The Honeymooners

Bloody hell that was a good caesar!
(Cornwall East Side Mario's Sunday night)

The wedding was perfect. 
Maybe not perfect but perfect by my standards. But I'm not going to bore you with the details right now ... later, for sure, but I won't get pictures back from the photographer for at least a couple of weeks so I might as well wait.
In the meantime, Dave and I are on an adventure, also known as a honeymoon. 
We're going to Newfoundland because we hear it's amazing and because we wanted to go somewhere brand new to both of us. A real fresh start, so to speak. Hopefully you'll come along for the ride as we navigate through dreaded Montreal, try not to be seasick on the ferry and say howdy to two of my favourite blogger-dudes, Laurita Miller and Alan Davidson.
Right now, at this very minute, we're entering Quebec. Stayed in Cornwall last night at a most awesome motel, the Super 8. Gina was at the front desk (Gina the Goddess) and she gave us the Jacuzzi executive suite for the price of a regular room. We soaked in the tub, went for a swim in the indoor pool, had dinner at East Side Mario's and generally had way too good of a time.
I'd write better... and I'd write more ... but I'm in the car right now and am feeling a little nauseous... the road is also kinda bumpy and it's hard to fins rhe rihgt kyes.
Here's some random pix from the last few days:

Sam was quite happy to finish pomp-pomp duties for us Thursday.
Hey, anything's better than school.

On the evening of our wedding we had dinner at Deerhurst Resort
in Huntsville, Ontario. It's quite the splashy joint - where world leaders
met for this year's G8 Summit. The woman standing, at right, was
our amazing waitress. I have never enjoyed a better meal or finer
service. I love this picture because of the roses from our bridal bouquets
and the sparkling glassware.

Dave's nephew Tim, a.ka. The Choirboy, and his sex kitten wife, Natalie,
with my favourite cake maker Leah. At least Tim smiled!

Our good friends Roger and Lynda were all smiles. Roger tried the elk
and said it was amazing. Lynda had the beef tenderloin, same as Dave.
I tried Dave's and it was the best piece of meat I've ever had.
Heh.

Natalie said her food tasted better with a straw up her nose.

Dave's brother Tom, his wife Sue; Dave's brother Mackie and his wife Bonita.
Sorry about the picture, Bonnie. It's rather unfortunate but I love how Tom
is laughing in this one.

The morning after the wedding: Dave's pants were too big so he put on his
wedding suspenders. He reminds me a little bit of TV announcer
Kevin Frankish. Handsome dude, eh?
This was our condo at Deerhurst. NICE...

On the road at 1 p.m. We came back from Deerhurst, unpacked wedding
stuff and packed honeymoon stuff.

We left all our pomp-pomps on the Jeep and people keep beeping at us and
waving! It's TOO much fun! One OPP officer pulled alongside us and
gave us a big thumb's up and a smile before zooming ahead. 

Our room at the Super 8 in Cornwall. Better than Deerhurst! Luxe, luxe, luxe!

Dave in the jacuzzi - right beside the bed, pratically!
(He wouldn't pose nekkid for me - he knew this would
end up on the blog)

I Do Countdown: Zero

Last Words - #fridayflash

Three Gravol to make her sleepy and settle her stomach. 

A half an hour later, a 23 valium chaser. One pill at a time.

Was it enough?

“It better fecking be enough,” Deidre said.

She wanted a drink. Thought heavily about rooting around in Paddy’s workshop to see if she could find any more of his rum stash. Realized she’d probably puke if she did. Didn’t want to puke. Held her stomach like she was carrying a baby. 

Lit a smoke instead. 

Studied the liver spots on her shaking hands. Loose flesh, yellow fingers, thick fingernails. Leaned back against the headboard. Head too heavy to support. Thoughts dulling. Deidre reached over to the tape recorder on the bedside table and pressed the red record button.

“I’d like to apologize,” she began, “for being such a selfish bitch.”

She cackled, coughed, cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry for cheating on ya, Mike, sorry for fooling around with that redheaded sonoffabitch. Sorry for getting knocked up. Sorry for the drinking and the lying and the running around. You wasn’t so bad; I was just fecking loaded all the time. You was good to pretend Jilley was yours.”

