Pterodactlys, Apologies, and Weddings

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:

Why yes, I DO have far too much free time.  Thanks for pointing that out.


  1. i am astounded. really. if i ever get married, i’m going to tell you you’re in charge of the wedding just to find out what your brain comes up with. Bonnets and tiny tap shoes, indeed.

  2. You should get the bridasaurous to ride in on a unicorns horn. And when the time
    comes to forever hold your peace you need to jump up and yell “Unicorn Fucker”.

    That’ll teach her to make you wear a big butt bow.

    1. Wait…I’m no longer in the running? I would totally wear a butt bow for you. No wait, I wouldn’t. I would consider bathing for your wedding, though. Yup, I’m a giver.

  3. I’ve been fantasizing about Menudo doing Air Supply for years. I think you must have secretly zoned in on my wonky brain waves.

    That award is fan-TAINT-stic!

    I’m going to hang it in my entry way for all to enjoy.
    .-= Amanda@BrilliantSulk´s last blog ..Are You Out? =-.

    1. Holy cow! My eyes are leaking from being so tightly squeezed in my “you’re totally making magic new words with taint and I love it vagina face”!!!!

      Can you do something via our symbiotic brain connection so I can sleep tonight? Pretty please?

  4. MY EYES! I have to go dig out my corneas with pinking shears now. I was going to ask HOW you found that pic for your special award button, but then I got drawn into your dream and forgot.
    .-= Kelly´s last blog ..Robot Love =-.

  5. Congratulations to Manda! (yes, I am THAT lazy…)

    Now let’s get to this post… WTF? So I was reading word by word, line by line, trying to figure out what kind of wedding it was, etc. feeling sorry for you, and going OMG to the Phantom face mask (“Oh, yeah, she has theatre friends so of course they could be crazy like that”) Oh, so it turns out to be the “Who Shot J.R.” Dallas Season 8 dream sequence trick?!
    .-= submom´s last blog ..WTF Wednesday: The Price of Tomatoes =-.

  6. I was just sort of mesmerized by the fucked upped-ness of your dream until I got to “tripping over my ginormous butt bow” and I started cracking up. The most random shit gets me. Here’s hoping the giant butt bows stay in your dreams where they belong.
    .-= Harna´s last blog ..Welcome Home, Here’s Some Death =-.

  7. I just accepted vagina and now I have taint. Again, my Mother Superior will tell you that no such thing exsists. It’s called the “bits and the parts”. Oh and let me hit you with this heavy wooden pointer just for thinking about it. Butt bows are a great way for me to divert my attention though.
    .-= Kelly´s last blog ..Robot Love =-.

    1. Sometimes I worry that I’m actually traumatizing you and ED. Which of course just makes me want to write even more disturbing things. Which of course means I have to spend more time with my little brother and several pitchers of beer. The things I do for you girls. Sheesh.

  8. Um…. wow! I – uh – you know have nothing to do with this. Nothing. I haven’t even begun to dream about my wedding yet – now what does that say.

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