Mom's dress and good ol' my father.

Apparently, my mom purchased a dress for my wedding. She got it last week-end and was originally going to tell me about it Wednesday, but I'm really sick and she figured that I probably wouldn't want to trek all over every where. She did describe it to me over the phone tonight and it sounds really nice...

...but totally unlike anything my mom would wear.

Those of you who know my mom know that she like to shop in the junior department. She's an art teacher, she often dresses like one. My mom is also in great shape for being almost 54. One of the first things she said when we announced our engagement was that she was not going to wear a frumpy mother of the bride dress.

I expected her to pick out something with spaghetti straps or strapless. Something more along the lines of a homecoming dress. I saw a couple things that I though would look great on her, as well as a dress at David's Bridal that I liked, but figured she'd never wear.

The dress Mom picked is black, shot with silver threads, and has caviar beading. It has a straight skirt with a chiffon overlay and a knee high slit in the back. The top is long sleeved with a Sabrina neckline. She bought a nice pair of matching shoes. It's very much like what I originally liked at David's, except not silver. And totally unMomlike. I'm excited to see it.

Now we just have the conundrum of what Steven's mother will wear. Neither of us really trust her, since left to her own devices, I honestly believe she would a) wear what she wore to Steven's other wedding or b) pick out the absolute must funereal garment she could find.

You know, since she's totally in mourning over our marriage.

Etiquette says that my mom is allowed to choose her dress first and sets the tone for the mother of the groom. Technically, my dress is the one that dictates the formality and my dress indeed calls for a formal wedding. Ergo, the pale lemon, springy, informal suit Steven's mom already owns is completely inappropriate for a formal, evening, winter wedding.

Plus, it makes her look like a walking lemon. I have pictures, if anyone is desperate.

I suggested a few colours that I thought she might look good in to Steven, but he felt that telling her medium to dark grey was safest. So, her list of requirements will include: medium to dark grey, ankle length skirt, and formal. It will also be subject to our final approval, though I kind of feel if she wants to look like a jerk, that's her own business. We just won't take a lot of photos of her.

I need to go to bed, but my stomach is upset from the antibiotics and my chest hurts from coughing all day. Stupid, unproductive pneumonia. Steven brought me home the Sundae of Doom from Friendly's because he's fattening me up to eat me. It was glorious and I tied the cherry stem in a knot as thanks for him. That actually isn't even double entendre because I feel so lousy, the thought of sex or any physical activity makes me cringe like a beaten dog.

Oh god.. I talked to my father yesterday and today. It was 37 kinds of amazing. He apparently has become somewhat of a celebrity whore in the last few years, watching all the awards shows. He also goes to the movies a lot. So he was on a tear about Brokeback Mountain and how the people who vote are all biased because Hollywood is full of queers. He went on to state that there's no such thing as gay cowboys and how they must be so offended that Hollywood is portraying them that way.

Since, you know, all the cowboys just flocked to see that movie.

This is, of course, the same man who was convinced that, when Vermont passed its civil union laws, the gays were trying to recruit him. I replied that even if they were recruiting, they probably didn't want him. He does wear an awful lot of warm-up suits, though... Anyhow, to give you a good picture, my father looks a bit like Charles Bronson and has a pronounced Jersey accent.

After complaining about the Gay Cowboy Movie and how King Kong should have won, he went out to tell me about his mini-war with Bill Belachick for letting the Pats lose and that the Broncos cheat. A lot. I know zilch about football and my father always willfully ignores this. He actually used to play for the then-New York Titans, which eventually became the Jets. He would presumably have gone pro had he not blown out his knee. Surfice to say, football means a lot to him. I actually just foisted the phone off on Steven when he started talking about football tonight because Steven likes/understands football and I don't. Willfully. At least they have something to talk about. Oh, and if anyone cares, my father's pick for the Superbowl is the Steelers. Steven's too. I still won't care.

He went back to celebrity whoring after that, telling me how we should rent Cinderella Man. He liked the movie a lot and said it was pretty close to the true thing since, apparently, my father knew James J. Braddock. He was the athletic director at a park my father hung out in when he was a young hoodlum in Jersey. My father names drops dead athletes.

This reminds me of the time when I was young, at work with my father, and told him I was bored because I had finished my book. He told me that I should be glad I had books, because when he was my age (wait for it), he and my uncle had nothing to do for entertainment beside beat each other up.

My father is an amazing source of amusement sometimes, especially because he's totally serious. His friends all have insane nicknames. My godfather's nickname is the Knife and my father refers to him as this in casual conversation.

So yea, that was the highlight of my day yesterday. We also went to see Narnia, which I liked, but thought it dragged a little. I also had a different conception of what it would be like from what I heard about it. I won't spoil it.

I think I might really sleep now. Cough syrup's kicked in, along with the NyQuil.