I had originally wanted to call this blog "All That Jazz." However, I did not know that so many people sit at home on a Thursday night listening to the latest Michael Buble album bored, a little lonely, and with a need to do something and think to themselves, "Hey. I should start yet ANOTHER blog. Huh. I could totally use 'All That Jazz' as a title because it is all encompassing. Cool." After fifteen frustrating minutes playing with different configurations of titles and web addresses, I settled on "A Slight Chance of Rain" because life is so unpredictable. Who knows when something good, bad, or boring can happen, right?
If you've read blogs of mine in the past, you know who I am and what I'm about. We know that I sometimes have a gloomy and cynical outlook on life but try to make light of it by poking fun at myself. Yet, I'd like to think that I am sometimes entertaining. I hope people read this and laugh or remain just generally informed of all my thoughts, dreams, and daily activities.
Here's where I am currently. I am sitting on my couch imagining men in tails dancing with top hats and canes dancing as if they are in an old Bing Crosby movie or a 1940s review. Just think Frank Sinatra but fancier, and you've got the picture. "Why not watch SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE?" you may ask. I tried to watch it about as long as I spent trying out different blog titles and was incredibly bored. We know that I do not possess natural grace and finesse, so watching people with the ability to put their ankles behind their heads is a sick joke. Plus, I would rather imagine dancing men than watch them on television; this way I can guarantee that they'll be super hot.
I have also been spending an incredible amount of time daydreaming--Is it still daydreaming if it's 10:00 PM?--about the wedding of the century. (Okay. Maybe not of the century, but definitely of April 16, 2011. )Thus, the Michael Buble music. I'm starting to put the various pieces of the wedding together in my head to make sense of it all. I'm currently on music. I always imagined a big band in my future; this was before I realized that an old standards group would cost quite a bit of money. (I'll take donations, by the way...) We need to sit down and pick out the first dance song. (I'm hoping it's something classic. Also, I'm open to suggestions.) So far, we've got the venue, the DJ, the florist, the rabbi, the photographer, the dress, and most of the bridesmaid dresses. I never realistically imagined myself as a bride until the past few years. I knew I wanted to get married, but I didn't really have a grasp on all the details. Enter Joe.
It's funny when you fall in love. You find your other half, for better or worse. I'm pretty sure he's the only one who can tolerate random animal noises, scary faces, and outbursts of intense emotion. And, no, I am not talking about Fiona and Roxy, the chinchillas. How many people can calm me when I am raging with fiery anger over the neighbor parking in one of our parking spots or when kids don't know their lines the week of a show? Who is willing to brave the scary basement and dangerous attic to put away my many bins of my childhood memorabilia? Who can throw me over his shoulder and wear me like a boa?
Who would surprise me at this moment by ringing my doorbell? THAT WOULD BE JOE! He never ceases to amaze me. I HAD NO IDEA HE WAS COMING OVER! So much for a complete stream of consciousness blog entry on a lonely Thursday night... I promise this will be continued...
Wish me luck as I try to maintain this blog. My goal is to recount tales of everyday life and the little surprises that accompany it. Cheers!
I require a picture of this boa-wearing!
ReplyDeleteTo throw it out there, Ross surprised me with our first dance song. Kinda. He was supposed to surprise me but when he was high on vicadin from having a root canal totally spilled the beans. Either way, I had a lot of fun with the idea that he picked it out because the words were special to him. I picked our last dance song...but completely failed at keeping it a secret. Just an idea.
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