And we’re making up for lost time, because I forgot to celebrate getting a new job on Monday! I know. After a 2 week-long interview process, you’d think a bit ‘o pink bubbly would be first and foremost on this Project Manager’s agenda. But no. I was so busy on Monday, it wasn’t until the following day, when Husband #3 asked how I planned to celebrate, that it dawned on me: For once, I had a valid excuse for the cheap champagne I already drink daily in moderation.
I hope my only decision today is which bottle to open… first.
And that’s not all we’re celebrating – today I’ve been “Freshly Pegged”! My friend, the hilarious and multi-talented Peg, of Peg-o-Leg’s Ramblings, is featuring a post I wrote in December about my writing process, and I’m thrilled – I really, really want to keep this conversation going.
Several years ago, there was a brief period of time when Peppermeister (Husband Numero Uno) and I would get sloshed and watch America’s Funniest Home Video reruns. In our defense, we were kids during its pre-YouTube heyday, and Bob Saget’s goofy mug and painfully corny jokes still make us feel warm and fuzzy.
For years -YEARS- following this, we’ve been quoting one particular video that we thought might, in fact, be: America’s FUNNIEST Home Video.
We were never able to find the clip.
Until now.
I love you, Peppermeister.
ENJOY, Chipmunks! (I’ve built this up way too much, haven’t I?)
Do you have any favorite viral (or should-be-viral) videos?
Two months ago, my best friend, Jenn, said, “Everyone is going to [our friend] Cami’s wedding in Houston in April, but I don’t know if I can do it. I hate flying, and I don’t want to leave the dog, and [my husband] Pete won’t dance with me.”
Jenn and Jules (pic from our Secret Wedding)
I took a quick inventory of my life: I hadn’t flown anywhere in four years. My future career was uncertain. I was restless as hell. I liked to dance.
“I’ll go with you,” I blurted. After all, I knew the bride and everyone going.
Jenn’s face lit up, and within the hour, she’d booked our flight. This past Friday morning, I rose at 4:45 and picked up Jenn.
“You don’t trust me to get to your parents’ house on time [since your mom is bringing us to the airport]?” she asked.
“Absolutely not. Don’t argue with me,” I replied, recalling the previous weekend, when Jenn was supposed to come over for lunch, and slept until 1pm.
To Jenn’s credit, she was all ready to go when I arrived, and in a stroke of genius, had booked us aisle seats across from each other. We strained our necks, but got the ab workout of a lifetime, each trying to out-joke the other during the 3 1/2-hour flight.
“You were those people?” our friend Mary later asked.
Yes. Yes, we were.
“We’re just a couple of classy broads,” Jenn said, stowing her ancient cell phone before take-off.
“You put the ass in class,” I replied affectionately.
“I just don’t understand people who have no sense of humor,” I said some time later. “My only problem is I think everything is funny.”
“Your only problem?” Jenn fired back.
Jenn wound up rebooking our hotel so we could stay where Cami (the bride) had scheduled a shuttle to the wedding venue, never mind that Jenn still had to pay for the first hotel because it was nonrefundable.
“We don’t know anything about a shuttle to the wedding,” the front desk told us when we arrived.
Jenn called Cami and found out that the shuttle “never materialized.”
Whoops.
We decided to worry about our ride later. We still had 3 hours to spare, and we were on a mission: hair dye (for Jenn) and vodka (for me both of us).
Gettin’ ‘er done at Walgreens.
“There’s a Walgreens and a liquor store within walking distance – 2 blocks,” the front desk assured us.
We found the Walgreens, but walked at least a mile, stopping people to ask where the liquor store was. Our boots were not made for “walking distance” in Texas, but the weather was beautiful.
“I just saw a cop in a cowboy hat, but I’m still starting to think we belong in Houston,” I told Jenn. “We’ve already gotten hit on by three different men.”
“And you don’t think it has anything to do with the fact that we’re asking for liquor at 2 o’clock in the afternoon on a work day?” she replied.
“Now hold it right there, young whippersnapper, you’re in vi-o-lation of Code 147: The Texas Ten Gallon. Where on god’s green earth is your hat?”
By the time we got back to the hotel, we had little time to pre-game. Our friends, who were staying in a different hotel and had rented a car, generously offered to pick us up. Now we had even less time to get ready.
Hang on! Almost ready!
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It was Cami and her soon-to-be-husband. She was holding an iPod.
“I just need you to dock this before the wedding, and play the ‘Processional’ playlist,” she told Jenn.
“O-okay…” Jenn replied, wet hair dripping on ivory shoulders.
“Then you play the ‘Ceremony’ playlist, then the ‘Recessional’ playlist.”
Jenn’s eyes widened, but she just nodded, paying close attention.
“And then the ‘Reception’ playlist,” Cami said, clicking through each one on the little silver rectangle in her hand. “I tried to make it as idiot-proof as possible.”
As soon as they left, we raced to finish getting ready. When our friends picked us up, they were nervous about being late, but in good spirits.
“[Our other friend] Dave just found out he’s the Maid of Honor!” they giggled.
