Thursday, April 26, 2012

Because I Love Words, or, The Post that Almost Wasn't

I was going to regale all you awesome readers of the Russian Alliance Federation with exciting tales of my magical vacation to South Carolina, where I ate a lot of seafood and drank my own weight in sweet-tea, BUT I am now being serenaded by the siren-song of my boyfriend, Maxalt, who is trying valiantly to kill my migraine, as I finish the Sentence With a Million Commas.

To Put it Another Way (and as I told my Friend T. Jo): If anyone needs me, I'll be off being high for the rest of the day.

It's not my FAULT I'm high, my brain's blood flow is dicey.

Sassy's upcoming wedding has Yes, stressful lately, so I think that *may* have a small something to do with my brain short-circuiting. Thank GOD I only started breaking down after I hit 30, because college would have been a lot harder with these things.

Also, by her wedding being stressful, I don't actually mean HER, or her WEDDING, just parts of her wedding. Like people. Like not people I am married to, or related to, or want to hang out with. You Russians fill in the blank. Or, as you Russians say, yob va! (I am NOT saying yob va to you Russians. Just be happy I know your Mother tongue.)(Even if it's profane.)(ESPECIALLY if it's profane.)

I know that weddings can bring out the worst in people, or the best in people, or really, the worst IN worst people. That's sort of like a two-fer of suckage. I'm lucky like that.

I read a quote that I liked, and which confused me: A son is yours until he takes a wife, a daughter is yours for all of her life.

I guess we throw sons to wolves or something, but I like the daughter sentiment. Except it didn't work that way at all in most societies, EVER, but you know. Daughters are great. Even when they're not yours, like Sassy.

I mean, she isn't mine, technically. I have only known her since she was a wee barely-12 year old. That's 12 years I missed out on. I prefer to think that she sprang from The Man's forehead, already a tween.


I stopped the post right before the little twinkly stars (aka as asterisks)(Mispronounce that word with no second 's' if you want to see my dad's head rotate) largely due to my drooling and staring at the ceiling. That's what happens when you write whilst on Maxalt. Drooling and staring.

The wedding plans proceed at breakneck speed, and the wedding shower is this Saturday. I'm hoping that any possible food makes up for any possible games. I know people play games for fun, allegedly, but I'm rather anti-game-playing in nature. I get it from my mom who broke out in hives when I mentioned the possibility of games, and had to go lie down with some benadryl.

We're more into snack food and chatting. Games = not the ladies in ma famiglia. Did you like that? It was Italian and EVERYthing.

I'm looking forward to Sassy's Big Day in the way I used to (once upon a midnight dreary) look forward to opening night of a play. There is WAY too much to do between now and then, but somehow you find a wardrobe and memorize your lines. In this case, my wardrobe consists of a royal blue dress I've named Sheila and my lines are "when does the open bar start?"

I'll revisit this entire topic later. Today is grocery day and we're out of food. And rum. I KNOW. It's serious.

Next time: Why sweet-tea is my boyfriend, or, What I Did on Spring Break.

Comments, questions, what is YOUR soiree of the season?