So, anyway... I'm not dead...
Katherine's wedding ended up being a wonderful time. It was a great culture clash - the food was Polish and the music was South African. My crazy family + alcohol = fun. My cousin, the bride, kept trying to get me drunk. She'd call me over and hand me a cup and say, "Hey Pam... drink this. No. Just drink it. Hey... I've got the big white dress, and that means I'm the boss... so, drink this." Also, it turns out that my mom is the Crazy Drunk Aunt. You know what I'm talking about. Every family has one. She brought booze, started handing out drinks, unbuttoned random people's top buttons, loosened their ties, danced around like an ass, the whole nine yards. It was wonderful.
There was a guy, a cute guy, a guy with lovely blue eyes and black hair and glasses, a twenty-six-year-old guy from New Jersey who was quite drunk and a terrible dancer. Oh my god was he adorable. We chatted a bit throughout the evening, and as he was leaving, I figured Hey, what the hell? You're never going to see this guy again, and you are DRUNK. D-R-U-N-K. You can say whatever the hell you want!
So I managed to wave him over and whisper, "Hey, I wouldn't usually say this, 'cuz I know you're here with that girl, but I'm pretty drunk, so... I think you're really cute. I just thought you should know." He seemed flattered, and assured me that the girl he was there with was an old friend, and told me that he reciprocated my statement, and that that'd been one of the reasons that he'd been talking to me and my group throughout the evening. It was silly, and I was tipsy enough to be flattered. Now I understand why they call it liquid courage! In any event, it was one hell of a confidence boost.
I would tell you about the next day, but I think that needs a whole entry of its own. Later, my dears.
**"remember that women always love the bastards," his credo like a pat on the back**