And so, yesterday Neil’s toasting bagels. And then we smell something burning. And then I hear, ‘Babe, the toaster’s on fire.’ And I look up from my non-blog writing to see flames. Flames in the middle of my toaster. Neil runs over and unplugs the toaster. Throws a damp cloth over it. My ‘Oh shit!’ was very helpful, in case you’re wondering. And our smoke detector works. There’s that, too. The toaster is now downstairs waiting to be taken to…
As of Saturday, I’ve been blogging here for three years. I wasn’t online much over the weekend, I was kind of busy eating baked goods in an art gallery and then laughing because I know during this show. I planned to write when we got home, but I found myself watching Breaking Bad instead. I got up at 5 am on Sunday, and was depressed for the rest of the day. I needed ice-cream and a stupid movie so I…
‘Are you going make a speech?’ Neil asked me, before and during the wedding. ‘I’ll do one if you forget anything in yours,’ I said. ‘I won’t. But you should say something, anyway. I don’t want a sexist weddingslashmarriage.’ ‘Reason a billion and 31 why I love you.’ Anyway. During his speech, my Dad told a story I mentioned in this post, and said that Lorna’s Dad is the best title he’s ever had. Well, being his daughter is pretty…
‘Where’s Neil?’ ‘There he is,’ Dad says. ‘Where?’ ‘There. The guy in the kilt, waitin’ for you.’ ‘Holy shit.’ For awhile, I couldn’t see him. And then he was all I saw. Somehow, we made it down the aisle. And Daddy’s poking me in the shoulder. ‘Flowers,’ he says. ‘What?’ ‘Give Jess your flowers.’ ‘Oh, yeah. HERE!’ At which point I might have given my Maid of Awesome a giant paper-cut. In the face. Because, y’know, my flowers were paper.…
Growing up, there was a church down the street from the house where my heart lived. Grandma and I would pass the church on the way to spend my allowance on baseball cards, Cherry Coke bubble-gum and Wintergreen Tic-Tics. Most Saturdays, there was a wedding at the church and Grandma and I would try and catch a glimpse of the bride, but never stayed long enough to seem like we were staring, or wedding-crashers. ‘Think that’ll be me someday?’ ‘Of…
