Nov 22 2004

Five days left.

Published by at 9:36 pm under Friends,Stupidity,The Man,Wedding

A quote from the previous entry:

What’s left? I have to buy the garland and stuff to decorate the arch. I think that’s it. I HOPE that’s it.

I’m just a simple person, aren’t I?

You see, last week, pretty much right after I submitted that entry, I was typing away happily on a piece of e-mail.  I wasn’t even thinking about the wedding.  I was thinking of an application we use here at work that I was whipping up some last-minute training on.  Happy typing, happy typing, what?!  A sudden thought strikes me!


We have no marriage license.  You can see why I was concerned.  Following is a transcript of the IM conversation that ensued:

Jas: Um, yeah, we don’t have a marriage license.
The Man: OH MY GOD.
The Man: We need to go to the courthouse RIGHT NOW.

So we did.  Well, we did after I went to lunch.  I mean, I was hungry.  The marriage license could wait for a little while, yes?  Anyway, we got to the courthouse, found the country clerk, and started filling out the “application” (really more of a questionnaire) for the license.  And right away we were stymied: we needed to know the date that our divorce(s) were final.  I’ve never been married before, but The Man has, and strangely he doesn’t keep the date of his divorce front and center in his mind.  So, we had to dash home, dig up his divorce papers, and dash back to the courthouse to complete the application.  I was a bit concerned because Vicki told me that when she went to get her license, they had to sit through some training videos on how not to contract an STD.  But the lady at the courthouse just handed us a pamphlet and told us to come back on Monday to pick up the license.  Score!

So, we have a marriage license waiting for us at the courthouse.  We have to pick it up today.  I also have to go out to the hotel today and hand them the Big Fat Check to pay for the wedding.


In this episode of “MapQuest Royally Fucks Me”, we see our intrepid yet clueless heroine using MapQuest driving directions to get to her photographer’s home.  Hilarity ensues!

The last time I tried to find directions online, I ended up in the wrong city.  Somehow, that whole event was blocked from my mind, because Thursday afternoon found me happily typing in a destination address to MapQuest’s web site and printing out the directions.  I checked them over to see if I could get a picture in my head of the general area, and cemented in my mind that we would be driving to BFE, because I actually happened to know the area we were going, and it is nothing but farmland.  And, apparently, at least one house: our destination.  I didn’t worry too much, because The Man would be driving and I would only be the co-pilot.

Ah, the best laid plans…

Somewhere around 3 PM, The Man became embroiled in a work crisis of mammoth proportions dealing with some reports and some numbers and blah blah blah.  I don’t know.  Anyway, he would not be able to go with me to the photographers.  Which meant, unless I could find some backup, I would be going solo.  I. Don’t. Think. So.  Luckily, Michael was free and didn’t mind acting as co-pilot.  So, at about 5:15, we set out.

I had allowed us 45 minutes for what is normally a 25 minute drive.  My psychic powers must have been working that day, because 5:45 found us in the middle of goddamn NOWHERE, looking for an address that didn’t exist.  We checked house numbers obsessively, there was no 1915 BFE Road anywhere.  Actually, the house numbers danced around, sometimes skipping ahead 50 numbers and then inexplicably progressing by ones again.  When we hit the point where the road turned to a gravel two-track, I looked at Michael and calmly said “Goddamn MapQuest has fucked me again.”

At that point, we had to improvise.  Somewhere, MapQuest had sent us a wrong turn.  Looking over the directions, there was really only one point where we could have turned wrong, so I executed a three-point turn and headed back the other direction.  And I began to notice what was outside my windows – nothing.  Oh I take that back.  There was a sugar beet piling ground.  And a single tree.  I started to remember a horror story I had once read about a group of people who got trapped in a story by a twisted author, and every time they tried to leave the town, they encountered NOTHING.  I really wanted to get back to an area where there was at least a house, because my imagination was starting to freak me out.

The house numbers began falling again. . . and falling. . . and falling.  I actually saw a house numbered “60″.  60!  This may mean nothing to some of you, but in the country you just do NOT see a house numbered 60!  Country addresses are usually in the five-digit range.  Finally, we had to admit defeat.  I called The Man, he got me the photographer’s phone number, and I called him.  The photographer told me that he was “four houses north of M-BFE, and there is a red Blazer in the driveway”.  OK, we started backtracking very slowly, counting houses and looking for red Blazers.  And wouldn’t you know?  His house was right where it should be – smack dab between the houses labeled 60 and 2046.

After that, I had a very nice meeting with the photographer and Michael and I went back to my house to drink a lot of rum and recover from being lost in the country.  And I tried to forget that I couldn’t find a house less than 5 miles from where I used to live.


I had to finish cleaning my house this weekend.  It wasn’t really dirty, since I had just dusted and whatnot the week before, but there are A Lot of People coming into town who have never seen the house, so I figured, better safe than sorry.  The worst part of cleaning was definitely the vacuuming.  For some reason, whenever I vacuum, I sweat profusely.  It’s not like it’s particularly hard work.  I have no idea why it happens, but it does.  And when I sweat and I’m wearing glasses, my glasses get all smudgy.  I must accidentally touch the lenses with my grimy fingers or something.  So, I’m zooming around the house like a madwoman, half-blind, stinky and dripping, trying not to kill my cats because they won’t get out of the way until you are RIGHT NEXT TO THEM with the damn LOUD vacuum.  And my hair is desperately trying to escape its ponytail holder, so I have to keep pushing it out of my eyes and it’s flying out all crazy from my head.  What a pretty mental picture you have right now.  Don’t you envy The Man his future wife?

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