Frog and Goat

The weekend wasn’t nearly as bad as we thought it might be but it wasn’t exactly fun either. We spent a huge amount of time in shepherd and sherpa mode for the MIL. The mother of the bride was a complete bitch to me and I have warned the better-half that if it comes up again she will be cut in two. He’s pretty sure she won’t let it go and I’ll get my chance. I held my tongue because we were a)in church and b)her daughter had just been married. I held my tongue but gave her the “I’m going to kill you if you don’t shut up” steely glare and amazingly enough the woman who is notorious for talking, talking, talking, bossing, bossing, bossing, shut the fuck up. I’m surprised you didn’t read about her momentary pause in the paper on Sunday morning.

Saturday night the parents of the groom threw a swanky dinner at the Oakencroft Winery in Charlottesville. The better-half and I spent more than a few minutes giving each other the “no, it couldn’t be” look because damn if John D’Earth wasn’t playing with the band. The food was amazing. The open bar with top shelf, no tip jar, how much more liquor would you like in your glass was amazing. When the oldest Indian woman held a large flaming candle hat that resembled a wedding cake over her head and danced out into the center of the dance floor, we thought it was cool. Then when she passed it around, it got better and better. Several young Indian women were standing near us and it’s the same no matter what culture you grow up in when your mother is the one who grabs the flaming hat, you cringe.

The Sikh wedding on Sunday morning was something I’m very glad to have participated in. Sitting on the floor and covering my head I didn’t like so much but when in Rome. My left hip still feels sore from all the time on the floor. The lunch afterwards was absolutely awesome. Everything was traditional Indian fare and so good that people nearly cleaned out the buffet. By the time we got home Sunday afternoon, we were pretty fried.

Do you ever get the feeling that “they” really are out to get you? This morning on the way into work I began thinking that. Why do people who are driving at posted speeds slow to below posted speeds when they see a cop? If you aren’t breaking the law, the cop isn’t going to pull out into traffic to pull you over. Quit with the panicking because the last thing I want to have to deal with in the morning is a multi-car, high-speed collision because some dumbass thinks a cop is going to stop him from obeying the law.

If the lights on Belvidere don’t get synchronized soon, someone is going to go postal and I will help them. I’m sick of sitting at a green light at a short block because the light at the next block stays red. It is demoralizing. I turned down Grace because I couldn’t stand the thought of staying on Belvidere any longer than I had to. Wouldn’t you know every pedestrian on Grace crossed the street somewhere other than the corner? Jaywalking is cool, but every single person?

Then on the last little bit of my journey, a transport van was parked in the middle of the effing side street. The pajama wearing freaks just stood looking at me, vacantly, as I tried to get around. Hmmm, move it over freaks, get some real clothes and maybe next time you should use the alleyway.

By the time I parked my car, I was envisioning the conspiracy of a bunch of people talking into their walkie-talkies saying, “Breaker One-Nine, she’s headed your way. I repeat the prey is headed towards you.” And then the lights go red and green, people pop up between cars and pajama wearing freaks park in the middle of the street.