I got my MRS in RBK.

Our wedding was the longest party I've never been to. If you're married, you know what I mean. Endless clusters of older men and women with margarine-color teeth, saying things like "Well, guess it's too late now!" (while poking Beef in the ribs), or asking when I'm going to pump out a baby. When am I going to pump out a baby? Every time anybody asks me, that's a one-month penalty. It's not like I didn't already get enough irritating conception advice from mom:

"Catch the first breath of a sulfur match in a candle-snuff and hold it firmly against your exposed lady-bits while coughing."

"Dress your wrists with a tincture of Lithia water and good Scotch whisky, as your blood is nearest the surface there. The whisky will encourage the bearing of boys."

"Never let him observe your sanitary truss, for it will put him off his affections indefinitely, and he may choose instead to lay with sailors or clerks."

THANKS MOM. Anyhow, we just got back from our honeymoon, a quiet little trip to Oregon where we lived in the woods and played mini-golf at an abandoned course that some wealthy Political Science students seem to have made in the 1970s (Beef found the rolled-up astroturf in a shed and set it out). It was wonderful. We lived out of the RV, dried our clothes on a clothesline, ate simple meals off of a picnic table that was dusty yellow from pine pollen, and made icy little piña coladas from a package at three every day. When we got back we got to go on an "in-house shopping spree" and open all the wedding gifts that were delivered while we were away. I guess the copper braising pot hit the pricing sweet spot, because we got seventeen of them. I think the only person who didn't get us a copper braiser was Todd, who gave us an off-registry spoon...probably so that he could come over and freebase out of it.

Oh well. It's good to be back and to have all the wedding drama behind us. It's only noon, but I think I'm going to make us a couple piña coladas and organize photos for the album (all the prints from the disposable reception-table cameras are done — there's a great sequence of Spongebath eating a drumstick and then smiling at the end).

XOXO,
Miss Lady

Wedding Bells!

Well, the engagement lasted for a year and I still love him as much as ever and we're starting to get things in place for the big event. The ceremony and reception will all be at Ray's, Téodor will do the cooking and serving, the invitations are at the copy shop, Téodor will DJ the dinner and after-party, Philippe will blow up balloons, Cornelius will officiate, Spongebath and Emeril will usher, and Téodor will take photos here and there. Some of the big areas I'm still concerned about:

1) Beef's family.
No one knows if Showbiz will show up, but Gramma K can be counted on to go to any event where buffet food can be secretly tucked into one's purse. His Uncle George and Aunt Nina will come (even though Nina had been hoping to be alone that weekend, George says), as well as Jszanus from Omaha, cousin Dave and his wife, and Fred. No one has been able to get in touch with his mom, and the last we heard she was living off the grid with some guy named Bobcat, down in Kern County. That isn't really promising news, because Kern County is probably the nation's #1 meth producing region, and guys named Bobcat tend to be twitchy and drive around in big 4x4's with doors missing. We have to set a table for them, but it's just going to make him feel terrible if (when) her seat is empty all night. Or will it be worse if it isn't?

2) My family.
It's weird the way heaven works. A few immigration rules changed in the 18th century and Dad, always the conservative, chose to save a little money and therefore have a tougher time moving around in the afterlife. I'm the only girl of his eighteen children, though, so I hope he bites his hat and he and mom wait in the extra lines. As for my brothers, who knows. They're all invited, so we'll see. Here's a copy of our immediate family tree — I'm not sure when this dates to, but we're all on there, and it's after Hoppy got sainted:

3) All the rest.
At some point you have to throw your hands in the air and let people take care of themselves. Showbiz shows up and needs a place to sleep? He's a grown man, he can fend for himself—I hear Motel 6 is accepting money these days. We run out of chicken and some folks have to make do with pasta? I will not worry about that on my special day. Showbiz brings some freeloading friend who's working an angle? Spongebath kissed my hand and showed me his can of mace, all in one motion. You don't need the use of your legs if you are alert and can spray poison.

With that bit of wisdom, I'm off to worry that my dress isn't going to fit, that the truffles I made for favors are going to have bloom all over them, and that the price of stamps is going to go up before people can return their stamped postcards. Among other things.

XOXO, with an X,
Molly

PS: Nearly forgot -- the song that's been keeping me sane.

Another solo chat with Ray

Ray stopped by while Beef was out, and once again I could tell that he wanted to invite us over for dinner, but felt weird doing it because "the man of the house" wasn't in. Atypically for him, he actually sat down and chatted over some wine for longer than two minutes...maybe he's finally getting comfortable around me!

- + -

RAY: [knocks on open door] Hey hey HEY what does the government SAY!

ME: I give up! What does the government say?

RAY: Hey, chica! Beef home?

ME: No, he's at Walgreen's getting some medicine for his toes. What does the government say?

RAY: Huh? Oh. Probably somethin' like a raspy whisper, real menacing, like, "You gonna diiiiie, sucker!"

ME: I don't think the government really wants us to die, because then we couldn't pay it money.

