Grape Did It

Another exciting installment of Newlyweds, except we don't own a huge house in California

For the past couple of weeks there has been an unsettling trend around the house - my missing underwear. For a while I kept thinking we just had a lot of laundry to do (without there being much in the basket) (and here you will note my unfailing ability for denial, something I think I got from my mother (hi mom!))  and then I just thought huh, maybe it has something to do with all of the travel we've been doing. LIKE THAT IS AN EXPLANATION. Are the bags unpacked? Did you leave an entire mound of JUST underpants at someone's house/hotel? No? Then I think you need to start really questioning because that is just not normal. Perhaps for a wayward sock or two, but not an entire drawer of undergarments.

Even so, I kept expecting to find them at the bottom of the laundry basket, rolled up in a shirt I'd missed from travel. I don't know, much like I expect to wake up tomorrow and find that EVERYTHING HAS FIXED ITSELF. Some people might make fun of this ability to be cheerful, maybe a therapist would say it's not healthy. I wouldn't know since I'm not going to one only to find out my entire life has been a sham of looking! on! the! bright! side! I'm happy right where I am. Bright feeling, even.

All of my un-examining came to a  head though last night when I opened the drawer for the eighteenth time and thought, ok now wait, JUST WAIT A MINUTE. I am sure I have more. And then I reached over and opened the drawer next to it - the one I hardly use, the one for special occasions and sucky-inny things and etc? Right? Lo, ALL OF IT WAS THERE. And now I don't know whether to buy a label maker for the dresser or just begin doing all of the laundry myself. Or take ownership of it and start to LOOK FOR THINGS.

The plague, it has hit

Actually, I feel fine. Just fine. Chipper even, this morning. Except for Bud has been sick for the last few days, vacillating between aww it's just a cold to, I FEEL LIKE DOGSHIT. And I know what someone, at LEAST one person, reading this will think upon my next statement but I'll say it anyway. I feel like a grenade pin has been pulled and yep! There it is! Sitting on the carpet. Waiting, watching until I'm sure I'm in the clear and then OH NO YOU'RE NOT.

And now do you know what I'm sure someone is thinking? But I am not selfish, or ohmyGOD Hope, you turn everything into a comment about yourself. I have been nice to Bud, inquiring does he need more medicine? Something to drink? Please just call in sick to work for everyone ELSE'S sake. I have been dutiful.

I'm still not digging getting sick though. Someone come fly me to a monastery, those dudes never get the common cold.

A subtle request, from an old friend

(All through email):

First email: Hope, I've decided that you should write a tribute post on your blog about me. Sincerely, <REDACTED BECAUSE COME ONE, HE MIGHT WANT TO GO INTO POLITICS SOMEDAY>

My email response: And what, pray tell, would be the hook?

His response: The Hook?! Gimme a break. I've given you so much material over the years, you could have your pick of the litter. A sample below:

• "Eat your heart out, Mrs. McClure" (This is a bizarre tradition between him and my mother. I sincerely have no idea what it actually means.)
• "Canvassing your room with confetti" (Ah yes, we did a lot of these practical jokes in college, and SOME of us took them too seriously. SOME of us almost cried when SOME of our cars got splattered with food.)
• "Driving to Wal Mart listening to Nelly" (I'm pretty sure this one needs no explanation. Especially if you were in college, say, five years ago.)
• "Counseling you before/after your adventure with "<REDACTED, BECAUSE PLEASE, A GIRL HAS SOME PRIDE>

A few more non-interesting back and forths and then this:

"I have a brilliant idea - I'll write the tribute post and you can just post it. I don't need a byline or anything!"

But allow me to finish with this little remembrance. You recall, do you not, when you and your roommates got out the video camera? And asked me to put all my hair up into a motorcycle helmet then remove it and shake my hair out? Do you also recall me asking, "why?" repeatedly? DO YOU ALSO RECALL ME ACTUALLY DOING IT BECAUSE I WAS THAT STUPID AT EIGHTEEN? YEAH I WANT THAT TAPE BACK.

Friday at Five: Mary Pickford

A little sweet...a little sweet. I've become a total liar when it comes to these cocktails because I recall saying at one time that I didn't like sweet. Too much sugar distracts from the alcohol and I THINK we all know what this cocktail business is about. EXAGGERATED WINK.

A Mary Pickford consists of the following:

1 1/2 ounce rum
1 1/2 pineapple juice
1 splash Grenadine

Bud commented that it tastes a lot like a melted daiquiri, the kind you can get at a DRIVE THROUGH  in Texas and Louisiana, don't even get me started about the unfairness of all of the other states, and I had to agree. Sweet, pineapple-y, kicks you a little in the ass on the way out because of course we didn't follow the recipe, at least in terms of the rum business.

