The Announcement

Here's how it went down:

First, S told his parents first thing on Christmas Eve. We waited until then because on the 23rd we were attending his sister's surprise party and we didn't want the engagement to take away any of the attention from her.

They were very pleased and his father told him that he had made a very wise choice. His mother grabbed my face and welcomed me into their family and gushed on about how much she liked me. I was extremely flattered.

Then, we went to my parents' house on the morning of Christmas Eve. My mom and dad's place is wreck right now. It flooded during Katrina so their are exposed studs up to chest high and it looks like the place was robbed. But, this is where they were because mom was cooking on her gas stove (one of the few appliances that survived) as she does not "trust" the electric stove at my brother's apartment (where they have been staying post-Katrina).

My mom brought a dining chair into the living room for S to sit on (I was on the arm of the moldy sofa and dad was on the recliner) and S asked to her take a seat. Mom, not knowing what is going on, says, "No, I can't sit I don't really have the time . . .

S, "Oh, you'll want to sit down for this."

By the way, the entire time, my dad is reading the Sports section of the Times Picayune and only now does he realize, "Hmm, I may want to pay attention, too," and sets it down.

S' speech: Mr. and Mrs. M, I wanted to tell you that I love your daughter . . .

Dad, "We love her, too . . . "

S, "And, that I plan to be around for a very long time."

Dad, "Good . . . "

S, "She is an amazing woman, you did a wonderful job raising her and I'd love to become a part of this family, if you'll have me."

Dad, "Wow, thanks . . . sure, sure."

S, "And, I'd like to ask your permission to marry her."

(At which point he presented the ring.)

Dad, "Yes, yes, of course . . . you can have her."

I was misty eyed and laughing at dad's reaction and S turned to me and said, "If you'll have me . . . will you marry me?"

I said yes, mom was teary eyed, I was teary eyed . . .

Dad, "You could not have given me a better Christmas present."

It was quite nice. Mom told S that, not because I'm her daughter or anything, "But, Melissa is a good woman and you are lucky to have her."

Then she turned to me and said, "You are a very lucky woman to have such love."

After my Aunt V found out, this is what she told S, "I am so happy for you. I knew that when you moved to AL for her, this was good. This was good, strong love."

We celebrated Christmas Eve all evening long: first with his family and then with mine. Many champagne toasts were made.

So many toasts, that at one point at S' family's house the conversation turned to misplaced rings and lost items and his mother's voice rang above everyone else's:

"One more glass of these, and I'll tell you about something else I lost once."

I know I make her sound like a booze hound there, but she's not. Mrs. B is a really cool lady and the B's in general are a warm, welcoming family. Not only did they raise an amazing man, but they welcomed me with open arms.

I'm a very lucky, lucky girl.

Check back later to see if I've posted the Flickr link to our Christmas photos. Guess who got themselves one of them new fangled digital cameras for Christmas?

Lost in Translation

"This is my daughter Melissa. She has just been compromised."

This, people, is how my father announced my engagement to his neighbor.

You see in Spanish, when the gentleman has made his intentions known, he has offered the family a "compromiso," a promise if you will, to marry.

These slips in translation are the kinds of things that made me cringe when I was 13. Now though, I just wish I'd had the camera to capture the look on his elderly neighbors face as she processed the information she had just received.

Crazy Pussy

The last time I talked about my c@t, I got a bunch of weird spam comments. So, I'm going to try not to use the word: c@t.

Anyway, I have three pussies and the oldest one is 10-years-old (now, that out to generate some interesting spam). Her name is Sasha and she is so mean that my roommate thinks she is some sort of reincarnation experiment: perhaps a bit Joan Crawford with a splash of Bette Davis.

When she was a young pussy, she would stalk moths. I used to live in Colorado Springs and we'd go through "Miller Moth Season." It's what it sounds like: a ton of annoying migrating moths fly around your bulbs on the front porch and balcony lights and zoom inside at the first chance.

Sasha used to squeeze herself into the space between the top of our kitchen cabinets and ceiling and wait. They'd flit around the ceiling lights and she'd never take her eyes off of them. I never actually saw her catch them, but inevitably I'd look up at her and she'd have a bit of wing poking out of her clenched jaw.

Whatever. It kept them off of me and my wool sweaters.

But, Sasha was just a tiny baby pussy (not like Anne Heche's) with all kinds of energy. These days, she spends most days moving herself from sunny spot to sunny spot: not unlike a retiree on a Florida beach.

Until a few weeks ago. See, she'd been spending an awful lot of time in our kitchen lately. I just assumed it was because we were baking for the holidays and it was one of the toastiest rooms in the house.

Oh, but no.

Little miss had spotted a mouse.

Yes, there was a mouse in my house!

I didn't know but you can bet my pussy knew.

How did we find out?

Turns out the old pussy caught the fucking mouse.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into the kitchen to find her sitting at attention, as proud as you please, with this little gift for me.

There was high praise for her as she dropped it and presented it to me.

She may be considered a "senior" as far as pussies go, but clearly Sasha still has a lot of fight in her.

Let's Get Ready to Ruuuuuumble!

A few months ago I got into a fight with a friend. Of course, it all started out via email.

Email is a dangerous thing when you are having an argument because there's no tone. It's all inferred. These here internets have been around for some time now and I'm sure other bloggers have covered the dangers of arguing via email much better than I could.

Anyway, my final email wrapped up something like this:

"I've HAD IT. I am THROUGH with you."

The particulars of our fight aren't really important except for one thing: Don't fuck with my family.

My loyalty to them, no matter how misguided sometimes, is unflagging.

Anyway, removing this person from my life was as easy as deleting their phone number from my cell phone. This isn't something that I'm proud of, but it's something that I've done only under extreme cases of betrayal.

And, I'm good at it.

It's not about hate. It's about realizing that clearly this person is not a positive influence in my life so it is better for me if we are no longer friends.

The funny thing is, since I've stopped talking to this person I've realized that I don't really miss him. The only times I am really aware that he is no longer in my life are when I think of something really funny and bitchy to say. He's the only person that will cackle along with me no matter how cutting my comment.

That's also when I realize, "DAMN! I'm bitchy."

It's been quite humbling to realize I am . . . mean.

That's also why I appreciate having S in my life.

Whenever I start to get really bitch, angry or impatient, he's the living angel on my shoulder that always helps me see the other side of a situation. He doesn't indulge my bitchy nature and that's just one of the many little ways in which I realize how good this man is for me.

I've since seen the guy that I had the huge fight with and it wasn't uncomfortable. He was familiar and it was easy falling back into our pattern, but the truth is . . . I don't miss him.