Wedding Bells

To anyone who may have thought I was never going to post again, I apologize. I have just returned from another jaunt through the Homeland that is Tennessee. Two friends from my high school days were tieing the knot, so I made the journey south to witness the nuptials and to see who might show up for the LHS "Freshmen" reunion. Among the wedding party and guests, I had the pleasure of company from Beanstress (who despite the rumors, is not married), Captain Morgan, Right Ovary, and of course, the Bride and Groom. Although we were slightly lost through the Catholic wedding rituals, we all knew what do at the reception: eat chocolate-covered espresso beans and dance, dance, dance! Many of Bride and Groom's friends from Florida had come up for the wedding, but it did not take long for us to realize that it was only the LHS crew who were cutting any rugs, busting any moves, chicken dancing, hokey-pokeying, congo-ing, or any other dance move that may come to mind. Yes, there was even a display of the much adored Chicken Wing from Right Ovary's husband during the dance must-have YMCA. And let know one forget that when Chumbawumba's Tubthumpin' gets played, everyone must stop what they're doing, find the nearest dance floor, and begin jumping up and down incessantly, regardless of what dress or shoe she is wearing. I did overhear two non-LHS guests discussing whether or not either of them had been a part of the "group that can't dance," but I'm sure they were either not referring to us, or were referring to us with sarcasm and disappointment that their dance skills did not compare to our own.

In the midst of this dance discussion, let us not overlook the role chocolate-covered espresso beans may have played in all of this mayhem. As a party favor, Bride and Groom had arranged for containers of these beans to be placed at approximately every other seat around the dinner tables. Once they were discovered at our table, we raided an empty table next to us for their beans, as well. (We could not allow the Floridian espresso-bean seekers to get them first!) In all, I'd say I personally ate 10-15 of the beans, if not more. I'm not sure how many beans it takes to make one shot of espresso, but I'm pretty sure I consumed the equivalent of more than a few cups of coffee. For someone who does not typically consume much caffeine, it was like a drug for me. I was literally up most of the night, and I believe it was after 4:30am when I gave up looking at the clock. Now let's assume that the beans affected my comrades the same or even only half as much as they did me, and you can imagine our mindsets during this reception. Good times were had by all. The Floridians didn't know what they missed out on. I was definitely a sore little Trojan Woman the next day.

I love my trips home when I get to see old friends in an occasion of celebration. I wish Bride and Groom the best in their new life together, and I hope there will be more opportunities for similar LHS "Freshmen" reunions of sorts in the future. We owe it to the world!

Pin a Rose on my Nose

For anyone keeping track of the calendar, I did, in fact, perform my monthly BSE yesterday, which entitles me to a Starbucks Frappaccino. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, click here to catch up.) I haven't treated myself yet, and maybe I should consider all of the frozen cappuccinos I had while on vacation last week my early reward, but what fun would that be?

Southern Living

I have spent the past few days vacationing with Cousin and Cousin-in-Law in south Alabama. They are so near the border of Florida, though, that we've spent two afternoons now driving into the panhandle and hitting Panama City and Destin. While on our drive down today, I witnessed a sight that took me instantly back to my southern roots. Parked in front of a modular home was an old, American-made pickup truck, complete with some peeling paint and a few rust spots on the body of the truck. Written on the windshield of the truck, in that paint stuff people use to decorate cars at weddings, was the sentence:

"Happy 16th Birthday Bubba!"

I love the South!! (No sarcasm at all, I promise.)

Addendums

It occurred to me that I never really posted anything else about the HIV prevention counseling training I attended after Day #1. It was a long, but worthwhile training, and timely, seeing as how we have reached the 25 year anniversary of the documenting of the first HIV cases in the U.S. We've come a long way, yet still have a long way to go.

Many of the counseling sessions I have performed make me thankful for the family support and stability in my life. Some would think that HIV prevention is a simple thing. I would argue it is a much more complicated actuality than it seems in theory. It's sad to hear how many challenges some people face in their daily, normal lives. When you aren't guaranteed a roof over your head or food on your table, and when it seems no one in the world cares if you live or die, how important can practicing safe sex or securing clean needles seem in the grand scheme of things? It is not my job to judge a person's behaviors but to help him/her find ways to reduce personal risks which are reasonable and feasible in the scope of life as they know it.

On a lighter note, the week of training also included many social highlights. The week became a minivacation with my office colleague. Danny, the hotel manager from India, put the "quality" in the Quality Inn, and Gay Man in Denial treated us to half price meals at a five star restaurant. I educated a server on the inportance of Jeff Saturday to the Indianapolis Colts (not the Indy racing league!), and I learned that the chocolate covered strawberries at the Chocolate Cafe are NOT free samples, even if they are right next to the free samples and not marked with a price sticker.

Booze + Heat = Bad News

Over the weekend, I went to an outdoor rock concert sponsored by one of the local radio stations. It featured six bands and lasted approximately seven hours. It was a great show, no question, but it didn't take me long to realize that the people in my party were among the only sober fans in the audience. Before the third band took the stage, there were already people passed out on the ground around us. The combination of drinking before and during the concert and the 90+ degree heat were not doing anyone any favors. I saw two people pass out and experience seizures, one domestic battery incident, and more than a few people hit with flying beer-filled cups, launched by random anonymous fans in the distance. What is it about these shows that brings out the "best" in people? I like to have fun as much as the next person, but I also like to remember the fun I had. I have zero interest in puking, publicly or privately, and zero interest in ever leaving a venue in an ambulance or police car.

Maybe I'm becoming an "old codger" wondering what's gotten into "kids these days." Or maybe I just realize that many of those same kids are going to find themselves in my office soon, needing to sign up for alcohol education programs in order to get the public intoxication citation off their records. Observing drunks can be fun at times, but it can also be sad. Sad that that's the reality so many people live in.

Two other observations from my time at the show: if your butt cheeks hang out from underneath the back of your skirt, the skirt's too short, and if your belly buldges out over the waistband of your shorts, the shorts are too small.

Otherwise, enjoy the show.