Last weekend, my family drove up to L.A. for my cousin’s wedding. It was a reeeeeally long car ride with my grandma in the car.
From mile 1, she started her monologue…”Since the wedding is on Sunday, I’m going to miss The Celebrity [Apprentice]. You know who’s left? The girl who can’t speak [Matlin] and the guy who wears a cowboy hat. Don Trump isn’t going to run for President. He likes The Celebrity [Apprentice]. I got my brakes fixed. What do you mean the car isn’t aligned? It was $1,000. He was supposed to do everything [you could possibly do to a car]. You know who’s dressing up her dog? Dogs weren’t meant to dress…”
After that ride, it was no surprise my 4-person family and a few randoms kicked back 7 bottles of wine and some cocktails. (My grandma can’t drink these days. She was upstairs getting her beauty sleep.)
The next morning, my sister Jen and I woke up in the hotel and we were each like, “Where am I?”
Jen: “I’m wearing my pajama top but I’m still wearing my pants. And my bra.”
Me: “I’m not wearing a bra!” We both did the opposite of what we normally do.
We had a Hangover-like morning where we tried to piece together what had happened on our family-filled night out… There was toothpaste unpacked, but no toothbrush. There was a box of cookies. There were loose Fritos.
When I came out into the suite that morning, my grandma was directing like, a full-time staff of hotel people in our kitchen. I was so confused. She had people bringing towels and glasses…she’d been there, not 12 hours and she already had servants.
Later, she and my parents went to visit the grave of my great-grandma who was buried in Hollywood. I didn’t go—I needed to recover from, well, everything.
The wedding on Sunday night was fun. It was in the Wee Kirk o’ the Heather in Forest Lawn Cemetery. Kinda strange to drive past a bunch of graves on your way to some nuptials. But the bride’s mom and grandma were buried—er, married—there. Go figure!
It was a Scottish wedding. I’ll spare you the video with the bagpipes.