I'm going to start my day catching up with billytea's posts instead of reading the news. It's so much more pleasant.

If you get the chance to have a friend's wedding ( not the reception nessicarily, just the wedding) in you backyard, do it. The whole world apprriciates it. everyone is amazed and astonished. and they say nice things about your house and garden. and even nicer things about you .

Down Under was one of the songs played at the reception - sadly I had to defend it with my age. and White wedding. and lots of songs I didn't know. and Pump up the volume - which is not the most intelligent song ever written.

The bride wore red. The groom wore a blck suit with a manderin color that was beautifuly embroidered. His hair was died a red/ burgandy to match the wedding colors. The groom attendent his sister- - in burgandy. the bride's attenedent , her brother in a plain black version of the groom's suit. flower girls - burgandy - and they plonked the petals on the path - we just couln't convince them that to gently toss. ringbearsers - two little boys , one in a black suit the other in white - both with manderin collars with a little gold embroidery - were carrying red chinese take out boxes with the rings in them. They wer married by the bride's grandmother.

I've decided that my favorite traditon at weddings is the married people's dance. the groom's grandmother cried when she and her DH ended up last on the floor and the bride gave her the boquet.

The worst thing that happened at this wedding - I might have broken my big toe. Stoopid shoes. which are going in the garbage.

I might have broken my big toe. Stoopid shoes. which are going in the garbage.

owwwwwwww

I hope it's not an actual break. Even if it isn't, shoes that hurt that much deserve to be tossed in the garbage.

The worst thing that happened at this wedding - I might have broken my big toe. Stoopid shoes. which are going in the garbage.

Ouch! (This is why I always take my shoes off to dance at weddings. I have yet to meet a pair of heels my feet didn't hate.)

I had the equivalent of the "actor's nightmare" dream this morning -- I was throwing a cocktail party, and I forgot to make any food! People were arriving and saying things like "Ooh, I can't wait to see what Jess made this time!" and I was running out the door to buy chips and dip. It was very embarrassing. And of course, now I'm in the mood to plan a cocktail party.

Ow, beth. Big-toe~ma for fast healing, whatever it is.

Oh my word, Jess. You're having W's dreams.

You're having W's dreams.

Dear god I hope that's a typo. (Or else W is a name that needs explaining.)

beth, that sounds utterly amazing.

ION, waaah. I'm working on a new Puritan skirt and watching the Style channel, and it's breaking my heart. Right this second there's a makeover show happening, in which the parents and parents' friends of a little baby punky gothlette have all ganged up on her to demand that she go from Punk Queen to Trendy Teen. It's totally wrecking me. She's this sweet little thing with shiny shiny long Dawn-like (but blonder) hair and a collection of studded collars and little Sandman's Sister Death eyeliner art; she's been homeschooled for the last year because the bitchheads at her private school were so monstrous to her the year before, and now she's getting ready to go to public high school and her mom and stepdad are flipping out like mammals.

She's so cute and sad -- torn stripey tights and super high-top black Converse and a little black t-shirt that, she says proudly, she made herself three years ago on her rickety little sewing machine. And her mom and the mom's sanctimonious friend and the friend's little drip of a daughter all just ganged up on her, explaining that she looks "dirty" and "trampy" and that her little friend Annie won't be allowed to visit her anymore because she's such a terrible negative influence (the last time Annie visited, she came home wearing BLACK! LIPSTICK!!1!OMGWTF!).

And this 14-year-old stood her ground for a bit, and then she just started weeping, and choked out, "You say you know me and you know what I like, but this is what I like! This look is me. This is me. All this comes from my heart, and you're telling me you don't like it."

I so badly want Jilli to swoop in, beat the holy shit out of everyone with a steel-tipped parasol, and sweep this little babygoth off for comfort and hot tea and fanged-bunny snuggling.

The poor dear. I think we should adopt her.

And they wonder why kids run away. Ick.