She paused, gathered her thoughts. They were cottoning and muzzy.

“Jilley,” she said, “I’m sorry for not telling you who your real daddy was for so long. I was afraid you’d hate me. Your sister made me tell you. Said she’d tell herself if I didn’t. Fecking pushy bitch. I never liked your sister. Big mouth, self-righteous, goody-fecking-two-shoes.”

Deidre laughed. She was losing it. Getting dizzy. She took another long drag on the cigarette and tossed the butt on the bedroom carpet. It sat in the dull green pile smouldering. “Go ahead and burn, you sonoffabitch! I hate that fecking carpet!” 

She laughed. Her head spun. She started to feel nauseous. Held her stomach. Took a deep breath. Felt marginally better.

“It was supposed to be different,” she moaned. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I wasn’t much of a princess after all. Just a fat lazy fecking selfish bitch. Thanks for raising my kids, Mom. Thanks for being .... everything I could never be. Thanks for your fecking holier than thou Catholic shit and your guilt and being the one my kids, MY kids, looked up to more than their own fecking mother! 

“You bitch,” she said, tears filling the deep crevices of the hard lines in her face.

She was losing it, now. It was hard to keep her eyes open. She had one more thing to say.

“Paddy, the only thing I’m sorry about where you’re concerned is that I ever laid eyes on you. I’m definitely sorry I married you. Never marry your drinking buddy! That’s my big word of advice, people! Drink with ‘em but don’t marry them!”

Her laugh was low in her throat, bitter. Like the pills.

“It had to end this way. I couldn’t face another divorce. Divorce is for fecking losers.”

She slid down onto the bed, in a pool of dark blood. 

Touched her husband’s cold hand.

“I made my bed,” she said. “And now I’m fecking lying in it.”

Big Bad Handsome Men

I Do Countdown: Three Days!

I adore this photo. Angus looks so grown up. Sam looks so unsure, still a little boy, 
wary of this smiling, strange but pretty young woman who is measuring him in strange places 
and doing up his buttons. Tonight we took the boys into Tigg's in Bracebridge 
for their tuxedo fittings. We had let them pick out their own suits from the catalogues 
and we ordered them on June 25, when they were measured from head to toe.
A few months later, and my, how they've grown. Angus needs pants almost two inches longer. 
And instead of the biggest boy's size, he will be getting the smallest man's size. Sam's JUST fits.
Seeing my boys in such manly attire brought a tear to my eye and made the wedding day oh so real.

Sam was SO uncomfortable with the fitting.
But I guess when you're 10 there are
better things you could be doing.
Anything, really.
Maybe even homework.

Angus didn't look so thrilled either, although Dave said he'd give anything
to have two pretty girls fussing over him at the same time!

This is Sam's patented "I am being tortured" look.

Now there's a smile!

I dedicate this Imelda May song to my Big, Bad Handsome Men:

The man is tall, mad, mean, and good-lookin'
And he's got me his eye
When he looks at me, I go weak at the knees
He's got me going like no other guy

Chorus
Cause he's my big, bad, handsome man
He's got me in the palm of his hand
He's the Devil Divine, I'm so glad that he's mine
Cause he's my big, bad, handsome man

Oh, the music he plays, the way he moves me and sways
Rocks me to the core
When he sings in my ear, he makes me shiver and leer
Leaves me wanting more and more

Cause he's my big, bad, handsome man
He's got me in the palm of his hand
He's the Devil Divine, I'm so glad that he's mine
'Cause he's my big, bad, handsome man

With his rugged good looks yeah he’s got me hooked
Got me where he wants me to be
With his arms so wide, he pulls me in by his side
He’s the kind of guy that does it for me

Chorus
Cause he’s my big bad handsome man yeah
He’s got me in the palm of his hand
He’s the devil divine, I’m so glad that he’s mine
Cause he’s my big bad handsome man
Ouuuw
My big bad handsome man, yea
He’s got me in the palm of his hand
He’s the devil divine, I’m so glad that he’s mine
Cause he’s my big bad
I’m so glad that he’s my handsome man
Hhmmmm

Pomp Pomps

I Do Countdown: Four Days. FOUR DAYS!

