Do you know what I like about the snow? Not a God. Damn. Thing.
Not that I wouldn’t still be wallowing in a vat of crabitude were it a balmy, sixty degree, sun-filled day. I seem to have caught a strain of that insomnia that’s going around and I’m in the mood to kick puppies while ripping candy from the hands of children.
…and I’m really mad at my friend Gwen. As you may remember, there’s a wedding in the planning stages and this recently appointed Old Married Hag of Honor (OMHoH) is already having nightmares of epic butt bow proportions.
After hours of flopping and fretting, I finally managed to achieve sweet slumber somewhere around 3am. Gwen, that bitchy bride, was barking orders the minute I hit R.E.M. I was incredibly frustrated because it was so hard to give her my “I hope you realize your husband-to-be owes me some serious jewelry after this shit vagina face” through my bedazzled and glitter encrusted Phantom-of-the-Opera-esque mask.
All the bridesmaids were wearing similar face decorations. Somehow the catty bridesmaid with a huge mane of black hair had no problem dishing out the mean looks through her mask. If I hadn’t already been dreaming, I probably would have had nightmares about the glare she gave me after I pointed out she should probably put a pasty or something over the exposed third nipple that had grown out of her bicep. The DJ (our friend Creamed Corn) kept encouraging her to flex her guns and make the nipple dance. Gwen thought ending that distraction was my first priority as OMHoH. She was conveying this message via interpretive dance, of course.
I had bigger problems, however. Apparently no one had remembered to address the contract rider from the animal wrangler. I was frantically trying to persuade him not to pack up the Pterodactyls and Rhesus Monkeys, to convince him that both his chilled case of Boone’s Farm wine and the bucket of Cajun style fried lizard sticks would arrive at any moment, that if he packed up the animals now, I wouldn’t have time to affix their bonnets and tiny tap shoes. He was unmoved by my pleas and bribes.
Before I could offer the animal wrangler the pistachio hull encrusted pogo stick I had hidden behind my back, Gwen’s father-in-law flew by in his tie-dyed jeep while singing “I’m a Little Teapot” and tossing gold fish about like flower petals. That was our pre-established signal for “Elly, come quickly – there’s a problem with the fourteen tier fruit display/champagne fountain.” So obviously I had to then sprint through the woods wearing high heels, tripping over my ginormous butt bow, and trying to avoid running into the lactose intolerant trees due to the limited visibility caused by my Phantom of the Wedding face mask.
That went on for about three hours. I seem to remember something else about playing a 3D, life-sized game of Chutes and Ladders that ended with Menudo performing the greatest hits of Air Supply, but that part of the dream is a little hazy.
Needless to say I’m completely exhausted and I’m no longer speaking to Gwen.
…and all that happened BEFORE the blizzard. Grumble.
I hope that bitch is choreographing her apology and buying me a plane ticket to Mexico.
In other news, I have to throw a shout-out to Amanda over at Brilliant Sulk. Her comment yesterday made me snarf and spew Earl Grey all over Lucy. My cat totally hates you now, Amanda. This is for you: