Thought you might like to know how the brain of a 43-year-old woman who’s about to get married for the first time in nine days (or sooner, depending on when you read) works:
“Oh my gosh did I remember to tell the florist I need three roses for the ceremony I shouldn’t spray tan again this week because I’ll look like Oprah in The Color Purple for my wedding not that there’s anything wrong with that which reminds me that I need to starve myself completely for the next nine days oh my gosh what time is lunch which reminds me that I’m going to have to get a lot of rest and maybe a massage because nary a life event without a menstrual flow and if I don’t relax this PMS is going to last for the entire first year of marriage which they say will happen anyway but I’m not concerned since Dan and I have been living together for a year already and his biggest fault is that he’s too close to perfect I better send another email to Pam because I still don’t know what she wants for dinner which reminds me I have to wear my wedding shoes before the day so they don’t kill me damn those idiotic weather forecasters New Hope gutter scum calling for thunderstorms the weekend of the wedding WHAT DO THEY KNOW although the farmer’s almanac predicted it way back when and I do tend to live in denial my fault guess I should just be grateful everyone’s still alive to see me get married I WANT COOKIES so sick of salads and still chubby I’m addicted to corn and cherries this summer even though corn sticks in my teeth like a lace thong not good I’M SO BLOATED I hope my guests don’t think I look like Randy Jackson before gastric bypass but I haven’t had a pizza in months maybe that’s why I’m cranky and still I’m going to be the ugliest bride in creation they should call like Ripley’s Believe it or Not I have no idea why Dan wants to marry me really I just can’t wait to eat a pizza that’s all I want all I’ve ever wanted which reminds me that I have to fill out the form to change my name gotta find it first another Sherer bites the dust at least that’s what my dad said before I promised that I’d keep it as a middle name but not hyphenate because once you do that you’re locked into using both names until you’re wearing a toe tag which I’m not sure I want to do well I definitely don’t want to wear a toe tag at least not yet anyway that way if the earth moves and my knees thin out and Elvis shows up on The View and I publish a book I’d love to be Jill Sherer Murray which will be my last name and it’s a good one especially considering my friend Jen’s sister had to change her name from Payne to like Kotlowzowski but I guess there is karma and that’s her penance for being young and able to eat whatever she wants and look great in bubble skirts can’t believe they’re wearing them again they should be banned with cigarettes I hope to God I can get a good night’s sleep before the wedding since my brain won’t shut off and I’m going to do shoulder lifts every night from now until the wedding so I have some definition in my shoulders to deflect the guests from my overabundant arms even though I may not be able to toss my bouquet (or hug) but that part of the ceremony is overrated anyway why don’t designers make wedding dresses with sleeves thank you hormones I swear my boobs are squished in my dress which I’m now calling my costume because really that’s what it is and why can’t it be black I hope everybody likes where they’re seated for the reception but I’m counting on being too liquored up to care on the day which for me requires three sips of cheap Merlot just deep breathe Jill you’ll be fine just remember to enjoy this time because it’s going to go by really fast SO BE HAPPY DAMMIT BE HAPPPPPYYYYY and then you’ll miss it and be depressed and miss all the attention lavished on a bride which just amazes me since any ‘mo can get married although I guess not since it took me 43 years but still I’ve had a great