Not in Kansas Anymore ...

Years and years ago I got the Gregory McGuire book Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West and it immediately became one of my top favorites of all time. I'm a big fan of stories that tell the other side of the story (see: Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are Dead). Moral of Wicked: Don't always believe the first story you hear, even if that story is coming from a poor little Kansas farm girl who got picked up off her fence post by a tornado and was deposited, worlds away, into a strange place where 1) citizens are diminutive and members of something called the Lollipop Guild, 2) the welcome committee is comprised of one women who arrives onto the scene via Floating Giant Bubble, 3) there's only one road you can follow to get out of the place, and 4) everything that's gone wrong is the fault of some wicked green witch who likes to transform people into tin and straw for kicks when she's not commanding a fleet of flying monkeys.

Fast forward to around 2003 when Wicked made its way to Broadway. I was working just blocks away, and couldn't help but notice the throngs of people who congregated nightly to take in this new musical. Unfortunately, by the time I thought to buy tickets there was a 3 - 4 month wait. I figured I'd hold off till the hype died down.

Fast forward again, to 2005 (hype has done the opposite of "died down") and now find me dating a guy I like to call Rock (As in I am Rock! I can not love! I am not built to be with anyone else permanently! I have no heart! Talk about a Tin Man ...). Rock wasn't a bad guy, he just wasn't the guy for me. We'd been friends for around 6 years prior to our very brief affair, and I think both of us would have been happier had we just remained friends -- it would have saved us both a lot of bother. Still ... sometimes you just have to see what's behind Door Number Three, Alex. Some times it's A BRAND NEW CAR! and some times it's just a year's supply of Rice-A-Roni. Thanks for playing!

Rock broke up with me the day after my birthday (no, no ... this does not fulfill the Birthday Curse of Luvviepuffaroo because he left me the day after) and even though it probably was inevitable that we part I think the timing took even HIM by surprise, since just the night before, for my [July 3rd] birthday, he'd gotten us tickets to see Wicked ... for the end of August. So obviously he thought he'd be around for at least 6 weeks longer.

When the night of the show rolled around I'd toyed with the idea of taking Rock with me (after all ... he HAD paid ...) but it was really hard to see him after the breakup and I didn't want to sit there in the theatre, crying (and I KNEW I would be crying because I get really overwhelmed at Broadway shows ... heck, I cried during Run, Freedom, Run! while attending a performance of Urinetown) and have him think that I was bawling over him. So I took my mom instead. Who very sweetly held my hand during all the parts she knew were striking a particularly difficult chord.

Needless to say, the show was spectacular, breathtaking ... everything I didn't think a show NOT written by Stephen Sondheim could be. When I realized that the composer, Stephen Schwartz, was the same man who did Godspell and Pippin well, then it all made sense. Has there ever been a better song of existentialism (And don't you see I want my life to be something more than "long" ... I've got to be where my spirit can run free) than Corner of the Sky? Well ... yes. Defying Gravity. But more on that later.

Unfortunately, since I'd had that pretty painful breakup just a few weeks before, a lot of the show was tainted with shades of regret. I nearly gave myself a heart attack by trying to chock back the sobs that bubbled up during "I'm Not That Girl" (Every so often we long to steal / to the land of what-might-have-been / But that doesn't soften the ache we feel / When reality sets back in ..."). I loved the show, but I hated the connection it had to the Rock breakup. For a long time I couldn't listen to the soundtrack without having odd little feelings.

Fast forward (again!) and now it's 2008, I'm engaged to Quibbit, Rock (and any memory of him ) is long gone, and Quibbit has now heard me mention "Wicked" in the area of 4,193 times. So I went ahead and got tickets last March for ... August 21st. Almost exactly 3 years (to the day) that I saw it the first time.

I love Wicked. I will always love Wicked. I loved that I was finally able to share it with my Boo. I love that it's not about good vs. evil, but rather about degrees of good versus different degrees of good. I love that it's all about subtle (and some not-so-subtle) shades of interpretation. And specifically, I love how everything you thought was evil in the Wizard of Oz is turned on it's ear because you never got the full story the first time around. I love how two girls can start off on opposite ends of the spectrum, come together, and yet eventually part because neither is built to follow the other's path.

I love Stephen Schwartz's elegant internal rhymes throughout (Take Popular: When I see depressing creatures / with un-prepossessing features / I remind them on their own behalf / To think of celebrated heads of state / Or specially great communicators / Did they have brains or knowledge? / Don't make me laugh! / They were popular! Please / It's all about popular!) I love his humor in What Is This Feeling -- A love song about hate: What is this feeling / So sudden and new? / I felt the moment I laid eyes on you / My pulse is rushing / My head is reeling / My face is flushing / What is this feeling? / Fervid as a flame / Does it have a name? / Yes! / Loathing, unadulterated loathing.

I love how No Good Deed takes Elphaba's character so perfectly from someone who always strives to be better (and to help others) to someone who just can't take it anymore and just can't continue to be misunderstood: No good deed goes unpunished / No act of charity goes unresented / No good deed goes unpunished / That's my new creed / My road of good intentions / Led where such roads always lead / No good deed / Goes unpunished! / Sure I meant well --/ Well look at what well-meant did: / All right, enough - so be it / So be it, then: / Let all Oz be agreed / I'm wicked through and through / Since I can not succeed / Fiyero, saving you / I promise no good deed / Will I attempt to do ever again ...

I love Glinda's self-reflection in Thank Goodness - the message of happiness at all costs, even if you're not sure what that happiness is:

That's why I couldn't be happier / No I couldn't be happier / Though it is, I admit / The tiniest bit / Unlike I anticipated / But I couldn't be happier / Simply couldn't be happier / Well - not "simply" / Cause getting your dreams / Is strange, but it seems / A little - well - complicated. / There's a kind of a sort of ... cost / There's a couple of things get ... lost / There are bridges you cross / You didn't know you crossed / Until you've crossed / And if that joy, that thrill / Doesn't thrill like you think it will / Still ... / With this perfect finale / The cheers and the ballyhoo / Who ... / Wouldn't be happier / Because happy is what happens / When all your dreams come true. / ... Well, isn't it?

