Wedding Report

I know, I know, so little mrpeenee news of late. I've been so distracted what with the wedding, the big party to celebrate the wedding and bronchitis to make the entire thing more challenging. Also, the cat keeps puking. But be assured my darlings, my thoughts are with you always, always.

The wedding? Fabooski. We got there on time and then stood around FOREVER in the clerks office waiting our turn. We met commissioner Mary Ortez who married us and she was a sweetie. She was very firm that we needed to exchange rings as part of the ceremony, which we hadn't planned to do, but she said it was the best part, so, being good sports, we went along with it and she was right. Not that I actually remember the ceremony, it's all sort of a blur now, but I do remember being struck with how charming and sweet without being saccharine it was. We stood at the top of the big stairs under the rotunda, right in front of the bust of Harvey Milk (how appropriate) with our best friends beside us
and I patted R Man on his beard and then, somehow, we were married. It doesn't feel any different, but I like it anyway.

Lunch at One Market was terrific.

We ran around like crazy mad monkeys on Friday getting ready for the party on Saturday which, by the time it started, had worn me to a frazzled mess (and I was sick) but once it got under way, I had a good time and was vastly amused by all our friends. I just wish you could have been there. We wound up having burritos for everybody who stuck it out. Mmmm, burritos.

I've reveled in my newlywed bliss since then by coughing vigorously (it's become something of a hobby,) taking Vicodan, and napping. I went back tot he doctor today and he said the stuff in my lungs (I believe the technical term is "snot") is still there, hanging around like it doesn't have anything better to do. I'm annoyed, but I'm also through with errands, so I'm taking to my bed to recuperate. If you want me, I'll be filed under "Mimi Violetta."

Bridezilla, the Gay Edition

Today's our wedding, hoo dee hoo hoo. It's a beautiful blue, warm day here, perfect for a trip to City Hall.

R Man and I will both be wearing suits, grey for him and black for me and I'll have on my favorite, most beautiful tie. Very respectable, very well put together.

As for the traditional rest, here's the rundown:
Something Old
After my mother died and I was back in Texas for the funeral aftermath (remind me to tell you all about how I missed my mother's funeral. Fascinating story) I went straight to her jewelry box and boosted the rhinestone necklace I was so fascinated with as a little girlyboy. It's very demure (for rhinestones;) just a single strand of stones, hardly bigger than a chocker. Since it's the oldest wearable thing I have, I'll wear it under my shirt and tie as a sentimental salute to my family. I'm not telling anyone else about it, just you and me, it's our little secret

Something New
A fresh bandaid for the place where Saki the cat bit me last night.

Something Borrowed
I never can keep track of those shirt stays that keep your collar stiff. Since I've lost all mine, I have to borrow some from R Man.

Something Blue
My lucky underwear. Duh.

And a sixpence for her shoe.
Who the hell has a sixpence? And who wants to try and walk around all day with a coin in your shoe? I shall substitute a Vicodan for my mouth. To swallow. I still have bronchitis, although much better, and a little chemical oomph can only help.

I gotta go, I'm getting married.

Wedding Bell News

stinkylulu reminds us that we mentioned, more than once, that we're getting married, but then sort of drifted off topic. As many of our friends will testify, drifting off topic is rather a speciality of ours. Just wave something shiny around and, wham. Anyway, here's the news.

We get married this Thursday in City Hall. Our dear friends Urbanstreetpitrate and Diane von Austinberg are flying in for the festivities, which will include a wedding lunch at the schmancy One Market. Another good friend knows the catering manager there and has arranged some gala surprises, yay. As long as it's not mariachi bands, I'm delighted with it.

Diane's annual visits are always something to look forward to and Urban has been missing far too long. Diane and I like to cook together (and how many people can you say that about?) and are the terror of thrift stores all over town. Urbanstretpirate is sweet and charming and the perfect friend to hang with. In short, the bestest wedding a poof could hope for.

That's MISS Plop Hero to You

Diane von Austinberg (who arrives here on Wednesday, lending light and love to our wedding and risotto to our dinner plans. Tremendous yay.) forwards this fascinating tool to discover what you name might be were Gov. Palin to have spawned you.

http://politsk.blogspot.com/2008/09/sarah_13.html

Mine is Plop Hero Palin. I love it. Both sordid and noble, much like me. Maybe Sarah really is my mother. I think I'll go shoot something now.

Doctor Who?

Darlings, the last couple of days have just been a whirl of glam doctor visits and many, many trips to the pharmacy. For one thing, our insurance company refused to refill R Man's pain medicine, saying he'd uses the first one up too fast. "What's it to you, you old biddy?" I wanted to ask, but instead back to the doctor for a new scrip and then back to the thrilling Walgreen's on Castro Street.

Walgreen's on Castro is 24 hours and big ass big, it churns out so much medicine it makes the Mayo Clinic look like 7-11, so we always go there. Unfortunately, so do plenty of other people, people struggling with English as a Second Language, and people struggling with Too Loaded to Stand Up and, worst of all, people struggling with You Are Too Stinky to Stand So Close to Me, Would You Back the Fuck Up, Please?

So, multiple trips later, meds all straighten out, pretty much, and this morning a jaunt down for an MRI to have a look see at R Man's back. Since his back pain is so severe he can't sit in the car, I made a bed in the back seat for R Man. He was very flattering about how luxurious it made the experience. The staff at eh MRI were nice and I abandoned him to their tender mercies while I went down to Sweet Inspiration on Market Street for a mixed berry Danish. Mmmm, delish.

Walking back, I realized the cold I've had all week was making the trek up a weeny ass little hill an absolute ordeal. I had asked my doctor yesterday for cough syrup since I can't stop hacking once I get going and he insisted I come in this afternoon. Oh boy, another trip to the doctor. He listened to the swampy sounds my lungs seem to be making and announced I have bronchitis. Of course, yet another trip to Walgreen's for antibiotics and cough syrup. And stinky, fucked-up guys who can't speak English.

Our last medical visit of the week will be one to the neuro-surgeon tomorrow to read R Man's MRI and see about treatment. I take it as a matter of faith a prescription will be involved. If I spend any more time in Walgreen's, I plan on demanding retirement rights and stock.

As for the illustration here, thanks to Jason over at Night is Half Gone for reminding me of Cherry Ames, Nurse Bitch. Isn't she just the picture of lovingly, but firmly reprimanding the distinguished looking patient for being such a sissy about rectal thermometers?

Danse of the Houseboys

I'm terribly afraid the houseboys may have found some of R Man's pain pills and taken to self medicating themselves, the naughty pusses. Certainly the interpretive danse festival they insisted on putting on in the hopes of raising his poor, battered spirits seemed, well, excessively odd, even for the boys. Gustavus Schivangus, for instance, kept getting all twisted up in the drapery scrims they were using as backdrops. I finally had to use the garden shears to cut him loose.

R Mania, Take Two

Oh sweetums, I know the posts have been sort of thin on the ground of late. I've been busy being a ministering angel to R Man. The poor lamb is well and truly suffering form his disc problems. His left leg hurts excruciatingly, to the point where he can't walk and his pain meds do almost nothing except make him nauseated. Things are not bright and happy around Chez Peenee. A couple of doctors have mentioned that these things frequently just get better, but that takes time.