many other accomplishments that nobody even belched at so yes I’m enjoying the attention NOW that it’s almost over (figures) wonder if that’s how life goes and then what? normal life with Dan which is actually what I’m going for and will be great but still I don’t want to wish it away and gosh these shoes hurt I think I’m having a panic attack heart palps? throbbing headache? tingly hair? and who will tell me if I have a pimple on my back the day of the wedding since the dress is all open and I hate when people go backless and then they have like one big red dot on their backs ooh it looks so awful (you know what I’m talking about) I hate being dependent on everybody else what if I trip going down the aisle or forget my lines or drop like a football player with full body cramps and roll into the canal while Wayne and the Untouchables play Feelings or a reasonable facsimile thereof why do people get married to such depressing music I’m getting married to the Beatles at first Wayne said it was too upbeat but that just seemed counter to the whole damn experience besides if I want to get married to the Macarena it’s my day I’M THE FRIGGIN ASS BRIDE (focus) which reminds me that I need to prepare myself for the fact that anything could happen (my mother/Dan’s ex) I need to be prepared (valium) and oh dear I’m losing it already (valium now) but that’s okay I was warned by Leeann who does my nails that two weeks before the wedding I’d want to kill everybody and Rhiann the wedding planner confirmed it but then said that one week out we’d start sailing and smiling and be happy HAPPY but I’m not sure I believe it …”
So how are all of you? This blogging is such a selfish act. I mean, it’s all about me all the time. I never stop to ask how you are. And I want to know, really. I care. Because I’ve had enough of myself, frankly. But that’s not the only reason. I mean, I think all people are fascinating. It’s the job of a good writer to observe, right? And who would make the best subject but YOU. So tell me some of your stories. Give me your best stuff. I probably can’t make up if I try. Or, just ask me a question. I’m smart. I bet I can answer it.
Hey, I have an idea. If you’re reading and liking things and coming back to read again, well first, thank you, but second, let me know. You don’t have to say much. Talk to me in code. Just hit comment below and write something like, “The chicken is fully grilled” or “Pizza can’t fly” or “Those pants are very slimming” or “Greetings from Jenny Craig.” I’ll know EXACTLY what you mean.
I know, I’m stalling. The thing is that I have lots to say it’s just that I’ve burdened you all enough with this wedding stuff and it’s pretty much playing on my radio station at this point 24/7. I really couldn’t articulate myself well right now about say, Mel Gibson or JonBenet Ramsey, nuclear arms in North Korea, or the Middle East Peace process. Or even the state of my novel or writing because that state is like Nebraska: Not very interesting. (Sorry Nebraskans, nothing personal. DON’T SEND ME MAIL. Oh, wait, go ahead!) Nothing’s happening because of, you guessed it, the WEDDING. So I’m trying to cool it.
But I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten about you. Yet, again, there are no bombs blasting in my neighborhood or pleading for life (unless you consider me on my knees begging Helga the dressmaker to put a bra in my dress). See, if you’re a person with perspective (and I like to think that I am), my piddly diddly life pales in comparison to the wars raging in the desert. (I have to admit, I first spelled that word like “dessert.” Accident? I think not.)
Okay, enough rambling. I think I’m the only blogger on earth who can write about absolutely nothing for as long as I have here. My editor is going to string me up by my elbows. I apologize in advance, Joy, for saying nothing. Please don’t fire me.
Until next time! (I hope.)
  Share

