a fam damily graduation

Next month, thanks to my generous family, the Dork Lord and I will be heading to Utah for my sisters’ graduation(s).

<Tangent>Just typing that sentence conjures up some super fantastic images of my own (nine – god, can you believe it? – years ago). I have absolutely no idea if I walked the stage and shook anyone’s hand, though I’m sure I must have. What I do have is a very clear memory of tripping down the stairs of the Marriott Center and breaking the heel off my shoe. In front of a mazillion people. Oh, yeah, it was a pretty special experience. My own graduation was so stressful (what with moving to Boston the next day sans job), that I was uncomfortably and awkwardly heavy from eating my feelings and sporting a complexion that even three inches of Clinique’s thickest goo wouldn’t mask. It wasn’t attractive. And neither was my JCPenny suit. </Tangent>

Not only will my Utah family be there for the event (oh, baby Owen, lend my your thigh), but my everywhere else family will be there, too – grandparents, included. Which, of course, is the perfect opportunity to immerse the Boy fully into the complete insanity that is my genetic affiliation. I anticipate strangeness, if not a complete meltdown or two. It will be awesome.

I’ve always thought that my brother and by beau would get along famously and I’m excited to test out that theory. Though, I’ll admit to being a little worried about letting my brother cook for him. See, to date, the Boy is under the impression that I am competent in the kitchen. My brother? He is truly gifted. And he’s going to make me look bad. I will have to ease my pain with a piece (or two) of his chocolate cake. Ganaaaaache.