So one of my devout followers requested an update to the graduation festivities. Said I bitched and moaned about the preparations for weeks, then just left her hanging. I'm sorry - that's the way I roll. But because I only have 6 followers, I figger I better oblige her and give y'all an update. So here it is, by popular demand!
Okay - let's see. Thursday. Let's start with Thursday. That was the big shopping day. The day I had to buy all that shit at Sam's Club. That was fun. And that's all I'm gonna say about that. Now, the good part comes when the husband and I are standing in the rain at Sam's in the parking lot with a pallet cart AND a giant buggy full of shit trying to load this stuff into the Suburban. I, of course, have a plan for how to load it so that we don't have to do a full unload/reload later. I had everything perfectly separated into three different sections in the carts, based upon their final destination. And then. The phone rings. It is the prodigal son. He's talking. On a rant. He's not even breathing. It's just a continual indecipherable rant about flunking a different class than the one he thought he was previously flunking (and was not). He won't breathe. He won't pause. He just rants. And the husband is asking where the mustard goes in the truck and an old woman is sitting in her car with her blinker on- wants THAT spot and she's willing to wait 1/2 hour for it. And there I am. Standing in the rain, with my hand up in the air - giving the pause sign - but the world won't stop spinning and the son won't stop ranting.
About the time I was about to collapse in a puddle from stress, he breathed and I seized the opportunity to express my empathy:
Me: Do you have your cap and gown and did they release you to graduate?
Him: Yes, but...
Me: That's all I give a shit about. I don't have time to get caught up in your fucking drama so I'll have to call you back. Love you.
And we finished our loading, and the crazy old bitch sat there with her blinker on waiting for our spot and off we went - on to our next destination. We got all that boring shit done and blah blah blah - a bunch of other uneventful shit transpired.
Later that night, the crazies came over to pull pork. LOTS of pork. And we pretty much got that done without any major problems. And the ultimate crazy one was all kissing my ass like asking my permission and blessing on every fucking thing - like I really gave a shit at that point. I was done stressing and done making decisions - although I wondered if she perceived that I might be on the brink of a breakdown and that's why she was patronizing me or did she perhaps trip across this blog? Paranoia was setting in so I knew it was time for this shit to be over.
The next day was Friday, obviously because it follows Thursday. And I had a giant fucking list of shit to do and I was going through it very methodically and getting it all done and I wasn't stressed and I started drinking at like 3:00 so I could get a good buzz on by 6:30. And the whacko showed up looking like Richard Marx with more make-up than I'd worn to the Go-Go's concert in 1984. And the other nutcase showed up with body glitter all over. And I was all, "seriously? I didn't even fucking powder my nose."
And we got shit set up at that party and people arrived and they ate and I continued to drink from my sippy cup through the night. I don't know if I got to talk to anyone and I don't know who all was there - I was busy filling bowls with chips and refilling buns and cleaning tea off the floor and all that other shit. As I recall there were a shit-ton of people there - more than expected and we kept running out of food and some guy was a smart ass and tried to trick me into beating the shit out of him but I didn't bite. It must have been time for the party to end because we were cleaning up and things were going well until SOMEONE threw my fucking sippy cup in the trash. THAT was the straw that broke the camel's back. I picked up what was left of my shit and ordered the husband to drive me home - I was done cleaning because someone threw my drink away. So he did. He was afraid of me at that point I think. So we came back home and so did a bunch of other people and we drank until the wee hours of the night.
For which, I was QUITE thankful on Saturday morning when I got up and had to attend 4 other parties. That day went off without a hitch and thanks to a few jiggers of the Lord and a Xanax, I was out by 11:00 p.m.
Sunday morning I got up and felt quite rested and proceeded through my preparations without any problems. I thought I maintained myself quite well as my house filled up with people and we were all cramped in fairly close quarters. I heard laughing and saw smiling, so I think they were having fun. I was doing good at enlisting help and didn't feel too stressed by all of it. So I had a beer to celebrate my total lack of being freaked out. And it was yummy. So I had a few more.
Then we had to go to graduation. What a downer. I mean I know it was the purpose behind the party - but seriously? Just send a live innernets feed to my house. But I went. Because it was the right thing to do. And they ran through the honor roll students and I totally did not hear my son's name being called. Then they ran through some other academic award thing and I again did not hear my son's name called. Fucking people clapping and shit - I know he was on that list - I just missed it being called. And his name was also not in the scholarship flier due to receiving it AFTER printing. FUCK THAT. I demand a re-print. The principal clearly said to NOT use air horns and some fuck ups STILL used them anyway. I was pissed at their blatant disobedience and bargained that their kids had spent quite a bit of time in detention during their career at the school. Then they called my son's name and I clapped and yelled and then it was over and I left.
We got back home and started swilling back the beers like we hadn't had a drink in months. And the ex and his wife and 52 kids were here and we were all in the garage, smoking and drinking and having a good ol' time. The ex even told his 6 stories about the son's childhood. And I felt sorry for him. Sad that was all he has. Those 6 fucking lame-ass pathetic stories that are 10+ years old. He'd probably have a coronary if he knew half the shit from the last 5 years. I was drunk. But not THAT drunk, so I didn't blab. They eventually left and I kissed him on the cheek and also hugged my step-wife and told her I loved her. I should have likely stopped drinking then, but I didn't because I had a 72 gallon cooler full of beer. So I set out to finish 'er off.
At 2:30 a.m. I decided I should likely go to bed. So I did. And then I got up at 7:30 the next day. And then I slept for another 12 hours. And that's the story of graduation. Oh. The son? During all of this? I dunno. He was here - doing something - in which I was not involved.