Okay, Mom, you are now quite popular in the blogging world.  Even Sarah gave you a shout out.  So, due to this sudden popularity, I feel that it is my duty to introduce aspects of my family and close friends to the world. (Hey, my readers are the world.  I’m so corny.) I think this story pretty much explains everything…

My family is about as “cool” as a family can get.  Sure, they were embarrassing growing up, but now, when I am home, I hang out with them probably more than they like.  To top it all off, some of my closest friends are the kids of my parent’s best friends (Queen Lola, in the above picture, for example.  Quite possibly V’s most favoritest person).  We have all completely grown up together, which makes for some memorable family get-togethers.

When everyone is in town (meaning Des Moines), we try to plan family dinners as often as we can.  Our family dinners are not normal family dinners.  They are loud, obnoxious affairs where at least one person ends up passed out under the table bubbling over with red wine (that might be an exaggeration, but then again, it could be completely accurate).  Take for example our kind-of-annual, wine room dinner:

The country club we all belong to boasts a private wine room/closet below the main restaurant.  Anything involving wine (or whine) is generally a big hit with the women of our group.  The country club is happy to book us in this room, because they totally find us loud, bothersome, and annoying charming, special, and entertaining.  Around Christmas 2 years ago, we all settled around the table and started opening bottles of wine.  As the wine continued to flow, the men decided they needed jäger bombs (classy, guys, classy).  Now, keep in mind that we are at a private country club, and shots are usually not the drink of choice.  After watching the men down their shots, the girls decided that we wanted some too.  So, someone-I honestly forget who-ordered “red-headed sluts“.  The waitress noted our order, slightly confused, then left the private cellar.  After about 15 minutes, our drinks and our waitress were nowhere in sight.  So, naturally, one of my mom’s friends decided to call information to get the phone number for our country club’s restaurant/bar.  Much easier than walking up a flight of stairs, at the time.  The resulting conversation went something like this:

Hello?

Yes.  We are currently locked in your wine cellar, and we are waiting for our sluts.  They were supposed to be here 15 minutes ago.

Um, wait, what?  You are in the wine cellar?

Yes.  We are in the wine cellar waiting for our sluts.

Okay…

Can you please tell them to hurry up?

{Click}…{Dial Tone}

And, that is what my family is actually like.

See, we really like wine. (V doesn't like it so much. Grounds for a future divorce, methinks. Irreconcilable Differences? Yep, he won't drink with me. Bastard.)