Thursday, April 06, 2006


Dear Mom,

I don’t know if you read my blog. I’m not sure that you know what a blog is, and tracking my internet activity seems a bit too tech-savvy for you, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You’re pretty smart, after all.

Anyway, Momma, I respectfully request that you skip the following post. Not because it chronicles my sexual escapades and drug abuse. No. It has nothing to do with your darling daughter's juicy secrets. And it’s nothing that you won’t learn in time.


Okay. Enough with that disclaimer bullshit.

We’re throwing a surprise party!

A 30th anniversary party - six months late, thanks to an unlucky stretch o’ luck. But isn’t six months late better than not at all?

Fuck yes it is!

Sooooo. My dad got his act in gear and booked the country club for the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend. Meg and I have been furiously emailing each other about guest lists and invitations and color schemes and the cake. We’re excited.

And my mom so deserves this.

Even though she is going to hate the surprise aspect of this whole shebang.

Meggie and I are furiously trying to get Dad to agree to wrap up the invitations and give them to Mom when we celebrate Mother’s Day (a week early, because I have The Big and The Important for work that weekend. We’re celebrating a week early. If we finalized a guest list that day, we could pop them in the mail on Monday. Plenty of time for guests. And then Mom wouldn’t be completely surprised, and we wouldn’t leave anyone important off of the guest list and all of that. It is the perfect compromise.

So, of course, my dad is not going for it.


Oh well. I suppose I’ll trust his judgment, since he’s been married to this broad for 30 years and is her “soul mate” and “best friend.”

And because he’s giving me a really, really good reason to buy a new dress.


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