So many hugs and hairpats and warm thoughts and ~ma for you and yours, Stephanie!

Lots of ~ma for your nephews and all who loved their grandfather.

In the wake of a few people commenting on my supposed weight loss, in the last couple weeks,mI measured myself again. Don't understand how the measurements can get smaller but I keep looking fatter in the mirror. Whatev. It's all just a slap in face anyway.

Oh Stephanie, what a bummer. I'm sorry.

Oh my god I understand why people elope.

My whole life, whenever I imagined My Hypothetical Wedding, all the problems arose from my mom. (We have a very complex history, to say the least.) We went over to Mom and Stepdad's house today to try to plan stuff, and they were hilarious -- it all boiled down to, "Booze and cupcakes, FUCK YEAH WEDDING!!!" Which is a plan I can get behind.

My dad -- the easygoing, mellow parent -- is a NIGHTMARE. I need to preface this part by explaining, if I haven't, that he's 11 years sober but currently takes enough pain medication to tranq an elephant. He has legit chronic pain, so although he's an alcoholic, I have no problem with him taking opiates.

But they make him pretty stoned. Like tonight. I talked to him on the phone, and he was stoned like Elvis. And the super-fun kind of stoned where he's (1) barely coherent, (2) belligerent, and (3) refuses to get off the phone. (He will just hit redial if I hang up.)

So I tell him we're thinking very small wedding, at a B&B near our house, only family, 50 people maximum (Tim's immediate family is literally 20 people, because they keep procreating). So he starts listing all the people he needs to invite. I tell him that we want to keep it to just family, but sure, we can talk about it later. He wants to take my hairstylist as his date (backstory: they used to work together, and her husband passed away several years ago, but she's barely into her 50s and Dad is 71 and apparently a creeper). I tell him that we want to keep it to just family, but sure, we can talk about it later. He says that Mom is taking her husband, so he needs a hot date. I tell him we can talk about that later.

He says we can have the wedding in my cousin's backyard (a cousin on his side of the family who I have seen maybe 4 times in my entire life) and get deli trays from the grocery store. I tell him we're going to look at the B&B, but we can talk about that later.

He says Tim and I have everything we need and we shouldn't register for things and ask for gifts, but I should -- this is a quote, I swear to god I couldn't make this up -- "wear an apron with a pocket and men can dance with me and slip money into it."

WHAT KIND OF WEDDINGS HAVE YOU BEEN GOING TO, DAD, IS THIS A REAL THING THAT PEOPLE DO? That seriously makes me want to shower FOREVER. That is so fucking skeevy.

He asks me if I'm going to invite my friends from Vermont. For I minute I wondered if I told him about askye and Will, and then he lists my brother's friends. I tell him no, they're really Jeff's friends. He says I have plenty of room for people.

Anyway. I could go on, because seriously, he went on and on about all of his ideas. Now, bear in mind that he probably won't even remember this conversation tomorrow. So it really has no bearing on what will actually happen. But WTF Bizarro World? My drama queen, attention-seeking mom was supposed to be the difficult one, and she is all of a sudden being the queen of lists and phone calls and Getting Shit Done Like A Boss. Plus booze and cupcakes.

Dad isn't, in the end, going to make the wedding into a crazy backyard wedding at the house of some cousin I don't even know where I wear an apron that men put money in (seriously, I am SO SKEEVED OUT BY THIS IS IT A REAL THING PEOPLE DO???) and my hair stylist is his revenge date.

But, well. I think the issue is more that I wasn't prepared to deal with his stoned ramblings. This is the kind of shit he used to do when he was still drinking -- call me and ramble drunkenly and get all belligerent about nothing.

I already had NO fucking idea how to plan a wedding. And wrangling my dad while he's tripping balls does NOT make it any easier.

The money dance is a real thing (although the apron bit is new to me). Just remember that because there are things that are "done" at weddings doesn't mean you have to do them. We had string players instead of a DJ. There was no dancing.

I knew about the dollar dance thing (although I've only been to one wedding where they did it, so I didn't think it was A Thing Everyone Does), but something about the apron just really skeeves me out. Maybe it's the level of detail.

Or maybe it's my father telling me to dance with men for money. I don't know.

...maybe you should cope by drinking?

I don't know. I'm just cranky and stressed and my hands are shaking and and I don't want to deal with my father telling me to dance with men at my wedding so they can put money in my clothing.

That sound you hear is $50,000 of therapy going right down the toilet.

...maybe you should cope by drinking?

That's certainly my family's preferred way of coping, if my alcoholic father and brother are anything to go by.

I vote that you take none of your Dad's advice, but hire an escort for him on the night of your wedding to keep him distracted.