Highlights of Low Lifes

In case anyone wondered, NO, I didn’t get thrown into jail for decking the ex-wife OR her nasty mother, though God knows they both had it coming. I’ve been sick since we got back, no doubt from being packed into aircraft with the unwashed masses.

It snowed the day we left; not much, just a ¼ of an inch, but damn, that is so wrong on the 12th of October! When we got to the airport, the lines were unbelievable. In the age of self-check in, this was a bit shocking. Our plane to St. Louis was supposed to leave at 5:40, but when our boarding passes were spit out, it was delayed until 6:57. Curses!! We were supposed to catch our flight to Jacksonville at 7:30, so no way was this going to work out for us. To the ticket counter we head along with 200 other travelers who were also having problems. When we finally made our way to an agent, Old Sarge asked why all the delays. The Sweet Young Thing behind the counter said it was because of the snow that morning. Now, folks, we are at O’HARE!!! You cannot tell me that little bit of fluff was enough to shut down one of the world’s busiest airports. Old Sarge isn’t buying it, and goes off on a tangent about getting B-52’s out in a blizzard at Minot, and I had to poke him because SYT apparently doesn’t know what a B-52 is or where Minot is- she is puzzled. She says we will have to fly out in the morning.

On Friday the 13th.

Now the Rage kicks in, and I am telling her, no, that is not acceptable because if I had fucking WANTED to fly on Friday the 13th, I would have booked a flight then, and since I didn’t, somebody had better get me on a flight or much plague and pestilence would be raining down on American Airlines.

Thirty minutes later, we were on standby for a direct flight to Jacksonville. I didn’t have much hope of being let on, but we were lucky and the delays that screwed us up so bad were widespread- the flight was only half full. AND we found out at the gate that O’Hare had been shut down for several hours while the President was in town. Why didn’t they just say so?

We made it to Jacksonville only slightly off schedule and made our way to our motel. I use the word motel with a lot of hesitation, flophouse might be a better description. This is a national chain of fairly good reputation, but damn! Just on the way to the room, I had a drunk guy fall all over me because he couldn’t figure how to open the courtyard door, and then as we got closer to our room, two heavily tattooed Latino gentlemen were having a go at a Cadillac with a slim jim and screwdriver.

We locked and chained our door.

Got our car the next morning and headed up to Brunswick. Son #2 wants us to meet at Wal-Mart with his mother and other assorted ex-in-laws. We had stopped for breakfast, I spilled all over the front of my shirt, and I am less than thrilled about the whole thing, much less being very messy. Old Sarge was good enough to let me run into Sears first to get a clean shirt, we met up with the entourage and headed out to St. Simon Island, where the wedding would be taking place.

The FIRST thing out of my husband’s ex-MIL’s mouth is, “So nice you could make THIS wedding.” A little background here: Old Sarge and I had four trips planned for this year. One to Georgia when Young Sgt and his bride settled into Ft. Benning, one for Son #4 and his child bride’s wedding in South Carolina, one for The Princess’s college graduation, and then this trip. An accounting of our finances. however, dictated that we could take two trips together, but would have to split up for the other two. I went to Georgia, Old Sarge went to South Carolina and apparently I am the Devil. According to ex-MIL. Bitch.

Discretion being the better part of valor, though not nearly as satisfying, I walked out on the pier, did some shopping and generally stayed away from the rehearsal cookout. Begging my son at. Ft. Benning and my daughter, who had flown into Atlanta, to please hurry up and provide reinforcements.

Finally it was time for us to get checked in over on Jekyll Island. My daughter-in-law had found us a very affordable place to stay, and it was right on the ocean. Our reservation had said there was no ocean view from our room, but all we had to do was open the patio door and it was there. (You did good, Diana!!) The Princess was extending her booty call in Atlanta for the night, but Young Sgt and his wife would be arriving shortly. We picked up some beer and reconnoitered the island while we were waiting for them.

For Northerners, it is quite an experience to sit outside and relax by the ocean. We sat around talking and drinking for quite awhile, then got a call from Son #2. He had escaped his mother’s clutches and wanted to party just a bit. By the time he got there, though, alas there was no more beer, but the resort just up from us had a lounge open until 2 a.m. Had I been twenty years younger I would have been delighted. But, I have a fine sense of duty and reveled with the best of them. Son #2 and his friend ended up staying with us that night.

Just an aside here, because it feels good to let it out. My biokids and I were pretty much ignored by everyone during the wedding part of the trip. I expected rudeness and I got plenty of it. Two things kept me from a-swingin’. One- Son #2 has been with us (except for his time in the Army) since high school. I like to think it’s because we don’t smother and badger him. I like to think we’re his comfort zone as far as parents go. Second- even though our kids aren’t terribly close, it meant everything to me to have Young SGT, his wife and The Princess and her date there. I miss them so much and it was a great opportunity for a little family reunion.

Okay, the day of the wedding?? In a word, FIASCO!! The Bride’s mother, man, there is no way to say it but white trash, rode hard and put away wet. And mother-of-the-bridezilla. This was surprising, because my new daughter-in-law is very sweet and soft spoken. Nothing was going right with the ceremony, which was to be held at the Lighthouse on St. Simon. We had to get there an hour earlier than we had planned for pictures, then had to leave again with Son #2 so he would not see his Bride while her pictures were taken. This involved going BACK to Jekyll to kill some time. Unfortunately, no one called when they should have to tell us to come back when pictures were done, so we ended up being late with the groom. By this time, Mother of the Bride has fallen off her ridiculously high heels- and I’m hoping that’s ALL that fell, I didn’t know the mothers were supposed to show that much cleavage- and cut her knee, we are getting dirty looks for being late and I am perilously close to telling someone, anyone, to go fuck themselves. The ex-wife is insisting on pictures of only the immediate
(i.e. “real”) family, and all I can think of is that I noticed a bar called Brogin’s just around the corner.
The ceremony was short and sweet. This kids looked wonderful, and happy, but as Young SGT said, you got the feeling of just going through the motions. Maybe being a Catholic I expected a little more, but who knows. Ten minutes and it was done. The reception was back on Jekyll, and we were the first to get there. As we walked into the room, we stopped dead in our tracks, looking at the Leaning Tower of Wedding Cake. With the Penthouse face down on the table. I am torn between being horrified and trying not to giggle. Young SGT, fortunately, has no sense of inappropriate humor and started taking pictures of the ruined cake with his phone and sending them to Son #1. He is also one squared away soldier, because this was to be a dry reception and if ever we needed a beer, it was before the rest of the party got there. We retired to his van and cooler for much appreciated libations.
The reception was blessedly short and we headed back to our rooms again for more relaxed conversation. (and beer) The next morning we gathered for breakfast in honor of Young SGT’s birthday, then headed out in our respective directions. I have decided that grits are quite possibly a perfect food- I liked them every way I tried them.

I really would like to go back to Jekyll Island again someday. It’s really beautiful there, not as pretentious as St. Simon.

Oh, I showed a few guys I work with a picture of Old Sarge’s ex from the wedding. They asked me number one, what had they ever done to me to scar them so badly and number two, how did Old Sarge stay drunk all that time?