Boom chick a boom, boom chick a boom, boom chick a boom!
So, back in July, I warned that the whole farm-barbecue wedding thing might well drive me mad.
And so it's November, and it was driving me mad. So, no more farm, I think. Mark is going to talk to the Satellite Ballroom people tomorrow, and I am going to call the University about reserving Garden VIII for the actual wedding.
It is going to be the fucking bomb and it will not turn me into a goddamn harpy. I mean, it's what, eight months prior to the wedding and I already felt like a goddamn harpy. What is that? That is crap, that's what it is.
Maybe I will take up Rod Smith's idea for having an ice sculpture that is the word "Democracy." It will finally melt away at my royal nuptials. In a garden designed by Thomas Jefferson. Awww, yeah.
I am alive. I have been eating Indian food and reading Raymond Chandler novels. Also gluing many things, and continuing my relentless Xmas shopping.
BTW, do you want an Xmas card?