A Confession. A long confession.
I have a confession to make.
Yes, yes I do.
I think now that a few months have passed I can jeer at the immaturity of my befuddled actions. I’m okay with the derision this confession may cause. It was damn fun. You will see.
This is where my Confession ______ begins:
Last September I headed back to my old stomping grounds in California to attend my cousin’s wedding. It was the type of wedding that I knew I wouldn’t want to miss. You know the type of wedding’s that have a high probability of being epic? Ya know the one’s that you can’t afford to be “THE BLITZ” at? I knew this wedding would not disappoint. Shit will go down and you better be there to witness it first hand! There was no. way. in. hell. I would miss it. {Annnd thankfully my cousin felt the same way…. Thanks girl, I needed it and I dedicate this confession to you!}
So there I was, on a flight bound for SoCal for just the weekend… and get this, I WAS KID-LESS.
Now, I can’t scientifically prove how or why mom’s who get the rare opportunity to leave out-of-state for the weekend without their husband or kids morph into these crazed-thirsty party animals, but it’s been known to happen. I, personally, think we should really start looking into it a bit more because I am SURE there is a market out there for husbands who are looking for a cure. “Big Bucks” idea right there people. Don’t say I never gave you anything. You’re welcome.
ANYWHO.
Kidless, on a plane and heading to a most promising epic wedding…
…yes you damn well better believe I was living a fantasy.
“This is going to be good!!” I said to myself as I stared out the window of that leaving jet plane, throwing in my Biggy Smalls anthem I sing every time I head home: “I’m going, going, back, back to Cali, Cali…” – don’t forget the hip-hop shoulder pumps too, fool!
I only had the weekend away soo here’s the master plan. I landed in San Diego at 11pm on Friday night. I would sleep for maayyyyybe a few hours before I had to drive to meet up with the Bride on Saturday morning to which I would bring not one, but six, bottles of champagne { because everyone knows that when you buy 6 you get 20% off 😉 }, some orange juice, bagels and cream cheese, also known as “The Wedding Day Breakfast Of Champs”. So, here’s the thing… you know when you have a plan but there is a subliminal-plan {sub-plan or SP } to your plan, plan… that only you unknowing, know…? Like for instance: I was bringing 6 bottles of champs {breakfast of champs, get it?!}. Why so many bottles? Well, my SP knew I was going to be drinking most of them – duh. Frankly my SP is a smart cookie and knew I had missed the Bridal Shower, the Bachelorette party annnd the rehearsal dinner, I needed to make up some … uh…. toasts {well-played SP well-played *wink*}. Besides, you remember I told you that I was husband and kid-less right?! I got the crazy eyes and if you know me, you know this look well.
So there I was, helpless to some extent while the Bride and Bridesmaids were getting all dolled up. There wasn’t much to be done but I wound up finding a few last-minute things to do for the Bride and I did so willingly with a drink in my hand, of course. I wandered around for a while admiring the setting. It was within a mile of where I got married, the same small town surrounded by avocado and orange groves. The same small town where people remember me as “that girl who was rowing a boat in the sink at that one paaarty.” Yes, the perfect setting for a fabled wedding. It is at this point where I remember my youngest cousin and myself walking around the premises “testing out our high-heels” on the shifty terrain. We held onto each other to get control of our balance and laughed as we continued to tip-toe our hooker shoes about callously, without spilling our drinks. That kind of talent runs in my family. It’s genetic. It is not learned.
It was true, I was getting a bit sloshed and I’m sure the mini bottles of Patron that were just lying around weren’t helping. *Brilliant Yelli – Brilliant!* Hmmmm…. I feel like we might not be on the same page – Are you understanding thus far? If not, I had made some bullet points below to help you get up-to-speed on my confession foundation. I hope they come in handy for you to truly understand. I really hope so.
- A hardworking stay-at-home mommy gets a weekend away alone, without her kids or husband.
- A hardworking stay-at-home mommy gets to attend her cousin’s wedding {to which she was very much attached to when growing up together}.
- A hardworking stay-at-home mommy gets to allow her SP {Subliminal-Plan} to bring 6 bottles of Champs to kick off the glorious Wedding Day.
- A hardworking stay-at-home mommy again allows her SP to drink mini bottles of Patron that were just lying around unattended.
