The big fat Greek wedding has been CANCELLED.

The last few days have been wacky.

First, the Greek Festival. I was going to back out altogether, but I already told my co-worker I’d come by for a while, so I forced Kay to go with me, so that she could use RAM as an out when it got ugly. But I know that bitch wanted to go watch me squirm when all those Greek mothers started selling me on their sons. Some friend she is.

I’d do exactly the same thing, by the way.

When I got to the church, I got bombarded by two women trying to talk me into joining the Greek Orthodox church (what? A pasty, red-head with freckles can’t be Greek? I resemble that assumption). I politely tried to get out of it, but those Greeks are persistent, man. So I took some “literature” and told them I’d get back to them.

Yeah, that should happen.

When I got out to the festival, I spotted Sylvia at a table with about five other women, and as soon as she saw me, they all stopped talking and stared at me. I walked up and said hi, and Sylvia introduced me to her friends, and they all had names like “This is Vivian, whose son is 35 and a banker. Never married,” or, “Barbara, 37, divorced lawyer with no kids. Very handsome.” I was SO uncomfortable, I couldn’t stand it.

Vivian started selling me on her son, Nick. She was telling me how smart, and sweet he was, and how he was never married, and just needed a nice girl to settle down with. Then she mentioned that he still lived at home with her and her husband, and that was enough for me to be out, but then she whipped out the pictures, and I have one word: UNI-BROW. I know, I know. He’s Greek. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care where your family’s from, you can still tame that shit and separate the two eyebrows.

No thanks.

We talked, and ate for a while, while Sylvia regaled them with my silly office tales, making them all laugh, and convincing them all what a charming, and sweet girl I am.

HA!

The worst (or best, if you’re AN INSENSITIVE ASSHOLE like my friend) part of the day was when one of the women, Sophia, actually waved her son over to come and meet me. I am not good in these situations. I hate having any attention on myself in front of strangers.

Her son, David came over, and she introduced me to him. I could tell by the similar look of discomfort that his mom spent a lot of time trying to find a wife for her son. She was talking him up to me, telling me that he was very successful, and very healthy (?), and didn’t drink heavily or smoke. Uh… ok.

Then she looked at him, grabbed my waist and said “Look, David. Just look at these birthing hips!” Kay’s scream of uncontrollable laughter at that statement did not go unnoticed. I could feel my face burning with embarrassment, and all I wanted to do was get out of there.

But, God bless Kay. She jumped in and saved me. “Birthing hips? Everyone knows Andria’s never having kids! She HATES children!!”

Sophia moved on to the next desperate looking single woman with wide hips.

Crisis averted. On that note, I said my goodbyes and got the hell out of there.

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Saturday night, embroiled in one of the hottest phone conversations EVER, I nearly burned my house down (which is funny, given the person I was talking to almost burned his own house down the week before) because I forgot about a turkey burger I started cooking before the conversation got… racy. When I got off the phone, I smelled smoke, so I ran into the kitchen, full of smoke, and saw the little black charred turkey burger on the stove.

Note to self: No more cooking when there’s a possibility of phone sex.

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Sunday, Kay’s husband DMX tried to kill me. Really.

We were watching some auto racing and the Tour De France. And while we’re talking about the TDF - seriously. What the FUCK is up with the lunatics on the side of the road at this race? They’re all insane. They’re screaming, and yelling, throwing water at the cyclists, touching them, standing in the middle of the street – they’re crazy. Although, one did get run over by a motorcycle when he wouldn’t move, so that was fun to see. What was I talking about? Oh – DMX trying to kill me. We were watching nascar (shutup. I know I’m white trash), and he made some crack about Jeff Gordon (again, SHUTUP), so I elbowed him and told him to fuck off. Then he elbowed me back, which led to some WWE-style fighting on the living room floor (Kay has often referred to DMX and I as her second and third children, because we do this ALL THE TIME), when I pulled out the big guns – something I am confident can get me out of any situation – I grabbed his arm, and in the inside near his armpit, where the skin is thin, I pinched the shit out of him. When I let go, he grabbed my throat and pretended to strangle me, only he wasn’t pretending. Ten minutes later, he had a huge black bruise where I got him. I still have marks on my neck

Good times.

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Shit. I was going to tell how Roseanne flipped off Chris and I in the car yesterday, but I rambled on about other shit, so I’ll have to tell it tomorrow.

And how Celestia fell down the stairs at work.

And how I got into an argument with my crazy neighbor about wasting water, and she decided squirting me with the hose would shut me up.

It’s good to be me.