“I just found out I’m the f*cking DJ!” Jenn retorted.
We arrived at the wedding venue early, as luck would have it. It was a Greek restaurant, obviously.
Because when I think Houston, I think…baklava.
The wedding coordinator frantically informed us that she was technologically challenged, and pointed to a CD player with no CDs.
“That’s not going to work with this,” Jenn replied, holding the iPod.
“Well we just got a new TV, maybe we can put music on that?” the wedding coordinator said breathlessly, her voice a fascinating mix of Southern and Greek accents.
When I attempted to turn on the TV, it was immediately apparent that the cable wasn’t hooked up. “Maybe if you point the remote here,” the wedding coordinator said, gesturing towards the closet where the CD player sat. I knew I’d never, ever come up with an appropriate response, so I said nothing and glanced back to see if the bar was open yet.
Here’s what happened when we asked the wedding coordinator to take our picture at the end of the night:
We found out one of Cami’s friends was coming by with the iPod speaker and tried to relax, even though the wedding was in mere minutes.
Or it should have been.
But.
The wedding party was two hours late. No reason. Texas time, I guess. My inner Project Manager hyperventilated into a brown paper bag, while my alter ego, Drunk Girl, just… well, you know.
In case you were wondering – the iPod speaker still hadn’t arrived.
“Can you tell everyone to hum the wedding march?” the blushing bride asked Jenn, just before the ceremony started.
“Yee-haw! I am worth the wait, cowboy!”
I should probably stop there.
After all that, did we have fun? You be the judge:
“My mom just had to pay a $1,300 overage on the bar bill,” said Cami at the end of the night.
I’m worried you’re starting to feel neglected. You barely look me in the eye, and your Stats page, is, frankly, a bit of a slap in the face. Between juggling 3 husbands, alcohol dependency and finding new and exciting uses for bacon, I really haven’t given you the attention you deserve.
Sh*t. 10 months younger.
Sure, I’ve still found time to make epic memes and Google the age of every celebrity I like, hoping they’re older than me and I still have my shot at the elusive EGOT. And honestly, I would be famous already, but I’ve been so busy having fake conversations with actual famous people that the last 30 years week has just really gotten away from me.
You know I still love you, right, Blog? Remember all the good times? I really made you giggle that time I put ketchup in my hair, and don’t forget the slushie to the face. You like physical comedy, don’t you, Blog? (Did you see Melissa McCarthy on Saturday Night Live this past weekend? She’s a physical comedy goddess, and I worship her. Should we write a post about it? Oh, check! Look at us, Blog. What a team.)
Would I lie about this?
In all seriousness, Blog, you know how crazy things have been lately. Heck, by the time you read this, I may be en route to Texas for an undoubtedly blog-worthy wedding. So I hope you’re ready to spend some quality time with me next week. I know, I know. There are so many blog-worthy things happening RIGHT NOW that I can’t blog about, but you understand. After all, one of them involves work. And Uncle Jesse’s role in a marathon interview process. I know, Blog. I know! It’s killing me, too.
I really do love you, Blog. More next week.
xox,
Jules
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
What’s your favorite procrastination method / ‘time suck’?
While I hadn’t given it much thought until last week, it seems obvious now: If you fine Chipmunks got to pick between Adam Levine and your beloved blog hero, The Byronic Man, obviously The B Man would win [the title of Third Husband]. By a landslide.
In a way, it makes perfect sense.
The Byronic Man and I are so associated in the collective bloggy unconscious that on numerous occasions, I’ve had people email me messages intended for The Byronic Man. People have left me comments on his blog.
To be fair, we started it, touting our likeness and joining forces on numerous bloggy collaborations. We even send joint greeting cards to bloggy friends, trade sheet-folding tips, correct each other’s typos… It’s a bloggy match made in heaven, with or without the votes to back it up.
So let’s do this.
Bloggers: Do you have a bloggy BFF / spouse? Or better yet, a bloggy crush (SPILL IT!)? Bloggers / All: What other adventures should Drunk Girl and Byronic Man embark on?
P.S. – Don’t worry. Starting next week, I plan to blog about something other than polyandry!
Remember our Christmas ‘sheet set’ giveaway? There are a lot of jokes here about beds and keeping warm, but I am far too classy to make them.
I certainly can’t blame you. In fact, I’m pretty sure nine out of ten bloggers already think I’m married to The Byronic Man.
It occurs to me that finding my third spouse is like completing the final layer of my Dream Cupcake. Have you heard of these cupcakes? I hadn’t either, until I was roped into volunteered to help my parents cook for Easter Sunday.
1st layer: Chocolate chip cookie dough.
2nd layer: Reese’s peanut butter cup.
3rd layer: Brownie batter.
Cook 30 minutes at 350 F. Then eat. Then just crawl into a hole and die. Because life can only go down from there.
Um, anyway, okay, so, with the final 5 candidates selected…
It’s time to vote for my third spouse! (If you missed it, Click here to review their entries!)
Polls close NOON EST, Wednesday, April 3, 2013. My third spouse and I will regale you with some of our misadventures on Friday, April 5, 2013!
Go Jules Go 