Thought you might like to know how the brain of a 43-year-old woman who’s about to get married for the first time in nine days (or sooner, depending on when you read) works:

“Oh my gosh did I remember to tell the florist I need three roses for the ceremony I shouldn’t spray tan again this week because I’ll look like Oprah in The Color Purple for my wedding not that there’s anything wrong with that which reminds me that I need to starve myself completely for the next nine days oh my gosh what time is lunch which reminds me that I’m going to have to get a lot of rest and maybe a massage because nary a life event without a menstrual flow and if I don’t relax this PMS is going to last for the entire first year of marriage which they say will happen anyway but I’m not concerned since Dan and I have been living together for a year already and his biggest fault is that he’s too close to perfect I better send another email to Pam because I still don’t know what she wants for dinner which reminds me I have to wear my wedding shoes before the day so they don’t kill me damn those idiotic weather forecasters New Hope gutter scum calling for thunderstorms the weekend of the wedding WHAT DO THEY KNOW although the farmer’s almanac predicted it way back when and I do tend to live in denial my fault guess I should just be grateful everyone’s still alive to see me get married I WANT COOKIES so sick of salads and still chubby I’m addicted to corn and cherries this summer even though corn sticks in my teeth like a lace thong not good I’M SO BLOATED I hope my guests don’t think I look like Randy Jackson before gastric bypass but I haven’t had a pizza in months maybe that’s why I’m cranky and still I’m going to be the ugliest bride in creation they should call like Ripley’s Believe it or Not I have no idea why Dan wants to marry me really I just can’t wait to eat a pizza that’s all I want all I’ve ever wanted which reminds me that I have to fill out the form to change my name gotta find it first another Sherer bites the dust at least that’s what my dad said before I promised that I’d keep it as a middle name but not hyphenate because once you do that you’re locked into using both names until you’re wearing a toe tag which I’m not sure I want to do well I definitely don’t want to wear a toe tag at least not yet anyway that way if the earth moves and my knees thin out and Elvis shows up on The View and I publish a book I’d love to be Jill Sherer Murray which will be my last name and it’s a good one especially considering my friend Jen’s sister had to change her name from Payne to like Kotlowzowski but I guess there is karma and that’s her penance for being young and able to eat whatever she wants and look great in bubble skirts can’t believe they’re wearing them again they should be banned with cigarettes I hope to God I can get a good night’s sleep before the wedding since my brain won’t shut off and I’m going to do shoulder lifts every night from now until the wedding so I have some definition in my shoulders to deflect the guests from my overabundant arms even though I may not be able to toss my bouquet (or hug) but that part of the ceremony is overrated anyway why don’t designers make wedding dresses with sleeves thank you hormones I swear my boobs are squished in my dress which I’m now calling my costume because really that’s what it is and why can’t it be black I hope everybody likes where they’re seated for the reception but I’m counting on being too liquored up to care on the day which for me requires three sips of cheap Merlot just deep breathe Jill you’ll be fine just remember to enjoy this time because it’s going to go by really fast SO BE HAPPY DAMMIT BE HAPPPPPYYYYY and then you’ll miss it and be depressed and miss all the attention lavished on a bride which just amazes me since any ‘mo can get married although I guess not since it took me 43 years but still I’ve had a great many other accomplishments that nobody even belched at so yes I’m enjoying the attention NOW that it’s almost over (figures) wonder if that’s how life goes and then what? normal life with Dan which is actually what I’m going for and will be great but still I don’t want to wish it away and gosh these shoes hurt I think I’m having a panic attack heart palps? throbbing headache? tingly hair? and who will tell me if I have a pimple on my back the day of the wedding since the dress is all open and I hate when people go backless and then they have like one big red dot on their backs ooh it looks so awful (you know what I’m talking about) I hate being dependent on everybody else what if I trip going down the aisle or forget my lines or drop like a football player with full body cramps and roll into the canal while Wayne and the Untouchables play Feelings or a reasonable facsimile thereof why do people get married to such depressing music I’m getting married to the Beatles at first Wayne said it was too upbeat but that just seemed counter to the whole damn experience besides if I want to get married to the Macarena it’s my day I’M THE FRIGGIN ASS BRIDE (focus) which reminds me that I need to prepare myself for the fact that anything could happen (my mother/Dan’s ex) I need to be prepared (valium) and oh dear I’m losing it already (valium now) but that’s okay I was warned by Leeann who does my nails that two weeks before the wedding I’d want to kill everybody and Rhiann the wedding planner confirmed it but then said that one week out we’d start sailing and smiling and be happy HAPPY but I’m not sure I believe it …”

So how are all of you? This blogging is such a selfish act. I mean, it’s all about me all the time. I never stop to ask how you are. And I want to know, really. I care. Because I’ve had enough of myself, frankly. But that’s not the only reason. I mean, I think all people are fascinating. It’s the job of a good writer to observe, right? And who would make the best subject but YOU. So tell me some of your stories. Give me your best stuff. I probably can’t make up if I try. Or, just ask me a question. I’m smart. I bet I can answer it.

Hey, I have an idea. If you’re reading and liking things and coming back to read again, well first, thank you, but second, let me know. You don’t have to say much. Talk to me in code. Just hit comment below and write something like, “The chicken is fully grilled” or “Pizza can’t fly” or “Those pants are very slimming” or “Greetings from Jenny Craig.” I’ll know EXACTLY what you mean.

