Prize-baking, handbaggers

Cinna-soy rolls, prep phase I.

Dizzy on the stereo, soymilk on the stove ... yes, it’s baking time. But as soon as I finish launching this batch of cinnamon rolls for a certain Sexless contest winner, I’m all writer — er, blogger.

Cross my heart and ... well, you get the idea. Hey, there’s lots of rising time, folks! Won’t be as long as you think!

Anna sneaks in more guest-blogging
Meanwhile, Reader Frasier has kindly sounded off on my wedding-guest blues (he’s got ’em too, turns out):

Damn that 1000 character limit on posts. I forgot about it, became as garrulous as ever and was thwarted again when I attempted to post.

I could lie and say I’ve cut and pasted it to email because it was too difficult to edit down. The truth is if I eliminated the first two paragraphs, I’d be getting pretty close to required length. But that would take out the part about ME. Why does it always have to be about YOU? Perhaps because it’s your blog, do I hear you say? Uh, good point. Regardless, here’s the unsuccessful post in full ...

I should not be answering this. I’m sooooo busy and only briefly in the office between interstate trips. But having succumbed in a moment of weakness to my growing addiction to accessing your site before getting on with work, I am amazed to discover you’re dealing with the very problem I am wrestling with. So I have to post.

In my case the ex will also be attending the nuptials and she will have new squeeze in tow, so the dilemma comes down to this: Do I lose face by attending proudly and unapologetically unattached (perhaps defiantly humming “The greatest love of all” when the flaunting of mutual affection by ex and squeeze becomes too much to bear)? Or do I seek out friend-who-handbags-for-me-(and-I-for-her)-as-occasion-demands with the risk that she is prone to becoming more incoherently shit faced more rapidly than even the ultra-thirsty invitees who comprise this particular guest list, potentially giving rise to situations even more face-losing for self than an unattached appearance?

In your case, however, it seems to me your course of action is clear: Ignore sister’s advice and take another PK. (Hey, if he was asking you, would he treat the wedding invitation as big deal? Only if it suited him. Take the same approach, AB!)

And you can (indeed, you should) make his status clear to him by negotiating the standard handbaggers’ pact - ie, if you happen to spy the man of your dreams across the crowded room, he will discreetly fade into the background as you crank up your swing dance routine (a la the considerate cops you met at the RNC). You, of course will do likewise if his heart/libido takes him in other directions. I am told these pacts can become particularly interesting where one of the handbaggers is gay and you find yourselves attracted to the same dreamboat. But I gather that is not a consideration in this case.

Oh, and there’s always plan B - take Bill Murky.

Frasier

Beastly man! Bill Murky indeed (shudders). But I think you’re right. PKs seem to be hip these days, so why not ask the old friend? He owes me one for not returning my calls while he was in town anyway...

Otherwise, reader Z suggests I round up some street bum as my guest. “Will provide eats for chit-chat. Must provide own suit.” Hmmmm....

At any rate, with all this talk of contests and contest-winners — and while you’re waitin’ on me, why not get cracking on a rhyme or poetic entry for this month’s contest?

xoxo,
AB