- A hardworking stay-at-home mommy had a tiny bladder to begin with but it seemed to go straight to hell after having 2 kids
Got it?
I knew you would understand. Shall I continue?
It wasn’t until the time that the Bride was off taking pictures before the ceremony that I knew I should probably slow down the consumption of drinks. It wasn’t only the fact that I had “broken the seal” and was peeing every 5 minutes but I started to get emotional. Not the best combination ever. Now to be honest, my emotions could have been sincere {some of it was} but it was likely just the booze talking. My little cousin and my aunt found me becoming a “hot mess” and I just couldn’t have that so I excused myself to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror while I was peeing for the millionth time and gave myself a much-needed intercession.
“Apppp’eeeeeeeee……. “{as I stared at myself straight in the eyes, at least I think I was, but most likely I was probably cross-eyed} ” Youuu are so pretty. Annnnd your cousins, they are soooo pretty too. Awwww, your cousins getting married! Awwwwww! My little Yelli is getting married….”
I stopped for a minute because I noticed I was swaying a bit much, even for my own taste.
I cleared my throat and looked in the mirror again.
“Okay, April. Pull yourself together, it’s onlyyyyy….” I search around for a clock while holding the “E” note in the word ‘only’ and catch my breath to start over when it takes me more time to find the actual time.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEE” I continue to search for a clock while giggling to myself for holding the note that long {I’m learning that I do weird things like that quite frequently}. I eventually find the time and realize that the wedding was about thirty minutes away. I hurried to the mirror to finish my pep-talk.
“Okay, April. It’s almost time for the wedding. Pull yourself together. Find some eye drops, extra mascara and eye liner” I say to myself as I push up on my eyebrows to get my eyes to open more. “Annnnd get some hairspray, some perfume and probably one more shot of Patron….”
“No, you don’t need another shot” My SP chimes in.
“Shut up SP… this time you are wronnnngg…” Starting a fight with myself is normal for me. I mysteriously find another mini bottle of Patron just lying around and down it. Little did I know then that I should have listened to my SP, I wouldn’t find that out ’til later, the next morning to be exact.
It’s weird how time flies when you are having fun, I swear it was just noon when I checked last and now it was going on 5:30pm and I just finished getting ready! In my defense… huh, so you can chime in anytime now SP… I didn’t think so. doh!
I hurried out of the room and headed towards the area that the ceremony was taking place at. Quickly trying to not fall while wearing my hooker shoes that I thought I had mastered a few hours before. Well turns out my pep-talk worked. I was starting to sober up a bit, or at least fooling you into thinking I was by heading to my seat quietly and efficiently. I had done it!!! I had made it through the whole ceremony without wanting to burp my way through the ABC’s. After the Bride and Groom made their way back down the aisle I made a beeline for the reception area to scope out where the bar was. Now, we all know that this is the time at a wedding where most guests don’t like. They are all waiting around for the wedding party to take their pictures being mostly bored. But, not an epic wedding. The epic wedding planners will have planned to have alcohol and appetizers for their waiting guests. My cousin’s wedding: epic. Free Open Bar. You’re on a level 5 in my book when you have a FOB at your wedding. If we were measuring from a level 1 to 5. Naturally.They had bartenders mixing up concoctions of all sorts and yours truly was no stranger to this particular FOB all night. A perfect place to be, well up until you can’t hold your alcohol anymore. And by “hold your alcohol” I mean by keeping up with your ever-peeing self. I pee, a lot, when I drink and it had come to my attention that my bladder control was losing momentum as the night went on.
I wandered around the reception for a bit, to try to get away from that sneaky bar. I talked to this person and that person, made my appearance on the dance floor and eventually, inevitably, headed back to the bar. I tried to make a pit-stop at my table to collect all the mini-bottles of Patron that were given to me by my non-drinking family members but when I arrived at the table, no bottles were to be found. I later discovered that one of my uncles had taken them. He walked about the reception holding the same Coke can and it always had liquid in it. I found this strange until I discovered that he had been taking the mini bottles off the tables and emptying them into his can so he did not look “suspicious”, but he wasn’t fooling me. It probably just made him feel more sneaky. I’ll let him believe that.
