At the end of Part 1, I shared with you the notes from my soon-to-be sister-in-law’s “bridesmaid meeting,” which included a reminder to shave our pits and not to show up at the wedding drunk or high. This was going to be a classy affair, you see, and while getting zooted up before the wedding was nixed, silver shoes and silver-tipped toenails were fair game. The hair issue, thankfully, turned out not to be an issue at all; since the bride couldn’t decide on a style, she said that we could each do what we wanted. “And if you get some silver or green weave streaks–the kind of green that matches your dresses–that might be nice.”
Not for me. I did get a weave when I went to get my hair done, but it was more Beyoncé and less Nicki Minaj. A week later, we loaded up the family and made the ten-hour drive to Louisiana. I wondered the whole way if the wedding would be as boughetto as I expected it to be.
It was. Let me count the ways:
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Dreams can be entertaining, hilarious and can also provide valuable insights into our waking life.
For example, consider the deep messages contained within the dream I had last night:
I am on the highway with one of my friends and she is complaining about my erratic driving. I am driving like Drunk Mario in Mario Kart–sliding all over and whooping’ and hollering’. It turns out that I’m driving like that because I am, in fact, drunk. My friend freaks out and says, “You’re drunk?!” and I say, “I didn’t know I was so it doesn’t count!” She says, “Yes it does!” and I say, “I really can’t get a DUI because it will ruin my perfect driving record and Luisa will kill me!” She grabs the wheel and I giggle uncontrollably and she chastises me and she eventually drops me off at my hotel. I walk into the lobby and another friend, Quinn Fabray from Glee, is waiting for me. She says “Hey” and I say “Hey” and then she says, “You seem kinda drunk” and I say “Apparently I am.” I then realize that I have lost my driver’s license and credit cards. Quinn is a good friend, though, and pays for the hotel. We are about to go to our room (123 in the Pavillion) when I spy with my little eye a cheese buffet! Quinn sits on the couch and reads while I eat cheese with a bunch of sweaty, overweight guys. I keep praising the cheese loudly and one of the guys suggests I also have some salad and I laugh at him. Then, I go to get Quinn and she has a fishing pole and accidentally gets the fish hook and line caught in my hair. We can’t get it out so she says she’s going to cut my hair and pulls a butcher knife out of her stylish bag. Uh, no Quinn. You seem nice and all but no butcher knife to the hair. So, I take off running and I have to hold the fishing pole because it’s still connected to my head. I can’t find room 123, of course, and I’ve lost sight of Quinn and the hotel is crowded and I occasionally get distracted by a cute kitten that I keep passing. I then look down and notice I’m not wearing pants and I wake up.
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What do you MEAN you don't like dogs??? INCONCEIVABLE!
I loves me a top ten list. Except, I go to eleven, so there are eleven things on my list. Because sometimes you just need that extra push. Eleven is one louder. And I’m loud. BOY AM I LOUD. Like, no volume button really. It’s OFF or ON.
Anywho, I compiled a list of things about me that I know everyone’s just DYING to know.
And if you weren’t, my bad, I’m telling you anyway because I’m awesome like that. You can thank me later.
Without further ado, Eleven Things about me:
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I am an excellent driver if you don’t ask Bambi, Thumper, or any of my friends. Aside from hitting a few curbs, signs and suicidal woodland animals I haven’t been responsible for a traffic accident since those first tender years as a licensed driver. This might surprise anyone who has actually ridden with me.
I am not an aggressive driver–in part, I believe it due to my first minor fender bender. I was stopped at a light and frantically reaching for my Men Without Hats cassette tape under the passenger seat. Apparently details like keeping my foot on the brake were overlooked and my car rolled forward. The slight tap jolted me upright. I had hit the fender in front of mine, which wouldn’t have been a huge deal if the fender didn’t belong to a motorcycle ridden by a hardcore biker.
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