Are You Talkin' To Me?
"Hey lady!"
"Me? Hello!"
"Do you like bubble baths?"
"Yeah?"
"Well if you ever wanna take someone home for a bubble bath, I like candles! And rose petals!"
It was strange being in America, the place where strangers talk to you on the street. In our two weeks we encountered so many people who were nice, helpful or just plain chatty for no good reason at all. At first we'd almost jump a foot in the air everytime someone spoke, or glared with great suspicion. What do you want? Why are you talking to me? What are you trying to sell? I don't have any money! Take him, he's older!
You don't seem to get as much random interaction in Britain. If you're out for a walk it's rare to even make eye contact with a stranger, let alone score a nod or smile. This used to baffle me, but as soon as my first Scottish winter came I noticed I'd become more insular, preferring to brood beneath my beanie. I didn't realise how much so until we were at the Grand Canyon and a tall man suddenly approached us. I gripped my camera extra tight and decided I was prepared to knee him in the goolies if necessary.
"Hello! Would you like me to take a photo of the happy couple together?"
"What? Ohh! Sure. Thanks very much!"
After Vegas we headed back to San Francisco for a week. We got the BART into town then Gareth had the fantastic idea of walking ten blocks uphill to our hotel. I was lucky enough to have wheeled luggage but he had an ancient suitcase that weighed a tonne - those kilts are heavy bastards. After a few blocks I could see his arms shaking and face turning beetroot. As we waited at an intersection I wondered whether or not three days of marriage was long enough for me to spew forth my first I Told You So, and did I really want to establish myself as a nagging bint so early in the game? Cars whizzed by in all directions and it dawned on us there were no pedestrian lights and we didn't know when to cross the street.
"Well!" I sniffed, "Isn't this just a DANDY honeymoon?"
Just as the veins began to bulge on Gareth's forearms, a woman whizzed past on rollerblades and sang out in bemused tones, "Pedestrians have right of way in California, guys! You can cross now!"
It was a bit of a culture shock to hear people speak to you out of the blue. All week strangers appeared to help when we looked lost, offered to take photos or just struck up conversations about the weather.
On our last day in San Francisco, after walking past the Bubble Bath Guy, a lady with a wee baby and a bottle of OJ stopped me outside the hotel, pointing at my shopping bags.
"Hey! That looks like an Old Navy bag. There's Old Navy here?"
"Oh yeah, it's just a few blocks that way."
"That is good news! Do you like Old Navy? What you got there?"
I showed her my bargain nightwear.
"Well, damn! I love Old Navy. I'm gonna go there right now. Thank YOU!"
What is in the water over there, you Americans? Maybe it was just the newlywed glow or all the excess glucose I'd consumed, but all that unexpected human interaction felt warmer than the California sunshine.
Gull With Fresh Droppings
One in a series of approximately 457 gull photos Gareth took at Fisherman's Wharf.
I Wish To Complain
There's been a big stack of emails and comments lately from people wanting to let me know how rubbish I am. At first I took it all personally and I've been freezing up every time I go to post something new. But it's time to get over it -- if you have a website with an email address and comments box, you have to expect all sorts of feedback.
If anyone else is busting to send such an email or comment, just bear in mind that this is just a silly, inconsequential little blog and I've never pretended it was anything more than that. And as it says on the About page, "I don't take this site seriously, so take anything I write with a grain of salt. I just like to crap on about silly things that happen." .
UPDATE: Feeling bloody embarrassed about this now! I'd deliberately switched off comments on this so it didn't look like I was fishing for reassurance; I just wanted to rant it out of my system! Thanks to those who emailled or left comments elsewhere. I'm working on that Thicker Skin thing :)
Franklin Minted
I neglected to mention that as part of our Sorry You Had To Get Married Twice compensatory gifts, they also threw in this genuine replica of Elvis and Priscilla's Marriage Certificate in a white vinyl presentation folder! I assume Elvis' floating head was part of the State Seal of Nevada at the time.
But even that pales in comparison to the stunning gift we received from Rory and Jane - a genuine 1981 Charles and Diana commemorative coffee mug. We are having the velvet-lined display case custom built as we speak!
