The Bride Lives

Yesterday was our two year dating anniversary. The vino flowed and we watched The Darwin Awards. It wasn't bad. I am glad that Winona Ryder is making movies again and has stopped smoking that guy from Soul Asylum's pole. But I digress. This afternoon, the bride sent me an old email that I sent her when we were first courting. Here it is:


So many questions for such a long trip over the river and back into
the cornfields. I have got to answer the dancing question first. Why?
Because it will be fun and full of self deprecating humor. I can't
dance, either well or sober. I could blame my genes for a long torso,
short little Hummel legs, and high school football for my absolute
lack of balance and timing, but why go there? Actually, the last time
I danced was a saucy affair involving sparklers, nighttime, and my
sister's birthday. If I could have just pulled off that reverse triple
back flip, jazz hand ensemble, with a glowstick in my mouth, I could
have made it to Vegas. I guess I don't like dancing because it turns
one into a shy, three hundred pound, four year-old girl, five times over. Either that or I just
never had someone patient enough to teach me how.
As for what I like to do for fun. Well, the three P's have always been
super for me. You know, praying, poetry, and pornography? Kidding. I
still go to mass almost every Sunday, but my faith is my own and I
don’t really feel the need to talk about it unless someone really
wants to know. I do try to write a poem or two, but they end up
becoming monuments to my own pretentiousness. As for sweet lady porn…
yeah, fun when you’re fresh out of Catholic school, but not really
there for you when you decide the word `hump’ isn’t all that romantic.
I’ve been helping my friend renovate a hundred year-old mansion for
the past three years, under the watchful eye of his wife. I’ve almost
been killed several times in the process by falling trees (I’m from
the frickin’ prairie, who knew a tree would fall that way), ergot
(three weeks of house sitting while they went on their honeymoon in
Italy and all I got was a stinkin’ black market journal and a nasty
case of bronchitis), computer avalanches (money making scheme my ass),
all manner of saw, hammer, plumbing, and electrical mishaps (don’t
ask), and of course, oil based paint in poorly ventilated areas
(everything got really funny that day, not so funny the day after).
Besides thrill of stupid manly danger, I really enjoy reading,
writing, and the warm, bitter embrace of a good cup of coffee. When
I’m not schmoozing at the coffee house, I like watching movies, taking
drives to nowhere in particular to see what’s there, and the
occasional night out at the bar with close friends. I also like
weekend trips to cities (Memphis, St. Louis, Chicago, Indianapolis,
Milwaukee, Iowa City, Cleveland, Kansas City) with no real plan in mind.
Where do I want to be in five years? I admire you for launching the
dreaded question back at me. In a perfect world, I will have written
the greatest novel ever, demanding that I need write no further, but
travel the world on my laurels (by boat, train, or car, flying scares
the bejesus out of me), maybe solving a mystery or two that will land
me a nice narrator gig on some show on the History Channel. Since
there’s only a slim chance of that happening, I’ll probably be
teaching high school English somewhere around town, buying old houses,
renovating, and flipping them for a nice profit to help defray the
costs of diapers and formula. If that plan fails, I guess I can stick
to my holding plan of not dying face down in a gutter. I want to go
back to school next fall for my certification and maybe finish my
Masters.
Okay, enough biography and rhapsodic whimsy. I have more questions—
Favorite food? Favorite spot on the planet? Favorite color? Favorite
smell? Talk to you later.
-Charles

Damn, I was fairly witty once. I even had dreams that weren't delusions of grandeur. I wonder what happened. Does one just give up when times get good? Maybe I should start doing coke again, you know, to shake things up again...Nah, my heart would explode.

Tonight, I drink. Tomorrow morning, I write.