I'm also fascinated by how it's become this teen cult thing. While our seats were good (middle mezzanine) it was ruined by the fact that we were somehow smack in the middle of some bus load of teens from, I don't know, Idaho or something who couldn't refrain from calling over to each other and tossing cameras to each other (yes, before the show started, but still -- it's a little disconcerting to have things flying over your head when the show you're seeing is NOT Phantom of the Opera) and climbing all over each other during the show (I guess they couldn't see? And wanted to trade seats?) and then passing bottles of water to each other and doing that simultaneous translation thing that -- please listen to me -- DOESN'T PROVE HOW SMART YOU ARE!!! (Look! It's the wizard! He was that guy! ... Um, yeah ... we ALL got it! Now please be quiet!) I'm sure all these angsty teens can

identify with the whole "no one accepts me" thing, and have taken on Defying Gravity as their personal anthem but the whole second act only makes sense when life has knocked you around a bit and you've had to make choices a bit more difficult than whether or not to go to the college your boyfriend got accepted to just to make sure he's not cheating on you while he's away. But then again, you know, when I was 20 there was a lot going on that I figured was pretty important, and only hindsight tells me that it was ... well ... child's play. Still, it takes a more mature eye to understand the true feeling of casting off the shackles and jumping into your new life ...

Something has changed within me / Something is not the same / I'm through with playing by the rules / Of someone else's game / Too late for second-guessing / Too late to go back to sleep / It's time to trust my instincts / Close my eyes and leap ... / It's time to try Defying Gravity / I think I'll try Defying Gravity / And you can't pull me down!

All in all, the story is very satisfying, the show is spectacular, and the songs are dramatic, thoughtful, and emotional. Without a doubt, however, the watershed moment for me in the play is when Glinda and Elphaba decide that life has taken them in two different directions and they need to part in order to do the things they need to do in their own lives. The first time I heard it, in the wake of a breakup, it meant one thing, but over the years as I've listened to the soundtrack I've applied it to various people in my life who've come and gone, who's passing I regret but who's mark was deep and essential to who I am today. It's one of the most beautiful songs ever written about parting, and one I sing every time I lose someone in my life.

I've head it said that people come into our lives

For a reason bringing something we must learn

And we are lead to those who help us most to grow

If we let them, and we help them in return

Well I don't know if I believe that's true

But I know I'm who I am today because I knew you

Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes the sun

Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?

But because I knew you I have been changed for good.

It well may be that we will never meet again

In this life time ... so let me say before we part

So much of me is made of what I learned from you

And you'll be with me, like a hand print on my heart

Now whatever way our stories end

I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend

Like a ship blown from it's mooring by a wind off the sea

Like a seed dropped by a sky bird in a distant wood

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?

But because I knew you, I have been changed for good.

And just to clear the air I ask forgiveness for the things I've done you blame me for

But then I guess we know there's blame to share

And none of it seems to matter anymore

Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes the sun

Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?

Because I knew you ... I have been changed.

For Good.

How Much For Just The Ribbon?

I find this very funny these days ...

Stop Calling Me!

Random Caller: .... Hello, May I please speak with Level Puffle Roo?

Luvvie: You mean Luvviepuffaroo?

Random Caller: Yes, ma'am. Level Puffle Roo. My name is Jill and I'm calling you on behalf of Some Random Company. Who is currently handling your Random Company Needs?

Luvvie: Click!

Oh, how rude! Of both of us. I'm not fond of hanging up on people ... unless we've had a dramatic blow up in which case I find it very satisfying. I've unfortunately had very little chance to fight on the phone these days, so you'd think I'd be excited about a telemarketer giving me the opportunity, yet somehow hanging up on Random Caller #4 doesn't quite carry the same punch.

S0 what to do? Listen? No ... Screen all your calls? Well, sure, but that's a bother.

Instead, keep the whole dang thing from happening altogether. Get yourself on the Do Not Call list ... by just Clicking Here.

Well, that's my PSA for today. You're welcome.

You Gotta Have Heart

When I was a little girl I was shocked to discover that you could check records out of the library just like you checked out books. It almost seemed like stealing ... stealing with your EARS.

Since my dad's collection of records was extensive but sadly lacking a few staples I immediately headed over to the Broadway section to see what they had. And there I found a treasure of shows I'd never even HEARD of before, all for the temporary taking. I was like a kid in a candy store. But more like just a kid. You know ... in a library.

The first record I ever checked out was Damn Yankees. I renewed it over and over again, sure that I was begrudging some other fan of their dose of Lola and Shoeless Joe but to hell with that! Of course, looking back, I bet I was probably the last person to check the record out, but if not, I can safely say I was probably the last 12 year old.

Oh, how fondly I can recall the afternoons spent in my basement pretending to be Lola -- the female lead, which was not how it always was for every show. Usually whenever I broke in a new record I chose a part for myself that reflected my strengths. So I was never the delicate ingenue but rather the funny side-kick friend. Even when I started getting real parts in school plays I was never the lead, but I did get a lot of applause for my turn as Mother Burnside in Mame and Mrs. Peterson in Bye Bye Birdie.

So back then, in the basement, it was a pretty big deal when my casting director (you know ... the one who lived in my head) actually chose me for the part of Lola and not for the part of the old lady who stays at home and waits for her husband to come back to her. (You know, the one referred to as "old gal" ... um ... yeah). Good times.