People keep asking, "How does it feel to be married?". It still doesn't feel real. I don't think it will until I get my passport and Spouse Visa back from the Home Office, the official word that I am allowed to stay in the UK. Until then I feel like a fraud; I am Gerard Depardieu to Gareth's Andie McDowell with a lower maintenance hairdo. I keep waiting for Immigration to knock down our door and scream, "SHAM MARRIAGE! SHAM MARRIAGE!" because the wedding was a bit too ridiculous to be real.
But it is real. Sweeeeet. Can you believe we pulled it off? Just three years ago I caught the bouquet and bitched all about it, but somehow I ended up hitched. Am I supposed to act different now? Should I bake some pies?
The King And Us
The foyer was decorated with photos of the veritable galaxy of stars previously wed at the Chapel. Jon Bon Jovi, Jay Leno, Billy Ray Cyrus, Chucky & Bride of Chucky, and some guy that used to be on The Young and the Restless. I gazed up at them as the receptionist handed me an bouquet of white flowers. "You're here for the eleven thirty?"
"We're the eleven."
"Oh right! Groom's name... Garth? Garett?"
"Gareth!"
"Oh, that's unusual! Okey dokey then! You guys ready to get married?"
The photographer took us into the chapel and arranged us into a dozen different poses in three minutes. Bride stand here, groom stand there. His arm here, her feet there. Hand up, chin down. Kiss here, grope there.
"Now, will you be exchanging rings?"
Gareth and I grimaced, "Umm, sorta."
I pulled two rings off my finger. "We didn't get round to buying them so we're just going to use these and turn them upside down so they look like wedding bands."
The photographer pointed at one of them. "What is THAT?"
"It's jade! Or plastic, maybe. Got it from a market in Moscow for 20 roubles."
He raised his eyebrow at Gareth, "Big spender, aren't ya buddy?"
Next we were introduced to the Reverend who'd be doing the officals. She was all cute and round like Dawn French in the Vicar of Dibley. "So it's Shauna and.. Gar-eth?" She pronounced his name like it rhymed with "caress", with added lisp.
"Gareth!"
"Shauna and Gary, okay. Now Gary you come with me down the aisle and we'll shut the doors so the bride can make her dramatic entrance. I'll say a few words, then we do the vows, and then you'll be married!"
It was so surreal. Even as the Bridal March cranking up, I couldn't comprehend that this was our wedding. I just stared at the cheesy photos on the wall muttering, "Heh heh heh." Someone opened the double doors and I strolled down the aisle, vaguely thinking "Oh, there's Gareth", but mostly "Woohoo! I can walk in these shoes!". I half-listened to the Reverend as she said a prayer and some words about love and two lives coming together, blah blah blah.
But as soon as she started the vows, pow! I was finally in the moment. We didn't know beforehand how the vows would be phrased, but they turned out to be simple and eloquent. Gareth was holding my hands, absently brushing his thumbs back and forth like he always does. That gesture always makes me feel so calm and reassured, this time it was electric. Until that moment this whole Vegas thing had just felt like some really elaborate vacation. But now we looked at each other with this mixture of nerves and warmth and tenderness and Holy Fucking Shit Batman, We're Getting Married!
"Now repeat after me," said the Minister. 'Gar-ethhh, I love you.'"
"GARETH!" I corrected, "I love you!"
And I'd never meant it so much as right then. The tears prickled and my heart pounded like a Bon Jovi power ballad. Five stars to Boots No 7 Waterproof Mascara!
We then promised to love and cherish, but nothing about obeying, dammit. Gareth slid the upside-down ring-o-shite onto my finger. Then I stared at his hands in confusion, my usual battle with Left and Right made worse by the fact it was in reverse, but I eventually chose the correct digit without having to make an 'L' with my left hand.
The Minister smiled. "Now you may seal your marriage with A BIG KISS!"
And then we were hitched.
