Sugared Harpy

Karen at Chookooloonks is doing something fabulous, as usual. Today is her Love Thursday and I want to share this with you:

This is (yes) another picture from my sister’s wedding. Late in the reception, Brett’s patience and stamina blow out and he retreats. Because he MUST retreat now or break down. I’m similar in this way. When I’m overwhelmed, I just want a place of my own to get away.

We realized somewhere in the haze of rum that Brett wasn’t dancing. Mike saw his little head under one of the tables. Brett had found a place of his own. His under-table fort was his sanctuary, a place to calm down, get sleepy, and get fed a thousand secreted Hershey kisses from mama’s disembodied hand.

After a while, and after a crying bout when Daniel wouldn’t respect his created sanctuary, Brett crawled out and into Mike’s arms.

If you don’t know, Mike is not the boys’ biological father. They see their father, but for a thousand reasons, he’s a part-time slightly disinterested, self-involved parent at best. I married Mike when Daniel was 3 and Brett was only 27 months old. He has been their parent in all its glory, good and bad alike. He immediately changed diapers, held them, loved them, played with them, and told them no when needed. He has gone on school field trips, he’s picked up a sick kid from the school nurse, he’s taken a boy and his broken arm to the emergency room. Mike is their dad, hands down. On school forms, when the boys have to list their parents, they list Mike and me. When it specifically calls for “Father’s Name,” they list Mike.

This picture is of a very tired Brett, surrounded by Mike’s arm. Once again.

To my children, Mike has been there for them. He is their dad. To them, he is love.

The Sunday morning after the wedding, I was able to see my sister before they boarded a party plane to Las Vegas. She brought news.

Lindy, and my god now all of us, think her 10 year old daughter got into the champagne during the reception. At the head table, the children were given fluted glasses with Shirley Temples. We think Miss Ashley drained hers, looked around, found more fluted glasses and drank those. Luckily, there were only a few glasses to find, but still.

No, of course we weren’t watching her every moment. There was drinking and shaking it to do.

Stopping the grinding in the middle of a song to take a non-shaky picture for the people. You cannot see the drink in my hand.

Anne was also dancing, paused for this snapshot, and then resumed her whorish dancing.

Our friends are clearly not drunk here.

Nope, not drunk. We are all definitely watching the children.

It would seem Ashley mimicked her darling Aunties. Proof:

She is drinking water. We think all is well.

And then the dancing began. It was really cute.

We should maybe have seen her flushed face, but you know…we didn’t. Aunt Melissa needed her 5,684th rum and Coke.

At some point, Ashley got really into the dancing. Closed eyes, head back dancing. This is maybe not normal kid behavior. I’m off to the side, wondering who was bringing me the next rum and Coke. Aunties Anne, Christine, Emily, Trish, Kimberly, etc. etc. are all thinking the same thing. Mmmm, rum and Coke. Also, hey! Play “Buttons” again!

Hey guys! Look at Ashley, what is she…?

And then when the slutty Aunties were shaking it UP ON each other (okay, maybe just me), we noticed Ashley flinging her hair around and getting down on the floor, on the floor. I mean, the girl was on the floor twirling her hair in circles in a practice run to her night job when she turns eighteen.

Help us all.

Soon, ladies and gentlemen, there will be more pictures of my darling sister’s wedding. She had a beautiful ceremony and one of the best receptions ever. She was gorgeous. Gorgeous. My sister was much more beautiful than your sister.

Clearly, your trusty heroine got drunk.

As a skunk.

In a vat of beer.

Before:

During:

After:
Oh wait. There are no super drunk pictures of me from our camera, anyway. This is probably because I was whirling ball of dance for hours on end.

It all started with a glass of champagne at the bridal party table. Then I drank about 8,503 rum and Cokes, with lime. After the reception came the tallest beer on earth, that yes, I finished. But before the beer and the long, loud stories about porn and balls in a very public bar, came the free rum and Cokes. And I danced. Oh yes, I danced all night long. I have never heard the song, “Buttons,” by the Pussycat Dolls so many times in my life. I loved it each and every time.

Why yes, I was a sexy beast on the dance floor.

Also, please note I was not alone in the public drunkeness.

My sister has made a life surrounded by wonderful people. Those lucky enough to see her wedding are truly amazing, warm, fun people. I believe, and I may be mistaken but I doubt it, I believe I danced UP ON each and every one of our friends. Arm around your neck, grinding UP ON you dancing.

But I was not so drunk that I would do this to myself:

And I am drunk.

Oh  yes, make no mistake motherfuckers, I am drunk and had a great time.  All spelling, grammar, and spacing errors are sacred and not to be fucked with today.

All I know is, my sister is gorgeous and happy, my friends are the best people on earth, and DUDE I totally love you and would freak your tush if you were with me.

Once upon a time, I thought my dear husband would freeze and refuse to emit forth the life-giving elixir.  Once upon a time, I thought he would either refrain alltogether or at the last moment jump away in fear, only to dump the stuff on my thigh.

Once upon a time, I was apparently wrong.  It’s off-time so there’s nothing to think of, but lo, it has begun.

My new DotMoms post is up today and in it I bitch about our school supply list of the year. Check it out.

Is it just me? Am I the only one annoyed at the odd school supplies bought and not used correctly? I think I would feel better if I thought they had a real purpose. Am I just being a Cheapy McThriftypants?

Dear intern who hogged the one good computer all damned day, the computer shared by the eleventy billion research assistants and other interns, even though you were only checking the library’s online card catalogue, a task that can be accomplished on any one of the FOUR community computers nearby, forcing me to stare at the doc computers until my eyes bled from waiting for the fucker to load only so it could crash on me three times and encouraging the fantasizing about strangling you a little bit,

GET OFF.  SHARE.  MY FUCKING GOD, YOU ARE NOT ALONE HERE.

Sincerely,
Melissa

Dear reader who found my site whilst googling, “elmo giving ’sesame street’ a bad image,”

Uh, shyeahhh.

I can’t vouch for what you were worried about, but that Elmo and his crackwhoriness is a big downer.  I mean, teaching babies to prostitute for crack is just wrong.

Babies need to learn how to have a business plan, keep good records, find a great doctor for those quarterly tests, and set up an attractive website.  Good clientele is just too hard to find and going out there on the premise that crack is a worthwhile currency just doesn’t do those babies and preschoolers any good.

Say it with us, Elmo, “Me like money!”

Sincerely,

Melissa

Which Sesame Street Muppet’s Dark Secret Are You?

Elmo’s Past as a Transvestite CrackwhoreYou’re sick, you’re annoying, and you’re a bad influence on the other muppets. Go away! And stop trying to be the new Grover.
Take this quiz!
Quizilla |
Join

| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

Dear god.

Things to note:

I did NOT stalk Daniel today.  I know, so weird.  However, I did spot another mama stalking her kid from a car after she let him out to the bus stop.  But this was not me, and we can all rejoice.

Also, I went to a faculty meeting last night at the community college where I teach and not only is our new Art building a horrendous disaster (as in, we can’t have classes in it even though school start Monday; seriously, I have no desks or projectors), but an asshat in the meeting asks this question:

“What if there is a terrorist attack?  I mean, what do we do?! Do we run to the basements or go to a grassy area outside.  Should we hide in the bathrooms?”

I doodled the word, “tool,” on the back of a payroll form.  Fucking tool.