Anyway, I wound up going to the wedding after all (I was seriously thinking twice about the whole thing. For about two hours all I did was blurt out/scream "I don't wanna go!" whenever the thought of the wedding came up). How'd it go? Well, I wrote down all the places where I committed a mistake:
Mistake number one:
Shaving in a hurry a couple of minutes after waking up.
I nicked the shit out of my ankle thanks to my very intelligent prospect of getting the job done ASAP. This marks the 34,958,685,748th time I do this to myself. Ok, just the fourth… but I should be better about it my now. I'm not talking normal nick here, I'm talking Did-I-just-scrape-me-some-hypodermis?-thick nick. I made a mini pool of blood on the bathtub in the time it took me to turn off the water and reach for a towel.
This led to me fixing it with hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin. I covered my “nick” with a skin-colored Band-Aide. Shit went sour once I realized I still had the Band-Aide on when time came to leave the party.
I had the Band-Aide on throughout the party. I'm fucking awesome.
Mistake number two:
Attended a wedding taking place at a circus-themed casino.
I despise clowns. Don't believe me? Check it:
I still hadn't watched “It,” but I had seen a Spanish Novela where a little girl gets abducted by the clowns at her own birthday party. Nice way to traumatize a kid (I know other ways, but I have an entire life time to describe those). That clown would "mysteriously" vanish to the bottom of the toy pile... but Mom would always get it for me. Stupid Pan-Pan... scary motherf*%&#$.Mistake number three:
Arrive 3 hours late to the party.
Finding a parking spot sucks ass. Finding the table my father chose sucks even worse. He has a thing for choosing the table furthest away from all the action, but closest to the bar.
Where was he situated when we got there? NEXT TO THE BAR! Of course.
Mistake number four:
Attend a party where only one of the two offspring of the celebrated couple likes me.
How the hell am I going to win, when only one of the daughters likes me? The youngest has hated me since the day I vomited after seeing her drink two whole packs of McDonald’s ketchup… that was 1989. The oldest daughter thinks I'm cool… but I know for a fact that when you know one of your siblings is disliked by someone, you somehow find it hard to like that person.
It was also the birthday of the daughter that doesn't like me, and everyone was hugging her at midnight to congratulate her. I did as well… and… that was awkward.
Mistake number five:
Attended a party where I have beef with more than two thirds of the females present.
It’s no secret that I don't get along with my own kind. I've always wandered away from the flock of chicks. However, when I get to hang out with the chicks in small groups of two or three, we tend to hit it off quite well.
Now, I don't really have an issue with people. I'm quiet and keep everything to myself… any beef is kept in the confines of my mind. However… somehow, most of the chicks present have been at the butt end of some of my very nasty behavior (in my defense, they started it all. They never heard the one about “It’s not the loud ones you should be worried about…” They were awful to me, I was awful right back). What’s worse is that the girls had all managed to claim an entire table to themselves, a table of 12, at the entrance of the ballroom. There were maybe 15 girls aged 17-22 and 12 of them were at the same table. How many of those chicks are cool with me? 2.
Needless to say, dirty looks abounded throughout the night (Especially when 10 of the 12 girls got up to SQUARE DANCE. Bitches, I'd be jealous if I saw you 10 boarding a flight to Lisbon... not when you get up to dance to Billy Ray Cyrus' "Achy Breaky Heart" in a mob without inviting me. It's called "square dancing" for a reason. You don't look rad "electric-sliding" all over the place).
Mistake number six:
Went against my gut instinct and wore the Old-dirty-walrus-attracting-cleavage dress.
I thought everything would be fine because I wore a thin, black sweater on top. I only buttoned the top button, and thought I'd be good.
I had been sitting for maybe an hour when I noticed the gaze of the men on the dancing floor directed at me.
Am I talking too loud?
I had been laughing a little prior to the incident, and when I laugh… well… I heave a lot (here I am making fun of the way "Justin Long" laughs, when I'm not any better).
For some reason or another, I looked down and realized my safety net was gone: The button on my sweater had come undone during one of my heaves. My gaze was met by my two… muchachas taking quite the breather.
Fuck… and I stretched… laughed… and stretched some more while this thing was undone. What a whore.
I won't complain any further, I had this one coming.
Mistake number seven:
Attended a party without my little sister.
Arrive 3 hours late to the party.
Finding a parking spot sucks ass. Finding the table my father chose sucks even worse. He has a thing for choosing the table furthest away from all the action, but closest to the bar.