We headed to the counter to collect our certificate and pay the bill. A lady in a red and black sequined minidress was next up at the white doors, her tight-demined fella waiting down the aisle. They'd shelled out for the Elvis impersonator, and what a strapping specimen he was! Tall, lean and leather-suited; this was Elvis in the prime of his Vegas years, before he messed with the fried peanut butter sandwiches.
"So that's you guys all done," said the receptionist, handing me a receipt.
"Cool!" I gawked at the wedding certificate in disbelief. "Oh! I almost forgot. Do we get the DVD now or do you post it to us later?"
"You ordered the DVD? I don't think there's a DVD included your package?"
"True, but I rang back a few weeks ago and added it, remember?"
The receptionist flipped through the book. "Oh yes. Here it is. OH. Right. Umm. Let me go check with the photographer."
A few minutes later the photographer rushed in, clutching his forehead, "OH... SHOOT!"
"You didn't film their wedding?"
"OH... SHOOT!"
The staff were aghast and apologetic. Maybe they thought I'd be Freakout Bride and sue! "We are SO sorry!" said the lovely blonde lady that owns the place, "The photographer just saw the package name on the sheet and didn't see we'd added a note about the DVD. I can refund you right away?"
"It's okay, really!" I said, "But the only problem is that my mother was very insistent we get the DVD, so I don't dare go home without it."
"Okay," said Blondie, "We'll just have to reshoot."
"Reshoot? You mean, do the wedding again?"
"If you guys don't mind. It's the least we could do!"
She was all apologies, but Gareth and I were in stitches. It was just so beautifully ridiculous. Two weddings in ten minutes? Classy! If we stuck around another hour we could beat Elizabeth Taylor's record.
"I'll tell you what, how about we throw in Elvis, too?" Blondie offered. "Since you're being so good about this. He's right here and ready to go!"
By then Mr & Mrs Minidress were done. Elvis sauntered over to be briefed on the situation. He grinned and gave the thumbs up.
Next thing Gareth was back at the altar and I was poised behind the doors for my second jaunt down the aisle. It was then I recalled The Mothership's reaction when I told her we were running away to Vegas. There'd been a long pause on the line before she asked, "Are you sure you're taking this marriage thing seriously?"
"We're taking the marriage seriously, Mother!" I explained. "Just not the wedding!"
The doors swung open and there was Elvis waiting for me, strumming his guitar and crooning Love Me Tender. I hooked my arm through his and willed myself not to laugh for the next five minutes. I could hear the tripod screech every time the video camera changed position. This was going to be one classy production.
"Who gives away this woman today?" the Minister asked as we reached the end of the runway.
"On behalf of her friends and family," drawled Elvis, "I do! Elvis, the King of ROCK AND ROLL!"
He winked at Gareth, "She's all yers, buddy!"
"Thank you. Thank you very much!"
The Minister plowed through the vows again. For the benefit of the camera we tried to recreate the sincerity and emotion of our first marriage. I tried to get my voice to waver on the vows, so people wouldn't know this my second time around. And I managed to kiss the groom with the same enthusiasm as I had all those minutes before.
As we unlocked lips there was the plasticky CLUNK of a portable CD player. Muzak dribbled forth as Elvis burst back into the chapel. The Minister gestured with her eyebrows for us to take a pew and be serenaded. We smiled awkwardly into the cameras as the King sang Can't Help Falling In Love.
It's cool to be on your second marriage without encountering lawyers, bitterness, custody battles or property settlements. Best of all they gave us a free t-shirt that says, I RENEWED MY VOWS AT GRACELAND CHAPEL!
Note: The wedding pics have now been archived. Let me know if you missed them and want to have a peek!
Wedding Part I
I woke up cucumber cool and dead keen to get down the aisle. Gareth, on the other hand, wandered round the hotel room singing, "Whacking Day, O Whacking Day!". It's one of my favourite songs from The Simpsons, but it troubled me that this was Gareth's tune du jour. Was it because "Whacking Day" has the same number of syllables as "Wedding Day", or something more disturbing? Was he comparing his impending nuptials to being clubbed over the head with a big stick?
