Memorial Day/Wedding Groovitude

I'm having kind of a hard time coming back to real life after my Memorial Day weekend in Chicago. My cousin C.A., a Ph.D. student in Clinical Psychology, got married on Saturday to a beyond-wonderful young Belgian man, a starting-out pilot. C.A. is her parents' only child, and a damn special one; her mom had two miscarriages after C.A., so she's really the apple of their eye. A remarkable gal with a wonderful sense of humor, C.A. has always had a special place in my heart and memory. Her new hubby, A.M. is no different--fantastic sense of humor, brilliant, just wonderful. Case in point: A.M.'s grasp of English is so good that despite his accent, he's bilingual. Let me say that there's nothing like hearing a French accent yell "Asshole!" at a bad driver that cuts Guy off in traffic. It was great to see these two get hitched this weekend, and it was also a real treat to get to see my relatives from my mom's side (all living in Michigan except for Mom's sister and her family that live in Chicago).

I shredded the lining on my nice high-heel shoes from dancing at the wedding, and I got grass stains and a major should sunburn from playing football and soccer with my cousins yesterday. The younger cousins taht were able to make it included two girls, ages 8 and 12, and four boys, ages 13 to 17. Playing soccer against young men who play lots of soccer fuckin' wore my old ass out. I mean, I run 4.5 miles in 45 mins at a mile above sea level three times a week, but that's running long-distance in a straight trajectory. Soccer with teenage boys is lots of zig-zagging, which works different muscles (some of which hurt today) and gave me a couple of side aches. However, it was nice to get some exercise and get reacquainted with my cousins. I hadn't seen them since Thanksgiving of 2001. Been too long. As one of them said, "You GOTTA come up again and see us!"

Another nice thing about the weekend: I had 2-4 drinks a night and was never drunk. That's what I love about training for alcohol counsumption at altitude. When I go to a much lower altitude, like only 583 feet above sea level, I'm able to unleash my inner alkie and be the Polish gal I was meant to be.

Ah, now I have to go back to work and into a busy week, far from the joy of getting up, showering, wearing cute little dresses and eating and carousing with my fab peeps. [looking up at ceiling, Shatner-like] Damn you, reality!