Today Looks Bored But Forecasting a Wedding on the Horizon

I’m bored, bored, bored.  I don’t want to do any of the things that need doing, including wash myself.

 “I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours.”
            — Jerome K. Jerome, “Three Men in a Boat”, 1889

I don’t want to clean the house, once again, even though this is pretty close to what my office looks like right now:

Clearly, a small child could be lost in such a mess.  It’s a lot like my room during high school.  I comfort myself with this quote: 

“One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.”
            — A. A. Milne

I will definitely be cleaning like a mad woman on Wednesday, because that’s when we leave for Illinois, a family wedding that’s been scheduled for over a year.  My recent unexpected & life-altering trip to the same area has left me less than enthusiastic about driving the same 2,000 miles once again. 

I actually prefer traveling on my own, compared with sitting next to my non-speaking husband.  It pisses me off that he makes no attempt to entertain me.  For example, he would never show other drivers his ass or his penis in the side-view mirror, like this trucker who fascinated me once with his incredible pliability.

Of course, my man with a timely plan would use our daughter in the backseat as his excuse.  Blah, blah, blah.

“A bore is a man who deprives you of solitude without providing you with company.”
            — Gian Vincenzo Gravina

Unlike one of my other favorite male family members, he will have no stories of orgies or swinger get togethers, where he fucked some chick in front of a room full of people, plus her husband.  Yes, I can live the Hustler lifestyle vicariously, not that I ever wanted to.  (I’d certainly never consider going near any of those germs in real life.)  Last week I checked out www.passionparties.com and nearly became physically ill simply using my imagination.  You will find no glass dildoes in my dishwasher, but I will gladly listen to crazy stories involving such.

Of course, I wouldn’t have married my guy if he was doing that kind of shit (more appropriate for Mom).  But I’m in a contrary kind of mood.  I want it all: excitement & stability, country & city, sweetness & bitch, pussy & bully.  He must accept that he will never, ever win with me.  He is a masochist.  My perfect weird-o.  As he pays for all the gas & hotels he will take the brunt of my boredom, as well.

The one exciting piece of it all is that my cousin is bringing a black man into the family.  (Honest to God, he should run from my side of this crew or spray us with deodorizer & fungicide.)  She’s been up against some heavy-duty opposition during the past several years & it’s come from both expected & unexpected places.

Surprise, surprise, my own mother still feels it’s imperative to mention “the children” who will come from this union, with a sad, sad look upon her face (as if she’s ever once cared about children, as if somehow you will believe her own children fell into the fucking happy pot upon arrival!)  Simultaneously, she gloats like a lottery winner as she rationalizes her three great-grandchildren of Mexican heritage seem suddenly less Hispanic & just nicely tanned.  Never forget, it’s all a sisterly competition!  

As if skin tone will matter, when considering a comparison of the mothers in question: 

(A) Any children of my cousin’s will be some of the most fortunate ever born, with a mother who is sweet as pie, considerate, caring, soft-spoken, loving, intelligent, drug-free & mentally sane.

(B) Both parents of the children with Mexican heritage are currently in prison.

(C) My mother — well, why go there again?  I can’t resist, there are always new details to add to the mix:

The third time around Mom married a tall bigot, an actual Kentucky Colonel, who was an ordained minister, who grew up on dirt floors with 11 siblings.  He was once hospitalized after his sister stabbed him in the back with a 12-inch butcher knife.  Mom’s currently divorced from him, but they still live together.  They both own guns & argue fiercely & frequently.

Mom will be at the wedding, but he won’t.  Although he claims love for black people, he believes the Bible is very clear on its’ disdain of inter-racial marriage.

The true biblical miracle is that he’s skipping the free booze at the reception. 

This weekend Mom’s at a Harley rally with my sister & boyfriend Mike.  She says she’ll go crazy if she sits home too much.  Fearful of homelessness as well, she bought a $4,000 trailer last week to park next to the one that cost $15,000 & had been used just once this year.  (When she wrote me about this, there was no mention of that outstanding funeral bill.)  It’s too bad she can’t drive a trailer and park it in her sister’s yard during the 3-day wedding celebration.  As it is, she canceled the second hotel room & will sleep along side my sister & her boyfriend.  It was just too expensive!

I look forward to finding out if Mom showed anyone her tits at the Harley rally, as I think it’s a kind of Harley custom.  If she did, I fear Mike might have died from the frightful sight.  He’s very sensitive & was overwhelmed that my brother’s girlfriend, Julie, left a bra in their bathroom during funeral week.  He came running outside to tell everyone.  One day I’m hoping to send him a box of 50 or 100 dirty bras from the Salvation Army.  I’m really enjoying his addition to our family.

I sure hope Mom doesn’t get drunk at the wedding & forget where she is, possibly hallucinating that she’s again on the back of a big-ass bike.  Good Lord, if she shows her breasts at the wedding I’m afraid my aunt will drown her in the punch bowl.  I mean, my aunt could totally kick Martha Stewart’s ass in the party planning arena & Martha’s already been to prison.  It’s like Seven Degrees of Kevin Bacon.

Reports to follow . . .