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1:08 p.m. - 2011-04-29
Royal weddings and other royal audiences.

I refuse to apologize or justify my utter delight in watching the royal wedding highlight reel this morning at the gym.

There's plenty of scorners out there. Sniffy, nasty ones who're kvetching about the non-importance and the gaudy expense and the supposed big-headedness of the Brit royals in assuming that anyone in their right mind would give a warm crap about the wedding.

I enjoyed it. Tough noogs. And apparently so did 2 billion other dopes like me.

Life is hard. Disasters. Illness. Political buffoonery and graft. Everywhere you turn there's ugliness and hate. Lousy shitty things happen to good people and oftentimes the evil and stupid ones flourish. So why not take a couple hours and let yourself enjoy something positive? And what's happier than a wedding? A celebration full of smiles and horse-drawn carriages and flags and choirs and dudes in fancy uniforms and a glowing bride who is (unbelievably) marrying an actual prince?

This is so awful? Not to me it isn't. And how cool was it that the happy couple invited the entire world to attend? Damn nice of them if you ask me.

The dress? A total winner. Classy, elegant, perfect. Unlike that idiotic wrinkled mess of a Bo-Peep mockery poor Diana wore. That ugly thing was chosen by Camilla, btw. Nothing like having your fiancÚ's shrew of a mistress pick out your wedding dress, eh? So to get even for being passed over as queen-to-be and taking her spleen out on Charles' innocent little royal brood mare Camilla tricked Diana out in the WORST wedding dress ever.

Kate, however, has settled the score with a dress she quite obviously had a firm hand in designing herself. Also, even though I'll never get to wear a wedding dress myself, I hope Kate's dress sparks a new trend and wedding dresses start having sleeves and pretty necklines again. Puh-leeze let those awful ubiquitous strapless things become passÚ. Sorry to any bride who got married in the last 15 years, but this fashionista thinks those strapless horrors flatter no one. Between the lopping-over-the-edge back fat and the drooping fronts and the armpit cleavage and the way you couldn't look at the poor gasping bride without wondering just how binding her undergarments were and how far did the g-d boning go down her bod anyhow, the strapless wedding dress deserves to die an immediate and eternal death.

"Other than being a hopeless wedding dork and dress critic, what'cha got going on, LA?"

As I mentioned above, went to the gym. Only did a mile and a half today on the tread. I would have gone longer except that in my hasty grab downstairs this morning the bra I thought was clean and had simply fallen off the drying rack and that's why it was on the cellar floor was actually impregnated with cat pee. Something I didn't find out until after I'd gotten to the gym and started heating up as I worked out.


So there I was trying to get through my workout reeking of cat urine and trying not to barf on myself from the smell. MIL swore she couldn't smell it even though she leaned in and took a good sniff, but I have a nose as keen as a bloodhound's. Fucking cats.

Tell me again why I keep small animals who piss on my things as pampered captives in my house?

Reeky bra or not I had a ton of errands to run after the gym. I'd brought civilian clothes with me but alas, no other bra. So I changed into my street clothes and sallied forth stinking of overheated cat pee, hoping like hell that everybody else's noses were as dull as my MIL's.

My reek didn't seem to matter when I stopped by the Plumb King to get a new filter for the central air conditioning unit. In fact, I made out like a bandit at the Plumb King. I'd gone in with no expectations, the ex and I have been divorced for quite some time now and my days as his parts and supplies gofer are long past, but luck was with me and the store's manager from Long Ago was still there and recognized me right off. He greeted me with a smile and a handshake, fetched my filter for me himself, and had the clerk ring it up at the contractor's price instead of retail. Saved me $25. Kev, I owe you one, man.

Apparently my reign as the Queen of the Plumb King isn't as over as I thought.

I had similar good luck on the rest of my stops too. Hey, sometimes the universe sends us some grace notes as we go about our messy little lives.

For instance, at the post office the woman at the counter ahead of me insisted I be waited on first. She had some kind of complicated mailing issue and a P.O. box rental to take care of and I only wanted some stamps. I thanked her, and the initially reluctant clerk, and was on my merry way in mere seconds.

Got home and dragged all my booty inside. Immediately stripped off my clothes and tossed everything (including my disgusting bra) downstairs into the cellar laundry room. After a good scrub at the sink I put on my dopey old-lady housecoat, let Princess out, grabbed a cold Diet Coke and came in here to take another gawk at the royal newlyweds, check in on FB (Happy Birthday, again, Jim!) and record yet another scintillating day in the life of a middle-aged suburban hausfrau.

Wishing you all a terrific weekend. ~LA

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