Fast forward to Spring of 2008 when I get an offer in the mail for significantly discounted tickets to a limited run of Damn Yankees starring Sean Hayes and Jane Krakowski. Three weeks only! the flyer shouted at me, and of course I was that 12 year old kid again, thinking that if I didn't call RIGHT AWAY the whole thing would be sold out in TWO MINUTES! I couldn't risk it.

I called immediately and got some really great seats for me, Quibbit, and Mom and Dad. When the day of the show finally came I was beside myself with excitement.

The show, to say the least, was outstanding. Having just seen The Wedding Singer a few weeks before with Quibbit in Atlantic City, it was nice to see the kind of show that made Broadway what it was (is? ... that's another debate). Not that the second string cast didn't perform their hearts out in Atlantic City ... but hey. It's Atlantic City. And it was ... The Wedding Singer.

I was pretty astonished at how many songs I remembered so well from all those years ago. I mean sure, I played that record till it almost wore through, but eventually I had to give it back to the library and never realized how sticky it was in my brain. With hummable songs like You've Gotta Have Heart, Who's Got the Pain when They Do the Mambo?, Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets and my favorite, Two Lost Souls, how could you go wrong? Yes, I admit it, a show like Damn Yankees reduced me down to that inner Broadway core, down in the very heart of me, where there's a tiny little man shaking his fist and proclaiming "Now THOSE were songs you could sing along to!" (However, that little man lives right next door to a Black-Eyed-Pea wannabe who spends her day dancing to Dum Diddly stopping only long enough to get Low Low Low Low Low Low Low Low to Flo Rida. So it all evens out, right?)

I've mentioned before the ridiculous amount of celebrities I've come across just by minding my own business and going about my day in NYC. But I omitted the entire category of celebrities I've been able to see perform on the Broadway Stage. Throughout the years I've seen (to name just a few ...) Chris Noth, Charles Durning, Spalding Gray, Elizabeth Ashley and Christine Ebersole in The Best Man, Kevin Bacon in An Almost Holy Picture, Jennifer Tilly, Kristen Johnson, Rue McClanahan, Cynthia Nixon, and Jennifer Coolidge in The Women, Nathan Lane and Mark Linn-Baker in Forum, Judith Light in Wit, Matthew Broderick (and Nathan Lane again) in The Producers, David Hyde Pierce, Hank Azaria and Tim Curry in Spamalot, John C. Reilly and Phillip Seymour Hoffman in True West. As a matter of fact I've seen Phillip Seymour Hoffman perform so often in person (True West, The Seagull, Defying Gravity and first row in a public appearance) that it's almost like we're best friends. So it's not like I was starstruck by the opportunity to see Sean Hayes and Jane Krakowski in person ... but rather I know how immeasurably talented they both are and just really couldn't pass up an opportunity to see them strut their stuff. Plus, did I mention ... Damn Yankees!

Of course the whole cast was fantastic and plenty of numbers were show stoppers in their own right, but never in my whole experience have I ever been to a performance where the entire show just completely grinds to a halt as someone's talent washes over hundreds of people at once and everyone simultaneously says "ahhhhh!" But that's exactly what happened when Sean Hayes did "Those Were the Good Old Days" and accompanied himself on the piano. The crowd was so swooney and giddy during his performance that I actually got a flash of what it might have been like to be in the Ed Sullivan audience when the Beatles performed. Here they both are, giving a pretty gracious interview to a pretty vapid interviewer.

Not since I went to see the live performance of A Mighty Wind (oh, so add to that list above: Christopher Guest, Harry Shearer, Michael McKean, Eugene Levy, Bob Balaban, Jane Lynch, Parker Posey, Jennifer Coolidge [again], and John Michael Higgins) was I so propelled to my feet for the true (read: not gratuitous) standing ovation. Woo hoo! There's nothing like those moments ... it's the closest I can come to understanding a sports fan who's team wins in the ... whatever game.

Mom, Dad, Quibbit and I had a perfectly wonderful random Saturday afternoon and then capped it off with a tremendous dinner at The Red Eye Grill which was better than I'd ever remembered it -- a little touristy but hey ... who says you can't be a tourist in your own city some times? All in all, pretty terrific. Even the part where Quibbit said "I think I liked The Wedding Singer better ..." Oh, that's okay. I guess it's true -- opposites do attract.

Science Fiction Double Feature

New York City in the summer can be brutal ... hotter than hot and crammed full of people. While a lot of people spend their time doing the "Yay! Summer" chant, I spend June through September finding ways to avoid the whole thing.

These last few weeks have been in the high 80s, the low 90s, I can't remember exactly -- the heat runs it all together for me. So what better way to forget your troubles than in a darkened movie theatre?

While I've always been okay with science fiction, fantasy, and graphic novels turned into movies, it was more of a take it or leave it thing before meeting Quibbit. Had it not been for him, I'd never have seen a movie like GhostRider or Fantastic 4 or X-Men. Some I've liked more than I expected to, some I've suffered through, but all have lead to good conversations afterwards since Quibbit is such a fan of the dark vs. light concept.

On Friday night after work we were able to catch Hellboy 2 which was a movie I was definitely looking forward to, having been such a fan of the first Hellboy.

I'm not sure I've every been more attracted to a guy in makeup and yet less attracted to him out of it, as I've been to Ron Perlman who, over the years, has thrilled me with his alter egos. I was glued to the TV for every episode that ever aired of Beauty and the Beast, and if I were a 16 year old girl and torn-out magazine pictures were still acceptable wall covering, I'd have Hellboy plastered all over my room.

Hellboy - Yum!        Ron - Oh Hell No!       Vincent - Swoon!

Oh wait ... now that I think of it, I DID have my 16 year old walls papered with guys in makeup -- Boy George, Dustin Hoffman as Tootsie, and pictures I'd drawn of George Hearn in full drag from La Cage Aux Folles.

Yes, it's all true! All of it!

