SB Is Back Motherfuckers

My grouchy ass is back from Cousin Sheila's wedding. It went off without a damn hitch, except for the 90-degree weather and a few car break-ins out in the lodge lot. And I'm telling you motherfuckers--this fucking park (where the wedding took place) is in Bumfuck-fucking-Ohio. We're talking way out in farm country, with lots of bike trails. So my point is that NO PLACE IS SAFE FROM CRIME. Got me? Thieving motherfuckers just beat a few of the windows in and made off with one of the bridesmaid's iPhone, credit cards, etc. She was really nice about it, but my ass would have been PISSED. So thanks Thieving Motherfucker who put the sole blight on my saintly cousin's wedding day. I'd like to stick that iPhone up your fucking thieving ass.

I was the oldest bitch in the wedding party, but I had the handsomest youngster (and the tallest) walk my fat ass up the aisle. The kid is a dentist, so once he told me that, I covered my teeth with my hands of course. Who wouldn't? Yes, you would.

The wedding party was in the full-on sun, and it was 90-fucking-degrees outside. Our asses were sweating--literally. Then the gorgeous (and I'm serious) day lodge where they had the reception was not airconditioned. And there were like 80 motherfuckers there to party down, and so there was no relief there. SB was so HOT that I stayed in the damn sleeveless dress that didn't fit me quite right the entire time. Normally, my tomboy ass would have been back in jeans and a t-shirt before you could say motherfucker.

Yes, there were pictures, (I hate having my photograph taken), and NO, I'm not sharing. You will never see a photo of SB until my ass loses at least 30 pounds. SB is a vain motherfucker. I will, however, post a photo of my beautiful cousin once the wedding pics are developed. She was the prettiest bride I have ever seen. WE ARE VERY PROUD OF SHEILA. Most of her friends discussed her service works and how unselfish she is. DID I MENTION HOW PROUD WE ARE OF SHEILA? As far as SB is concerned, Sheila is the best of our family, hands-fucking-down. There is nobody I'd rather sweat my ass off for than her. I'd do it again twenty times.

It's Not Just a Damn Wig--It's a Stunning Wig, Motherfuckers!

Can't you just hear Samuel Jackson yelling: IT'S A STUNNING WIG, MOTHERFUCKERS!? Everything always sounds better when Samuel Jackson says it, and you know it.

I think I've found my dream wig, people (see glorious photo of extreme loveliness above)! I have always wanted long, Rapunzel-like hair. This is the shit SB SHOULD HAVE BEEN BORN WITH if God was more of a stylist.

Anyhoo, the description calls it a STUNNING WIG in all caps. It's like Kanye West wrote the damn wig descriptions. He always blogs in ALL CAPS WITH ABOUT 1,000 DAMN EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What do you think of the STUNNING WIG? I could sleep in even later each morning because I wouldn't have to wash my hair all that often. As a result of this, I could go back to brushing my teeth and still make it to work on time. My co-workers might even take up a collection to buy the STUNNING WIG for me so they don't have to deal with my breath anymore.

BONUS! I could style the wig into an updo for Cousin Sheila's impending nuptials. I told her the only thing I refused to do for her on her Day of Joy was to get a damn updo. I might change my mind if Sheila purchases the STUNNING WIG for me. She's going to be a damn doctor. She can afford it!

Predicting My Own Death: Pancreatic Cancer

I may not post anymore today because my pancreas is hurting again. There is just sort of a dull pain on and off in my pancreatic area. This happens from time to time, and I generally piss and moan about it to anyone who will listen.

It has always been my suspicion that I will die of pancreatic cancer, a hideous and unyielding disease. I have charged Cousin Sheila, WHO WE ARE VERY PROUD OF, and who is in med school, with finding a cure for the pancreatic cancer and possibly saving the life of her beloved cousin. [But NO PRESSURE Sheila. I know you are under enough stress planning your wedding and keeping your grades up. You can worry about a cure for cancer later.]

Our grandfather, Cliff, died in his forties of some mysterious, undiagnosed illness. They called it Disease X on his death certificate, but my psychic powers, which tend to be unfortunately pretty accurate, tell me that it was, in actuality, the pancreatic cancer. Anyhoo, the propensity for pancreatic cancer is genetic, people, and this is the sort of shit lottery SB wins.

I have accepted that I will likely get the pancreatic cancer, along with the other good genetic shit I have inherited, such as a propensity to handle liquor like my Native American forbearers, my round, fat Indian face, a ridiculously poor work ethic, and clinical depression.

Right now, I'm just trying to enjoy life some before the shit goes down. It could be any time, now that I have hit forty. It will likely spread quickly, due to my enlarged omentum.

If there is a sale on sympathy cards, you might want to put one back, the Moms is going to need a lot of support when I become one of the living-challenged.

Dead People I Admire: Andy Warhol

One of the funniest people I never met. Few people knew how screamingly funny and quick-witted Andy was. I highly recommend The Andy Warhol Diaries. They are great for bathroom reading, which my ENTIRE family is notorious for. My cousin, Sheila, even studies for med school on the toilet. She is the most ambitious person in the family, if you couldn't figure that out. We are VERY proud of her!