A Different Kind of Wedding

The wedding that I went to today was different from every wedding I’ve ever been to for the notable reason that….the wedded couple weren’t there.

I mean, they showed up for the ceremony and signed the certificate; there are pictures of cake cutting and a dance, but…the couple that got married missed virtually the entire reception.

I just thought it was really strange.

It wasn’t my wedding, but, I just don’t really understand the point of throwing the big wedding and inviting people…if you’re never going to see them.

It just seems to me that, if all you want is to sign a piece of paper, maybe the wedding part isn’t as necessary.

I have this feeling like, there aren’t very many times in a persons life were it’s socially acceptable to invite literally *every* cool person you have ever met, to all come hang out in the same room.

It seems super strange to me to have fill a place with every cool person you have ever met…and then just…not spend any time with any of them.

I don’t know. It just…seems like it kind of defeats the purpose to me.

 

Ah well. Despite the oddness, *I* had a great time, because it was a room full of really cool people, and I had a great time meeting them.

I Have Missed the Sun

I went with a friend to the Farmer’s Market today.

There were people everywhere, fresh berries by the pound, cherry tomatoes warm from the sun.

It’s funny because this is such a huge part of the social scene of this town. Go to the market, see everyone you know. It’s strange and a bit surreal. I have this feeling that it won’t ever change. It feels like I could come back in one hundred years, and go to the market, and it would be the same stalls and the same people.

It’s not a bad thing. It’s just one of those small town/hometown things.

It is kind of fun to know that I can go there and catch up with half of the people that I’ve been wanting to see. We can eat fresh fruit and talk in the sun, and it’s wonderful.

A Wedding Story

I long ago joined the Universalist Life Church in order to be legally qualified to perform weddings, funerals and baptisms. It just seemed like a good idea. In case of emergencies, I am ready. It’s great.

It also means that I sort of collect stories of brilliant weddings as idea fodder, just in case I am ever needed to take part in a wedding ceremony.

People at weddings often talk about other weddings. Today, I went in to do a soundcheck for a wedding, and I got to talking with the people there about their weddings, and I heard the best wedding story I’ve ever come across.

To set the scene, this was already a Princess Bride-themed wedding, so it was all about this:

The guy getting married told the officent to just…add a bunch of filler, because he wanted to get to a point where he could be all “MAN AND WIFE. SAY MAN AND WIFE.”

The officient asked if there was anything in particular they wanted her to say, and the couple getting married were like “No, just, whatever.”

So, during the wedding, the officient starts talking about how “You’ve finally found the person who will truly be there, and raise you up, and help you out. You’ve finally found the person who is never going to give you up; never going to let you down. Never going to run around or desert you. Never going to make you cry, never going to say goodbye, never going to tell a lie and hurt you.”

 

They just got rickrolled by their own wedding.

The groom was so shocked he almost forgot his line. The bride laughed so hard she cried.

It definitely goes on the list of “Inspirational Things to Keep In Mind for My Own Hypothetical Wedding”. (At this point, I think the name of the list is longer than the list itself, but whatever.)

Tasmanian Birthday

Today I got kidnapped by my friends.

I was dragged off to a birthday party, where they had made me a Tasmania-themed blue-raspberry birthday cake, with sparkly red icing that looked almost too shiny to be edible.

There was pineapple wine and pink mints.

We went for a walk with foam swords and watched the sunset.

We watched terrible movies until everyone fell asleep on the couch. (Which, to be fair, was mostly my fault, because I sort of haven’t been doing much of the sleep-thing lately. I’ve been doing a lot of the “stay up! ALL NIGHT LONG. And then all day.” So, I think I made it about fifteen minutes into the first film.)

 

Searching for Pizza. Finding a Hero.

I may have mentioned a few times on this blog that I am a bit frustrated by Australian pizza, and what I perceive to be a distinct and tragic lack of cheese.

I was picked up from the airport by people who were shockingly willing to indulge my obsession on this matter.

They had researched pizza joints that were open late.

Unfortunately the one we went to closed the kitchen down before we got there.

Luckily they gave us directions to a different place that *was* still open.

We didn’t find the place they sent us to.

We did, however, find a pizza chain.

We try to walk in the door, but they were closed to walk-ins after midnight. We were trying to find the number to “call” for “delivery” to the parking lot, when a really friendly guy walked out the door and came to our aid. He took our order and saved the day.

So, I want you all to picture these ads for a moment:

 

Real American Hero:

Late Night Parking Lot Delivery Pizza Guy.

You see people gathered outside your locked doors, and you emerge from your delicious, warm, pizza-smelling kitchen, to take orders from people who just want some pizza, no matter what time in the morning it is.

You remember names, and don’t judge as the topping combinations reach levels of absurdity only reached long after midnight.

You feed these starving, sad people, whose lives are bereft of the chance of pizza, until you.

Late Night Parking Lot Delivery Pizza Guy.

