outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary

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A DJ is Had

One of many items is crossed off the list. Two hundred of very few dollars is removed from the bank account.

I'm happy with the company we decided to go with to provide the soundtrack for our wedding. They're professional and in control. They cater to the customer. The customer appreciates this greatly. In fact, the customer would through a grand and dignified hissy fit if this was anything but true.

The environment for doing the DJ choosing was not ideal, however. I was in the company's office. Rob was in the car. That is where I made him stay, because I was mad at him. Again. For the same reasons I was mad at him *last* time, which I was still mad at him for anyway. It was really stupid. But I had to go out to the car to get my checkbook, thereby alerting him to the fact that a transaction was taking place, and he was able to be there to talk with one of the DJs. Or listen to me talk, as the case may have been. Or listen to the DJ talk and talk and talk, as the case actually was.

We duked it out in the car on the way back, so we're ok now. We had a nice dinner at Legal Seafoods, eventually, and we had a nice night last night. Things are better. Things are fine. I still think he's a big baby and occasionally a self-righteous sucker of goat ass, but I forgive him. I can do this because I know he thinks I'm a big baby and create problems where there aren't any. He may also think I'm a premenstrual monster. So it all evens out.

See?

I'm glad that last night was fruitful, especially considering that it was a four hour roundtrip for about a 45-minute stay. I probably won't have to talk to them again until next summer, which is great because as we all know, I have a lot to do between now and then.

I think the last major element is the florist. ! Wow, I'm practically done! That's pretty crazy. And very special. Oh yes, very special.

There's a lot of shit hitting a lot of fans at work right now, so that's fun. There's a dribbly orange stain down my white shirt that I failed to notice when I put it on this morning, so that's pretty cool. I can't stop looking at it. I keep thinking to myself, god, that is one big dribbly orange stain. How did I not see that before.

The fact that there is a period and not a question mark at the end of that question implies that the question is asked with a minimum of anguish or interest. In case you're having trouble picking up on my tone.

It does not do to get angry while debating. However, that doesn't stop the anger from coming once the debate is now longer being debated. This is a note for Greg. Bastard.

By the way, that link is to Greg's page, not to some fictitious note I wrote to him. In case you are now having trouble comprehending my content too.

I am just an enigma wrapped in a slice of bacon, am I not?

Now, a small anecdote that will continue to haunt me until I dump it upon you all. I walk past the entrance to a hotel on my way from work to the T, and the other day as I was approaching there was a family unpacking their luggage onto one of those big luggage rack carrying thingies. The family consisted of two parents and two small children: a short and skinny little girl of about 6, and a tall and portly little boy of about 9. As I was watching them (out of no particular curiosity, just because they were there), I saw the little girl take her little suitcase and lift it, right up to level with her shoulder, horizontally. Sure it probably only weighed about 15 pounds, but she was a little little gir and she had just performed a feat of amazing strength, proportionally speaking. Say I to myself, "wow! that little girl is strong."

As I was getting close enough to be able to hear them, the little boy was taking his sister's suitcase and throwing it on top of the pile of luggage on the luggage rack carrying thingy. As I was walking by, I caught the tail end of "...n to do a man's job." Said all self-congratulatorily and sister-demeaningly. As if she was a weak dainty female-type creature who couldn't hold her own, rather than a crazy strong little woman who just didn't happen to be as tall as her portly older brother.

I knew then what I had to do.

No, I didn't. I'm totally just saying that so you guys will think I had some master plan. All I did was look at the kid pointedly, hoping his parents caught the look, and shake my head disgustedly. I wanted to grab them by the ears and say "IS THIS WHAT YOU'RE TEACHING YOUR KID YOU LAME-BRAINED BACKWOODS HICS?!?" but I didn't. They weren't backwoods hics anyway. Although you never can tell.

Blech, my water tastes like peanuts. I don't care what you say, that is just never a good thing.

P.S. - I'm so embarrassed that I wrote route when I meant root that I'm leaving it there forever for all to see.

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