So I guess I HAVE been more attracted to guys in makeup and less attracted to them out of it before. But that's another issue altogether ...

Anyway, Quibbit and I decided to go see Hellboy 2 and sure as God made little green apples, this movie did NOT disappoint. It was like the original Hellboy, dialed up to 11 ... it was everything Pan's Labyrinth should have been but wasn't. (Just sayin' ... all the trailers for Labyrinth would have you believe that the entire movie took place in "Hey, I've got eyes in the palms of my hands" land ... when really 95% of it took place in "Hey ... my new dad's really brutal and someone's gonna get his face slashed, Joker Style" land). So Hellboy 2 finally scratched that itch that started all those years ago. The only thing more exciting that the announcement that Guillermo del Toro will be teaming with Peter Jackson for The Hobbit would be an announcement that Guillermo del Toro would be teaming with Tarsem for some outrageous, can't-even-imagine-how-great-it-would-be film extravaganza. Well, I'll continue to hope.

On our way out of the theatre we did something that we don't do very often ... ducked into another movie to commit a misdemeanor. I mean, free second movie. Look, it's not my fault they scheduled Hancock to start 5 minutes after Hellboy got out! So, in we went and settled in for a sweet science fiction double feature.

Maybe I only saw the similarities because I saw them back to back, but besides both being eponymous titles that start with "H" these films were striking most of the same chords -- granted one had a few more characters with faces made out of finials and cathedrals and men made of odd shaped rocks or men with eyes in their wings and eyes in their shoes (I would assume), but other than that there was basically a lot of similar plot points. Misunderstood main guy is just trying to do some good but everyone gangs up on him and yells at him (usually right after he's saved someone). Both grapple with their identity, think of giving it all up, then rally in the face of the woman they love. Both have, like, LITERALLY the fate of the entire world in their own hands at one point ... and both have the love of their lives choose to save them over saving the world. Oh! Movie Love at it's best!

Quibbit read a review somewhere that Hancock was a cheap knock-off of an old movie The Return of Captain Invincible. WHICH IT WAS NOT. I happen to know this because Quibbit netflixed Captain Invincible and I suffered through the first 20 minutes of it before shouting "STOP!" and hitting eject. Okay, so Hancock and Captain Invincible are both bummy guys with great powers. I'm sure they both smell a bit. And I'm sure they both have a hard time applying for a bank loan. Past that, the similarity ends. Captain Invincible made (the otherwise talented) Alan Arkin look completely foolish, not just here and there but in every scene. And I, Luvviepuffaroo, the biggest fan of the Broadway Musical Movie in the history of Broadway Musical Movies was absolutely pushed to the point of nausea when Captain Invincible proved to be not only a badly made science fiction move but also a strangely choreographed musical. It was all very weird and creepy. Quibbit, who wasn't as bothered by it as I was (and tends to see things through to the end), watched the whole thing but said it never got any better.

Anyway, both Hellboy 2 and Hancock were very satisfying movies and ultimately made the perfect double feature on a hot summer night.

Ending in OH!

My friend Goldenboy will be more than happy to tell you about the Birthday Curse of Luvviepuffaroo which took place on many a July 3rd over the earlier years of my life.

We've known each other since our mid-teens (or, as he always says, "around six years now, right?") and so he's actually witnessed some of the worst of my birthdays such as my then-boyfriend having an epileptic seizure on his way to my house (20th birthday), me trying to run away from home (18th birthday) and the one where we had a huge fight down on South Street Seaport (19th birthday). But our favorite cursed birthday will always remain my 22nd birthday. Who could forget it?

Goldenboy and I had gotten all decked out and hit our favorite nightspot, The Duplex. We were regulars back then, actually hitting the place around twice a week and participating in all the shtick that went on. (I'm sure there's new shtick that goes on now, but I haven't been there in ages, sad to say.)

Some favorites over the years: The commemoration of Diana Ross' rainy 1983 concert in Central Park consisting of an all-bar sing along of Ain't No Mountain High Enough while the bartender sprayed water into the air. Amy the waitress/lead singer doing Vikki Carr's It Must Be Him, Cher's Dark Lady, and in later years, the waiter (a/k/a Straight Boy from From Jersey) doing Elton John's Levon. It was in that tiny little space that I got my first taste of doing the "doot-doo, doot-doo"s on one side of the bar, as the other side of the bar sang "I got you babe". We were all one big stage show back then.

This is also where (and when) Goldenboy and I solidified our love of Steve and Eydie (Steve and Eydie!). Yes, I admit it: we both played tapes of them in our cars for many many years. (Still do, GB?) Where else but in the Eydie Gorme catalog would you be able to find the big, blousy broad song "What Did I Have That I Don't Have?" I'd have aged myself 3o years back then just to be able to sing that song with the same tonality that can only come with life experience, large quantities of scotch and a decent amount of time in the presence of Sinatra ...

It was on the night of my 22nd birthday that Goldenboy and I stumbled out of the Duplex (more drunk on cabaret itself than on beer) at a little after 2 a.m. and decided to have a sit-down on someone's stoop to keep the momentum going. We stared up into the night sky and began singing I like New York In June ... (yes, it was July, but we were giddy) ... when we were approached by two guys who came up to us so directly that we thought they lived in the building. We skootched to the side of the stoop to let them up but were met with a "gimme your money" and the revelation of a gun under the one guy's jacket. This is when Goldenboy gave his simultaneous translation of events to me ... a line which we repeat often and (trust me) which is now delivered with a lot more mirth than it was that night: "Oh Shit ... We're Being Mugged!"

Yes, indeed, we were being mugged. We didn't struggle, there was hardly a tussle, the non-gun wielding mugger even gently removed my watch from my wrist with all the care of a mother laying her toddler down to sleep. They took Goldenboy's wallet which (naturally, he's Goldenboy) he got back the next day. (I think he'd lost the same wallet 4 times and it always found its way back to him.)

