Here’s another excellent spam comment I received on my last post:
I love the story. I can simply remember my friend with this story because they almost had the same kinds of stuff on their wedding. It was just so much fun and it was something to remember. Of course, it couldn’t have become more successful without my help. I was the wedding organizer and planner. I had to fix almost everything since the bride is a good friend of mine so there was less explanation done because I pretty much know what the new couple wanted. That’s why it’s so much better to consult the people who knows you more when it comes to big events like a wedding because you can be sure that they will make it a huge success.
The whole thing is just so deliciously vague and weird and strangely written that I can’t help but feel a certain kindness towards whatever person or computer came up with it. “They almost had the same kinds of stuff on their wedding” is my favorite line. What poor soul crafts these things? Have they not found true love? What do they do on Friday nights?
Moving on: It’s Friday, I’m tired, and it’s not looking like I have the energy to do any more St. Joe wedding recaps – the last couple I will save for next week. Jessica and I have both been a little crabby this week – at times very crabby – and it’s probably a combination of coming back from a whirlwind trip to Missouri, returning to real life, and moving back into our tiny little apartment after a month and a half of housesitting in a giant home.
In fact, on Tuesday, which is a very long day for Jessica, I was feeling fairly acrimonious, but since my life is less stressful than Jessica’s, I decided to keep it to myself. By eveningtime, though, I couldn’t really hide it anymore.
“I’m having a boo-hoo day,” she said to me on the couch.
“You know what…” I said. “Me too.”
“Really? You’re having a boo-hoo day too?” she said sweetly.
“Well,” she went on, “I think it behooves us to boo-hoo together.”
“I think you’re right.”
And so we boo-hooed together the rest of the night, which, strangely, was enough to just barely lift us out of our mood. I guess it’s like multiplying negative numbers together and getting a positive result.
Our moods have continued into the rest of the week, aided in no small part by this oddly humid weather, but with a fun weekend planned – date night, hanging out with Cristin and Greg, farmer’s market, a birthday party – we should be back to our sprightly selves in no time.
And one night this week I sat on the couch, feeling sorry for myself, when I noticed a photo I have framed in the apartment:
This is a photo taken by my friend and groomsman Andy in 2003 when we were in San Diego for Pomona’s “Senior Week,” mere days before our college graduation. We were hanging out on the beach, singin’ and drinkin’ and a-carryin’ on, when Andy grabbed his trusy disposable camera and told me to take my guitar and walk into the ocean with it. And so I did. I’ve had it up on my wall ever since; sometimes it feels like a very “college-y” thing to have up, but at other times, it helps soothe a bad mood. Because I’ll always remember the time I dropped everything (except my axe) and headed straight into the frigid blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. And it was a good day.