RAY: Yeah, but if we die they get like fifty percent of our estate tax...I don't know, I'm just sayin', I been down on government since I played that game. You and Beef got dinner plans?

ME: No, not really. I was thinking of doing smoked salmon with some pasta. Will you join us?

RAY: So Beef'll be back for dinner? Dig. You know, I actually like smoked salmon if it ain't too fishy...you ever try some smoked salmon and it's hell of ass?

ME: Yeah, this is mild stuff. It's the kind Beef likes too, and he's super-sensitive to things that are hell of ass.

RAY: That's how you can tell he's a sane man. Those curtain-wearin' Russian grandmas, got like three different kinds of curtains tied around them as an outfit, ankles thick as the dickens with black shoes that look like they got baked in the oven, or raunchy old Eskimo people, man, they eat on some smelly-ass fish. That action is horrid. That action is not any kind of way.

ME: I picked up some nice wines after work today, I'll pour us a glass.

RAY: [loosening up] Daaamn. You know I got a quench on, right?

ME: It's after five, we're good. [gets wine]

RAY: [drains first glass] Wow. That just happened! [smiles]

ME: I didn't know you were so thirsty! [fills his glass again]

RAY: Well, just tryin' to mellow up. Old Ray been havin' a rough week.

ME: What's up, the third person?

RAY: Ohhhh, this and that. You know, I don't know if I could do what you guys are doin'.

ME: You mean getting married?

RAY: I just don't know if it's in old Ray's bones. I got a good heart, but it jumps around, you know? I might be all on a knee with some roses for Boliqua at the Stila counter, but next thing you know a spicy little sauce-pot is fillin' out her shirt at the grocery store, and...I'm sorry. I ain't mean to be crass to a lady.

ME: Well, I don't think you've been in love yet. You get really excited about eye candy, and because you're a passionate, imaginative person, you let yourself run away with your daydreams.

RAY: You know...that's IT! Damn! How is it women always see right to the quick of a guy? I'm like Robin Hood, but with love.

ME: I don't think you've ever had your heart broken, so you're sort of careless with it.

RAY: Oh, I've had my troubles. I can't let you say that.

ME: Did Tina break your heart?

RAY: Tina? Naw, man. Chick is dumb as a cough drop. She just smelled nice and was usually in bed.

ME: Did she ever hurt you, though? Sometimes even people we don't respect can make us feel bad.

RAY: Well, there was this one time. She was supposed to get this new queen-sized mattress delivered, and I knew she needed help gettin' it up the stairs at her apartment, so I waited around for her to call me. I waited and waited, and finally it's like eight o'clock, so I called over there, all anxious and worried that the mattress never showed up. Turns out, she had this big security guard friend of hers, Abado, carry it up. I was like, why didn't you call me to help? I thought we had a thing here? She just acts kind of surprised and goes, I didn't call you 'cause it was heavy. I didn't call you 'cause it was heavy. That dug at me. I kind of went off the hook and was like, "you know, they ain't stop cookin' steaks at Outback just 'cause you ain't there!" We were supposed to go to Outback Steakhouse that night, you know, but I went by myself, which was stupid because I hate that cheesy place and I had only made the reservation because she liked it.

ME: What did you have?

RAY: I had the Kookaburra Porterhouse Quartet. I remember it 'cause it came with this really hot clear sauce that they said was supposed to be white. The manager came over to apologize and offered me a free dessert, you know, since those places always have tons of dessert goin' bad, but I was like, can you just bring the white sauce? He pretended to pop himself on the forehead, did this little laugh, and came back with like a pint of the white sauce, which turned out to be ranch dressing.

ME: What was the clear sauce?

RAY: Heh! I should have asked. It didn't have any smell. I...damn, I really opened up just now! Man, was I talkin' for like half an hour? I'm sorry!

ME: Not at all! See, that's what it's like to actually talk. Women talk all the time, and men just bottle it up inside, which is why you like to watch collisions on television.

RAY: Do I owe you like a hundred bucks? Is that what Frasier gets?

ME: [laughs] This one's on the house.

RAY: [eyes empty glass] You mean, like the wine?

ME: [laughs again] Exactly. I'll go get the bottle.

RAY: You know, Frasier liked wine. He liked it so much that Kelsey Grammer got his bad self a DUI!

- + -

At that point Beef showed up with some steaks that had been on sale, so pretty soon we were back at Ray's lighting up the grill. He reverted back to his old self almost immediately, but I bet now that he's got the taste for opening up, he magically appears the next time he sees Beef head off with the reusable grocery bags.

Ray is so grumpy about running for President!

Ray is so grumpy about running for President! Ever since he got elected Mayor and held that press conference where he made a couple really basic points about how life could be improved, I think it's been really stressful for him. The media just took off with his comments about federal agents disposing of petitioners who bother you outside of supermarkets, and busboys who wear extremely strong cologne at restaurants...he's become such a public darling, and I think he really didn't even want to. I even saw on Gawker how he'd become the "poster boy for common sense in real-time politics." Sure, that's a mantle that's needed a name put to it for some time, but Ray's not really like that.

