Thanks, Y'all

I'm back from the 'Sip. All went well.

Thank you for your kind words and sympathy.

After a weekend of relative solitude, I'm getting back into the swing of things.

(For the sake of my sanity, however, I'm not trying to play catch-up in the blogosphere... although I do hate the thought of missing out on your brilliant posts.)

I

Loss

We knew it was coming for a long time, but that doesn't make it easy.

My Granny died yesterday.

The doctors have been giving her a week to live for the last three years. She was a tough cookie and fought to stick it out.

Although we shared no DNA, I was closer to her than my biological grandparents.

I haven't quite wrapped my brain around it.

I'm heading to The 'Sip tomorrow for the services.

Stereotypes Shattered

The wedding this weekend was a jolly good time. The quick drop-in with the family was decent, if not perfect. (No tears were shed - yay!)

I might get around to posting some more, but for the moment I'm just going to share a story.

The Bouquet and the Garter
by: Belle

Once upon a time, there was a wedding. The freshly married couple had danced their first dance and cut their cake. The toasts had been given, some causing blushing, some tears, some laughter. There was eating. There was drinking. There was merriment.

Stepping up to the microphone, the Matron of Honor announced the time-honored traditions of tossing the bouquet and the garter would shortly commence.

We need all the single ladies up front!

Slowly a small group of women made their way to the middle of the room, taking a place behind the bride. More than a few had to be gently persuaded to join the crowd. The ladies shuffled around, each, it seemed, vying for a position on the fringes.

One... Two... Three!

The Bride tossed the bouquet. It arced through the air, hit a ceiling beam, and fell to the floor a mere few feet in front of the group. It lay there.

Let's try that again.

One... Two... Three!

The Bride tossed the bouquet. Not one of the girls in the group ventured forward to retrieve it. The bouquet landed. It lay there.

C'mon, girls, you're supposed to catch it! One more time!

One... Two... Three!

Again, the Bride tossed. Again, the bouquet landed. Again, the young ladies were still.

Finally, the foremost girl, the one who planned to break up with her beau on their return home, sighed and stepped forward to pick up the battered and bruised flowers from the dusty floor.

The group dispersed, and the Matron of Honor called the single men to the spotlight.

Now it's time for the garter!

The boisterous bachelors filed quickly to the front from all directions. They jostled one another for a prime position.

The Groom lifted the trailing white hem and removed the garter from his Bride's leg. He stood and tossed the circle of blue and white frill through the air. The bachelors pushed forward in a small wave, trying to shove one another aside to claim the prize.

When the shuffle was over, one of them stepped out of the mass smiling, victorious, blue and white frill firmly in hand.

- The End -

It's a far cry from this, eh?





Do you think the young ladies and gentlemen in the story just comprise an odd bunch out, or is there something more significant going on here?

Guess those pedicures are paying off

Elevator Guy: You know, there are certain things you can say and certain things you can't say, but this is a compliment. You have beautiful feet.
Belle: Thank you.

Sometimes, mornings are nice.

Fake It 'Til You Make It

I think I mentioned this potential promotion(?)/job change thing a while back. Well, the powers-that-be decided this week was a good one to throw me into the proverbial fire and see how I do with it.

Nevermind that I'm set to start training for the position in a few weeks (read: I have absolutely no clue what the hell to do right now, today, while I'm in said fire). Nevermind that I have little useful information or knowledge pertaining to the project at hand. I'm in.

But, so far, so good. I kind of feel like I've been given a seat on the wing of the plan, but I'm expected to co-pilot. Or, erm, something.

Wait, does it sound like I'm complaining? Oh, no... that won't do. It's good. Somewhat stressful, but good.

My supervisor is out of town, and I have been pulled into this whole deal by his supervisor, our VP. Oh, and his supervisor, the Sr. VP, is in on the project, too. (One more rank, and we're literally at the top of the food chain here.)

Anyway, I'm having to completely fake all this shit. Off the cuff, you know? And hoping I don't totally screw anything before I can get my ass into training and get a little grasp on what the hell I'm supposed to be doing.

That the VP trusts me enough to include me in the meetings is no small vouch for his belief in me, though, so I'm feeling pretty good about it.

Okay, enough disjointed work BS.

I'm heading for The 'Sip today. One of my bestest friends is tying the knot, and I'ma stand up there beside her and smile while she does it. Woo hoo!

Yep, three days in The 'Sip. If anything attests to the fact that I'm owning my Maid of Honor duties, it has to be the two HUGE suitcases standing in front of my door right now. (Don't give me crap about girls always packing too much. I can pack light. Just not this time.)

The wedding is Saturday, and I've been in a kind of weird I-can't-do-it-from-here place with most of the planning process. But I'm giving her a lingerie shower Friday night, so I've been running around like freakin' crazy organizing that. And my overflowing suitcases are the keepers of the party.

Since there isn't much time, I was going to skip out on seeing the fam, but it's Nephew#3's second birthday, and there's a party, so I'ma go surprise everyone with my radiant presence for a few hours before getting the hell out of dodge.

Wish me luck. (With the new 'do, I'ma need it. They aren't the most tactful bunch, and they definitely fear and loathe change.)

The Forest and the Trees

Remember my Open Letter?

Yeah, well, that friend told me recently the letter could've just as accurately been addressed to the guy I'd been seeing.

It took me a moment to recover from the verbal bitch-slap*, but she was right. And now he's gone.

Sometimes you're just too fucking close to the situation to get any perspective.

That's why your friends are there to tell you you're being an idiot.


* Not a malicious bitch-slap, mind you. Just an informative one.

I Can Be Accommodating

... if you know how to ask.