Lover’s Rock

23 Jul

It’s our seven-year anniversary. Cuz that’s what happens when you get married when you’re like eleven-years old.

And sure, even though you made me dance to a song featuring an electric guitar at our “classic elegance” themed wedding, and then I had to drag you and your Jersey friends out of the hotel bar for our last dance, it was an otherwise magical day. Aside from the fist fight in the parking lot late night. Oh my God, we’re white trash.

 

We have no idea what we’re doing! We’re merely eleven years old!

We were young (seriously), reckless (not at all), the world was ours (we were dirt poor living in an attic, ala Anne Frank. No seriously. We weren’t allowed to make noise after 8:00 PM or our landlady would flip her shit). Things were going swimmingly (please God make it all go away).

And then you started doing weird shit like this:

How is this even possible? You’d have to NEVER throw anything away. I didn’t even know they still made Good Humor ice cream bars.

And now it’s like changing the toilet paper roll will actually give you brain damage or something. But eleven thousand beer bottle caps in the washer machine is totally okay and good for the environment.

And remember when you painted our deck purple? When I asked you to get gun-metal grey. Weird.

Raise your hand if this looks gun-metal grey to you. Or actually finished.

But then you do stuff like this:

Moment that does not provoke stabby rage.

And this:

Makes the fact that you NEVER put the toilet seat down quasi okay. 

And sometimes, when I am at the dump on my “day off” and gnarly garbage juice spills on my unmanicured toes, I wonder what it would be like if I was married to a preppy douchebag named Thatcher. I bet Thatcher’s wife doesn’t go to the dump. She probably wears pearls and argyle and doesn’t say douche like it’s as commonly accepted as “butter” or “good morning.”

But then you teach the kids the difference between the Tufted Titmouse and the Blue Footed Bubi. The fact that both have a synonym for breasts in the name is not lost on me. I wouldn’t know a sparrow if it flew into my face.

And you can cook. Really well.

And even though I want to smother you with a plastic bag sometimes (almost always), like when you threw our Christmas tree in the backyard and left it there to rot for a year on top of a Coors Light thirty pack, you tolerate my antics and endless harassment on the internet. And you seem to like me. Somewhat.

And you don’t mind when I say ridiculous things like “I want to take banjo lessons.” Or, “I want to make out with Eric Northman (the vampire).” Or, “I’m going to quit my job and have blog-offs with people who don’t know that I exist.”

And when I was convinced that our symptom free, two-year old had H1N1 for three straight months (thanks mandatory webinar that I want to kick in the face) and I made you check on her eleven hundred times a night, you did. <Does line of Xanax.>

And then you do cute things. Like the time you started your own blog. But wouldn’t publish it because you didn’t want people to know what you were thinking. Um, hun. I think that’s called a diary?

And even though we’re Irish and most likely cousins, especially given that dicey family tree that your uncle made for us, it’s been fun growing up (or not) with you.

Dicey Irish Family Tree.

Before:

 

  After:

                   But it doesn’t matter. Because now, we have this: 

What? We all have big heads. What did you expect, we’re goddamn cousins.

 Happy Anniversary. I’d take you over Thatcher any day. Please don’t come home without jewelry wine.P.S. A fucking SpotBot carpet cleaner is not a viable anniversary gift.

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7 Responses to “Lover’s Rock”

  1. HULA July 23, 2011 at 4:26 pm #

    That was a *helluva* wedding. Personally, I think anytime you can end up in a car with a member of the waitstaff you have to do it. Don’t forget that Ralphie and Dillon got thrown off the dance floor for spraying people with shaken up beer bottles. THAT is classic elegance.

  2. Caitlin WhaWHA July 24, 2011 at 3:40 pm #

    happy anniversary! it is our fifth (was. yesterday. too.)! you are hilarious, my kindred spirit anniversarymate. if we weren’t already spoken for i would totally blog with you. cheers!

  3. Britt August 27, 2011 at 10:52 am #

    Can I please have more information on your family tree? How close of cousins are you? I guess its safe to procreate with your cousins since you kids seem normal 🙂

    • Bitchin Sisters August 29, 2011 at 6:14 pm #

      we’re 60% sure that we’re like 45% cousins. NBD. aside from huge heads, no evident abnormalities.

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Systematic Bullying is no joke. I’m basically (not at all really) Kelly Killoren Bensimon. « Bitchin Sisters - August 19, 2011

    […] I’d like to point out that he first accosted me when I was nine months pregnant (see post about why Thatcher should be my husband and how GOING TO THE GODDAMN DUMP IS MY JOB AND HOW IT MAKES ME FEEL A…).) […]

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