Anyway, this was the birthday that broke the camel's back and Goldenboy vowed to never spend another cursed birthday with me again. You know, in a good way ...

For a few years I bought into the curse (my 25th involving a [never-told-me-he-was] married general manager of a pharmaceuticals company ... and an elaborate plan that devolved quickly into a brief encounter and a migraine headache ... I'll leave it at that) but then at 26 I went through a "hey, I'm in charge of my own life!" type revelation and decided the only person who could make my birthday curse keep rearing its ugly head was me. I've had really really great birthdays ever since.

When this year rolled around I knew I wanted to plan something special with Quibbit. It wasn't just a milestone birthday, but one of those that ended in 0 (or, you know, OH!) so I really wanted to have a great time. After getting engaged we'd originally made plans to visit a friend who lives in Washington State, spend some time with her family, then spend the big day in Vegas. Unfortunately, when Quibbit's mom got sick we abandoned our plans, deciding to put aside time to spend with her for her birthday which was just a few days after mine. Sadly, she passed away far too quickly.

As it often happens when someone dies, there's this huge reminder to live every day fully, celebrate every milestone grandly, and look on the bright side whenever possible. (Yes, I'm humming the tune from Spamalot, aren't you?) So in a last minute decision, and with the help of my family, Quibbit and I decided to spend my birthday in Atlantic City.

I hadn't been there in years, and even then, only once, and just for the day. So I was really looking forward to having a few days there to really take in the sites. Everything, from where we were staying to what we were doing was a surprise, so every moment was another delight.

Quibbit had gotten us a room at the Courtyard by Marriott, and the room was beautiful ...

... and was right near the Resorts Casino, and the Taj Mahal, both of which we could see from our room.

My Big Birthday morning began with Quibbit waking me with a song, and not one, not two, but three cards. They'd all been set up on the bureau during the night by him, and the cutest one was the flying piggie card, set next to the piggy bank I'd brought along for the trip. (I usually save up quarters in a retro little piggy bank to spend on slot machines. Slot machines don't take quarters anymore. Still, who couldn't smile when looking at a little retro piggy bank?)

We spent the day walking along the boardwalk, visiting the different casinos, playing the penny slot machines, with a little stop at the Tiffany & Co. store in Caesar's Palace where we went ahead and purchased our wedding bands (which we'd already picked out online).

Quibbit had made lunch reservations for us at the fabulous Cuba Libre restaurant in the Tropicana Hotel (the staff even put a candle in our little dessert -- prearranged by Quibbit) and then continued making our way to the other end of Atlantic City to Harrah's Casino where we took in a performance of The Wedding Singer.

Having never seen the movie I can't vouch for how true it is to the original plot, but I will throw in that I enjoyed it more for the 80s culture than anything else. (Yes I admit, while it wasn't my scene every weekend, and I was far from being anywhere near the Michael Alig crowd, I was definitely one of those who frequented Tunnel, The Palladium, and a few others that went quickly by the wayside.) Quibbit, who's own teen years were spent in his small Michigan town (population 3000) couldn't quite picture me as one of those high haired, neon and fish netted bustier wearing gals skipping around on the dance floor. But I was! Some times it amazes me how differently we grew up.

Quibbit, ever the romantic, squeezed my hand tightly during the song "I Wanna Grow Old with You" (I wanna make you smile whenever you're sad // Carry you around when your arthritis is bad // All I wanna do is grow old with you // I'll get your medicine when your tummy aches // Build you a fire if the furnace breaks .... So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink // Put you to bed when you've had too much to drink // Oh I could be the man who grows old with you).

We ran outside after the show to see the fireworks (which, for some reason were going off on July 3rd) but we'd missed them by around 20 minutes. So we spent the rest of the night wandering around town till we made our way back to the hotel.

July 4th was a wonderful day too ... relaxing and fun, with just enough to do, but not too much to get done. We walked around 6 miles, from our hotel to the Absecon Lighthouse, then back to the hotel and on to Caesar's Palace with the obligatory stop at Fralinger's for Salt Water Taffy, fudge and other candies for my loved ones back home.

We headed back home on the 5th, full of sun, fun, and me ... with a new OH! at the end of my age. With so much change happening this year, it was nice to spend this milestone birthday happily, and to bring home a bag full of taffy and some great memories.

Even though The Birthday Curse of Luvviepuffaroo has long since been defeated, I'm always happy when I can add another stellar celebration to the plus side.

Wedding Day - Not Just a Party and a Piece of Paper

Quibbit and I went to see the Sex and the City Movie last week, and the next day I said to him "I'm sure glad I watched all the SATC episodes in syndication ... I don't think the movie would have made as much sense to me if I hadn't. You really needed the context of the series to understand the impact."

Quibbit replied, "I think the movie was understandable either way. You're not so much talking about knowledge, as you're talking about appreciation".

Wow, he'd just said a mouthful.

I think every New York woman who has ever poured out her heart onto a computer screen while living in a yes-it's-cramped-but-it's-so-centrally-located! Manhattan (or Manhattan adjacent) apartment has fancied herself a Carrie Bradshaw of sorts. Everyone, of course, except Sarah Jessica Parker herself who admits to having no sense of fashion and never wearing heels in her own life. I bet if she took the quiz she'd find herself mid-way between a Miranda and a Charlotte.

Anyway, this isn't about the Sex and The City movie (except tangentially) (Although is it still necessary for me to say "spoiler alert?" Well ... I don't give the entire plot away ... but for the purists: Spoiler Alert). As I was saying, this isn't about SATC. This is about weddings vs. marriage, the difference between your best friend and the one who understands you best, and, as Quibbit says, the difference between understanding something vs. really appreciating it.

