How slow is it?

It's so slow that I have snuck onto my blog to post during work. This has only happened once in the whole 15 months I've been with The Firm. That was Tuesday. I don't talk about The Firm because The Firm doesn't advertise. Unlike Bossman, The Firm is a real employer with real expectations. They will probably find out that I'm blogging on the company dime and there will be repercussions. Makes you feel a little dangerous right?

A slow office is a very funny place. Especially when all of your management team has enough sense to take the day off. It's like a bad indoor recess. We're a half an hour from the bell ringing and people are really beginning to snap. One of our advisors just hid their phone in one girl's filing and preceded to call it every 5 seconds just to drive the her nuts. I wish it was as entertaining as the episode of The Office where Jim hides Andy's phone in the ceiling. It wasn't.

The whole situation is exacerbated by the fact that our internet network blocks out most of the interesting sites to visit online. People are reduced to re-reading CNN.com or browsing the new sale items on PotteryBarn.com. One connected employee had a friend send him flash versions of Tetris and Pac-Man that are disguised as Excel documents so they don't get flagged on the way in. That's what we've been reduced to...domestic cellular terrorism and contraband Atari games. Who knew the Financial District was a Communist enclave?

Are you next? Am I next!?

Let's reflect on this whole "catching the bouquet" thing for a moment. As I understand it, it's customary for the bride to throw her bouquet into a group of all the unmarried, female guests at her wedding. The idea is that whoever catches the bouquet is destined to be the next one to be married. When I was a little girl, I always thought of how magical it would be to catch the bouquet and know that I would be one karmic step closer to my own big day. Having just recently returned from a wedding, it seems that attitudes towards this age old wedding tradition may be changing.

Perhaps it's a sign of the times. Perhaps cynicism is winning. Perhaps it was because we were in California and everything works a little bit differently there. Whatever the case may be, my first bouquet toss experience was nothing like I (or my 10 year-old self) expected it to be. To be fair, I have been to a couple other weddings. However, I was either too young or, in one recent and much more amusing case, too drunk to participate in the gaggle of single girls grasping for that iconic floral symbol of marital hope.

Then came Hilary and Josh's wedding. Sometime after the mountain top ceremony and before the barefoot dancing to a gypsy jazz band, word spread through the crowd that Hilary was getting ready to throw the bouquet. Personally, I wasn't all that thrilled to join the throng. Having no boyfriend/fiance/male life partner to speak of, I didn't really feel like robbing some other, more relationship-ly inclined girl of her chance to be "next."

What I quickly realized is that none of the other girls around were too keen on it either. After lots of huffing from us and lots of prodding from the aunts and mothers in attendance, we assembled one of the most lackluster bands of bouquet-catchers in history. I thought I had positioned myself well. I stood in the back and way off to the side. I was behind tall people. I refrained from making eye contact with the Hilary in case she mistook my apathy for quiet desperation. Then the moment came. Purple calla lillies and orange rosebuds were flying through the air. Time really did slow down (that part of the stereotype is absolutely true). I breathed a sigh of relief after taking stock of the bouquet's trajectory and deciding it was definitely headed right at the girl in front of me.

That was until she turned into Keanu Reeves.

It a move we had all only ever seen in the Matrix trilogy, this girl simultaneously bent backwards and twisted to the side. I swear her hair brushed the ground. I guess there is something to be said for all the yoga those hippie girls do. The projectile in question sailed over her right hip and smacked on the ground at my feet. My second-hand Catholic guilt and neurosis automatically took over and I mindlessly scooped up the flowers so A) Hilary wouldn't be disappointed when she turned around and B) because you really shouldn't let nice things like that hit the ground. Thinking that all the symbolism and voodoo had been beaten out of it, I was surprised when I was met with hooting, hollering, and the mad flash of the photographer's camera in my face. I think I was too dazed to say anything but "It doesn't count right?" over and over again.

Note the Deer-in-the-Headlights expression

Where the Hell is Matt?

Yeah! to Helen for showing me this. It made my day. Well...the video and the two jack and cokes I drank when I got home...



Click here to check out this guy's website!

Am I cut out for the California Lifestyle?

The jury's still out on that one. I did have one heck of a time on my first trip to California though. I finally made it out to the West Coast for Hilary's wedding and tacked a trip to San Francisco onto the end. In typical fashion, the trip was not without incident. Jessie and I were off to an auspicious start after being upgraded to a convertible for free by our new friend Alex at the Oakland airport National. After picking up Molly T. at the airport we even made it all the way up to Dunsmuir, CA without help. For those of you who aren't familiar, Dunsmuir is 5 hours north of Oakland. It's near Mt. Shasta and the city of Weed but those landmarks don't mean much...even to people who are from California.

All was well until we began the trek up to Pine-gri-la (yes, that was the name of the place that Hilary was having her wedding...hippie) for the rehearsal dinner. To get there, we departed from the Dunsmuir Lodge (read motor lodge from Psycho) and began the 40 minute drive up a treacherous mountain road. The top was down, hair was blowing, pictures were being taken, and suddenly, a tire was popping. Some say it was one of the shards of fallen rock littering the side of the road. Some say it was a disgruntled mountain pygmie armed with a blowgun. Either way, we had a large hole in the side wall of our front right tire.

Luckily, Alan, an unsuspecting wedding guest, was driving behind and pulled over to rescue us.


The wedding ended up being really beautiful and we didn't plummet off the side of the mountain. It was obviously a little crunchy but it was perfect for Hilary and the location was gorgeous.




I spent the next week in San Francisco as the guest of Molly W. who was an excellent host. I explored the city by bus and it's safe to say that it's THE perfect way to get to know the local crazies. They were so crazy that I didn't dare try to capture them on film. I also finally got to see the Churchills and meet their brand new twins, Arlo and Felix. It was wonderful to meet the boys and catch up with Alex and Jessie after such a long time.



I think I'm still going to call New England home for a while longer. The City is great but I prefer all the sarcastic bastards that live on the East Coast and appreciate my jokes.