Pencil skirts, Raccoons and Inept Bartenders.

SO…. the wedding.

Apparently the festivities started Friday night (the rehearsal dinner).  As the best man’s wife, I was probably supposed to go to that, but to be fair I didn’t really know about it.  And I had other plans.  So while Pool Boy did that, I had a large herd of friends over to watch movies, drink wine and eat junk food.  (I think I won that round.)

Being the procrastinator that I am, I didn’t have a dress to wear to the wedding yet (well, I probably did, but where’s the fun in wearing something you already own?) so I headed out for a day of dress shopping first thing Saturday morning.  That sounds WAY more fun that it actually was.  When will these damn pencil skirts go out of style??  They are NOT kind to women with massive hips.

After about 10 dresses I finally narrowed it down to 2 and bought them both.  One made me look proportional and was not entirely UN-flattering.  The other dress was a stretchy tweed that I felt had the potential to be really flattering with a pair of heavy duty Spanx.  But then, what doesn’t?

I finally decided on the tweed one, although I couldn’t decide if I looked AMAZING or if I looked like a black and white snake that had swallowed a large animal.  I’ll spare you the actual visual on this particular point.

From there I painted on enough eye makeup to embarrass a raccoon, did a smashing job on my hair (if I do say so myself) and headed out – all the while vowing to enjoy the evening and keep my mouth shut.

Actual picture of me from Saturday night

The ceremony was nice, and it was also very short (yay!)  But then the reception was a cash bar (boo.)

Speaking of the reception bar:  Worst bartender EVER.  I ordered a martini and he gave me a highball full of ice and vermouth.  WTF.  He didn’t even throw in an olive.  It’s gin in a martini glass for fuck’s sake.  It’s not complicated.  The glass is even named after the drink.  My mother in law ordered a Tom Collins and was served margarita mix with a splash of vodka.  Yikes.

Seriously though, the reception was a lot of fun.  The bride looked amazing the happy couple seemed to be in 7th heaven. I reconnected with a lot of people I had met once or twice before.  People that I had met and thought “wow, I really like these people!” but then had’t seen again.  Hopefully it won’t be another year before we actually get together.  Of course we all drunkenly vowed to hang out but we’ll see if it actually comes to fruition.  We are Facebook friends now, so that’s a step in the right direction…

 

Sims, Spaniels and Scotch

Things are settling down nicely at Casa de Nevershagagreek.

Pool Boy’s started his new job yesterday and he’s LOVING it.  He gets to wear jeans all-day-every-day.  It’s a “come and go as you please” type schedule.  He’s already been invited out to dinner with coworkers.  The work/life balance seems to be much better.  Less travelling.  And:  FREE GAMES!

He bought “me” an Xbox a few weeks ago in anticipation of all the new games.  Then last night he brought home Sims because I was briefly addicted to the game when I first got my iPhone a few years ago.  Bless him he was SO proud.  “Go upstairs!  Play your new game!  I’ll take Donovan to the park.  I’ll give him a bath!  Go enjoy your new game!”  So, I spent the next couple of hours cursing at the complicated controller all the while feeling really OLD.

HOLY SHIT - ALL THE BUTTONS.

I finally managed to create 3 Sims that vaguely resembled my family.  That was about as far as I got.  It took me literally 30 minutes to realize I kept accidentally pausing the game.  Eventually I got my Sim go pee and wash her hands…  Then I turned off the TV and went downstairs.  They may have all starved to death by now.  Does that happen??  Anyway, I think PB was sad to see me come down after having only spent a few hours with the new game, but I really did feel bad with him taking sole care of Dono all night.  Plus I’m 30.  I think my days of staying up all night playing video games are behind me.  (OK, and I was a little miffed at not being able to figure the damn thing out.  What am I, 80?)

The adoration may be *slightly* one-sided.

Bonny is also doing well.  Sweet puppy* follows me everywhere I go.  Silly though it may be, that really means a lot to me.  I just can’t hug her enough.  Dono is also still thrilled about her.  He’ll point to her and say “puppy?” (which is his generic term for “dog I don’t know”).  The look on his face says “Um… did you know there’s a random dog in the house?  Are you cool with that?  Because I’m kinda diggin’ it.”  I’ll say “Yes, that’s Bonny.”  At which point he’ll squat down to pet her and say “niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice puppy.”  He’s pretty much the president of her fan club.

*She is not actually a puppy.  She’s actually fairly old.  But all dogs are puppies to me and mine.

In other news, Weight Watchers is still going well.  I’m continuing to lose weight!  I think I’ve lost 7.5 lbs so far.  I still have a long way to go, but at least things are moving in the right direction.

Still, I have a wedding coming up soon and I’m not sure what I’m going to wear.  This isn’t a wedding I’m necessarily looking forward to.  For a lot of reasons.  OK, 2 reasons.  First off, I’m NOT a fan of 1/2 of the couple.  Secondly, I think it’s a huge mistake for the other half.  I’m trying really hard not to judge other people’s relationships (Some women LIKE a jealous man.  Some women want to be submissive.  Some women like a man who’s trying to change them because they feel like they need to be changed.  Whatever – not all women are me is what I’m trying to say).  Still, there are times where I see little red flags that no one else sees.  Growing up with abuse gives you that special 6th sense.  It’s not much of a consolation prize, but damn if it’s not come in handy more than once.

With that said, there have been a few times recently where I found myself thinking “Yeah… I’m going to need a little liquid courage to get through this particular event.”  With that said, I found this fun little item today!  It’s from North Africa, circa 1940.  I believe (hope) that to be bone.

It's antique, which means I can feel classy while drinking my way through awkward situations!

If I can just get through the wedding with my mouth shut, smile firmly painted on my face, I’ll be fine.