I haven't posted much about my upcoming wedding for a few reasons. The chief reason is that Quibbit's mom's death took up a lot of space in my heart, and made anything associated with the wedding very bittersweet. It's really difficult to plan such a joyous occasion knowing that someone you love will be missing.

The other reason is that I'm just not a Bridezilla, and since I'm an events coordinator for a living, this is really not something I need to document appointment by appointment, step by step and decision by decision. (We're having black magic roses in the bouquet! We're getting an antique Rolls Royce limo! My dress has a colored panel! Ugh, there are a thousand wedding blogs that deconstruct every dang element. If you want to hear drivel like that, please ... have at it.)

Unlike Carrie Bradshaw, I've never had this cadre of women who surrounded me -- in fact aside from a few short bursts that occurred in my mid-twenties, once I passed college I never had a group of friends at all. Or, to clarify a "group of friends". I have a lot of friends, and a solid number of friends I would put in that close circle, but we don't all hang out together the way Carrie and her gang do. Partly because for a long time I lived in a few different worlds and a lot of the women I held dear didn't really mix. Sure, they got along well when we'd gather for the milestone birthdays, but as far as a "Hey, I'm hanging out with the girls" type thing, well, that just never was my life. I'm more of a one-on-one type friend.

When I got engaged it made sense, emotionally, to ask my oldest friend to be my Maid of Honor. Not because I didn't value other friendships just as much, but more because she and I went through many watershed moments together, and there wasn't a big thing that ever happened to me that I didn't share with her. For most women, it makes sense that your sister, or (in my only-child case) your known-her-since-birth friend should automatically take that spot next to you as you stand up before everyone and declare to love one man for the rest of your life.
But it makes more sense if that woman who stands in that spot of honor not only knows the gravity of the day ... but appreciates it. As Quibbit says, it's understandable either way, but there's a difference between knowledge and appreciation.

After 4 months of being my MOH, but being more MIA than MOH, Ookanuba decided to admit that there was somewhere else she needed to be on my wedding day that took precedence. She'd been weighing the choices heavily, but ultimately -- to me -- if there was a choice at all, then there really was no choice. Her debate was succinct but heartfelt: "I've been here for the last 30 odd years, and I'll be here for the next 30 odd years ... it's really just one day."

She's right. Technically, it is just one day. Just like the day you're born is just one day, and the day your loved one dies is just one day, and the day you get a promotion is just one day. September 11th was just one day. In a very factual, clinical, scientific distillation -- these are all just days that line up one after another, and things happen as they happen.

Similarly, Shakespeare was just a man. The Sistine Chapel is just a building. The Olympics is just a game. You can reduce anything to it's basic element. But then there wouldn't be heroes, landmarks, shrines, or holidays, or dreams to aspire to. Money is just paper. Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.

I once heard something about the concept of faith ... that for those who believe, no explanation is necessary. For those who do not -- no explanation will do. If you don't put sacredness in this one day -- there is no magic phrase I can conjure that will make you do so.

I possibly would have understood the other side of this debate better if it came as a reality check on how I'd become carried away with the day and the glitter and the shine and the distraction. Or if I realized I'd put more preparation in 10.18.08 and completely ignored the preparation for the days that follow -- the actual marriage. But I'm not 25 anymore -- I don't have it in me to be distracted by what's born itself out as the window dressing. I love a good party. But I love a good life with a good partner even more. And Quibbit and I have been preparing for Marriage, Capital M much more than wedding ... small w.

As Carrie said to Mr. Big -- "It's just us ...". While Big saw Carrie making their day into "a circus" (big dress, huge guest list, coverage in the tabloids) she just saw the joy of celebrating the thing she'd wanted for so long. Quibbit, of course, is no Mr. Big. In fact, he's always been more Aiden than Big (as evidenced by the fact that he even WENT to see the SATC movie with me) -- so he knows it's just us. We haven't gotten lost in the details. We've been reveling in them, and (when they get overwhelming or odd) discarding those that don't work for us. We're not doing anything because it's 'how it's done'. We're doing everything because it's how we want it done.

Ultimately a wedding day is not just another day but with a big party. Marriage is not just a piece of paper. We are all the architects of our own relationships, nothing says that anything needs to follow a certain routine in order for your relationship to mean something ... to have validity, and to have gravity. But if you do chose to get married, your wedding day is the moment you take a step that solidifies something important to you; your love for one person that is so strong that you vow to partner with them for all that life has to offer be it curve balls, celebrations, milestones, upheavals or just the daily grind. A lot of people have been fighting for a long time to have the choice to sign that piece of paper. Tell Ellen and Portia that it's just another day. Tell every other same sex couple who want to pledge their love for each other in front of their friends and their family that it's just a piece of paper.

Taking someone else into your world as a mate is taking on all that they are. Their failures become yours, their successes become yours, and vice versa. It's not just a big party. It's not just a random day.

But I'm the type of person who celebrates anything -- it's part of the reason I went into the events management industry. Because I love gathering people in a room and creating a joyful energy that builds and builds, that binds everyone together and that creates a magical experience. Why WOULDN'T you want everyone one you love to gather in one big room, celebrating your happiness with you -- and making it theirs too? Why DOES everyone jump up, silly as it always is, the minute those first notes of NEW YORK, NEW YORK are played, and self-deprecatingly (or often just drunkenly) release themselves over to the ritual of the faux Rockettes kick line? Because it's a ritual. Because it's a common joy. Because, for a moment, we're all in each other's paths and we're all part of something bigger than ourselves. Now, if we all do it for a 30 year old Frank Sinatra tune, why wouldn't we do it for 2 people in love? (And, for the record, NY NY is not on my "must play" list. But I begrudge NO ONE their moment).