Timey-Wimey

I am currently in the airport. I left Melbourne 30 hours ago, but somehow it’s still the same day.

 

And, it’s been over two days (maybe? I think?) since I did that whole “getting sleep” thing.

I can’t sleep on planes, and I don’t get to sleep in an airport, or I’d probably sleep through my flight boarding.

Travel, friends. Time zones.

But really I feel like I’m stuck in some unending, time-looping episode of a sci-fi show. But at least it’s warm here. No more doubling up on socks! No more sleeping in hats! No more putting down roots in front of the heater! I can just go outside, because it’s *JULY*, and to the Northern hemisphere, that means *summer*.

YES!!!!!

Anyway, I’ve turned to my constant friend, the music video as an anti-sleep aid..

Which I will now inflict upon you. Because you’re reading this blog.

 

 

(This is the best version, because this is the one where the dude rips his shirt open at the end.)

 

 

 

Karaoke, and Goodnight.

It’s my final night in Melbourne. I’m don’e packing (finally. We’re not going to look at the clock to see what time it is. It’s significantly later than it could have been.Whatever.)

Now, I could do this “sleep” thing that doctors apparently recommend…OR I COULD GO TO KARAOKE.

Not even a question.

A bunch of my friends are coming down to karoke, to make it a bit of a send-off, also, after midnight, it will officially be my birthday! so it’ll be a farewell/birthday karaoke shindig of AWESOME.

I genuinely don’t know if I can think of a better way to be spending my last night in Melbourne. It’s been really great times with really incredible people.

I’m a bit of a soggy sentimentalist, so if I didn’t have something better to do, I’d probably spend the whole night trying to explain to people that while I am totally excited to be moving on, I’m going to miss them.

But I do have better things to do. Like get on a stage and belt out my favourite hits from decades gone by.

OH YEAH!

A Moving Feast

I have eaten SO MUCH food recently, because I’m trying to clear out my cupboards in the kitchen. Naturally, the best way to do this is to EAT. ALL. OF. THE. FOOD.

Okay. So. Feeding everyone at the party definitely helped put a dent in what I had left, but I’ve been trying my best to get through the rest of it.

It means that when I’m up packing at 3:00 A.M., and I think “hmm. I could probably go to sleep.” I then remember, “NO! Sleep is for the weak! Make yourself another meal, and then KEEP GOING!”

Which is what I’ve been doing, and it’s been fine.

We’ll ignore just how many times I’ve managed to walk into doors instead of *through* doors this week, mmkay?

I finally finished packing, and I was doing up all of the straps on my backpack, and pulling off the old stickers from previous flights, and my housemate got this look on his face like “wow. She knows what she’s doing here.” and I was all “Pssht. Yeah. I might just be old-hat at this.” and then I walked into the door.

Hi friends. My name is Classy Action. How’s it going? -_-

Quills in the Kitchen

I used to make quills. I had collections of turkey feathers and peacock feathers and sets of carving tools for carving different styles of tips. I used to make people seals, so we could send each other mail that had been written with quill and ink and sealed in wax.

I left all of that when I started travelling (customs often frowns upon feathers. It’s just one of those things that I’d just rather not try).

Several weeks ago, I found a freshly-dead bird on the street in front of the house. I took the wing and tail feathers big enough to make decent quills. I boiled them and carved them, but I didn’t have any ink.

I live in an art house, so I thought I’d probably ask, and we’d have some somehwere (I love living in houses like that).

Weirdly, I think someone unearthed an ink stick during the party? I’m not sure where it came from, but it was on the living room table after everyone had left.

So, tonight, we stayed in the kitchen, we ate the end of the food left over from the party, and we stained the countertop grey with ink, and made art.

It was beautiful.

Still Party!

It turned out to be the sort of party where everyone ended up on the front porch watching the sun rise.

The party was amazing. There was one of those weird moments when I feel like the actions people take is hard-coded into our genes from paleolithic times, and there were just people sitting around the fire, but nobody ever had to worry about whether it was being tended or not. There’s just something about fire… people want it to keep going. Some people found big sticks, other people would bring handfuls of kindling.

We wrapped potatoes in foil and baked them in the embers. It wasn’t spoken, but everyone left smiling and smelling of campfire.

Our ex-circus couchsurfer thought that the best time for me to attempt to learn a new circus skill was directly after learning how to properly guzzle goon straight from the bag though, so we’ll see how that affects my learning curve.

I made everyone breakfast. People fell asleep on pretty much every flat surface available in the living room.

The last person left at about…6:00 this evening?

The best part of cooking way too much food is not having to cook after everyone’s left the party.

I’ve given up on waiting for an “appropriate” hour to go appreciate how wonderful my bed is.

My bed is wonderful.

I’ve heard sleep is as well, but I think I haven’t had enough experience with that recently to confirm or deny those rumours.

I might go fix that now.