This drink also reminds me of your second choice local bar. Doesn't have all the charm of the crappy local dive you drag your out of town friends to, and doesn't have the excitement of a newer, trendy place downtown. Sort of, eh, tastes good but that's it? You know what I'm saying? Metaphors are kind of failing me here but while there's no reason NOT to try this drink, there's also no real reason to go buy these ingredients if you don't already have them.

I don't know, maybe all this cocktail drinking has left me jaded. A DRINK SNOB IF YOU WILL.

A little glimpse ahead

Whenever Bud and I are around a baby - a niece, nephew (that seems plentiful these days) - I almost involuntarily shove it towards him. Here! Take the baby! Aw, look at my husband HOLDING A BABY. And wombs, on three...contract! Sometimes he seems a little frustrated like, the hell? You have two perfectly good arms and whats more, those arms ENJOY, nay, LOVE reaching out and holding anything smaller than a four year old. You take this bizarre mess of crying and diaper, I will continue to drink my beer. But other times he gladly grabs the baby I profer almost as a challenge like, aw yeah, watch me soothe this one EVEN BETTER than you can. Us? Yeah, it's complicated.

But, so, during Georgia's wedding I was a bridesmaid and couldn't technically grab whatever small human needed comforting (whether they wanted it or not). I had to stand at the alter and look very grown up. Not whisper, all, HEE HEE that priest takes himself not a LITTLE seriously. No, I'd been warned. By the priest (I will quit the ceremony if I hear talking (whoa dude)), by Georgia (no, you may NOT bring a flask and for the love of God and my marriage please don't act up), by Summer (my entire life who has pinched me on the arm as I misbehave), in other words WE WERE MEANT TO TAKE THIS AS AN ACT OF GOD.

Which meant, my sisters and sister-in-law and brother were all up at the little-bit-scary altar as my one year old nephew decided he couldn't be bothered to just sit in a pew quietly, maybe peruse the Bible, maybe hum a hymn quietly, maybe mist up as the bride walked down the aisle. Naaah, he had to be a big baby and fuss. I glanced back when I first realized ohmylord who's taking care of that little one? Only to see Bud, wrangling my one year old nephew, a few pews behind me. And he held him the entire ceremony. You win that one.

A small taste, of a kick ass day

The wedding. Saturday Georgia and Peter got married in one of the most spectacular displays of celebration I have ever attended. I know I'm her sister, I know I'm supposed to say that, but I promise I would be politely vague if I hadn't really felt that way.

I'll be posting pictures in the Daily Photo section shortly and probably a debauched story here and there as they occur to me, but for now, here is one of my favorites:

Post-wedding chatter

"Oh my God, I was wrecked Sunday morning,"

"Well..."

"I threw up like it was my JOB."

"Well..."

"Ug...nearly in the hotel lobby."

"Well...God's probably punishing you for all the catty comments you made all weekend."

Friday at Five: Real Margarita

I know I've done Margaritas before. I couldn't tell you exactly which recipe I've used - could be the one that includes a 7 Up, the one I learned to make in college that just seemed to make a weekend trip to the river THAT MUCH BETTER - or another one recommended by so-and-so with lots of mixes or ingredients. The difference here though is that I went out looking for the most basic Margarita recipe I could find. I have no doubt that a hundred years ago, if you wanted a lime-y tequila drink, you did not run to the closest Super Target and grab a bottled of too-sweet sour mix.

So I hopped online and looked for simple margarita, basic margarita, I might have even tried a stripped margarita while giggling behind my fist, and I made a discovery. Turns out all a margarita really is, is triple sec, lime juice, and tequila. You don't have to throw a bunch of SOUR in there, or a splash of this, a splash of that. All you have to do is combine these three simple ingredients and, wouldn't you know it, you have a drink far better than the fancy kind.

The recipe I read - whose origin I have now forgotten - called for a 3-2-1 ratio when making the drink. The problem is, I don't remember which ingredient is the 3, which is the 2, which is the 1, so we played around until we found a balance we liked. I think it ended up being something along the lines of 3 triple sec, 2 tequila and 1 lime juice but whatever it was, it was delicious. And so simple. Hark! I have made the discovery that easier usually IS better and perhaps some other life lessons somewhere in there. Tipsy life lessons, courtesy of a simple margarita.

In fact, that reminds me of a recent conversation Bud and I were having. A little back story: I have never in my life met someone who knows more Life Phrases (ex: Early to bed, early to rise, keeps a man healthy, wealthy and wise) than Bud. It's as if they just drop from his mouth whenever a new situation is presented. I've known him over three years now and am pretty sure I've only scratched the surface of learning his sayings vocabulary. And so I just nodded and thought about what a good one it was when he uttered, "You talk long, you talk wrong." Ah yes, simple. Just like this margarita.