The holiday is close. Between then and now I have just three classes, and no clients. So I almost feel like I'm on holiday now.
Data! Bring me beer! And when are you going to learn to get one together, you chubby fingered layabout?
Thing is, just what kind of a holiday is this going to be?
The dramatis personnae:
Gimme, long suffering, internally raging father to
Riker, stoical, smart arsed sister to
Data, psychotic, tantrum throwing niece to
Ellie, devastatingly beautiful, Stranded on Gaia reading daughter to
Babs, understated, wine guzzling wife to
Hans Brinker, uptight, methodist nazi. Lacks blood (or much of any other kind) relationship to anybody.
To be clear. My mother remarried. Which has made her happier than she was. So that's ok. I suppose.
Who's missing here? Anybody spot the off stage presence? That's right. Common Law has once again wheedled her way out of spending any time with Hans Brinker. And who can fucking blame her?
Take yourself back to Riker's commyumyum, folks. We've ordered a taxi, because, that's right, I still didn't drive back then. The fuckers don't show up. They never do, so perhaps we should have anticipated that. Five to twelve. We reluctantly make the call. It's Hans Brinker to the rescue. Except it's not. Because although the church is a three minute drive away, Hans refuses to take Data in his car as that would mean that there would be four people in the back. And that's against the law. We're standing there looking at him, in our commyumyum best, (I look like a Gap ad, the ladies look radiant), unable to fathom what how why where anybody could be such a painstakingly pedantic prick. And the clock is ticking, folks. Father Trendy is going to start lufffing it up in about three minutes.
Common Law's brother walks Data to the church. They miss a good chunk of it. I do not weep for them.
We get there on time. Just. But we're obviously harried and essentially late. I do embarrassed. Riker does stoical. Common Law does fucking raging. Fortunately, an obscenely large traveler woman arrives just after us, trips up, and goes down hard directly in front of the altar just as Trendy is warming up, thus distracting from our plight. I do not weep for us.
I weep for Hans Brink. The stupid cunt.
Looking forward to the holiday, so I am.
What are they doing in heaven today?
18 hours ago
17 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:
Ah it's nice to be devastatingly beautiful somewhere, if only on the internet where nobody can dispute it!
It's going to be a fabulous holiday. It is. We'll just give Hans some crushed up valium or something.
Where are yiz off to?
conan:
You'd think I'd know that, wouldn't you? Somewhere in France. Babs and Hans are there already. We fly into Bordeaux. Then about an hour's drive. In some direction.
ellie:
Perhaps I could have the crushed up valium. Or something.
What knid of cunt has an issue bringing his step grandkid to her communion? Dude, I think it's arsenic you want not valium.
Vive la France!
Yer common law is entitled after the communion debacle. Does he also report people for crossing the road other than at pedestrian crossings?
Pah ha ha!
He drives with head lights on at all times.
b3n:
Be reasonable, Nipple. He could have gotten a penalty point. The man has priorities.
conan:
Not that I'm aware of. But he slows down if there's a black person walking behind him. He's finding it more and more difficult to walk down Grafton Street in less than four hours.
common law:
Of all his foibles, that is a generously innocuous one to pick. You truly are a kind hearted soul.
Great blog! Have nothing witty to write. Is it St Jean de Luz, where you're for? I was there last year and it was beautiful - Bordeaux was a good wee spot too. Have a blast!!
"To be clear. My mother remarried. Which has made her happier than she was. So that's ok. I suppose."
Yes, it is. I suppose.
Me cago en tu puta madre, muerto Francia, viva Espana!
Painted:
Thanks for coming by. I stand by my 'I have no idea where we're going' statement, but I'll keep an eye out for Jean de Luz.
annie:
I'm happy that we find ourselves in agreement.
V:
I'm afraid I don't speak Spanish and the babel fish translation is not really clearing things up for me. But thanks for contributing.
That's a lot of fucking posting to keep up with.
For fucksake.
"Me cago en tu puta madre, muerto Francia, viva Espana!"
Gimme, what V is saying, roughly, is "I shit on your whore of a mother, France should die, long live Spain!"
Since V has not been properly introduced, I believe that should be "usted" and not "tu," but people usually don't stand on formality while calling your mother a whore.
Babelfish isn't much use when it comes to cursing.
Indeed, using the 'Usted' form of address would somewhat diminish the insult. Perhaps gentlemen in the 19th Century insulted each other in this way. Who knows..
Tell us more about this traveller woman going down hard at the altar.
V and Sparrow:
You take the linguistic controversy outside people. And Vive La France.
Bock:
Jeez, excuse the hell out of my profligacy, I'm going to be stranded in the real world for ten days so I want to leave you with lots to think about. Sheesh.
Not really much to tell about our traveller friend. She was fat, she was moving across the front of the altar and she tripped. Think cartoon splat. I believe the massive amounts of blubber took a moment to reach their full bungee-like bounce point, at which time she was straight back up and moving with a suprising amount of spright considering her Godzillaesque gargantuaness. Whaddya know? There was much to tell.
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