My mother has a video on her phone that she sent me. I do not get embarrassed easily. This past week one of my coworkers didn’t knock on the bathroom door and I fell off the toilet and onto my hands and knees with my pants around my ankles trying to prevent her from coming in. Doesn’t shake me.
But this video is from my cousin’s crazy awesome wedding. It was taken after I spent 45 minutes trying not to throw-up the 5 sparkling wines I threw back. My face was broken out in hives from wearing a dress made of what I can only assume now was cheesecloth and tulle. On top of the hives was a sheen (I think gel is more appropriate) of sweat, glistening with every light beam bouncing off it.
I am screaming. I am jumping. I am ferociously vogueing (Paris is Burning, not Madonna) but with no purpose to my actions. My eyes are looking in two different directions. I’m slurring the words to “Love Shack” yet still maintaining a constant guttural sound like one I imagine Jane came to know in her days spent with Tarzan.
Watching the video, I laughed so hard I peed my pajama capris. Tears pooled out of the corners of my eyes but I think that was more out of disappointment that I thought I was doing a GREAT job. Everyone was cheering and clapping. Yeah, Lo. No wonder everyone was clapping…there was a little monkey girl dancing for peanuts and one dollar bills! I like one dollar bills though. Keep thrown’ those.
Somewhere inside, I think I secretly hope more videos and pictures come out to validate my existence of a truly absurd expression of human life.
Yay! Usually I write out and proofread my essays first, but hey- you know, you’re cute. I’m going to work Doug Funnie stream of consciousness for you. But only you. Shh no more words. My turn. Don’t forget to lock the door and turn the AC on high.
The other day I was necking with a honey BBQ sandwich at a fine local eating establishment, when my mother and I got to talking about weddings. Now considering that most men are repulsed by my, *belch* ‘scuse me, by my forwardness, “wedding” is a delusion from WEtv that David Tutera is going to come to my house, pay for everything, hand sew my dress, and be my BFF. However, the topic came up and it was revealed to me that my mother has been hiding money away for my wedding. I use “my wedding” loosely, as the thought of it makes me “lawlz.” Although I am terribly humbled that her sweet/naive mind envisioned me as a blushing bride, I had to tell her to please take that money and either invest in it in the scented candle business, or to buy off the waiter who just told me he liked my “rockabilly” look. Either way, that wedding fund should be making interest for the next 5-10 years, figuring I get the corrective surgery and physical therapy I need for my hunchback that has been forming since the 2nd grade, after I caught my teacher stealing SunChips out of my RugRats lunchbox. I digress. The moral of the story kids, is that your mom, dad, guardian, caretaker, or whomever, does very nice things for you, even if you don’t know. It still doesn’t change the fact you’re never getting married and that you’re a disgusting slob with Donette powder caked under her fingernails, but at least it’s nice gesture.