Back to why I even want to get married: Quibbit is the one person in the world who was able to strip away the hardened, cynical, sarcastic layers that had formed around me and make it okay to be vulnerable. He made me soft enough to be able to fall, because he'd always catch me. But he also made me strong enough to catch him when he stumbled. Loving Quibbit has been the most amazing journey I've ever made, and marrying Quibbit is the most amazing road map to a lifetime of future journeys. I don't want my MOH to just know that, or to understand it, but to fully appreciate it. So, as shocking as it -- I had to realize that Ookanuba can have knowledge of what a wedding means to her -- but not the appreciation of what it means to me. Neither of us is right, and neither of us is wrong -- again, we are all the architects of our own lives with the gift of working with our own rules. However, in order to participate as an Honor Attendant in someone else's momentous day, you DO need to be on the same page about what it means. You don't need to agree about the dress, the flowers, the choice of music, the limo, the venue, the cake, the shoes, the first dance, the color scheme, the wedding favors or the seating arrangement. The truth of the matter is, I don't particularly care what anyone thinks about the choices we've made for our wedding day. I care that Quibbit and I are happy, harmonious, always striving for growth, always working to be the best people we can be individually, and the best couple we can be together. We enhance each other, but we don't substitute each other for what we've already put in place be it friends, hobbies, or interests. We don't compromise for each other, but we do cooperate with each other. We communicated, we trust, and above all -- we make life happy for each other.

I waited an awfully long time to meet the love of my life, and I'm grateful that I'm a full-blown adult going into this marriage. Our relationship is the culmination of everything I'd set in motion alone for years. Why WOULDN'T I want to celebrate something so powerful? Every couple is unique unto themselves, and only the two people involved knows what goes on between them.

I've been lucky enough to be blessed with friends who are smart and understanding. When I called up Di to ask her if she'd step in as my MOH ... she agreed wholeheartedly, completely understanding that being asked second doesn't make you second choice. She'd unwittingly been my stand in MOH for all these months anyway, and someone who is precisely the person I know respects this huge step I'm about to take. I'm actually grateful that things worked out as they did, a feeling a peace came over me the minute all the pieces fell into place.

So ultimately, our little quartet is harmonious again -- Quibbit and I standing up for each other and promising to love, honor, and support each other ... and our two Honor Attendants who believe in our love, and the commitment we're making to our love, and our life together. Two wonderful people who believe in supporting us the way we choose to do it because they don't just understand us ... but they appreciate what it means to us.

Not just a party.

Not just a piece of paper.

Not just another day.

While I Was Out -OR- On Becoming a Grown Up

I knew I wasn't a baby anymore the day I could put my own socks on; I'd always had a little trouble getting them over the heel.

It was the early 70s and I was getting ready for kindergarten, sitting in the middle of my parent's bed … a song about a girl named Ruby was coming out of the tinny clock radio The shadow on the wall // Tells me the sun is going down // Oh Ruby don't take your love to town … and I was straining to get my heel into my sock. My finger was wedged, the sock was tight and cutting off circulation. I was yelling for my mom to come do it for me, come slip on that sock with that magic way she had. Then all of a sudden … POP. My foot was in. I was done. The song was still playing. I was absolutely amazed at my new powers. When mom came in to ask why I was yelling I told her about Ruby. She walked away like it was any other moment, like any other day … but it wasn't. For this one small thing, I didn't need her anymore. Some rites of passage are easy.

The other kind … the hard kind … well, that's the rite of passage I've been going through for the past few months. It's hard to write a blog that centers on frivolity when your days are centered on trying to figure out what life is all about.

Throughout my whole relationship with Quibbit I'd been distracted by how sick his mom Cindy was. She'd been diagnosed with breast cancer just a few months after we'd started dating and by the time I made it to his home town in Michigan for that first visit she greeted us in a wig – all her hair gone from radiation and chemo. Still, her smile was wide, and her eyes were bright with excitement at meeting me. Her huge heart made it easy to forget her wig ... and what having to wear one really meant.

When she went into remission it was a short victory and then it was a long un-victory as she realized she hadn't beaten this awful disease at all. She had, of course, hidden the worst from the ones she loved best, and by doing so ripped the band aid off quickly in the end, when it was too late for anyone to understand what was happening with enough time to make sense of it. Although, really, no amount of time would have ever been enough to make sense of it.

As time went on Cindy's illness was around me all the time, you couldn't take about her without thinking in terms of months or years … well, really just months. She called Quibbit one afternoon with concerns about how all TVs would have to be digital in 2009, but all I could think was ... "Will she be around long enough?" Every day, little things like that popped into my head. When setting a wedding date we chose the fall, just 8 months away ... hoping of course but still wondering Will she be around long enough?

I called Cindy optimistic to the point of delusion. I couldn’t tell if she really didn't find her illness all that daunting, or if she just recognized it and then decided to forget that she recognized it. (I think it was the latter; Cindy had been a nurse for all of her adult life. She had seen. She knew.) Whichever one … we found out about the cancer spreading to her bones and liver in an aside during a regular conversation. She might have been talking about an eye exam.

When we found out about the brain tumors we decided to go visit for Christmas. The fact that it took forever to get there was more tragic than a loss of time. For Quibbit, who saw his mom so infrequently, it was a loss of the balance of his mother's days.

Sitting with her one morning as she laughed gaily about this and that, serving up a breakfast that seemed to never end, she seemed particularly alive, in a way that only a dying person can seem. Her zest was unwavering, and she pulled out every ounce of herself in that trip, knowing that even it wasn't the last Christmas with her son, it was the next to last. How do you reconcile a visit that is saturated with the fact that this may be the last time that everything is normal?

Two months later, when Quibbit and I got engaged, Cindy was thrilled -- of all the parents, she was the happiest and the one looking most forward to having me as part of the family. When we called her on the cab ride home that night he joy leaped through the phone lines.

