Wedding bells

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So, this weekend, I went to the only wedding I have enjoyed. My own wedding excluded of course.

Not only did I look kick ass–refer to previous entry describing my sweet little outfit–(which is unusual in that I generally don’t have my dressage planned in advance. I usually wake up with, “Crap. I’ve got a wedding today. What the hell am I going to wear?”.) I met some great people, and had some fan-freaking-tastic food.

Now, under normal circumstances, (read: every other wedding I’ve ever been to) I’d be forced to survive on potatoes and sickly looking carrots/peas/etc, as that is the limit to their vegetarian menu options. Not this wedding. First off, I was able to select the meal of my choice on the RSVP card:

I would like a:
___Chicken Entree
___Fish Entree
___Beef Entree
___Vegetarian Entree

Secondly, the vegetarian entree DIDN’T SUCK. I was, in actuality, the envy of our table. Everyone else had their beige meals, (chicken breast, potatoes, grilled zucchini) and I had a gorgeous bowl of noodles, (rice noodles even) with mounds of red/green/yellow/orange peppers, chickpeas, carrots, zucchini, snow peas, etc. etc. And for dessert, while everyone else had to make do with wedding cake, (suckers) I was treated to a bowl of fresh fruit. FRESH. As in not canned, not syruped to death. Fresh. Pineapple. Blueberries. Strawberries. Raspberries. Mellon. Mango. Papaya. Oranges. I’m salivating just thinking about it.

I find it so funny. People were given the choice, and chose chicken, fish, etc. barely glancing at the vegan option. But last night, everyone wanted to be vegan.

I am slowly converting the planet.

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About Angela

My name is Angela. I am a 28 year old psych and criminology graduate, but I'd rather not diagnose you. I am a cuddle-slut. I can recite the entire script of The Princess Bride, (including accents) and believe that the meaning of life is contained within. Polyanna, Snap.com commercials, and Oprah 'reunion shows' make me cry. I can whistle and hum at the same time, but I cannot touch my toes. I am an expert in both listening and talking. I look good in orange. I am a writer. I kick ass in Gin, Hearts, and Cribbage but I don't understand Canasta or Bridge. I can be heard singing Broadway numbers from my shower, and have dressed up as a viking princess, (complete with aluminum foil breast plate) The Phantom of the Opera, and a Ghostbuster for Hallowe'en. I have a bird named Bean. I have a brother named Adam. They are not related. I like vanilla body lotion, peanut butter, saunas, Jim Carrey, broccoli, pets, TheOnion.com, Muppets, Kevin Smith, Corelle dishes, dry erase white-boards, Barenaked Ladies, Philosophy, the letter J, Harry Potter, picture frames, swimming, quilting, Michael Moore, genealogy, Raggedy Anne, tacky 50's tchotchke, 'Idiot's Complete Guide To' books, tweezers, feather pillows, polar dips, aquariums, Martin Luther King Jr., and Dr. Pepper. I don't like meat, gossips, cooked carrots, American Idol, mosquitoes, sweating, politics, public washrooms, tardiness, tuition, hunting, pat answers, pick up lines, brown bananas, cliches, pine scented air freshener, Kevin Costner, bacon, candied apples, pro-wrestling, humidity, and hypocrisy. Books I've read recently The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Dark Tower, When Nietzsche Wept, What's So Amazing About Grace?, Catcher in the Rye, Not Wanted On the Voyage, The Red Tent, The Little Prince, The Way the Crow Flies, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Poisonwood Bible, The Fall, The Knot of Vipers, Calculating God, The Chrysalids, Sick Puppy, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Franny and Zooey, The Brothers Karamazov, and jPod. I am slightly neurotic. No I'm not. Yes I am.

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