It was a dark and stormy night.
Dave was making pomp-pomps. I was hyperventilating and trying to take pictures of him.
Apparently fluffing pomp-pomps is not manly and he didn't want no pictures taken of his manly self with pomp-pomps. (Damnnit! I keep putting in extra pees.)
"Not a chance, chicky-poo," he said, threatening to throw one at me.
I took one anyway and then ran. Ran as fast as I could whilst hyperventilating in a pink nightgown and giggling madly.
He did toss one at me and, like Elvis Costello, his aim is true.

So.
The wedding is four days away. I'm remarkably calm now. All is done. (Except the pomp-pomps. There are about a million of them. Who the heck ordered so many? Me? Whatever.)
Well, all is almost done.
This is what's left:
Wednesday
1. Work, or pretend to work while looking at bride websites. Luckily my bosses generally don't read my blog, although I have tried to get them to because I want them to see how talented and wonderful I am but I guess they're too busy.. washing their hair or something...
2. Hairdressers, 3 p.m., so Jeanette can touch up my roots. I have roots that run deep. They could make a mini-series on my roots.
3. Meet my mom and the boys at 5 p.m. at our house so we can take boys for tuxedo fittings. Angus and Sam have both grown like, about three inches each since the original fitting. I'm sure they will have to resend pants.
4. Go grocery shopping. I want to have yummy treats on hand Friday night; also, must continue to eat as much as possible because there is still hope I might not fit into my dress.
5. Pick up girdle underpants at Sears Order Store. (See #4)
6. Enlist boys to help fluff pomp-pomps.
7. Sleep fitfully.

Thursday
1. Chiropractor's appointment at 8 a.m. to fix my wounded shoulder (I smashed it last spring and it's been bugging me ever since).
2. Work, or pretend to work while looking at Newfoundland websites.
3. Go shopping again because sure as heck I'll have forgotten something Wednesday night.
4. Dave has a chiropractor's appointment because he needs a crunching.
5. Write a #fridayflash  because I don't want to destroy my reputation as a #ff addict. (The doughnuts and coffee are so good at those meetings! Even though Linda at Leftbrainwrite always steals the Boston Creams, Alan takes all the Dazed (er, I mean Glazed), Carrie Clevenger takes the jam-filled ones because they remind her of blood and Michael Solender takes all the rest for his new food writer's page on fictionaut.) I have no idea what to write about. I. Mean. No. Idea. But that's two whole days away... why sweat the small stuff?
6. Sleep fitfullly.

Friday
1. Wake up early to see if anybody read my flash. (It's like Christmas morning, isn't it?)
2. Dave has a dentist appointment at 8:30 a.m. to get his pearly whites cleaned.
3. I have a massage booked for 1 p.m. with the lovely and very talented Carol McVittie who has been working on my shoulder for weeks and who gives the BEST massages. Ever.
4. Dave has a touch-up hair appointment at 1 p.m. with Jeanette, who will further rescue Dave from the skunk stripe I inflicted on him two weeks ago. Did I not mention that? Huh... I wonder why...
5. Our guests start arriving!
6. Decorate cars. Pack. Panic.
7. Wedding rehearsal 5 p.m.
8. Dinner at Swiss Chalet 6 p.m. (where else but Chalet Suisse?)
9. Finishing touches on reception decorations 8:15 p.m.
10. Relax at home with good friends, tasty treats and possibly a spirit or two.
11. Take Gravol or have Dave hit me over the head with a two-by-four.
12. Sleep fitfully.

Saturday
1. Wake up early to see if anybody read my flash.
Kidding.
Maybe.
Dave says he's hiding the laptop. We'll see about that pomp-pomp boy - howdja like to see that picture of you with your pomps pinned up with the half-nekkid ladies at the shop?
Wonder what the other auto techs would say about that, hmmmm?