Dysfunction Function

What happens when your family gets together?
Is it fun and stressful and crazy?
Do you debate which family vendetta to support and which to avoid?
Which side to pick in the fight du jour?
No? Just me?
In the last two weeks we’ve celebrated two big milestones.
My son’s communion and my daughter’s confirmation. A Catholic religious rite of passage, squared.
This is particularly interesting because I’m not Catholic and my husband is what I would consider a fair weather Catholic. Christmas time, he’s in. Easter mass? Ditto. Other than that? It’s a crap shoot.
Nevertheless, this was important to him. And I like to make him happy and ensure he and my children go to heaven. I plan on being reincarnated until I can finally live a life without Spanx – so they won’t see me for a bit in the afterlife.
Anyway it was two weekends full of fun. The kind of fun that could break out into a fight at any moment. The kind if fun that requires alcoholic beverages.
But it was also the kind of fun where you remember why you love your parents, uncles, aunts, sisters and cousins. You remember that you’re related to these loonies because you are a looney too. In fact you may be the king of the loonies.
God is good.

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That Guy.

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Insert Twilight Zone Music….

In 1997, my husband and I took a cruise to Bermuda from New York City, where we lived.

Back then, there was none of this relaxed cruising stuff. You were assigned to a table. And that’s where you sat all week.

Every night, we had the same staff serving us. They were amazing.

This is a picture of one of our waiters, a gentleman from Bangladesh who loved me.

As almost all men from the old country do. Just kiddin’

He took such good care of us. Special veggie dishes. Extra spicy, for me.

Loads of extra shrimp in my husband’s scampi. That kind of thing.

We found out that he lived on the boat 10 months of the year.

Went home to his wife and kids for 2 months and was back at it.

At the end of our week we took this photo, said our goodbyes, and left a nice tip.

Cut to 2006

We were now living in Eastern Pennsylvania with our two kids and a cat

Miles and miles from Bermuda. Or Bangladesh.

I’m in Harrisburg, with my whole family.

We were there celebrating my sister’s bday – at the local Indian restaurant.

Like usual.

Guess who our waiter was.

Guess.

Yes.

I swear.

Really.

He left the cruise job, brought his family to the US, and moved to my hometown. Happened to get a job at my parent’s favorite place to celebrate all things. Happened to be working the night we were there. And happened to be our waiter. Again.

Insert Twilight Zone music again….

Do as I say, Not as I do.

I got a call this morning from an oldie but goodie pal who is finally tying the knot with her longtime beloved.  I met her at my very first job out of school. I think my major responsibilities were getting scones and coffee for our CEO, but I digress.

The last time I spoke to her was a few years back, when I wasn’t working full-time and had decided to start a wedding planning business.  And because I’m an awful person, I haven’t reached out to her since.  Although she hasn’t reached out to me either, so technically our joint awfulness cancels itself out. Right?

She called me this morning because she wanted to go over pricing for her caterer, but our conversation quickly went to every single detail of her plans.  That’s how I roll. I need to be fully immersed. No toe dipping for me.

As we chatted she asked me the question that all the brides ask, “what was your wedding like?”.

What was my wedding like? It was grand. It was great. It was…a non-wedding.

We eloped. On a lake. In the sun. Without most of our friends and family.

Here’s the long story short – or the short story long:

We got engaged on a cold, rainy February night in NYC (very romantic night involving fighting, crying and celebrating).  I’m not sure if it was because I was in my early twenties and insane or because I was in my early twenties and genius – but I wasn’t stressed about the wedding planning at all.  I was super chill actually. Then my mother called and said it would be great to have a Hindu ceremony. Then my mother-in-law called and said it would be so nice if we could do a quick trip to the church after that ceremony to get blessed by the priest. So then I got stressed. I avoided thinking/planning/discussing the wedding for a few months. Then my boss, the one I fed scones and coffee to, told me they had to fire 2 people from the office and I’d have to cover for them all summer and wouldn’t be able to take too much time off. Then I freaked. Then I melted.  It was mid-May. It was Saturday afternoon. We hatched a plan. We would elope. Run away. To Eastern Long Island.

We didn’t handle the elopement in the best way. There aren’t any elopement planning books. It sounds easy, but it’s tricky.  Ok, it’s easy if you actually just go off and elope. We f’d it up.

We had some family there. Some not. We took tons of photos and even a video, thanks to a talented uncle that lived in the town by the lake. We went out to dinner that night with all the relatives that lived in the town. In hindsight, a bit confusing for the relatives who didn’t live in that town and who weren’t invited to dinner. We gave our parents a heads-up, they were totally fine and understanding. The rest of the family? Not so much.  It wasn’t an elopement really. It was a small wedding where we chose not to include my parents, his parents, our other sisters (his older sister was there as a witness), aunts, uncles,cousins and close friends. It was ugly.

