The Wedding

Thirty minutes after I put on my brand new pair of dress pumps (black satin sling backs with a fake, silvery jewel accent on the straps), my feet started to hurt. The heel was just a little bit higher than I am used to wearing, causing my feet to slide forward, jamming my toes into the pointy tip. I don't know how other women do this on a daily basis. Wearing heels higher than 1.5 inches is so unnatural not to mention uncomfortable. But I decided to tough it out because, as Billy Crystal's Fernando Lamas says, it is better to look good than to feel good. And look good I did in my wispy long, black evening skirt worn with a sparkly black, square necked blouse. I didn't feel as put together as I would have liked because I didn't have time to wash and curl my hair so I twisted my limp mane into a bun and secured it with jeweled chopsticks. Not my best look but it would have to do.

The ballroom where the wedding and reception were held is located in one of downtown's most historic locations. The trey ceilings boasted intricate moldings and supported several large, crystal chandeliers. Huge columns adorned in gold fleur de leaf flanked the wedding area while shimmering champagne-hued drapery hung between the columns serving as a visual wall and creating a chapel-like atmosphere.

Although the setting was gorgeous, the seating was very uncomfortable. The small, dainty chairs were crammed so close together that my shoulders frequently rubbed against my neighbor and the tightly constructed rows ensured that my knees stayed planted in the backside of the woman in front of me for the duration of the ceremony.

The large collection of bridesmaids looked elegant as they paraded down the aisle one by one. Their chocolate satin gowns complimented the decor of the ballroom perfectly. The bride wore an antique white strapless dress that fit snugly along the bodice and hips before gradually flaring out into a short, chapel-length train.

The bride and groom, although unmistakably happy, were not overly sentimental. They recited their vows without any difficulty or visible signs of emotion. The wedding itself was short and sweet. There was no singing or music to draw out the ceremony. Almost as soon as the wedding started, it was over.

After the procession, guests were asked to wait on the mezzanine while the wedding area was transformed back into a ballroom filled with tables draped in crisp white linens and dotted with red rose petals. Those same uncomfortable chairs from the wedding were also used for the reception and I stared at them longingly from above as my feet began to swell and throb with pain.

Forty-five minutes, 3 million pictures and one huge helping of shrimp dip later, we were finally allowed back into the ballroom where guests quickly formed lines to consume the extremely mediocre (and expensive) hors d'oeuvres.

As I sat at my table and watched the bride and groom perform their obviously choreographed first dance, I couldn't help but wonder what The Boyfriend's and my wedding might be like. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to finally have our lives joined together permanently. I daydreamed about our first dance and how I would rather do the funky chicken and the robot than pay to learn some stuffy dance moves that we would never use again. I fantasized about us engaging in the social busyness that a reception requires while occasionally catching each other's eye across the room and exchanging knowing glances in anticipation of our wedding night, the culmination of the day's activities.

Unfortunately, my daydreams will have to go unfulfilled for a while. The Boyfriend and I have vowed to move slowly. Not until this time next year will we reevaluate our relationship and determine for sure which direction we want to go in. In spite of our slow, deliberate pace, weddings and the subsequent girly dreams they inspire often team up with my growing hatred of long distances to create an impatience that sometimes overwhelms me.

Goals

Recently, The Boyfriend and I each made a list of 5 goals that we wanted to accomplish in the next 3 years. None of the goals we came up with were outlandish and all of them were fairly practical and attainable. I wrote the goals down as we were naming them and sent them in an email to The Boyfriend for posterity's sake. Always up for making a competition out of anything, The Boyfriend suggested that the loser perform certain. . .favors. . .for the winner until the winner determines the finish. I accepted his challenge and decided that unless I wanted to, as coffeypot would say, learn to suck a golf ball through a 20-foot garden hose, I'd better get cracking.

One of my goals is to take 3 six-week writing courses over the next year. I've never taken any sort of writing classes whatsoever and was a bit nervous about the whole thing but felt that it was time to get serious about improving my craft. Published authors say all the time that the way to become a better writer is simply by writing. But I'm finding that I need a bit more than that. I need some guidance to ensure that my skills are progressing in the right direction. I also need the encouragement and critique from other aspiring writers. A writing class promised to provide just the type of challenge I needed.

I signed up for an Internet course -- Beginning Writer's Workshop. An Internet writing class seemed like the perfect setting for a timid soul like myself. The anonymity makes it easier to submit your work for review by your classmates. Besides, standing up and reading while 40 eyeballs burn holes in your flesh is very nerve wracking.

One of our first writing assignments was designed to hone our descriptive writing skills. The teacher asked us to light a candle and then write one paragraph describing the candle. We were encouraged to let ideas emerge from the description and to allow emotion to come into play.

Below is the assignment I submitted. You may notify the Pulitzer committee if you wish.

