This weekend my good friend Leigh got married. I went to the wedding and I came home with a fish. I didn’t catch the bouquet; I got a fish.

Really, I wasn’t even around for the bouquet toss. My shoes hurt like crazy and my fancy stretchy bridesmaid undergarments were beginning to assault me, so I’d left the reception briefly to change. When I came back my friend Richard had caught the bouquet. Bitch. Good for him.

I know this all makes it sound like the fish was some kind of spinster consolation prize, but apparently I was doing the bride a favor. “Take a fish!” she yelled as I was getting ready to leave the reception. The party was winding down and everyone was walking around drunk and barefoot. “A what?” I said. She pointed to one of the centerpieces. Each table had a glass bowl with a sunflower head in it, and each bowl had a little dark thing fluttering around in the water. I hadn’t even noticed. I took a bowl and held it between my knees as I rode home in the cab.

In the morning I figured out that I’d gotten a Betta fish. It is a pretty, deep blue color. I changed its water and set the bowl on my desk. Here it is looking at me expectantly.

For now I will call it Bootsy. I always wanted to name something Bootsy.

Don’t even get me started on how stupidly difficult it is to photograph a fish with a low-end digital camera.

I bought Bootsy some Betta pellets today. So far he/she hasn’t really gone for them, though he/she is pretty lively otherwise. I have been looking up stuff about Betta fish and how keeping them in the pretty little vases is a controversial issue and I’m still trying to figure out what to do. Mostly I keep telling Bootsy, “Don’t die.”

That’s just me, though. I’m always nervous at the beginning of relationships. Even when they make me extremely happy, and that’s all I’ll say about that. And hey, I think I like this fish, too.

Why does V!agr@ spam depend so heavily on this whole Penis Of Mass Destruction concept as a selling point? When it comes to product claims I suppose treats erectile dysfunction doesn’t have quite as much appeal as unleashes powerful ninja dick!!! but come on, spammers, if you’re going to entice the guys with the promise of gigantic meat cudgel endowments to “make her SCREAM!” and “tear her APART!” or maybe even “put her EYE out!” you should at least provide equal opportunity here. Like maybe the subject lines for breast enhancement spam ought to include phrases like “SMOTHER HIM WITH YOUR DOUBLE D CUPS!” or “SUPERSIZE FUNBAGS WHACK HIM ACROSS THE FACE!” or “MAKE HIM CRY FOR MAMA!” I mean, why don’t they? Us girls, we’re too nice.

I knew sooner or later the idyllic spell of Ragdale was going to be broken by something. I knew it wouldn’t take much.

Really, any little bit of spam in my inbox would have sufficed and it didn’t have to be one with the subject line Attack your wife with semen! Clearly “Tommy Bolton,” discount pharmaceutical entrepreneur, went above and beyond the line of duty here. He doesn’t say exactly how you, the discerning consumer, might ATTACK YOUR WIFE WITH SEMEN, but one can imagine all kinds of innovative methods involving filled balloons, ice cube trays, paintball pellets and whatnot. Or you could be in the kitchen with the electric mixer pretending to be making a cake and you can say to your wife, “Honey, come here–how do you turn this thing on?” and when she comes over you turn it on high and yell WHOOOOOPS!!! and when she figures out it’s not cake batter she’ll laugh and laugh! You could even use the tried and true bucket-over-the-door trick to attack your wife with semen the SNEAKY way! Attack your wife with semen! If that doesn’t make you sentimental about heterosexual marriage, I don’t know what will.

I don�t know what to say about Ragdale except to show you the pictures. It was one of the most beautiful places I�ve ever seen. The house was beautiful and the art was beautiful and then there was all that nature. I mean the nature was pretty blatant. The deer were all like, Prance, prance! Check us out! I got over the deer but not the rest of it.

I got a lot done. Not enough done; never enough. But what I did manage to complete didn�t feel like work. I think the point is to not feel guilty about that, right?

It was strange being offline so much. Even now it�s hard to bring myself back. The last thing I expected was that this would be a good summer�I had no idea until I found myself adrift in it. More later. I’ll be back on track soon.

But now it’s a holiday weekend and you’re probaby not reading anyway.