Monday, August 18, 2008

Calvin's Secret isn't the same as Victoria's.

This year is a big year for weddings. I’ll be officiating at my first ceremony in two weeks and I’m pretty nervous that at some point in the service, probably between “Friends, Romans, Countrymen” and “do you take this man”, I’m going to blurt out “FUCK FUCK FUCKEDY FUCK FUCK”. Because I keep thinking “don’t say fuck, don’t say fuck, don’t say fuck” which of course means, I’m going to say fuck. That’s what I do when I’m nervous. I either turn into the bastard child of a thesaurus and an English Lit professor or I let my true colors out and turn into someone Britney Spears would be embarrassed to know.

I doubt that “I’m country, y’all” will appease the bride very much though.

Three weeks after I do my best impression of a Reverend is sister CK’s wedding in NYC. The experience should be a laugh a minute since the Sugar Plum Nightmares ™ are bringing a WHOLE LOT of whiskey. Because that’s what we do.

Two weeks after THAT my boss is getting hitched. In an effort to fit into his suit, he’s given up chew and beer. To keep his wedding night fresh, they’ve gone abstinent. Yes, he told me that. He tells me a lot of things. For example he told me that his lovely fiancé sleeps in the nude. THEN he tells me that he doesn’t sleep in the nude. Because he worries that at some point, on some night, he will scratch his booty and leave a skid mark on the wife’s gorgeous 2000 thread count cotton sheets.

WTF?

This is not a scenario that ever would have entered into my mind. Seriously. Skid marks on the sheets? So, I do what I always do and run this story by the boys that I know. Sure enough, every single one of them conceded that it was reasonable to be concerned about that occurrence and to always sleep in skivvies.

Then, there is the boy that we’re going to call Mike (because it’s a nice, generic name), and Mike, well, Mikey is the dire warning that all boys would prefer not to be.

“This one time” he tells me “I picked up a chick at a bar. And she was HOT. Smoking hot. Banging bod, great rack, kinda dumb, but good at pool and a she could down some beers. So we’re at the bar, drinking, eating bar food, hanging out and then we go back to her place, right? We um, well, um, anyway and then I’m naked and she’s naked and she’s asleep on my arm, right? And then my stomach starts to rumble and I know I’m going to fart and I don’t want to fart, but you know, I HAVE to, so I do, only it’s NOT a fart, it’s a shart. So I’m laying there, with her on my arm and my asscheeks full of shit trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to get out of there. Because I can’t just roll over, you know, because then the shit will squish out, but I can’t wake her up either, because you know, then she’ll know I shit myself, so I’m doing this wiggle move (does the wiggle move to demonstrate) trying not to shift the shit or wake her up (still doing wiggle move) and finally I free myself, but then I can’t figure out how to stand up with out sitting up, and anyway, I got shit on her bed. So I wiped my ass, got dressed and got the hell out of there”

I thought he looked familiar.

14 little kittens say Meow:

kwr221 said...

"officiating"? For real or is that blogspeak for something else?

Miss Thystle said...

FOR REAL. I'm a minister. God Bless the Intrawebs.

C said...

and those sorts of conversations are why I'm glad I work with gay men. I don't hear anything about skid marks, and we get to talk about what shoes I'm wearing to the wedding.

kwr221 said...

okay, tell me more.

Like for real, real. Or joke on the internet/mail order real.
You really marry people. Kewl.

You have so blown my image of ministers and I have a pretty realistic view considering I work for one wise-ass (in a nice way) pastor and my Dad and his friends were pastors.

Or you can just ignore all that if I'm naive and took you literally instead of figuratively.

Miss Thystle said...

nope, I'm being for reals.

t i m said...

Give up beer? WTF?! I'd just get a bigger suit, problem solved.

Also never trust a Mike. ;)

Jenny, the Bloggess said...

Oh. My. God.

That is the best story ever.

Nadine Hightower said...

I hafta say...My man sleeps nekked and THAT has never happen'd to him or my bed sheets. He explains that his gas-shit separator O-Ring works better than that!!

Lorrie Veasey said...

I often considered becoming ordained myself. But instead I chose to draw Sammy the Squirrel on the back of that matchbook. And thus two paths in the woods diverge.

Are you and Kristin going to meet up with me in NYC for an awkward cocktail?

kwr221 said...

Oh, Lorrie, I don't think I'll be in NYC for a few months.

Now LAST summer, it seems like I was there a lot - Father's Day, a Yankees game, an American Girl adventure with my lovely daughter, we took our boat to NYC and the LI Sound..... Damn, I'm going to meet some internet friends in Chicago in September which pretty much X's out NYC until spring.

I would SO have met you last summer if I only knew. ;-) But alas, I was not yet a blogger.

kwr221 said...

Why would it be awkward?

There wouldn't be any sharts invloved, would there?)

I think it would be kick-ass. You two go ahead without me. :::sniff:::

and then tell me all about it.

Seperately. So I can compare notes. :-)

Lorrie Veasey said...

I'm a socially awkward dweeb. If we sit across from each other at an Internet Cafe I'll be ok. Or if I can text. But I am actually quite shy and boring in the flesh. Then again, after a few belly shots I am capable of completely changing personalities...kinda like an alcoholic Hulk.

kwr221 said...

{{{hugs}}} Lorrie.

We can make it work.

Get the Tim Gunn reference, huh? huh?

I'm pretty boring IRL too. And I'm a walking billboard for a What Not To Wear intervention.

:-)


Oh, hi Miss Thystle - you don't mind if we use your blog for a little chat do you?

Miss Thystle said...

Don't mind you chatting over here at all. Mi Casa y su Casa. That's spanglish for "as long as you share the beer".