It’s been 17 years and we still hear about it. On a positive note – we’re still married. There’s that.

So! If you want to chat about your wedding plans? I’m your gal. If you want to talk about how to elope? Google it.

here’s us on that special, messed up, beautiful, ill-conceived, completely imperfect perfect day…

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Blog Vent

Today was a Day.

Ever had one of those?

And almost every agitating thing that happened was my fault.

Not one other person to blame. Trust me, I tried to find someone, anyone. Nothing. It’s all me.

I hate that.

My girlfriend said that Mars is in Aries. And I’m a Gemini. So I’m dysfunctional on a good day. Throw in Aries and it’s a hurricane.  So why does Mars making a pit stop in Aries cause such havoc?   Because it means we’re much more likely to take risks. Live without guard rails. In general be a little nutty and go off the deep end.

Well people. I’m off the deep end. Can I blame Mars? Or Aries? Or Kit Kat? Sorry.

I’ll spare you the gory details. I didn’t kill anyone and I’m not selling crack to babies. But boy were there doozies today! F’ups. Miscalculations. Gaps in judgement. Ok, massive craters in judgement.

Sorry to be so pissy. Please go read a trashy online magazine to shake this blog off. Or don’t. Who am I to give any advice today. Good night.

(i was going to find a YouTube video to end the post on a positive  - the one with the dancing babies for Evian – have you seen it? I’m not an Evian fan – I think it’s oily and has an aftertaste – but the commercial is funny. Anyway I decided not to find/cut/attach the clip. See. I’m a nightmare today.)

you can’t always get what you want

This is a state park near us. We go to walk, to picnic, to lay about – actually that’s what I go for.

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My family goes there to bike.

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I think I’ve told you before. Haven’t I? It’s no biggie. Everyone has something. Some people can’t eat a peanut. Some can’t have dairy (the horror). Some are diabetic. I too have a debilitating challenge. I can’t ride a bike. Well, technically I may be able to actually ride a bike without killing myself, but I really really don’t want to.

My family tried to have an intervention a couple of years ago. They were horrified for me. My husband lived on his bike throughout his childhood. Both my kids adore their bikes. They gave me a long list of reasons why I’d love it. The freedom! The independence! So I finally caved in and they bought me a fancy bike. Took me out every night to practice. And I tried. I acted excited. I seemed enthused. It was awful.

I don’t like riding a bike. It makes me nervous. It makes me feel out of control. It gives me zero happiness. Freedom and independence are not for me. Sorry.

This causes great sadness in my family. I’m like a traitor among them. An alien. They’ll never be able to ride like a full family.

They’ll get over it.

 

 

 

Happy Birthday WMEP

I’m one.

Just a baby blog. Not even a toddler yet.

I started the blog to get me through my first year of 40. I decided I needed a hobby (that wasn’t watching TV).

I thought I’d write about family, work, life. Nothing heavy. Maybe write about my travels, maybe write about food. No real rules.

I graduated college with an English Ed degree. There were several years of my childhood where I was convinced I’d be a writer. But then I wasn’t.

I wanted to write a post a day. That did not happen.

I wanted to write about my family. I have to get back to that.

I wanted to write about my husband’s family. I still plan to do that.

Some days I dreaded the empty post page, other days I couldn’t wait to get to it.

One of my blogger buddies told me not to sweat it. If I only wanted to write a line or two – that’s what I should do. And some days that’s what I did.

I love photographs – so I posted many.

I haven’t upgraded the site. There’s no jazzy pages or plug-ins. Maybe when I’m a tween.

I told you all that I started the blog because I’m nosey and I hoped that you were all nosey too. Turns out, you are. Lucky me.

I’m not sure if I should even be celebrating turning 1. I should be cooler than that and just move on. Pretend like it’s any other day.

But I’m not cool. I’m excited to make it this far. 269 posts and counting.

Thanks so much for tuning in. Let’s see what the terrible twos bring!

 

 

Look Book

I like pretty pictures.
If the pictures happen to be about food or home decor – all the better.
This past Christmas a new pal gave me a really great book called Edible Selby. Although I didn’t know it was great until now. I don’t deserve new friends. Don’t tell my old friends.
This past weekend I was reading the New York Times and found an article by the same author about a taco stand in California. This is why I love the Times. You may read it for the late breaking political and social news. I read it for its taco coverage.
Todd Selby is an artist, an author, a humorist and more. I have been reading his book all weekend.
It’s not a cookbook. It’s a book about cooks and cooking and food.

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It’s full of fun and whimsy.

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This is the page when I decided this book is for me.

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How can you not love an instructional book that starts with…plant the cocoa trees and harvest the pods. Ha! Double ha!
I also love the completely honest disclosure in the end.

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Tacos always lead to genius.

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