You’ll never guess what I did the other day. No, I didn’t win the National Senior Citizen Wet T-shirt contest again, but I did come in second place. Personally, I think I was robbed. I was the only one who didn’t require being hosed down with a mixture of water and Ben Gay to get things started. It was so hot outside that I had already sweated through my t-shirt before I even hit the stage. To me, that should have counted for something, but the judges were haters, which was truly surprising since the event was organized by my mother. But that’s another story for another day.
Though that was a great guess, I was referring to my taking the DC metro for like the third time ever so that I could participate in the annual walk supporting Crohn’s disease and colitis. Because I’m severely allergic to exercise in all forms, I’m just as shocked as you are that I walked for anything other than to get the remote, but it was for a good cause and there were Subway sandwiches at the finish line, which made it all worth it in my opinion. And despite my prediction that I would die shortly after taking my first few steps, my legs and heart had only given out just a little bit before I flagged down a yellow cab and caught a ride to the end point. As they say, it’s not the journey, it’s the destination. Don’t judge me.
Because my legs haven’t tanned just yet, I wore jeans because I figured that would be less distracting than having everyone stop the walk to debate how I managed to be African American up top and Caucasian at the bottom. I should probably be studied, and when whatever I have is determined, we should all walk for that cause too. Maybe they’ll call it Michael’s disease, or just Michael’s. Wouldn’t that be awesome? Imagine 500 years from now when people will be holding their heads high and saying “It’s tough, but I’m taking one day at a time. I’ve come down with a case of the Michael’s.”
Anyway, I don’t know if there is a metro system where you live, but the one here in DC is pretty intimidating. I think there should be some form of mandatory training course or something before anyone is allowed to use it. First, there are several different routes and each one has a color and there’s a map with a legend and a key and you really have to make some serious life choices before picking which train to get on. I mean, one wrong decision and you could end up in Utah like I did a few weeks ago. I was sooooooooo late for work that morning.
Another issue is that you have to be really aggressive if you want to get wherever you’re going. At first I was trying to be nice and let the women, children, and old people over twenty-five go first, but then everyone would just bump me out of the way and I’d end up missing the train. No lie, one time I let someone’s grandma get on in front of me, and she knocked me down, gave me the finger, and then yelled out “SUCKER!!!!” as the train doors closed. Ashamed, I slowly picked myself up off the ground and wondered if the gum in my mouth was there before I fell, or if I had somehow acquired it when I landed tongue-first on the concrete. In any case, I truly learned my lesson that day. Now, even if a granny is using a walker, she’s just going to have to wait because I’m going first—and I’m not afraid to use an elbow or issue a few karate chops to someone’s neck if I have to.
In other travel news, I recently took an extended weekend trip to North Carolina for the first of like 600 weddings that I’ve been invited to attend over the next few months. Personally, I think there must be something in the water causing everyone to decide to take the plunge all of a sudden. Maybe it’s because of the potential tax discounts. Maybe it’s the mouth-watering opportunity to wear matching “I’m With Him” or “I’m With Her” t-shirts. Or, maybe it’s just easier to know who’ll be making the bed or paying for dinner at the end of the evening—I always wonder that, even when I’m by myself.
In any case, a marriage epidemic is definitely taking over the country, and my wallet isn’t too happy about it. When you take a step back and really think about it, people are getting married that have never gotten married before. It’s really alarming. Believe it or not, I’ve already had to refinance my apartment twice to cover all the gift cards I’ve had to purchase to celebrate the various nuptial milestones such as we-found-each-other parties, we-lost-each-other-and-then-found-each-other-again parties, and the classic you-ticked-me-off-so-I-sold-all-of-your-crap-on-eBay-but-I’ll-still-marry-you-anyway-because-we’ll-get-a-lot-of-good-gifts parties. At this rate, I’m going to have to start looking around the house for future gift ideas. Since they say it’s the thought that counts, one lucky couple is going to be getting a half roll of toilet paper very soon.
Because the DC metro doesn’t have any stops in North Carolina, I drove. You should have seen me flying down the highway with the music blaring, trying to avoid “the man.” Though some people don’t understand how I could spend six or seven hours in the car by myself when there are opportunities to ride with other people, I absolutely love the “me” time. I like being able to choose the song on the radio and the temperature in the car. And if I want to play the same Usher or Lady Gaga song fifty-eleven times until I know all the words and can recite them backwards on command, no one can stop me. I’ve got the power. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.
Unfortunately, as luck would have it, although I made the journey specifically for the wedding, I kind of missed the exchanging of the vows, but I was able to attend the reception. It wasn’t my fault, though. First of all, I accidentally hit the road four hours later than I planned. I mean, if you’re going to go to a wedding, you have to invest a proper amount of time into making sure you’re wearing the right socks. You aren’t supposed to just show up wearing any old thing. It’s someone’s big day, for crying out loud. There are no do-overs. If the bride or groom is walking down the aisle and your fraudulent socks catch their eye, it could be catastrophic. Really, who wants that?
Because the wedding took place outside, when I drove by 15 minutes after it was scheduled to start, I could see that things had already begun, which I thought was pretty rude considering I obviously hadn’t arrived yet. I mean, I know I wasn’t actually in the wedding, but how could they start without me? Just because I was late and wrong, didn’t mean that they had to be equally inappropriate by starting on time. Don’t they know I have a blog???
Well, as opposed to causing a huge commotion by walking down the aisle and pretending to be one of the flower girls until I could make it to an empty seat, I ended up going to a nearby Barnes & Noble and wasting an hour or so until I could go back and sneak in later during the reception after everyone was too liquored up to notice that I had missed the best part. When I did finally arrive, everyone was too busy trying to remember the moves to the Electric Slide to notice that I was late—or that I was still wearing a flower girl dress.
All in all, the part of the ceremony (the remains?) that I did witness was beautiful. It’s so awesome to think that one day you could be minding your own business when some homeless person walks up to you asking for change and your phone number (that’s how this particular couple met). And when that happens, you have absolutely no idea that he, she, or it will one day be your next husband after you’re done with your current one. Hmmm.
Since I don’t know what’s in the cards for me with all that mushy stuff, I’ve decided to treat everyone a little bit better—even grandmas—because you really just never know. Grandmas need love too. The next dollar you give to the person holding the sign could be that exact same dollar used to by his-and-her happy meals later on that day when you’re on your first date. I’ll give you a few moments to ponder that. I know it was kind of deep and philosophical. You’re probably not used to finding that level of insight here. Don’t worry, the pain will subside. Just put some Ben Gay on it.
P.S. Before you start handing out ones to every Tom, Dick and Mary on the street or at the office based on my suggestion, because of my current financial situation, I must politely ask that you hold off on any marital bliss and consummation until further notice. I will not be able to afford or celebrate any further engagements, housewarmings, birthdays, baby makings, or other activities prior to August of 2039. At that point, you can return to your regularly scheduled programming.
Wait a minute!!! You, sir, in the pink pajamas! Didn’t you just read that I requested you and your wife not do that until further notice??? Fine! Go ahead! Don’t listen to me! Nine months from now, you’re on your own!!!
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