Saturday was one of those days that seemed to last for weeks. The preparation for Gail's wedding, and then actually getting through Gail's wedding, left me feeling drained and drunk. Actually, the drunk part didn't factor in until much, much later in the day, but, nonetheless, I felt that being a bridesmaid on Saturday was more work and much more time-consuming that being a bride. I guess I can only imagine how Gail felt. Unlike me, however, she is extremely laid-back and somewhat of a pro at handling stress.

Ah, weddings. I actually did get a little teary-eyed at this one, just because I've known them both for so long. It's hard to believe that Gail and I have been friends for seven years. Here's the official rundown of notable friendship-lengths:

Gail: Seven years.
Carole: Ten years.
Dan: Sixteen years.

For me, those are very long times, as my average friendship-length is roughly nine months. Just long enough to get to know each other and short enough so that nobody grows to hate each other. I suppose I'm exaggerting, but only slightly.

Anyways, the wedding was beautiful. I think I'll probably spend the next twenty years comparing every wedding I attend to my own, and I think that's probably normal. Gail's wedding was much fancier than mine. Although with forty people walking down the aisle (I kid you not), it was also a bit more chaotic. Also, I did end up writing the programs for Gail and Rob, and they were a hit. I may be a professional program writer from here on out. Either that, or I'll just keep doing what I'm doing. Which is mostly nothing.

A couple of weeks ago, I was shopping at the what-have-you, the mall. I wasn't really paying attention to the people around me since avoiding eye contact with strangers is always my top priority. Thus, you can imagine my surprise when a woman in her early thirties approached me and said, "This is going to sound really weird, but I keep watching you, and I have to ask you something."

Immediately I wondered if I had toilet paper hanging out of my pants, and I got flustered. The lady went on to say she sold make-up products, often did shows for large groups of people, and was wondering if I'd like to be a face model for her.

"Why, do you need a 'before?'" I quipped, as is my way.

She replied with laughter and a reassuring touch on my arm, which made me feel even more flustered. "No, not at all. You have really nice skin and a nice face shape. Plus, I like your coloring."

Ah, that Italian glow. Gets them every time. I didn't know what to say. The woman gave me her card, asked for mine, and told me to think about it. I thought about it for about five minutes. Then, today, she called me.

And I couldn't say no when she asked if I was available on Monday evening for a show. So, in two days, you will find me at a conference room at the Sheridan hotel, sitting on a chair in front of a roomful of people as my new, strange friend uses me as her make-up doll. The pay is in the form of gift certificates and samples, but I figure maybe I can get a few other things out of it, like a way to battle my usual room-full-of-strangers nervousness and perhaps a small ego boost. Either that, or this will just solidify my usual resolve to avoid strangers at the mall.

Furthermore, after work on Monday and before the show, I will be drinking heavily by myself at a conveniently located pub. Everyone at the show is going to wonder why all of the make-up smells like bourbon. But if anybody would like to join me for that hour, I promise to buy you either a shot or a tube of mascara.

Gail's bachelorette party was last night. We took a booze cruise off of Navy Pier. The boat was to depart at 7:00, so I left my home at 5:00 to be safe, in case there was a little traffic. I figured I'd get to Navy Pier no later than 6:15 with worst-case-scenario traffic, and still have plenty of time to park, walk around a bit, maybe buy a pretzel, be third in line for the boat.

Traffic. Was. Nightmarish. I never want to go downtown again. So much for making the city accessible to the suburbs- the construction around the toll booth had traffic backed up from Cumberland all the way west to where I got on at 53. It took me the full two hours to make what should have been, best case scenario, a forty minute drive. By the time Navy Pier was in sight, my throat was sore from screaming so much, and my knuckles were bone white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, and my ass hurt like hell, from all the sitting. I was positive I'd miss the boat. Luckily, I just barely made it.

We had a good time. We had such a good time, that we felt like apologizing to all of the other people on the boat, since our rowdy good time was without a doubt ruining what could have been a pleasant evening for them. There was drinking and dancing and hanging out with the captain and doing shots with the wait staff.

I'm surprised I made it home in one piece. Oh, the power of prayer.

Sidenote: My friend George let me borrow his Super Nintendo system. Holy cow, have I been busy the past few days. I love Super Nintendo, especially Zelda: A Link To The Past. You might say that Super Nintendo, and Zelda, are a Link To MY Past. Because of the Super Nintendo system, I really didn't want to leave my place to go to Gail's party. But I dragged myself off the couch- And THAT'S what a good friend I am.

Gail and Rob's wedding is coming up soon. Last week, they asked me to write the "About Us" parts of their program, since my "About Chris and Jackie" was so damn funny, but I haven't heard anything since. Thus, I haven't written anything. Until now.

Gail and Rob met at Lenscrafters and fell in love over a mal-adjusted pair of aviators. "This is hopeless," Gail had sighed, tossing her shiny dark hair. Rob grew red and sweaty with sudden lust and whispered hoarsely, "No, Gail. Nothing is hopeless."