I was too busy being vain and obnoxious to be nervous. Ladies, if you've ever thought of eloping, consider a few things. Are you capable of dressing yourself? Can you apply mascara on without smearing the wand across your nose? Can you remember to break in your shoes before the day of the wedding? Can you do up your own frock, or do you need five people to hold down your guts while a sixth hauls up the zipper?
If not, you should go the traditional route, i.e. with bridesmaids and mothers and make-up artists and hairdressers - also known as PERSONAL SLAVES. These people will remind you unpick that wedgie or powder your shiny nose before the photos. They will give you Something Blue so you don't have to write it on your foot with a pen. They provide the brains on the big day, so you don't have to climb onto a hotel room sink and batter your head against the mirror like a moth as you try to apply eyeshadow under a fluorescent strip while shrieking, "My eyes! My eyes! I can't see my DAMN EYES in this DAMN LIGHT!".
They would also make sure you didn't get married with just one earring. Somewhere on the journey from our room to the Inclinator (the Luxor elevators that run on a diagonal down the side of the pyramid), I lost one of mine. It was only £4 worth of earring, but they were long and dangly and foxy, dammit! I made Gareth crawl around on the pharaoh-patterned carpet for ten minutes to no avail. Cue Bridal Hissyfit.
"Great! ONE DAY of my life I need to be classy. Why not just ONE DAY?
"Just wear one earring!" said Gareth, ever-tolerant. "You'll be totally punk, like Cyndi Lauper or something."
"Bah!"
I finally stopped grumbling when we got into a taxi and headed down the Strip. We zoomed past our fake Pyramid, the fake Statue of Liberty, the fake Eiffel Tower, the fake Venice. With every tacky landmark my grin got bigger. I was about to marry the love of my life in the most ridiculous town on earth. Rawk!
The chapel was in downtown Vegas, conveniently located between a seedy motel and an establishment that promised HOTT NAKED CHICKS!
To be continued! When my brain works!
Huzzah!
A big fat greasy deep-fried thank you to those who voted WNP as Best Oz/NZ Blog in the Bloggies. Woohoo! And another woohoo for the other finalists - Boudist, Kitta, Spiceblog and Bizgirl!
For all the new vistors, if you're thinking "Wedding blog... BORRRING!" there was plenty of other sorts of entries before this recent palaver. And for the old people, you rawk! Thanks for sticking round for all these years.
Viva Las Vegas!
What do Gareth and I have in common with Jon Bon Jovi and Billy Ray Cyrus? We all got married at Graceland Chapel!
In all the excitement of Thursday I accidentally neglected to post THIS CRUCIAL PHOTO in which I revealed the Freaking Huge Dramatic Surprise that we had run away to Las Vegas to get married! What a turkey am I?!?
Anyway we had a cracking few days in Sin City, earning a grand total of $2.00 on the slots and staying in a giant pyramid and saw Tom Jones on our wedding night! He even played What's New Pussycat and I swear he has a sock stuffed down his trousers.
Now we are in San Francisco, I am blogging from the Apple store and we have another few days of honeymooning. Thank you to everyone who sent such kind messages to us! The wedding was unbelievably hilarious and what Gareth calls "Blogging Gold" so I will tell you all about it when we get home next Saturday.
In the meantime, my apologies for cocking up the big surprise. Hope you're all well! Hee hee!
We Have The Technology
Be sure to tune in this Thursday 3rd March because I will attempt to post a few pictures LIVE from our nuptials. They will be of the shoddiest, low-resolution cameraphone kind. My grasp of mobile technology can be described as "shithouse" at best, so if it doesn't work please don't come after me with sharp knives.
I tried to send a test pic to WNP via Flickr but it just won't bloody work, so just check my Flickr page every now and then coz that is where the grainy delights will be. Hopefully.
At a very rough guess you may see a trickle of images around 7PM Edinburgh time (GMT), which translates as:
11AM San Francisco
1PM Guatemala
2PM New York
4AM Tokyo (Friday)
6AM Sydney (Friday)
So Mothership, set your alarm!
Update: Wedding pics have now been archived. Thanks for all your good wishes!
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