I was about to start looking around for another mini when I realized that I had to pee… badly.
“Oh fuck it, I gotta go!” I said, giving up my quest to find another mini bottle.
But, as fate would have it, I was held-up by that damn good FOB. It was as if the margaritas and shots were just being put into my hands. I would drink one, and magically another would appear! “Why, hello there! Don’t you look good and I’m still thirsty…”
So there I was at the bar enjoying a cocktail and talking to some old friends from high school when I felt my bladder reinforce its power over me. I tried to end my conversation as fast as I could and head towards the bathroom, realizing that I could not hold it off any longer. I was now racing to the bathroom when I turned the corner to the most dreaded sight had by any drunkard who needs to pee: a line. I realized my fate and dug deep and pulled out my old “pee dance” skills. I knew how this routine went, I’ve lived it many times waiting in line at the Mexico border and other destinations. Many times I had lived this scenario and held it, but that was before kids. {BK}
So there I was, in a line and having to pee like now, like an hour ago, like “I should never have waited this long to pee”. I finally made it up to the front of the line and realized that my hourglass of sand had run out!! “Times UP” my bladder said…. and right as it finished its sentence it was my turn for the restroom, I started to undo my crossed legs to move into the bathroom, as to not look weird to the person behind me, but as I undid my legs I lost it. I pee’d!!!
This was no normal little tinkle that you accidentally let go of and were saved by the notorious kegel. No. I tried to kegel my pee away but all I wound up looking like was a drunk girl with the heaves. I could not control it. The thing about it was, I was wearing a dress and wound up peeing all down my legs and all over the floor. My underwear was soaked, but luckily my dress made it out unscathed. This sobered me up a bit and I paced back and forth in the bathroom cleaning up my pee trail as fast as I could, since there still were people waiting. I took off my wet underwear and found a great use for those pockets I had on my dress. {clever!} I wiped my legs clean with some soap water, dried myself off, fixed my hair and headed back out to the party in hopes that the person behind me hadn’t noticed my issue I had moments earlier in front of her. I held my head high as if I didn’t have Niagara Falls run down my legs. As if I just didn’t lose my cool and have an accident like a potty training toddler. It never happened. The only evidence, the wet underwear that I now carried in my dress pocket.
I did what any person that just had an “I broke the seal” episode would do, I headed back to the bar and started my conversation back up.
It was then that I noticed I wasn’t the only one having fun and had taken residence up at the local FOB. I talked story with a few friends I hadn’t seen since high school graduation. A boy whom I was close friends with in school was in that bunch and I had been talking to him and his girlfriend while enjoying another beverage forgetting all about my lack of control for my bodily fluids. Apparently my old friend from high schools sister didn’t like the fact that her brother and I were old friends. She apparently didn’t like it one bit. She decided then that she was going to get in my face and call me out…
“Who the hell are you anyway?… I don’t know you? Where are you from again?” She slurred as she got closer to my face. It was at this point where I was hoping that she wouldn’t get much closer, not because I was nervous she would try something {I could clearly throw it down and hold my own if she wanted to go} BUT I was scared she would smell my pee-soaked underwear folded up in my dress pocket. My little cousin stood close by in the belief that she was just kidding, when her brother {my HS friend} grabbed her and tried to pull her away to distract the bitch to something else. Good thing too because she didn’t know who she was messing with…
“I’M APRIL MC ANDREWS!!!”
….I told her as she was escorted away with her brothers to the dance floor {where she later decided to punch her brother in the face on the dance floor. Way to make a scene at a wedding! Yay you!}. I’ve learned not to mess with that kind of alcoholic. Besides, I much rather avoid any situation that might end up with the ejection of my wet underwear from my pocket for all to see.
I woke up the next morning from the hotel room still in my dress. I headed to the bathroom where I was greeted by the aftermath of “good time Charlie” which now looked like a tornado had slapped me in the face. I lightly started to pat myself down. After a fun night, you never know what you might have broken, bruised or hurt. As I attempted my bodily injury report, I discovered my wet pocket. What I thought to be a blacked out memory, was now all coming back. But the main evidence was missing. My underwear. Gone. Damn you SP, DAMN YOU ANNND YOUR PLANS!
Confessed.
Every Day In April 
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