The Candle on my Desk

The candle burning on my desk was a housewarming gift I received almost 2 years ago. Tonight is it's inaugural lighting. Even though the candle is barely the size of a shot glass, it casts a mighty shadow. The image projected on the wall of my office makes my computer monitor look as if a giant owns it. The flame on the candle is strong and bright without being overpowering. It's warm, yellow glow is the perfect amount of light for a cozy dinner. I blow out the candle quickly to save it for a more romantic occasion.

Okay, so I won't hire an agent just yet. But what I'm learning to do that the words may not reveal is to trust myself and the creative voice inside me. I'm also learning to tune out my inner critic so that ideas flow freely without judgment. I'm learning to harness the power of my critical voice so that it may be used to build up a piece and make it better instead of tearing it down. In essence, I'm learning to take the very first steps toward becoming a better writer.

On dryers and making apologies

I have been fortunate enough that most of the apartments I've lived in during my lifetime have always had a washer and dryer located inside my living quarters. Only in college was I ever subjected to the indignities of communal washing. And that was so long ago that I barely even remember the embarrassment I experienced while watching my unmentionables tumble in the large, industrial dryers. For the last 16 years, my unmentionables have tumbled in the privacy of my own home.

As with all conveniences, they can easily be taken for granted, causing you to not fully realize how good you have it until you come across someone who is not as blessed as you are. In my mind, not having your own washer and dryer is almost akin to living in a third world country. I want to adopt that "underprivileged" person who is forced to wash and dry their clothes in public and send them .25 cents a day so that one day they too can experience the joys of laundering in their own home.

The Boyfriend is one of those poor souls who is unable to wash his clothes in his own apartment. Once a week or so, he packs up his dirty clothes and does his laundry at his aunt's house a few blocks away.

Ordinarily the opportunity to do laundry for free in a semi-private environment would seem like a pretty good deal. Unfortunately for The Boyfriend, his aunt's dryer has not worked properly for some time making an already long process even longer and effectively negating a portion of the benefits he receives.

The Boyfriend and I were joking one night about how long it takes him to do laundry when I remarked, "Why didn't your aunt get the dryer fixed instead of buying a big-screen television?"

Sure, it was a tacky thing to say but I was joking. It's not like I actually expected her to forgo the purchase of a big-screen television in favor of repairing the dryer. I was simply trying to be funny by making a offhanded comment. Besides, I felt pretty confident that my joke would never make it past the two of us.

I was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

A few weeks later The Boyfriend revealed that his aunt doesn't have a very high opinion of me. When pressed further for an explanation he added, "Well, I told her what you said about..."

"Oh, God," I groaned as my head fell into my hands. He didn't finish his sentence. There was no need because I knew exactly what he had told her.

The Boyfriend tried to reassure his aunt that I was just joking and meant no harm but she wasn't hearing it. She was offended. And, to be honest, she had every right to be. Joking or not, it was a horrible thing to say.

My first inclination was to call and apologize but I don't know The Boyfriend's aunt that well and wondered if I would be making too big a deal of it all. I decided to let it slide. When The Boyfriend mentioned a few weeks later that his aunt had fixed the dryer but was still mad and asked for my phone number to, presumably, give me a piece of her mind, I knew it was time for me to act.

I called The Boyfriend's aunt and offered a sincere, heartfelt apology. I added that even though my comment to her nephew had been in jest and was without malice, it was still tacky and uncalled for.

During our phone conversation, The Boyfriend's aunt tried to downplay her offense, making it seem as if she hadn't given my comments a second thought. I knew better. I knew that she was mad as hell. But she was very gracious. She accepted my apology and assured me that "all is well" between us.

I don't know for sure if all is well or not. Some people can hold grudges for a long time and I don't know The Boyfriend's aunt well enough to decipher if she is one of those people. Sometimes though, a simple apology can go a long way toward smoothing the most ruffled of feathers.

I hope I did just that.

A little too racially sensitive?

Recently, three employees who worked for the local municipal theatre were fired by the city for leaving hangman's nooses dangling from the stage rigging. Another city employee, who happened to be African-American, saw the nooses and complained to his superiors that he was "hurt and offended" by the racist message they conveyed.

The stagehands claimed that they were unaware of any racial connotations surrounding nooses. They stated that they were simply practicing their knot tying (knowledge of knots can be very useful in stage work) and left the nooses hanging so that the ropes would stay off the floor while it was being refinished.

City officials found it improbable that anyone living in the South would be unaware of the racial imagery associated with nooses. In addition, officials questioned why the men, if they were indeed concerned about keeping objects off the floor while it was being refinished, left a chair in the stage area.

After an investigation it was determined that the young men created a hostile work environment and they were relieved of their duties.

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I am interested in knowing what you think readers? Were the men intentionally trying to create a hostile work environment? Or were they just goofing off without giving a second thought to the racial overtones associated with nooses? Do you think the city act appropriately? Or did they overreact?