Flashback Friday. Marriage is a solemn occasion that must be taken seriously.

Unless you're 22 years old. And it's Valentine's Day. And you're in a small town in Northeastern Colorado. And you're a bridesmaid in a shiny pink satin dress, white nylons and pink frickin shoes that cost $20 for the shoes and $20 to dye them craptastic pink. Also some strange white piece of shit in your hair, and mandatory-nail-polish-assigned-by-the-bride.

In that case, right before the solemn ceremony, you should high-tail it to the one liquor store in town, get a quart of beer and ask an old cowboy guy to take your picture. Then, jump in your Toyota Tercel, drink the quart of beer without dripping too much of it on your dress and get your asses over to the church.

Where the bride is also burping beer. At 10 AM. But that might possibly be leftover burps from the night before. I'm not sure.

Hard to imagine, but the marriage didn't last five years. Go figure.

My pal Connie and me in all our pinkness. She's the one with Miller Lite. And dimples.

Postscript - I was also invited, that same Valentine's Day, to another wedding that I couldn't make due to my obligation to wear a shiny pink dress elsewhere. That sacred union lasted less than two years. Note to the Internet: Please don't get married on Valentine's Day. When you're 22. The end.

Flashback Friday. If they'd had Facebook in 1922, this would totally be my Great Grandmother's profile picture.

I had the very awesome fortune to have the coolest great grandmother that ever walked the planet. I could go on for days and days with stories about her overall wonderfulness.

Like how she lived for 99-1/2 years flirting innocently with any male I'd seen her around for 90 of them, including my dad and husband. How she memorized sports statistics and the children's names of celebrities and newscasters. How she was a baseball fan and if she wasn't at a Denver Bears game, she was listening to it on the radio, how she played dominoes and Yahtzee to "keep her mind sharp" and it worked because she lived on her own in her own house until a few months before she died. How she was the stepmother to my grandmother, but accepted her as daughter - even though they were just 15 years apart. Never mind that she divorced my grandmother's father, she kept my grandmother as her daughter for the rest of her life. My mother held her so dear that I have her first name as my middle name, and if I'd had a female child, I would have named that child after her.  My parents were married at her house. The first New Year's Eve I stayed up until midnight was at her house and I wore her bathrobe the whole night. I was six. The robe was way too big.

In short, she rocked. And I know that she wasn't just a cool old lady, because I have this.

"To nightgowns!"

You'll notice she's the only one stylish enough for a floral nightgown. Look at all the losers in their boring white. And she's the only one laughing. She was always laughing. This was in a young ladies boarding house she lived in with what appears to be her sister and a bunch of lame girls who are apparently worried about Prohibition. Party on, Great Grandma!

Here she is at age 98, with her great-great-grandson, my oldest little dude.

Still laughing. And cracking up a 4 month old.

The day I took this picture, she told me, "Don't have any more kids. It'll kill ya." She meant it, but I didn't take her seriously, because when I was 15, she told me, "Never learn to drive!"  When I said, "but I want to, Great Grandma!"  She said slyly, "But if you don't learn to drive...the men will HAVE to take you with them..."

Interesting ploy. If only she'd said, "If you don't learn to drive, you'll never have to go to the grocery store."  Now that would've been some helpful advice.

Flashback Friday. Also Valentine's Day. And Presidents' Day. And I am not exactly sure why we have to try and stuff everything into one weekend. Gah.

In recognition of 13.6 years of him putting up with me for my boobs and lasagna wedded bliss, I present you here today with a photo of Big Dude and me on our wedding day. By the looks of things, we were surveying the plot of Oklahoma land we planned to homestead. (My! Such optimism! We had no idea the Dust Bowl would totally crush our dreams as well as our sod-roofed shack. Fortunately, love and our ability to surf real estate ads online have carried us through such dire hardships.)

You'll notice my bouquet made of piece of crap flowers that I did not pick out because the florist didn't realize I was serious when I placed my order for a ball of half-opened dark pink roses.  Apparently my deposit check still didn't convince her.  However, my phone call the night before the wedding...that made her wonder. "Oh - you still want them? Wul, I dun't have no dark pank roses."  So she gave us dead white roses and some friggin' carnations. Because that is what every bride dreams of.  Dead Stuff and Carnations. (Possibly the name of my band.)

What you won't notice is that I'm wearing my friend Harvard Barbie's wedding ring, because my betrothed's brother forgot to bring my ring to the wedding. No biggie. It was safe back in the unlocked motel room.

You also cannot tell that the judge that was to marry us called two days prior and said he decided to marry someone else that day instead. Or that my future-father-in-law went to the wrong place, causing him to be 45 minutes late. Or that as I came down the aisle, my father's mother said loudly, "Y'know she's pregnant, doncha?" ...meaning my barely pregnant sister / bridesmaid, but of course everyone thought she meant me. Or that our garage door was hanging off one hinge after an incident with several groomsmen and an electric golf cart with "LambRover" painted on the front of it.

Also, for some damned reason, one week before the wedding, after years of long, single-length hair, I went to a brand new hair-dresser and requested layers. Short layers.

I was completely sober, so I didn't even have an excuse.

 

OOOOOOOOOHK!   LaHoma.

Enjoy your hallmark-holiday o'love. Also President's Day, or as I like to call it, "Another damned day that teachers and bankers get to stay home but I have to drag my children to work day." I plan on making stovepipe hats and wooden teeth in celebration.