Where was he situated when we got there? NEXT TO THE BAR! Of course.
Mistake number four:
Attend a party where only one of the two offspring of the celebrated couple likes me.
How the hell am I going to win, when only one of the daughters likes me? The youngest has hated me since the day I vomited after seeing her drink two whole packs of McDonald’s ketchup… that was 1989. The oldest daughter thinks I'm cool… but I know for a fact that when you know one of your siblings is disliked by someone, you somehow find it hard to like that person.
It was also the birthday of the daughter that doesn't like me, and everyone was hugging her at midnight to congratulate her. I did as well… and… that was awkward.
Mistake number five:
Attended a party where I have beef with more than two thirds of the females present.
It’s no secret that I don't get along with my own kind. I've always wandered away from the flock of chicks. However, when I get to hang out with the chicks in small groups of two or three, we tend to hit it off quite well.
Now, I don't really have an issue with people. I'm quiet and keep everything to myself… any beef is kept in the confines of my mind. However… somehow, most of the chicks present have been at the butt end of some of my very nasty behavior (in my defense, they started it all. They never heard the one about “It’s not the loud ones you should be worried about…” They were awful to me, I was awful right back). What’s worse is that the girls had all managed to claim an entire table to themselves, a table of 12, at the entrance of the ballroom. There were maybe 15 girls aged 17-22 and 12 of them were at the same table. How many of those chicks are cool with me? 2.
Needless to say, dirty looks abounded throughout the night (Especially when 10 of the 12 girls got up to SQUARE DANCE. Bitches, I'd be jealous if I saw you 10 boarding a flight to Lisbon... not when you get up to dance to Billy Ray Cyrus' "Achy Breaky Heart" in a mob without inviting me. It's called "square dancing" for a reason. You don't look rad "electric-sliding" all over the place).
Mistake number six:
Went against my gut instinct and wore the Old-dirty-walrus-attracting-cleavage dress.
I thought everything would be fine because I wore a thin, black sweater on top. I only buttoned the top button, and thought I'd be good.
I had been sitting for maybe an hour when I noticed the gaze of the men on the dancing floor directed at me.
Am I talking too loud?
I had been laughing a little prior to the incident, and when I laugh… well… I heave a lot (here I am making fun of the way "Justin Long" laughs, when I'm not any better).
For some reason or another, I looked down and realized my safety net was gone: The button on my sweater had come undone during one of my heaves. My gaze was met by my two… muchachas taking quite the breather.
Fuck… and I stretched… laughed… and stretched some more while this thing was undone. What a whore.
I won't complain any further, I had this one coming.
Mistake number seven:
Attended a party without my little sister.
She makes me giggle… we talk shit… we get up to the restroom together. I was alone, people were asking me about her… and I watched other sisters hang out together. I miss my stupid little brat face.
Final mistake:
Attended the wedding anniversary of a couple whose family I have beef with.
The hypocrisy is Crrrrrrazy! I know, as well as they do, that mad shit talking has taken place amongst our family. What do I say when it’s my time to congratulate the happy couple?
“Congratulations! I only wish to be as lucky as you, to find my other half and last 25 years together!”
Yeah… and hopefully he doesn't spend all waking hours drinking himself to death while watching Primer Impacto on Univision...
Some good did come out of all this:
1) A girl petted my head and then followed that by exclaiming:
“Oh my God! Your hair is SO soft! I'm going to pet it again!” (Anything pertaining to how nice my hair is will always be welcomed)
2) My skin’s nicely exfoliated (but my cut hurts real bad)!
3) I didn't flake on my friend… so she makes 2 that like me in that family. Hopefully she can help swing more votes my way.
4) I no longer make an ass of myself whenever shaking the hand of this one dude. He's missing the middle, ring, and pinkie finger of his right hand... he chopped them off during a really bad lawn-mowing accident back in 2001. Each time I've shaken his hand since, I forget about his missing fingers and my face usually goes from:
To: 
Not yesterday. I shook his hand confidently and thought: Man, this guy's really recovered from his accident (he was very vain prior to the accident. Now he's a regular, nice guy). Congratulations, man!
Thanks to all this, I've matured just a little... and I'm slightly girlier.
Not yesterday. I shook his hand confidently and thought: Man, this guy's really recovered from his accident (he was very vain prior to the accident. Now he's a regular, nice guy). Congratulations, man!
Thanks to all this, I've matured just a little... and I'm slightly girlier.
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