In general, Ray might like to portray a big party-boy image, but from what I've seen over the years he mainly likes to stay around his house and show his friends a good time. Sure, he'll dart off to Antibes or Sicily on a whim — money and connections make that as easy as a phone call when you're as wealthy as him — but much of the time he's just deeply, deeply stoned, lying on his stomach on the living room carpet, concentrating on an album. (This afternoon he was face-down to Sheena Easton's "9 to 5 (Morning Train))."

This whole Mayor/President thing might be something he feels like he has to do because "he's the man," but I don't think it's something he wants to do. It's taking him outside of his comfort zone. He's used to hanging out with those guys, but he's a joker. He's not a paperwork or meetings guy. I don't even think he has any paper at his house.

Ramones Wedding

I didn't think this would be a sticking point, but Beef really wants The Ramones to be represented in some way on our wedding day. I don't want the priest to have long black hair and chianti-tinted John Lennon glasses, but I'm flexible, even though I'm not their biggest fan.

Don't get me wrong. The Ramones have their place in things, which is usually on a cheap car radio while the sole occupant of the car gets out to buy a package of frosted Donettes and some Camels from 7-11 at six in the morning. It's frosty in suburban New Jersey that day, and he slips a little on some black ice, but doesn't fall. To me, that's The Ramones.

I love that Beef loves them, they're right up his alley. I just didn't see how they'd play a part. Maybe play some of their songs during the last few dances, when the older, stiff people have left and everyone's too trashed to remember that we played Teenage Lobotomy on the most special day of our lives.

The Achewood A-List! November 12, 2007!

...it's the Achewood A-List, with your host Molly Says!

Ray stopped by this afternoon — he didn't really say why, but I think he was trying to invite us over for dinner. Since Beef wasn't around, and I didn't know how late he'd be back, I think Ray felt awkward just inviting me over for dinner. That's just like him — kind of a "guy's guy," you know. He doesn't really know how to talk to women for more than two minutes unless he's got the bedroom as a goal.

RAY: [at door] Hey hey say what say say!

ME: Hey Ray! What's up? That a new tracksuit?

RAY: Daaamn, lady! You pimpin' much data on my threads! Yeah, it's the latest Fila. They sayin' Pelé sports this horrid baby when he watches TV this year. See, I had a little "P" embroidered on the cuff of my remote hand. [points]

ME: Wow, so you dress like a guy who is watching TV?

RAY: Ain't be that way with Pelé, baby. Dude is cement and glass, ten stories high.

ME: Since I don't know who Pelé is, I'll just have to say sorry and offer you a glass of wine.

RAY: Pelé is a guy who would want me to have that wine.

ME: [gets wine] So, what brings you over?

RAY: Oh, just coolin' it. Checkin' on my favorite engage-o's. Plannin' goin' well?

ME: We're holding out for summer. Beef's so nervous about getting rained out of our outdoor plans, he's not taking any chances. He thinks the middle of July.

RAY: That's cool, that's cool. Sunlight looks wonderful comin' off of...off of hair. In wedding photos. You know, kind of 70s. Anyhow.

ME: Right, exactly. Would you like to stay for dinner?

RAY: Whatchu guys cookin'?

ME: Not much. Beef's out helping Emeril and Spongebath clean and store their patio furniture for the winter, and I was just going to microwave something light from Trader Joe's.

RAY: Damn. Definitely don't go to the trouble for me.

ME: It's really no trouble.

RAY: Seriously, I got some Trader Joe's lettuce cups at home I got to get to before they go brown. I was just gonna do like a sausage cups thing.

ME: Okay, cool. But you're always welcome, you know?

RAY: You are too good to me. You are a serious lady. You guys call me if you want to shoot some stick later, dig?

ME: That sounds fun! If Beef gets home before too late, I'll have him call you.

RAY: Rock on. Would be good to see you guys before I lose you two to each other!

ME: [hugs] Thanks for coming by.

RAY: It was nothin', mamacita.

[TOTAL ELAPSED TIME: 1m58s]

- - -

Philippe called! It was so cute. He wanted to practice singing Happy Birthday and he thought I would have the nicest opinion. Not sure who he wanted to sing it to—if anyone—but it was kind of sweet.

- - -

That's all I know for now, Mollyheads!

xoxoxo,
Molly (Miss Lady)

Roast Beef didn't make his brother a groomsman!

For God's sake, Roast Beef set up a whole list of groomsmen but didn't even manage to make his own brother one of them. I guess I'll have to add him to my bridesmaid list, because other than Darlene, my hairdresser, I don't know any chick in this town, let alone this century. Darlene's been a confidante since 2003, I think, and I know pretty much everything about her and her two hairdressing boys. Seriously - one of them's been through the Robert Cromeans and Paul Mitchell salon systems, and the other is starting on the same path. Boy #1, Guillermo, is getting over a hundred bucks an hour for color work, and Boy #2 is just about ready to quit his job at Chili's (I hear he's actually too forward as a waiter, sometimes sliding into the booth with patrons — big no-no).