I know, I’m stalling. The thing is that I have lots to say it’s just that I’ve burdened you all enough with this wedding stuff and it’s pretty much playing on my radio station at this point 24/7. I really couldn’t articulate myself well right now about say, Mel Gibson or JonBenet Ramsey, nuclear arms in North Korea, or the Middle East Peace process. Or even the state of my novel or writing because that state is like Nebraska: Not very interesting. (Sorry Nebraskans, nothing personal. DON’T SEND ME MAIL. Oh, wait, go ahead!) Nothing’s happening because of, you guessed it, the WEDDING. So I’m trying to cool it.

But I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten about you. Yet, again, there are no bombs blasting in my neighborhood or pleading for life (unless you consider me on my knees begging Helga the dressmaker to put a bra in my dress). See, if you’re a person with perspective (and I like to think that I am), my piddly diddly life pales in comparison to the wars raging in the desert. (I have to admit, I first spelled that word like “dessert.” Accident? I think not.)

Okay, enough rambling. I think I’m the only blogger on earth who can write about absolutely nothing for as long as I have here. My editor is going to string me up by my elbows. I apologize in advance, Joy, for saying nothing. Please don’t fire me.

Until next time! (I hope.)
  Share

How can I compete with Hezbollah? Fidel Castro? The bombing in Beirut? I mean, our other bloggers are blowing me in the dust with their relevance. (And I salute them, really, I do.)
Yet here I sit, worrying about finding a bra for my wedding dress and where I’m going to sit my fiance’s ex-in-laws during the reception. Seems stupid by comparison. Although, I guess that all depends on how you look at things. I mean, too much war and not enough play does make for a very dull and whiny America, don’t you think?
So here’s what I want to say on the first below-3000-degree day in too many months: Let’s take a moment to embrace the things in life that are not about Ketusha rockets, illusive terrorists, and a dying dictator.
If anything they should remind us to celebrate the fact that, somewhere, someone is having a baby after being told they couldn’t. Winning the lottery. Getting a long-deserved promotion. That medical technology is so advanced it can separate four-year-olds joined at the liver and kidney and offer them a life filled with love, joy, and health.
That a 43-year-old woman, once thought to have a better shot at being killed by the terrorists now hogging our consciousness, is finally getting married. Voluntarily. She is not pregnant, being forced into it by her culture, or trapped at gunpoint. Love really made her do it.
Talk about relevant. But I am also trying to make a statement: Life is short. Yes, there’s a lot of turmoil—always will be, if you ask me. And we should never forget it. But we also shouldn’t discount what makes every day special.
For me, that’s looking into the face of my soon-to-be-husband as the sides of his lips curl up after I do something weird. Getting a long hug from my almost stepdaughters. Listening to my nieces make fun of how I put on my lipstick. Watching my father, one-year after surgery for lung cancer, walk the dog around the park and then leave to play six hours of golf.
So what, I couldn’t sell my novel. It’s all good. Every last drop of it. Even the day-old coffee that I leave in a pitcher in the fridge for when days run long and my deadlines are short. It has never tasted better. I know that, as sure as Israel knows it will always have to defend itself.
So people, please. Watch CNN, Fox or whatever streaming ticker runs across your televisions. But make sure you also catch the Saturday morning cartoons. Okay?
—————————————————————
Last Wednesday night, Dan and I went to apply for our marriage license at the Bucks County Courthouse. When we told the security guards why we were there after hours, they seemed a little surprised, like “aren’t you a little old to be doing this?” Then, we head to the third floor office, where government workers interview you to make sure you’re not insane or first cousins. There, we found 20 or so other couples ahead of us.
I had to laugh. We were the oldest people in the room—with the most wrinkes and, surely, having the most fun. The other couples, ranging from their mid 20s to early 30s, looked taxed and bored. It was clear to us that they hadn’t had all the life we had. And, maybe just maybe, don’t appreciate quite as intensely the miracle of finding the right person to share your life.
But then again, maybe I’m just biased. That when I’m with Dan, I can’t imagine anybody being as happy as we are.
This is a sappy blog, isn’t it? I don’t know why. (Hormones?) Hey, I slept well, maybe that’s it? Still, catch me tomorrow, when the PMS train leaves the gate and the caterer tells us they can’t do gazpacho and my client pushes up a deadline and the writing goes poorly and my mother tells me I only have two weeks left to lose 400 pounds.
In the meantime, I’m going to take my moment. I’m going to let the world turn around me, like a tree full of leaves in September, and feel good about it. Let the wedding countdown commence!
(And pray for peace in the world.)
Until next time!
  Share