When my mom and dad spoke with her on the phone a few weeks later, Quibbit had high expectations of everyone getting along and laughing about things they found they had in common. He expected the conversation to go on for hours; of course I think it squeaked by at just under 5 minutes. Granted, everyone was a virtual stranger and miles away, not expecting to meet each other before the wedding, and not expecting to see much of each other after that. I think Cindy would have liked that to have been different. I think she would have liked a lot of 2008 to be different.

During the phone call my dad asked her if she was coming to the wedding. Unsaid were things like "if you're well enough to travel" … and of course anything past that.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said.

I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Late April Quibbit was on the phone with his sister and suddenly the truth came out; there had been doctor's visits and the news was bad. Three months, if nothing went wrong, three months for Cindy to live. If nothing went wrong.

Quibbit, always so calm and good, always the one to talk me off the ledge as I let things spin out of control, sat in his office and went numb; he never asks me for anything but that day he asked me to come get him and take him home.

We sat in a diner near my house and talked about what his sister had said; what was true, what was conjecture, what was speculation. Cindy had insisted that the news had been mis-conveyed – that three months was a worst case scenario, not a best. If someone could change anything with sheer force of will, this would have been one of those times.

There was a lot of crying. A lot of dark moments, a lot of existentialism. How do you reconcile your life when you're told you've got 3 months to live? How do you process that information? How do you admit that you're not ready? How do you say goodbye?

So much of the wedding plans were done with Cindy in mind; I wanted her to have a trip to New York that not only showed the excitement, joy, and rush of the city, but also one that reflected the life her son had created so far away from their little Michigan town. I wanted her to see how we lived. I wanted her to know.

We planned to go there for Mother's Day which fell on Quibbit's birthday this year, but then got a call. Things were bad. The liver cancer had turned Cindy jaundiced and she was being rushed to the hospital, 2 hours away. The doctor advised that if we were going to go … we should get going. We arrived on Sunday, May 4^th.

On May 8^th I sent out this note:

Last night, on May 7th, at around 9:00pm Quibbit's mother Cindy passed away. As many of you may know, she had been battling breast cancer which eventually spread to her liver, bones and brain.

Quibbit had gotten a call just 2 weeks ago that his mom's cancer was advancing very aggressively and that a new tumor had been discovered in her brain stem. The prognosis was 3 months.

Quibbit and I made plans to visit Cindy for Mother's Day, but by last weekend phone calls from his family confirmed that Mother's Day might be too late; so we arrived here on Sunday night instead.

Cindy was at Saint Mary's Cancer Treatment Hospital in Grand Rapids, just a few miles away from where Quibbit's married sister lives. The first night we got there Cindy was weak but still very engaged, and so happy to see us. We were able to show her photos from the night Quibbit proposed to me, and share some stories with her. She was tired, but happy. Still, we were told that the cancer was advancing rapidly, and we could see signs of that.

On Monday night Quibbit and I held an Intention Ceremony at Cindy's bedside; the Pastor came and did a blessing on our intention to marry, and we closed it with Cindy's blessing and a shared prayer. It broke our hearts to know that she wouldn't be able to make the trip to New York City and enjoy the wonderful party we're planning. It meant a lot to her to be able to participate in our marriage, and we were so happy to be able to do a ceremony before she began to fade even more.

On Tuesday Cindy was transported to the Faith Hospice, also in Grand Rapids. The space was beautiful, peaceful and filled with a caring, comforting staff. By the time Cindy was settled in she was only able to speak in short sentences.

The family gathered around her, sharing stories, singing her favorite hymns, sometimes being quite in the dark, and sometimes having joyful, lively conversations for her benefit since she was always so social and loved a good gathering. Even though she was now only able to indicate "yes" and "no" with some noises, she was still able to respond with laughter when I told a funny story in a broad southern accent. Hearing that laughter meant the world to me, and showed just how strong her spirit was, despite how weak her body was growing.

By yesterday it was clear that she could only hang on a few hours longer; Quibbit had sat beside his mother's bed all night long, comforting her, giving her whatever she needed and sleeping when he could. As we took turns keeping vigil it was hard to see her growing weaker and weaker ... hard to know that she herself was going through a period of transition which was frightening her. We all did what we could to make the journey easier for her.

By last night Quibbit and his sister were singing the hymns Cindy had picked out for her funeral, and she was facing them ... her breath shallow, her eyes unfocused, but her spirit finding comfort in the sound of her children's voices. It was some time during their singing that she quietly passed away. And while this happened far too quickly than any of us would have wanted, and while the end was very difficult and uncomfortable, I think that she went as gently and as peacefully as any of us could have wished.

It's been hard to get back into the swing of things since coming back home.

It's been hard for me to weigh what matters and yet of course, everything matters. I've been swaying between true sadness and loss and not wanting to plan a wedding at all -- to the other extreme of wanting to have the most joyful, celebratory, huge event of all, because that's what Cindy would have wanted. And ultimately, every day that we're here, alive, at peace, and fully engaged in everyone and everything around us is a day to celebrate.

Things like keeping up with a blog, at least in these last few months, have seemed as insignificant as putting on socks in the morning. And yet, I remember when putting on my socks alone was a huge victory. It was the first thing I remember doing without my mom. And I can't help but see this as another milestone, the tougher kind, but one nonetheless that has always been inevitable. It's meant to be this way -- you do one thing without your mom, and then another, and another, and eventually you must accept having to do everything without your mom.

So I'll put on my socks, and tomorrow I'll do it again, and so will Quibbit. And one day soon, when I walk down that aisle and see Quibbit waiting for me, I'll see his mom sitting in that first row, beaming at us, blessing us, and loving us as much as she can. She may have walked out of the room for a minute, but soon enough she'll join her heart with ours and celebrate all the wonderful gifts we've been given while we're here. And she'll be as beautiful as ever.