Monday, October 1, 2012

Is There A Way To Block Your Mother From Reading Your Blog?

I went to a wedding in Washington this past June.  Erik's cousin was getting married so he asked me to go with him and meet all of his family that I hadn't yet.  Both of his parents live in Pennsylvania and they were the only family I'd met.  He's got a schload of family.  Cousins, Aunts, Uncles and his sister were all going.  I promised him I wouldn't embarrass him

That was a promise I was not able to keep.

I flew into Seattle where Erik picked me up and we headed to Anacortes where the bride and groom were living.  Before we were even out of the car his Mom and Sister were out the front door to greet us with giant bear hugs.  His Sister was sarcastic, witty and drank before 5pm.  I liked her immediately.

The house was bursting at the seams with his family and people I didn't know.  I was overwhelmed at times and a little claustrophobic.  I will admit that I had to bail for awhile and hid out in the truck for about 30 min's before I was retrieved to ask what kind of wine his Sister should get for me at the store.

She returned with a six pack of wine.  I never knew such things could exist.  I was now thoroughly in love.

The next day we took the ferry to Friday Harbor and made our way to the cabin we would be staying at on Roche Harbor for the next couple of nights.

I'd forgotten how much I missed living near an ocean.

The $400/night "cabin" we had to rough it in.

 Roche Harbor was absolutely beautiful.  I grew up in a little place on Lake Ontario called Port Dalhousie and this place made me feel like I was back there as a little girl.  Only now I had boobs.  A boyfriend.  And I could drink.  Other than that, exactly the same.


The first night there was a pre-wedding party down on the beach.  It was quite a distance from the harbor and our cabins.  They had white tents and heat lamps set up.  Catered food and an open bar complete with a nice young chap who would pour you as many glasses of wine as you desired.  Also on site for your bowel evacuation needs?  A Honey Bucket.  Also known as a port-o-potty.  I made it clear at the beginning I would NOT be stepping foot inside of that atrocity.  Trying to disguise it's revolting purpose by naming it something sweet and inviting wasn't going to work in luring me in.  I would simply hold it until we got back.  I was taking a stand.

Taking a stand is easy to do when you're not 4 glasses of vino into the evening.  

By now it's dark and everyone is milling around the random heat lamps and huddling next to the fire pit.  My bladder and my mind are at war with each other when I hear one of his cousins mention she has to pee.  I pounce like a fat chick on an eclair and convince her to take a stroll with me in the woods where refined  ladies do their peeing.  Not in the poorly named Honey Bucket of disgrace.

She'd just met me the day before so in her defense she didn't know any better when she agreed.  With arms linked we skip off into the woods and head up a hill.  She goes to one side, I go to the other.  I drop trou and breathe a sigh of relief as a torrent of recycled wine waters the forest floor.  I reach down to pull up my undies when, wait.  What's this?  Where the hell are my underwear?  I look down and realize in my inebriated rush, I somehow forgot to pull them down with my pants.

I have just pissed my underwear.  At my boyfriends family function.

Ugh!  With pants around my ankles, I waddle over to the nearest tree screeching for my pee pal, Emily, to help hold me up while I struggled out of the offending clothing.  I get them off and fling them into the darkness of night.

As we head back to the fire, I warn her, "Not a word that I'm going commando, right?".  She simply giggles in response.

The guys are standing around the fire pit holding their beers and smirking.  Erik is just looking at me and shaking his head.
Emily's husband asks, "Did you two know everyone could see you?".  He motions with his beer and I look up the hill to the spot where we just were and sure enough, it was directly in the line of vision for anyone on the beach facing the woods.
He continues, "and just what the hell were you doing up there?  Which of you was the waddler?" 
I hang my head in shame and Emily blurts out my secret which is immediately followed by howls of laughter from everyone who was within earshot.

The next day I had an odd pang of conscience and decided tossing your underwear into the forest is the equivalent of littering.  And that just wouldn't do. 

On my hike back through the harbor to the beach and then the woods, I had to pass the wedding party going through their rehearsal.  One of the groomsmen saw me, waved, and asked if I was going to buy new underwear. 

I resisted the urge to shoot him the bird and walked faster.

After scrabbling through possible poison oak, I located the urine soaked panties and shoved them in my jacket pocket. 

On my way back I ran into the Father of the Groom and one of the other girls.  They stop me to chit chat asking what I'm up to this morning.  I mumble something about having to run an errand.  She says, "Oh yeah?  And errand?" while looking at me expectantly. 

I stare at her like a demented deer caught in urine yellow headlights while I imagine the panties in my pocket soaking through my jacket, creating a giant pee stain that spreads across my entire right side. 

4 seconds of non-responsive silence. 

I finally mutter something, seriously no idea what, and take off towards the cabin wondering why in the hell I ever  promised Erik I wouldn't embarrass him.  We both should have known better.

Eventually it's time for the wedding.  We get dressed and head down.  I didn't know the venue when I packed for the trip.  I took 4" heels.  The venue included this treacherous cobblestone hill.

Which is actually way steeper than it looks.
Which goes around the properties...

Winds around the gardens...

And then to the grass where heels tend to sink and not fare too well.
 Erik chastised me for my choice in footwear as I nearly went down like a bag of dirt twice in 30 seconds.  I looked down at his feet then back at him questioningly.  He had forgotten his shoes altogether and was wearing his chacos with his suit.  A classy pair we made.

The Bride knew to wear flats.  Cheater.
Erik and his Sister (who was one of the groomsmen) deciding if my shoes would make a better beer stein or a weapon.
Erik's cousin Emily.  AKA, my pee pal.

The Bride dancing with the Best Man.  Kay, not really, he's the Groom.

Traditional North American Wedding dance.  The Groom is the one with the tie around his head.  


I honestly don't know how everyone managed to wake up in time to catch the ferry back to Anacortes the next morning.  

 
  In conclusion, I would like to say it was a grand time had by all and though I may have peed myself, I feel it imperative I point out that this last picture is NOT a picture of me puking into the back seat.  Thank you very much.