How can I compete with Hezbollah? Fidel Castro? The bombing in Beirut? I mean, our other bloggers are blowing me in the dust with their relevance. (And I salute them, really, I do.)

Yet here I sit, worrying about finding a bra for my wedding dress and where I’m going to sit my fiance’s ex-in-laws during the reception. Seems stupid by comparison. Although, I guess that all depends on how you look at things. I mean, too much war and not enough play does make for a very dull and whiny America, don’t you think?

So here’s what I want to say on the first below-3000-degree day in too many months: Let’s take a moment to embrace the things in life that are not about Ketusha rockets, illusive terrorists, and a dying dictator.

If anything they should remind us to celebrate the fact that, somewhere, someone is having a baby after being told they couldn’t. Winning the lottery. Getting a long-deserved promotion. That medical technology is so advanced it can separate four-year-olds joined at the liver and kidney and offer them a life filled with love, joy, and health.

That a 43-year-old woman, once thought to have a better shot at being killed by the terrorists now hogging our consciousness, is finally getting married. Voluntarily. She is not pregnant, being forced into it by her culture, or trapped at gunpoint. Love really made her do it.

Talk about relevant. But I am also trying to make a statement: Life is short. Yes, there’s a lot of turmoil—always will be, if you ask me. And we should never forget it. But we also shouldn’t discount what makes every day special.

For me, that’s looking into the face of my soon-to-be-husband as the sides of his lips curl up after I do something weird. Getting a long hug from my almost stepdaughters. Listening to my nieces make fun of how I put on my lipstick. Watching my father, one-year after surgery for lung cancer, walk the dog around the park and then leave to play six hours of golf.

So what, I couldn’t sell my novel. It’s all good. Every last drop of it. Even the day-old coffee that I leave in a pitcher in the fridge for when days run long and my deadlines are short. It has never tasted better. I know that, as sure as Israel knows it will always have to defend itself.

So people, please. Watch CNN, Fox or whatever streaming ticker runs across your televisions. But make sure you also catch the Saturday morning cartoons. Okay?

—————————————————————

Last Wednesday night, Dan and I went to apply for our marriage license at the Bucks County Courthouse. When we told the security guards why we were there after hours, they seemed a little surprised, like “aren’t you a little old to be doing this?” Then, we head to the third floor office, where government workers interview you to make sure you’re not insane or first cousins. There, we found 20 or so other couples ahead of us.

I had to laugh. We were the oldest people in the room—with the most wrinkes and, surely, having the most fun. The other couples, ranging from their mid 20s to early 30s, looked taxed and bored. It was clear to us that they hadn’t had all the life we had. And, maybe just maybe, don’t appreciate quite as intensely the miracle of finding the right person to share your life.

But then again, maybe I’m just biased. That when I’m with Dan, I can’t imagine anybody being as happy as we are.

This is a sappy blog, isn’t it? I don’t know why. (Hormones?) Hey, I slept well, maybe that’s it? Still, catch me tomorrow, when the PMS train leaves the gate and the caterer tells us they can’t do gazpacho and my client pushes up a deadline and the writing goes poorly and my mother tells me I only have two weeks left to lose 400 pounds.

In the meantime, I’m going to take my moment. I’m going to let the world turn around me, like a tree full of leaves in September, and feel good about it. Let the wedding countdown commence!

(And pray for peace in the world.)

Until next time!
  Share