In Which Our Heroine Returnf To Her Home, Following Great Rudeneff and Diverfe Revelations

Apparently, today shall be Bad Pseudo-Old English Day. Which sort of makes me want to go add a chapter to my Book of Shadows.... but I digress (before I even start, which is something of a feat, even for me).

I'm back from the BlitzGuilt tour of all branches of the family, and the Carnival of Horrors that was my little sister's wedding. This is something of how the weekend went:
( Read more... )

In Which Our Heroine Returnf To Her Home, Following Great Rudeneff and Diverfe Revelations

Apparently, today shall be Bad Pseudo-Old English Day. Which sort of makes me want to go add a chapter to my Book of Shadows.... but I digress (before I even start, which is something of a feat, even for me).

I'm back from the BlitzGuilt tour of all branches of the family, and the Carnival of Horrors that was my little sister's wedding. This is something of how the weekend went:
( Read more... )

(no subject)

In non-weekend-related news, some salesperson was busted last week surfing porn sites at work, so there will undoubtedly be a crackdown on non-business computer use. So if I should no longer respond to things between 8 and 5, that will be why.

Some people...

(no subject)

In non-weekend-related news, some salesperson was busted last week surfing porn sites at work, so there will undoubtedly be a crackdown on non-business computer use. So if I should no longer respond to things between 8 and 5, that will be why.

Some people...

Emily Post's Nightmares and Attack of Bridezilla!

It's important to note in dealing with my family the following things:
1) We are all Southern.
2) There are two kinds of Southerners, those being:

• Southerners who spit; and
  
• Southerners who do not spit.
  

3) I am a product of an intermarriage between the spitting and the non-spitting tribe.
My sisters, however, are the offspring of a proud spitter and a spitter-pretending-to-be-a-nonspitter, which makes their approach to the world a little different.
( Read more... )

Emily Post's Nightmares and Attack of Bridezilla!

It's important to note in dealing with my family the following things:
1) We are all Southern.
2) There are two kinds of Southerners, those being:

• Southerners who spit; and
  
• Southerners who do not spit.
  

3) I am a product of an intermarriage between the spitting and the non-spitting tribe.
My sisters, however, are the offspring of a proud spitter and a spitter-pretending-to-be-a-nonspitter, which makes their approach to the world a little different.
( Read more... )

Shock, Awe, and Elderly Relatives

Here follows an account of the most alarming thing that happened to me this weekend:

I arrived at the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner a little ahead of most of the rest of the party, so I was leaning against a post on their patio, when an elderly man who looked a bit like my father walked up to me. He had a little girl with him.

"You're Kimberly," he said.
I said, "Yeah."
"Do you know who I am?" I searched my brain and couldn't come up with anything reasonable.
"No, I'm sorry," I said, grinning the grin of 'Don't take offense, I'm a dumbass'. (This is a Southern survival skill.)
"I'm your Grampa Art."

Now this took me aback, and for good reason. As far as my addled brain can manage to recall, my mother told me that my Grampa Art was dead about ten or 12 years ago. And I haven't seen any of this side of the family very often, and certainly nobody beyond the immediate-family types, so I had no reason to doubt this information. But lo, there he was, looking quite alive and even healthy.

What I wanted to say was "I thought you were dead!". What I actually said was "My, you're looking well!".

I have decided to charitably assume that I was told that my grandfather was dead because someone had made some sort of error -- perhaps another of my father's relatives had died, and she was confused. Or, perhaps he had been very ill and she had just assumed that he had died. But I don't know, and I probably never will.

Shock, Awe, and Elderly Relatives

Here follows an account of the most alarming thing that happened to me this weekend:

I arrived at the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner a little ahead of most of the rest of the party, so I was leaning against a post on their patio, when an elderly man who looked a bit like my father walked up to me. He had a little girl with him.

"You're Kimberly," he said.
I said, "Yeah."
"Do you know who I am?" I searched my brain and couldn't come up with anything reasonable.
"No, I'm sorry," I said, grinning the grin of 'Don't take offense, I'm a dumbass'. (This is a Southern survival skill.)
"I'm your Grampa Art."

Now this took me aback, and for good reason. As far as my addled brain can manage to recall, my mother told me that my Grampa Art was dead about ten or 12 years ago. And I haven't seen any of this side of the family very often, and certainly nobody beyond the immediate-family types, so I had no reason to doubt this information. But lo, there he was, looking quite alive and even healthy.

What I wanted to say was "I thought you were dead!". What I actually said was "My, you're looking well!".

I have decided to charitably assume that I was told that my grandfather was dead because someone had made some sort of error -- perhaps another of my father's relatives had died, and she was confused. Or, perhaps he had been very ill and she had just assumed that he had died. But I don't know, and I probably never will.