Minneapolis Adventures

I have never been much of a girly girl. When I was little, I spurned the dolls I'd been given in favor of my "wood car," "red car," and vast collection of Matchbox cars. My Korean Barbie, much to my mother's chagrin, was not carefully tended and dressed in her han bok but instead became the bathroom pass for my sophomore world history class.

Perhaps unfortunately it is no different now that IrishTenor and I are engaged and three short months out from our wedding. I got excited about the church, the dress, and the reception venue, but that was about it. And even the dress was chosen as a result of my mother asking me if I would please try on a real wedding gown instead of just ivory cocktail dresses, so she could see me in a wedding dress. It just happened to look so pretty I couldn't help liking it. Nowadays my stock answers to wedding-related questions are:

• "Oh, yeah...that..."
• "Meh," and,
• "Oops. I forgot."

I told my friend KitKat yesterday that I just don't care about the wedding. I care about the day after the wedding and everything after that, but this bride stuff just isn't for me. KitKat said very diplomatically, "Well, that's unusual, but it's not bad. At least your focus is on the marriage and not only one day."

Don't get me wrong, I'm ecstatic at the prospect of marrying IrishTenor. I just find myself puzzled at the assumption that I am enthralled by every detail of planning the actual wedding when in fact the only reason I am looking forward to talking to the florist recommended by IrishTenor's coworker is because she is rumored to be snobby to the point of downright mean, and I find those people entertaining. It is amusing and somewhat perturbing when some friends ask only about my wedding, as though this is the only dimension I will have until after my wedding day.

It reminds me of Kill Bill; Uma Thurman's character doesn't even have a name. She is just The Bride.

The other day as I was walking into work, I happened to look at my phone and noticed that I'd missed a call while driving. I listened to the voicemail, which was a bit fuzzy, but I could make out that it was a woman calling from some office in downtown Minneapolis asking about the delivery of some sandwiches. Since I would have hated for her whole office to not get lunch, I decided I should call her back and let her know she had the wrong number.

Me: "Hi, I'm just calling because someone from this number left me a voicemail about some sandwiches, and - "

Woman: "Yes, this is Joan, and I need those sandwiches by 11."

Me: "Well, the thing is, I was calling back to let you know that you have the wrong number. I'm sorry, but I can't help you, and I wanted to make sure - "

Joan: "I need those sandwiches by 11! You'll have them delivered by then."

Me: "I'm very sorry, but this is my personal cell number, and I'm afraid I can't help with any sandwiches."

Joan: "No, I need those sandwiches!"

Me: "I'm sorry, but you have the wrong number. I don't work for a restaurant."

Joan: "No! I need those sandwiches delivered by 11."

Me: "I do not work for a restaurant, I'm afraid you have the wrong number."

Joan: "No, I have the correct number. It's 612-555-5555." [Which oddly enough was my cell number...]

Me: "I'm sorry, but this is my personal cell number. It does not belong to anyone affiliated with a restaurant. I'm sorry but I can't help you."

Joan: "Fine." [slams down the phone]

To this day, I'm both extremely puzzled and extremely entertained by the fact that she simply did not believe me when I said that she called the wrong number.

IrishTenor's friend NevadaSoprano (reading a banner hung on a sorority house): "Jesus Christ is Lord of the University of Minnesota."

IrishTenor: "I knew someone fucked up was running that shit!"

...I'm getting married!

In a little less than a year, I'll be Mrs. IrishTenor.

I just ran across the best business name ever: Retina Burn Photography.

This is a mystery to me: If you are a professional photographer starting your own studio, why would you give your fledgling business a name that implied that your final product would be at best painful to view?

I love my survey methods class.

Question on a survey evaluating service at a hotel in New Orleans: "When you arrived to check in, were you greeted warmly?" (Yes/No)

Classmate: "What if 'greeted warmly' means something different in Minnesota from what it means in New Orleans? Did I get beads?"

Professor (as respondent): "Yes, I was flashed appropriately."

I was at a bar in Uptown on Friday night, and as I was weaving through the crowd, a creepy-looking Asian guy with glasses and a molestorstache pulled me aside, peered into my face, and asked me, "Are you Asian?"