I’ve been having a weird couple of days with my mood… on the one hand I’m all excited that school starts again next week, but on the other hand, I totally don’t want to go in tomorrow! It’s Friday! I should have Fridays off! Oh well though.

Gas prices are going down tonight though, which is good frickin news seeing as I have 55 minutes of highway driving twice a day now to get to work.

My left boob has a lump in it! Stupid lump. Stupid boob.

I keep drinking this fake Dr. Pepper. It’s called “Doctor Smooth”. I don’t like Dr. Pepper or Dr. Smooth, really, but I can’t stop drinking it! I think maybe it has heroin in it.

The rosebush I planted in what, May? June? I don’t remember. Just started putting out roses. And the sunflowers I planted in May are starting to get their bloom on. And all my vegetables (tomatoes and zucchinis, anyway) are just now starting to bear fruit. Yay garden! Just in time for the frost! Lucky my root veg have all been rooting it up for weeks now.

Today the neighbours had guys on their roof doing some kind of roof work. I forgot all about it when I took my shower then went into the guestroom all naked, looking for a shirt. So uh… roof guys? Sorry if you saw my gentles. Then again I didn’t hear guffaws or screams of horror so maybe they didn’t.

I will, I promise! But in the meantime, we’ve started a tiny little wedding album. As Rob said, there are lots of photos to sort through– and we haven’t even gotten the “official” ones yet.

So for the moment, you can check out these photos. Leave comments there. And I swear I will blog about the wedding and its aftermath tomorrow or the next day. Or, sometime. You know. Sometime. In the future.

Yep, I swear it.

My grandfather, my father’s father, died when I was 18, in January of 1995. It was my first year of university and the beginning of a new semester; my parents thought it best, when his health took a turn for the worse, not to distract me by calling me to come to him. I know that they wanted to do what was best for me, and I understand that, but at the time I felt so guilty, so horrible– I hadn’t seen him since the previous summer (again, my father’s side of the family lives far enough away that weekly– monthly– even bi-annual visits aren’t always an option) and I had missed him so much; and yet I didn’t go see him. I guess it was that he’d only been noticeably ill (silicosis– better known as black lung disease– one of the many risks of being a coal miner and heavy smoker since the age of 12) a few months, and I didn’t know how serious it was– he was young! Only 68! don’t these things take years?– and, well, I didn’t go see him. My younger brother was in his last year of highschool at the time; my older sister was married with a less-than-one-month-old daughter. My brother went with my father, and when Papa died on January 15th my baby bro was there in the room with him.

At our wedding dinner, my family were all gathered around, telling stories. My aunt Marilyn told a story about her daughter, Shannon, who is now 14.

Two weeks after Papa’s death, Shannon came into the room and handed a piece of scribbled paper to her mother. Marilyn said “Oh, what’s this?” “It’s a note from Papa”. Shannon was three years old at the time, and didn’t really know what was going on. Marilyn asked her what the note said. “It says ‘Don’t cry anymore. I’m in heaven with Peter and I’m all better now”.

Peter was my grandfather’s brother, who had died years ago, before I was born. Shannon had no way of knowing this.

My father then decided to tell his little story.

When my grandfather was ill, he and my brother were talking in his hospital room. It was a few days before he passed away, and he was still fairly lucid. He told my brother– who was seventeen at the time– that he was the only grandchild who would be able to carry on the family name (my father has two brothers– one who has never had children, and one who had two girls– and four sisters). He jokingly told him that he wanted him to make sure and have “lots of boys”.

Fast forward eight years and my brother’s wife gives birth to their first child– a boy– on my grandfather’s birthday.

About a year and a half later, my father was taking care of little G., who toddled up to him and said “Papa!”. Dad said “Oh, are you going to call me Papa?” (G’s parents would call my dad “granddad” etc so it was weird that G. was saying that). G looked at him, laughed, and said “No… MEEEEE Papa!” then went back to playing.

Anyway. Spooky.

Ooh, there are so many things to do and not enough time to do them in and so I am blogging because that’s helpful!

Rob’s family is all here– his aunt got here last night so that will be the last of my trips to the airport for awhile. Our rehearsal is tonight; after which we’ll come back here to the house and eat a bit then go play mini golf. Then… DUN DUN DUN!!!… tomorrow! Prancing! Yay!

My friends and family are very tricky. Shifty, even.
Rob and I and Rob’s mother went to my mom and dad’s for “dinner” tonight and lo and behold it was a surprise wedding shower!

I had no clue. Neither did Rob. It turns out that Donna (Rob’s mom) knew. SHE’S RIGHT UNDER OUR OWN ROOF, KEEPING SECRETS!

We got home at around 11:30. At about ten minutes to twelve, my mother calls. Our friend Shaun had just gotten there– we’d been wondering all night if he was actually coming and figured he must have found something else to do. Nope. He got lost. Lost in the town my parents live in. The town that only has two roads. That guy.

Anyway he is staying at my parents’ tonight and hopefully we will meet up with him tomorrow.

