Hella Day

My life seems to run in a long stretch of boring, then BAM! 4000 things in one day and I’m overwhelmed in advance. Tomorrow is sure to be hella day. Grab a beer and get comfy before reading this. At least the first part, I’m positive you won’t believe. I assure you, I am telling the truth.

My day will begin with a 9 am Zumba class. Yes, you read that right. I’m going to Zumba. At 9 am. On a Saturday. Surely you understand that I will get up at the very last second and bolt out the door before coffee. This could be tragic. I’m going with a coworker who busts a move every chance she gets. So not only will I be publicly humiliating myself, I’ll do it in the presence of a coordinated coworker. Anyone that knows me knows that I can fall off an exercise bike and have as much dancing finesse as Carson Kressley.Now that that bitch has been practicing 10 hours a day, he could clean the floor with me. If I’m never heard from again, remember that I loved you all. Tell Sugar and Spice about this blog when they’re old enough to know that everything was written with love.

After that, we have a house showing. I wanted to decline it because of what is still to come on this busy day. However, being frightened of being broke, I accepted the appointment and will disappear for the hour that the house hunters asked for.

After this, we have an evening wedding for some friends of ours that we actually met through my sister. The wedding could be a wild time, but what will happen during the primping and prepping is sure to rival even the most gruesome of Animal Planet shows.

Allow me to explain:  my beloved EN thinks that “dressing up” means Harley t-shirts without holes in them. His tantrums on “dress up days” are legendary. In fact, a friend of his witnessed this shitshow many years ago and just shook his head and called him Feminine JJ. Fast forward 14 years and that nickname runs thorugh my head (in neon blinky lights) every time we need to go to an event that I deem his wardrobe unacceptable. In the past, I have waited until it was time to go before asking what he’ll wear. This time, I tried to tackle the problem days in advance. A few days ago, our exchange went something like this:

Me: What are you wearing Saturday?

Feminine JJ: Black cargo pants, boots, shirt and tie.

Me: You fucking serious?

FJJ: Yeah why?

Me: You don’t wear cargo pants to a wedding. Go by yourself.

After marveling at the idiocy of the exchange, I called him rather than continuing with the flurry of texts. I reiterated to Feminine JJ that he was NOT going to wear cargo pants and beat up biker boots to a wedding. He immediately said that he had nothing to wear and I assured Princess that he had not one but TWO pairs of acceptable dress pants on the top of the washer and that he better get his happy ass trying them on. For two days, he didn’t have time to do that. Finally today he says that one pair fits and he’ll wear them with proper dress shoes. Oh and can I please rewash them? Add laundry to my list of things to do.

Tomorrow night will culminate with a wedding where there may or may not be some interesting drama. I have to say, I love this couple… this is the man that Electric Slides to every song. His wife-to-be is such an adorable, sweet woman that I wonder sometimes how she fits into this crowd. Then I remember that they met at a bar right after she won a hot dog eating contest. Seriously, how can you not love a gal with talents like that?

Picture my big night out here, folks… Creig will be Electric Sliding all over the damn place. Laurie will be downing hot dogs, Feminine JJ will be bitching about how nothing on his outfit advertises bikes, boobs or beer, and I’ll be impressing everyone with my fabulous new Zumba moves.

Ladies and Gentlemen, there will be no pictures. 

xoxo

Ice Princess