all ... 14 years HAD gone by ... my writing had gotten better ... and I wasn't in such desperate need to prove how smart I was anymore. I cut out pages and pages of characters having long, boring existential conversations that did nothing to move the plot forward. I tightened, punched up and textured until one day last month, like a Sculptor, I knew it was finished because there was nothing else to take away.

It now weighs in at a very slimming 110,000 words. That's THIRTY FIVE THOUSAND NON-ESSENTIAL WORDS ... gone. And never missed. Amazing.

So, the question is, after all that -- is it a good book? I've had a few friends read it (or parts of it) over the years, and always got relatively good feedback. That's what friends do ... they cheerleader their way through your small successes. It's hard to know. There's one reader, though, who I choose to believe over all the others. Random Subway Chick.

Years ago, I'd given a first draft to my dad and he read it on his daily commute. One day, without him knowing it, a girl had been reading over his shoulder. When he put it away she tapped his arm ... "Excuse me," she said, "What's that your reading?"
Dad: It's a novel my daughter's written.
Random Subway Chick: Wow! Is it published? I'd love to buy it! I've been reading it over your shoulder and I can't wait to see what happens next!

I think about Random Subway Chick a lot. Because New York is FILLED with random subway chicks ... and they're my target audience. Along with any other person who's facing a long train ride, bus ride, plane ride, and wants to dig their teeth into a good story that will make the commute fly by. As well as any person who likes to stay up late into the night reading just one more chapter ... And any person who's not looking for a cookie cutter story with a happy ending. So ... if that's you ... stay tuned. I promise, you'll enjoy every single word.

You Want Lettuce and Tomato On That?

Boy oh boy ... how I love a good sandwich. I know they're the worst things for you. I know they're full of bleached flour, processed meats, gloppy condiments, fats, salt and nitrates. I know that. What's your point? You are what you eat so I am a big ole sandwich. When I die you can wrap me in some wax paper, bury me in one of those little deli containers and put me on that great conveyor belt to the sky.

Quibbit likes them too, but he is the King of the Dagwood Sandwich. Early on in our relationship I'd asked him what ingredients would he combine to make his favorite burger. By way of example, I created mine for him: English Muffin bun, a big juicy burger seasoned with basil, slathered in Hellman's Mayonnaise and Frank's Red Hot Sauce ... some sauteed onions and thick cut apple smoked bacon on the top. Yum.

He responded by building his for me: bottom bun, mayonnaise, avocado and onions, honey mustard, all beef patty, cheddar cheese, ranch dressing, Doritos, sauteed lettuce and cabbage with garlic, 2nd all beef patty, Swiss cheese, ketchup, more mayonnaise, slice of lettuce and top bun.

Of course I've watch him eat things that make the above look tame. I've learned not to ask what he's jamming between two overtaxed slices of bread. If it crunches I just assume it's the Doritos. Or pretzel sticks. Or peanuts. Or saltines. Or granola. Or sunflower seeds. Or wasbi peas. One time it was trail mix.

A few years ago I caught a great documentary on PBS called Sandwiches That You Will Like (which is a little like calling your clothing line Dresses That You Will Wear). It does a great job of traveling across America and showing how the definition of a sandwich changes with the landscape. I love hearing people, full of conviction, talking about their city's sandwich and why it's the best, not like any other Blah and Blah Sandwiches from any other place in the whole US of A! It reminded me of the time my friend's cousin came back from Italy praising the corner markets and the plethora of prosciutto and provolone sandwiches. "It's so common ... like getting a ham and cheese in America". We laughed our butts off at that. Um, maybe because prosciutto and provolone IS ham and cheese.

Anyway, I love this show -- I've seen it twice and I'm thinking of buying the DVD (or accepting it as a Christmas present). What makes the show so special is not that it's a program about food ... though that's part of it. No, what makes it great is that it's a program about people and their relationship to food; it's about tradition, habits, customs, comfort. It's about folks reveling in the fact that in their little corner of the world, this is how it's done:


This is the kind of program that makes you want to grab your map, get in the car, and just drive across America seeking these places out. Luckily, I actually have been to a few of these fine establishments and when time allows, I intend to visit a few more. For now, here are the 3 I sampled:

Living in New York you can't escape the siren song of a good Pastrami Sandwich. And what better place to get one than at Katz's Delicatessen ... a New York tradition for over a hundred years. Quibbit and I just went there recently and almost died (happily) of a meat overdose. He got the Corned Beef Sandwich and I got the pastrami ... between the 2 of us I think we were able to eat 2/5th ... we had to take the rest home. And we both kept on eating corned beef, pastrami and rye bread for another two days! I repeat ... You are what you eat!

I've also been lucky enough to sample authentic Philly Cheese Steak Sandwiches when a friend of mine took me back to her home town. It was really cold the weekend we were there, and we spent a long time shivering on line waiting to order our sandwiches, staring across the street at the OTHER long line of people waiting to get THEIR sandwiches. The first day we went to Geno's, the second day to Pat's. I liked one better than the other but can't remember which ... so I guess when I go back I'll have to do another taste test. I'll have to go again with a local, because even though there were big signs everywhere explaining how to order, I still made my friend order for me because I was too intimidated. Yes ... I. Was. Too. Intimidated. Huh.

When another friend and I were kicking around in New Orleans, I was thrilled when we stumbled upon Central Grocery ...

... which I knew all about from the program. We immediately went in and purchased the most wonderful Muffuletta Sandwich I'd every had. (Truth be told, I'd only had one once before at some wannabe New Orleans bar in Manhattan where the drinks are watered down, the food is tasteless and badly fried and the Muffuletta Sandwich is lousy). But here was the real thing! We couldn't wait to dig in! We shared one ... it was that big ... and even had leftovers for later. Next to the drinking-all-day-and-night-in-the-street thing and the super hot jazz and the man who tried to take my friend and me home with him to "let nature take its course" (an offer we refused, but a story we gleefully repeated), this Muffuletta Sandwich was the best part of our trip.

So, hopefully, Quibbit and I will get around to Kentucky one day in order to sample a Hot Brown Sandwich ... and then maybe we'll take another trip to Maine and get a Lobster Roll from Red's Eats. Heck, I'd even try and get to Domilise's for a fried oyster Po'Boy. (Hey, did you even WATCH the clip up there?) But I can tell you right now ... as far as the Fried Brain Sandwich goes ... I'll let Quibbit tackle that one alone.

For close to 3,000 more ways to make a sandwich, try this website.