All I can say about this is that my decision to pour a full glass of rum into my champagne flute last night turned out to be a bad one. One for which I deserve to suffer, via this epic hangover, and embarrassment, via this post my big brother wrote.-L
Yo yo yo, whattup fellow Bleaders?! (That’s what i call us blog readers.) IT Guy here, filing in for little-sister while she is feeling a bit under the weather – stick around, and I’ll tell you why later.
For now, here’s a teaser – something she said as we left the party last night:
“I wanna ride with N because she has the chili in her car.”
And now I get to do what big brothers do best: bullying little-sisters outta the way and taking control!! Yah bitches! I am HACKING YOUR INTERNETS!! Whoo-hoo!
Uh…sorry. I mean, someone has to fill in, right? And since I happen to be quoted in several prominent blogs on the inter-nets (well, ok – just one called Food Toons). Also, I have an “I” (Interwebs) and a “T” (Totally Awesome Dude) in my name, so I can’t really think of anyone more qualified than ME to keep this whole NaBloPoMo-humma-lumma-bama-lama-ding-dong thing going for her. I do it for love (but mostly for the babes.)
We had a great time celebrating Guy Fawkes last night at the Buoy Street Country Club. … i think. I mean, do any you know what this this ridiculous holiday is all about? It’s sorta like Cinco De Mayo for the Brits, but without the Pinatas. Anyway, its all wondrous in its, er, meaninglessness and complete emptiness of value to Americans. Confusing and pointless for ex-catholics and non-protestants alike…much in the same way Thanksgiving or American football might be to the Brits. But, hey man, at least we get to drink like fishes and burn shit, and what’s better than that?
|Yes. This happened. No one knows why.
So, why is little-sister not feeling so well today? It’s surprising actually, because she is pretty much invincible. It’s been nearly 20 years to the day since I tried to kill her with a Thanksgiving turkey. Sure, she lived, albeit with fewer internal organs, but she did LIVE! (So proud. *Sniff*) She is a regular hero: intolerant of lactose intolerance, blogger of all things bloggy, seeker of sticky-buns, denier of alcohol dependence, maker-upper of false conditions. What could possibly bring her down? Whatever could be her Kryptonite?
Well, perhaps it was double-thumbing the bottle of The Kraken (rum). Or maybe it was the guy that blue himself, a la Tobias Funke from Arrested Develpment, thanks to the blue frosting on the Carvel ice cream cake that is obligatory at all BSCC parties. Or could it have been all the food that was served with, mixed with, or placed under, near, or over cheese (and/or bacon)? Or perhaps she was overwhelmed by all the effigies we burned, or underwhelmed by our lack of fireworks (for which we got in trouble for last year.)
Maybe, just maybe, she was grossed out by the brief and torrid love affair I had (in my mind, of course) with Petite-pretty-blue-eyed-but-unfortunately-married-girl. Forever unattainable of course, but, oh, oh how my heart aches for her, dizzyingly falling through the cosmos, intoxicated with an unprecedented desire…a yearning…a hunger for…for…WAIT! Is..that…cheese dip?
OK…so we didn’t actually talk, but I am sure we both felt something real. (Follow us on Craigslist: Missed Connections for more!)
Well, whatever the cause, little-sister certainly was not at her best. This concerned me deeply. Now remember Bleaders, I have seen her at her worst. This is the girl who once slept through a peanut butter and jelly sandwich! When she stops laughing, it’s probably only because Aunt Irma is visiting. When she walks into trees, it’s likely because there is a hunk of cheese, or a pancake on the other side. But when she stops laughing, walks into trees, AND falls off her chair, then says something like “no imaimma OK dehamma sammich durkne” there is definitely something wrong.
Luckily, nothing embarrassing happened. Needless to say, we took care of her, made sure she was safe, and one of our designated drivers got her home just fine. When we got to her place I walked her to her door, and watched as she made a few very feeble and hilarious attempts to unlock her door. I unlocked it for her, and sent her on her way to her pending hangover.
With love – IT Guy.
(Babes: you can email my little sister for my digits *wink*)
The preparations are in full swing. The fire pit is being prepared. The kitchen is stocked with weird British ingredients. The cooler is stocked with enough beer for 50 times 10. The totally legal fireworks are sitting patiently, awaiting lighters and clear skies.
It’s Guy Fawkes Night in Great Britain. And since Weather Girl married The Welshman, we are obligated to celebrate.
Instead of giving you an explanation, I’ll do two things instead. First, here is a link to a blog called Crumpets in Camelot. I just found through this NaBloPoMo thing. I love it, and the post she did on Guy Fawkes is funny and sums it up perfectly.
The next thing I’ll do is a post tomorrow on how the food and festivities went.
Until then, feast your eyes on this ridiculousness.
|The Welshman’s pants are ALWAYS this tight.
More food, less pain,