It was amazing to see all those friends there– some of them travelled quite far and some I hadn’t seen in a really long time so it was awesome. Now though I’m beat dead tired and have to be up super early to clean this house (that had been the plan today but we got waylaid by unexpected guests) before going to pick up Rob’s dad at the airport, then come back here, then go back to the airport and pick up his aunt.

So I’m going to bed and any of y’all who are reading this you are awesome and also very, very sneaky.

Do you choose to accept it?

It requires knowledge and forethought…

Okay no, not really. But yeah. We’re making up our wedding music list and we need songs. Like, yesterday. Last minute Louise, that’s me.

So I was thinking– if you’re reading this, why not think of five or ten songs that you like for dancing? Not necessarily old shmaltzy sappy songs (although those are great too) but whatever, you know? I want people to have fun.

(note to Rob: NO RAMMSTEINS!!!!)

After a day of roaming with my mother yesterday I was ready to just shoot myself. Because although what counts is the fact that we are getting married and it will be a blissful and loving marriage… I am sick of stupid things happening.

Picked up my wedding dress yesterday from the alterations place. Here’s what they had to do:

1) fix the straps so they wouldn’t keep falling down on my arms.
2) put a bustle thing so that I don’t have this train dragging me around all the time.
3) press the dress (I love rhymes).

They told me to be there at 4:00 to pick it up. So I got there at around 3:30. And they were like “We’re closing! Here is your dress! Bye!” and basically pushed me out the door. Great!

Got home.

1) They shortened the straps on the dress. This only causes them to cut into my shoulders, and THEN slide down (I’d asked them to do something completely different and they’d said they would, but I guess they were smoking crack when they said that).

2) The bustle thing is there, but it’s too low, and the train is still going to be dragging around behind me.

3) Not only is my dress still all wrinkly, but there is MAKEUP all over it. I haven’t worn any makeup since March, so it’s not mine.

Okay, not ALL OVER it, but it’s noticeable. Tide Pen, here I come.

Yes, we’re going on Monday to yell at them. Because they are ridiculous. And now my mother has decided to take more stress on herself and try to fix everything (no other places have the time to do it). My mother is going to give herself apoplexies and possibly the vapours (what are those?) trying to make everything be the way she wants it.

ANYWAY! TODAY!
Today we went to Sears to buy shoes, because I have huge Paris Hilton feet (okay, Paris wears a size 12 1/2 and I’m a size 10 but whatever. Please allow me to pretend I have famous rich whore feet. Oh boy, what kind of hits am I gonna get now?) and still haven’t been able to find shoes. Sears has a clearance room and I am cheap. Perfect.

I found shoes. Mom found shoes (although my mom wears a perfectly civilised size 7, she always has a hard time finding shoes because an operation a few years ago left her with one leg shorter than the other one so she has to wear a thing in her shoe which means that she has all these requirements from a shoe like: no heels higher than one inch, must have open toe but closed heel, bla bla bla). Mom wanted a sandwich. We went to the café. As I went to sit down, my left foot slipped on something that was on the floor, r and my stupid toe hit the stupid table and now there is a huge cut! And my toe was bleeding all over Sears! And the people at Sears gave me a wet rag to wipe the blood off their floor and also a band aid! But that wasn’t enough and we had to go find a drugstore where they sell toe condoms (I don’t know what they’re called but that’s what I am now calling whatever the thing on my toe is) and my toe is gross because it’s cut like, from the top of my toe all the way to underneath the nail (why do we need toenails, by the way? I want the scientific explanation. They just seem like a lot of trouble to me).

After this incident I went and bought a pair of flip flops because seriously if my damn foot still hurts like this next week that is what I will be wearing. I hate my stupid foot and I hate stupid sears. All my dreams of becoming a toe model are dashed now. I bet I could sue them.

I wasn’t off freaking out, I promise you. Just the Internet decided to do another of its all-too-frequent disappearing acts on us the other day and I was fed up and Rob was fed up so we called our provider and told them to suck it and got another provider but we were only hooked up sometime after 9 last night. Oh, heck, a piece of brownie just fell on my leg. NOT THAT I’M EATING A BROWNIE OR ANYTHING. Because I’m not.

Yesterday was Rob’s birthday. Since he was working I brought him a little picnic at his lunchtime and we ate together. Yep, extravagant.

Still no photographer (the answer from the college? “It would cost at least $800″. Yeah. For a STUDENT? GAH!) but I’m just not going to be thinking about that. My mom and I are going to pick up my dress today.

I am in a BAD MOOD and THAT IS ALL.

I’ve decided that freaking out isn’t going to help anything and although it is fun sometimes to wallow in self pity it’s not something I like doing. So I’ve taken suggestions and gotten in touch with the local college and am waiting for them to get back to me. If not, I’m sure someone else will be willing to take pictures.

Plus, as my mom said in an email this morning,

“GOD will be there and that’s what counts!”

(although I’m not sure if God is a good photographer, I’m willing to extend the benefit of the doubt).