April 26, 2001
Boys Are Dorks
Flirting is such a difficult thing. Actually, it's quite simple, but the language is so easily misunderstood. It's like you want to be sure you speak the same version of Flirtage and not some bastardized Esperanto before you invest a minute in what can be an exhausting process. Still, flirting is healthy and it's fun, even when done with someone with whom there's no potential.
For example, flirting with gay guys is the best! They really appreciate the art form, so they play right along, even though there's nary a stir from their nether regions during said flirting. Last night, I had such fun with my new best friend Nelson that he has made a commitment to me. Yep, he's going to introduce me as his girlfriend the next time his dad comes through town. Hey, it's not the first time I've played beard.
In high school, I was certain that I would be the mother of David's children. His sister Faith assures me that I can still do this, just that I'll have to give the kids to David and his husband Mark. Okay, that's not really what I had in mind.
John, my friend of eleven years who has been "out" for seven of those, has told me I am one of only three women for whom he'd "go back" for a night of heterosexuality. I know there's a compliment in there somewhere.
The worst feeling is that moment in which you realize you're flirting with someone who has no interest in you. Not because they're gay, but because you're too fat or too old or too smart or too loud or too similar to their last girlfriend or not the right religion or whatever stupid Jerry Seinfeldian excuse for not being into a woman they choose to come up with. Of course, in Los Angeles, I'm way too frequently conned by the guy who'll flirt, then reveal that he'd prefer fake boobs, fake tan, fake nose, and a stapled stomach to someone with her own curves, her natural alabaster skin tone, original facial parts, and healthy appetite. Oh, gosh, I'm sorry... am I too real for LA? Nine times out of ten, yep! Most of the time, it's a non-native Angelino who finds me interesting. Remember, though, Native = 2 Years or More in LA, so I've gotta get 'em quick! Maybe I can set up a booth at the airport. It works for Moonies, right?
Posted by bonnie at 2:03 PM
April 12, 2001
MOH, I Didn't Even Know You Were an Acronym
On the 4th of March, I went from being Bonnie Gillespie to being Maid of Honor.
My phone rang at 8am--and this was on a Sunday--so you know that hour is obscene. I let the voicemail pick up; I'm sleeping. Fifteen minutes later, another call. Roll over, cover my head with a pillow, and let the caller go to voicemail again. A few hours later, I take a shower and then check the voicemail. It's Sissa.
Sissa is Melissa. She was an exec staff member at the radio station I advised back in grad school. She became my little sister and I became her big sister. It was a slow evolution, our friendship, but one that enriched my life and continues to do so, years later. Once I realized Melissa was becoming my best friend, I began calling her Sissa. In my mind, that's short for Melissa. In her mind, that's slang for Sister, so she calls me Sissa too. I will never, ever correct her on that one. I am honored to be called Sissa by my best friend.
Okay, so I'm checking my voicemail. Before she's said five words, I know. "Oh my God, he proposed," I'm thinking. Then, in her calmest voice, Sissa confirms my suspicion with the words, "We'll be home all day." Not, "I'll..." but "we'll...." I know, at that moment, I'll be attending a wedding. Wow, maybe I'll even be in it. Then I call her back. Certain of the reply to come, I say, "Tell me everything."
My best friend says, "What are you doing next April and will you be my Maid of Honor?" Oh my God... Maid of Honor? I am stunned. I mean, I'm honored beyond belief and I'm screaming with delight. But suddenly, I realize, my whole life has changed.
The last wedding I was in was my brother's. It was 1976. My mother made my sunshine yellow, butterfly-sleeved, floor-length dress, complete with God's-eye pattern stitched into the bodice. I was the flower girl, which meant I walked down the aisle just before my future sister-in-law, dropping rose petals from my white basket. I thought it was my wedding! I thought that my sister-in-law would come live with us at our house, not that my brother would leave us. What trauma! Somehow, I've not been the same since they returned from the Bahamas, bringing me a multi-colored dollar bill with a picture of some lady on it.
So, here comes my second wedding. Wait, that's not true. I was in my dad's second wedding, and in my mom's second wedding too. But both nuptial rituals resulted in years of therapy, so I'll leave those out. Okay, so this is my second wedding. And I'm Maid of Honor. Gee, no pressure!
I'm trying to think of the last wedding I attended. It was my buddy David's big day and I'd not yet met his fiancee, Kim. So, during communion, which we all went up to the alter to share, David elbowed a praying Kim and said, "Kim, that's Bonnie!" I was even more shocked when she whispered, "Hey! David's told me so much about you! Thanks for coming!" I mouthed the words, "We can do this later, y'know?" We all got a big laugh out of that one.
Oh, there's also been Big Debbie's wedding to Big Evert. At the reception, Debbie drank champagne from the bottle before the official first toast. Luckily, I snapped a quick photo of that!
I have all of these strange duties as MOH (I learned that acronym from visiting one of the dozens of websites designed for pre-newlyweds. My biggest concern, other than losing a pound a week between now and the wedding (yes, that's like 55 pounds, but I can dream), is how to plan a wedding that will take place in Florida, for my best friend, who lives in Kentucky, while I'm out here, in Los Angeles. Can we do this whole thing online?
Posted by bonnie at 2:04 PM