Speaking of Crying

Never Get Married

That’s not true, of course you should get married. You should especially get married if you can marry someone like D’oh who is the only person who talks you out of your nonstop cryfest that you have to fake sick at work and go home to control. Just, if you do get married? Don’t have my day that I had today, because it will make you crawl under the covers and/or stare into space between fits of crying. And it is hot today. And I haven’t turned on the air conditioning. And I hate to be hot. A lot. So, sad crying + under covers= laugh/crying over how ridiculous you are with a remainder of migraine beginnings.

As you can probably tell, today was super-awesome!!

To begin, when you decide (because your Mom makes you…just kidding!) to get married in the Catholic Church, you know there are some marriage preparation hoops/hurdles/unnecessary ridiculous craptacularocities to contend with. What you are not aware right off the bat, though? Is how impossible it is to get someone to tell you what those things are and how to go about completing them.

D’oh and I got engaged last July. I couldn’t get an answer about marriage preparation from either the church I “attend” or the church at the beach where we are getting married until February. I called everyone. And then I called them again. And then I called them one more time. And then my Mom called and my sister called and what each and every one of us was told was, “It’s so far away, don’t worry about it.” Finally, I was told, “Take this class and you’re good.” Fine.

Class taken. It was very painless except for one moment in the class about “marital relations” where I thought the woman was about to seriously over-share about the best night of “relations” her and her husband ever had. Ew.

Fast forward to today, only take time to notice that in the last few weeks, my car has been purposely keyed by some little bastards at work, D’oh and I have become first-time homeowners of a supercute house (that really needs to be painted and oh my god why is paint so hard to pick!) and I am feeling very unready to be one, some old lady is calling downtown to complain about how unhelpful I am because I will not let her do eleventy things I’ve told her eleventy times I am not allowed to let her do, my wisdom teeth are coming through with claws attached, I think my left hip is slightly out of joint, a ginormous zit has appeared twice now on the side of my nose, I can’t sleep no matter how much alcohol I do/do not drink, I’ve found out my sister is moving to Missouri, and my apartment is disgusting.

Are you caught up? Good. Because today is the day I find out that I am a horrible person who has all this marriage paperwork to do and it says right here in your file, missy, that you were going to do all this paperwork in DC and you haven’t done it and it should have been done by now and the priest has no time for you and there is a Note in your File saying that Father Tom (who? he isn’t the priest marrying us and I’ve never heard his name before EVER I PROMISE!!!!) called you on September 5th and you never called him back and you can never get married and by the way you are stupid and I don’t like your haircut!

Cue Cryfest 2007.

I cannot get ahold of myself and I am baffled at the meanness of this woman who totally hears that I am crying on the phone with her and does NOT CARE and who I have spoken to at least twice before and nobody freaking mentioned this to me and oh my god I’m crying again as I write this, this is so ridiculous!!!

Anyway, I cry cry cry, fake sick, go home, cry some more, call my sister, cry some more, call D’oh, cry some more, pretend to nap, cry some more, finally start to clean my apartment (Shannon, you were right, throwing things away does make you feel better…but not that much), cry some more, decide the one Oprah I have a shot at watching this season will not help with the not crying as it is about some woman whose husband made her children videotape his beatings of her, and stare into space.

Finally, mean church lady calls me back and is still completely scoldful when she tells me that the priest can squeeze me in only if I am at Mass at the beach at 11:30 on June 3rd and D’oh and I can fill out my paperwork while he (the priest, not D’oh) does a baptism. Which is fine, only it ruins my bachelorette party that was supposed to be here in DC the night before so my sisters could escape their stinking kids for once and my friend from Puerto Rico could attend.

And can I just say that I have not even met this priest who is marrying us? Not even one time! And every time EVERY TIME I called there to meet up with him I was blown off in the most ridiculous way, like, “Bitch, you don’t need to meet no damn priest, he ain’t got no time for you anyway!”

But, hope is on the horizon because D’oh who was very matter of fact and helpful when the cryfest started at work is on his way over to cheer me up, right? Um, no. At last contact, D’oh was headed back home after his car overheated and almost blew the heck up on the side of the road because it is possibly about to die.

So, even if it isn’t helping me sleep, I’m off to find the alcohol. At least tomorrow I will be puffy and hungover and that sounds more appealing than how I’ve felt for even one minute of this afternoon. Later.