Love sucks and life is hard, except that on Saturday, just two days away, my friend Monique is getting married to the love of her life and that is something that just fills your heart up all the way, preferably with drinks from the open bar. And also maybe with a little bit of sentimentality and a whole lot of happiness with sprinkles of joy and a cherry of totally awesomeness on top.
I’ve known Monique for mumblety years. I think eight. Maybe eight? It might be eight. And she has been in my heart from almost the beginning. She is among the best people I know, and one of my favorites. She is fierce like a lion and cuddly like a kitten, and brilliant and hilarious and strong-minded and unbelievably kind. She wears overall shorts and is gorgeous, and not many people can pull that off. She is an amazing person, and I will call her Goody Ianswife.
Ian is perfect for her–he is brilliant, and has a mind full of facts and, not only that, but he can put them all together and come up with truths that will prompt you to nod your head and say, "Oh yes, I never thought of that." He is funny, and good to Mo’, and he adores her, and that would make him among my favorites too, if he wasn’t already there by dint of his very own force of personality. I bet he’d be very excited about that. He gave me one of the best birthday presents I have ever gotten–a piece of eight, which I wear as a necklace (pictured)–and that alone was enough to make him a keeper.
And they’re getting married! And she will be beautiful, and he will be handsome, and everyone is going to cry a lot. Then there will be a lot of drinking, and a lot of eating, and dancing and karaoke, and dancing to karaoke. If there is a god, there will be a stirring rendition of "Somewhere Out There" and we will watch Jen Wade cry. Because she is such a sap.
I am packed, and should shower, soon, get dressed, haul my suitcase out to the train, and then to the BART, and then to the shuttle and then to the airport. And then I will go hurtling through the sky and land in Southern California, for a weekend of wedding festivities. I am appropriately groomed, with pointy eyebrows and painted nails. I’ve got new shoes and a very beautiful dress. I’ve got a karaoke song in mind. I’m ready to weep copiously at the beauty of love, which is very beautiful, and I am savagely pruning all thoughts along the lines of if it works out. Because ideas like that just aren’t useful for anyone.
For four nights and three days I’ll be in a house with people I love, a house that also has a swimming pool, and there will be sunshine and rainbows and happiness and marriage and true love, because that is just how it is going to be. Wine tastings and weddings and a brunch and maybe Disneyland and then flying home.