Monday, March 27, 2006

Is it bulimia if you only do it once?

I have just had one of the most memorable weekends I've had for awhile. Ken and I attended a Swanky Wedding in Chicago. It was on the northshore, and included: gift baskets for hotel guests, passed hordeurves while waiting in line to see the bride and groom, monogrammed towels in the bathroom, an open bar, personalized mini champagne bottles that doubled as place cards, waiters with white gloves, a five-piece band that sang during the four-course, sit-down dinner, and a reception with over three hundred guests. I have no idea how much the whole thing cost, but I would not be surprised to find out it was more than my annual salary. The whole affair was made bearable because the families involved are family-oriented, caring, genuinely nice people. The bride made me feel like she was glad I came when she doesn't even know me, and the mother of the bride made it a point to tell me the following morning that everyone had such a nice time dancing with me (which I think is polite-speak for "fucking slut, dirty-dancing with strangers for two hours", but whatever. I love to dance and I had a great time. So what if I'm remembered as the "crazy dance chick" at all their family functions for the next ten years?).

The downer for the weekend? Ken contracted food poisoning, probably from Staph aureus on some salmon he had for lunch. I have never heard anyone be so violently sick before, and I hope never to hear it again. Cleaning up projectile vomit is no fun, but my job makes my stomach stronger than most, so I was able to deal.

I've thought alot about success and money and love over the past few days. I won't make six figures in the foreseeable future, and I can't fathom having a second home. I'm 31 and I don't have my first million in the bank. Does that make me less of a person? Doesn't loving my job and helping save lives count for anything? Would I love my husband more if he brought home more bacon? Is spending my free time pounding on computer keys in the hopes the stories I produce move people in someway a big fat waste of time? The answers I came up with are: no, yes, no (but I'd dress better) and hell no. Take that for what you will.

1 comment:

Innuendo said...

like I've said before,


and dude, money...i worry about having enough money someday to RETIRE before I die. That's what happens when I'm lazy and underemployed. Maybe by the time I'm 70 the robots will have escaped from human control and will have taken over the world. Or we'll have blown up by then. I figure if I become a baglady, i'll scrape up some dough and greyhound it to florida.