Gail and Rob started dating before Jackie and Chris. But they're getting married nearly six months after Jackie and Chris. Ha ha, Gail- in your face!

Rob is a pharmacist. If you tell Gail what your ailment is, she'll relay the pertinent facts to Rob, who will then be too quick to point out that that the idea of stealing you a handful of pills makes him sick to his stomach.

Gail still works at Lenscrafters, but as a manager. She strongly discourages relationships among the employees.

Enough of that. I'm worred that, as a bridesmaid, my skimpy red dress in a late October wedding will cause pneumonia. I've had pneumonia before. My mother thought I was going to die. And yet she didn't think of bringing me to the hospital.

I'm listening to Beck's latest cd, courtesy of Dan. Wowzers. Have I ever mentioned how much I love Beck? I don't know if he still wears his adorable "Little Boy Going To Sears For A Portrait" suit to his concerts, but in my mind, while I listen to his songs, that's what I'm imagining. Good times. Nearly ten years ago, but good times.

It's horrifying how I can reference something from ten years ago, and it's no big deal. Where has the time gone?

George Bush covers U2.

Quite possibly the funniest thing I've seen all week.

Scientists teleport two different objects.

I thought this article was going to be interesting, but it's just about teleporting "information from light to matter." Eh. Call me when you teleport a dog or a six course meal or something.

I think I'm going to approach Hallmark and see if I can apply for a job as "Greeting Writer." I think I'd be good at it. This is less a compliment for myself and more a jab at the greetings that currently exist.

I wonder what the qualifications are for such a job. An internet search might yield the answer, but I already have too many windows open here. Here's what I currently have open:

• Blogger
• i-Tunes (playing Cold Wind by The Arcade Fire courtesy of the Six Feet Under Soundtrack from the library [I told you I was obsessed])
• Microsoft Word document containing one paragraph on how I'm not fit to care for a child
• Chicago Tribune article about a son who pushed his 80 year old mother from a window
• Pogo Word Whomp
• AIM
• Recipe for pad thai. I bought all of these rice noodles for no good reason, and now I have to figure out what to do with them. This is like the time I bought that jar of fancy mustard.
• Jesus' image in a dog's butt. This is a good one.
• Web site detailing the importance of a serpentine belt.

Anyways, I can't open any more windows, and I can't get rid of any of the windows that I already have open. So, I must assume that I would qualify for a greeting card writer job. I must assume the qualifications are:

• Good use of simple rhyming skills without regard to coherency.
• Inappropriate language.
• Strong desire to express a variety of impersonal feelings via usage of a cartoon turtle or equivalent.
• Willingness to work at home, in pajamas, while drunk.
  
• Would enjoy dragging friends to CVS to point at greeting card section and yell, "I wrote this!"
• Excellent judgement on which font best expresses correct emotion / message.
• Knowing when to throw an exclamation point in to "lighten" the mood when needed.
• Frequent suggestion that a cocktail or recreational drug might make a birthday, anniversary, getting well period, et cetera much more pleasurable.
• Distaste for those stupid song chips that are all the rage with grandmothers.
• Must own calendar with all of the holidays clearly marked.

I made a card today for a co-worker's father. Note: I use the word co-worker as if I weren't wildly more important than him, which I am. Double Note: Best card ever, written and constructed in under seven minutes. Triple Note: If I had had access to a color printer, the card would have been even better. I am eagerly awaiting what will most definitely be praise from this father that I couldn't pick out of a crowd. I am also trying to work on a more courteous, more generic version of my three stanza birthday poem. Something, for instance, that doesn't insinuate that this gentleman's car smells like ass.

Saw "Little Miss Sunshine" last night at the Catlow Theater. Great movie, awesome theater. Five bucks for a show at this one-screen historical landmark, and it totally brought me back. The uncomfortable, vinyl lined seats are just like the ones I remember from twenty years ago, and the lack of bells and whistles in this tiny theater contribute greatly to its charm. Plus, you can buy a submarine sandwich at the concession stand and eat it in your seat. Dinner, a movie, and a slice of northwest suburban history.

I love movies like "Little Miss Sunshine" - movies where everything goes to shit, nothing is neatly tied up in a Hollywood bow, and yet the characters still manage to find a sense of peace. I think I can say all that without having to put "spoiler alert" first. Movies like that give me hope for my own life. So what if things aren't perfect. They're never going to be perfect. At least I can have a good laugh.

Today, my dance card is full. Gail's bridal shower and then little Allie's second birthday. I'm surrounded by marriage and children. I guess that's just the period of our lives that we're in. So strange how we got here, isn't it? One day we're giggling about boys at a slumber party, and the next minute we're pairing off and popping out babies. There seemed to be no transition period.

I'm dropping Chris off at my parents' house while I go to the shower and before we have to head to Allie's party. Four hours he will endure all by himself. This should be interesting. I'll probably be served with divorce papers by the end of the afternoon. At least Chris is a good sport about the whole thing. Somebody give that guy a hug or a hunk of cheese.