Come On, You Have Time For A Saga

With summer almost here, and spring in full swing, that could only mean one thing. My mom and Aunt Bev are back to their typical antics again. I know how much you all have missed their little adventures, so, much to Aunt Bev’s fear and chagrin of what I’m going to write, I shall tell you their story, while telling a whole other story. Man, I feel like a maverick multi-tasker right about now. I also feel like the beginning of the Ghost Whisperer, what with the whole, "in order to tell you my story, I have to tell your theirs," thing.

I will get to the main event in a minute, but first I'm going to Kanye (skip to 0:44) myself with some other news. By the way, why hasn't anyone made an app where you can Kanye yourself? Am I the only one seriously disappointed by this?

First, I would like to tell you all that I got a FormSpring, so check me out and ask question. This is either really great, or really nerdy, but you can ask me anything. If you ask me about ducks, I will probably have a great answer. If you ask me serious questions, I probably will not, so, in other words, I want any and all questions you can come up with. If they're heart to heart questions, they can go into the Dear Cassadee pile, with your permission, of course. No question will go unanswered.

Second, I am working on a new segment for the blog called Greta Hayley Says. It will be awesome, as long as you like cute puppy dogs. And who doesn't?

And now on to one of the longest posts to date, but I promise hilarity, insanity, and most of all, Mom and Aunt Bev stories. What's not to love?

This week we all set out on the most impossible mission that should have been mission easily possible. It was Mission: Find the Septic Tank In Our Yard. It took three days, ten people, two shovels, a metal detector, a hammer, three metal rods, and nine holes in our yard to do so. I know you’re all sitting there wondering if I’m serious, and if so, how this is even possible. Allow me to regal you with an epic tale of idiocy and intrigue.

This mission started out so innocent. All we were going to do was find the septic tank and have it cleaned out. We pulled the deed, only to find that the location of the septic tank was MIA on the deed, meaning we had not an inkling of a clue as to where the septic tank was. We’ve lived here for thirteen years but had no reason to know until now. No problem. We would simply call the people we bought our house off of. This is where the trouble arose.

The first thing I did was call Becky, naturally. Because that makes sense. Actually, it does, because I thought her mom was friends with the people who we bought the house off of it. I explained the situation to Becky and asked her if there was a way I could contact her mom for the old owners’ phone number. This is the response I got, and I quote:

“You’ve lived there for how long and you don’t know where the septic tank is?”

This was about to come right back around and bite her in the ass in a huge way. Which makes me giggle, of course. I wasn’t asking for a phone number of someone in WitSec or anything.

After some round about insanity, we ended up tracking down the old owners of the house on our own and gave them a call. They weren’t home so we left a message. This is the part of the story where my mom politely ducks out to go and help Aunt Bev pick up her car from the mechanic, which is a whole other story, and just as the sun is going down, two people pull up to the house in a black ruck. This is also, coincidentally, where it gets weird.

The reason I knew that people were even here was because the dogs started barking, not because I heard them pull up, or could see them from my living room. Now, normal people who weren’t at all creepy motherduckers would come to the house, knock on the door and introduce themselves. These people, however, found it more fitting to sit in their car and turn their lights on, shining them into the house. I found no reason to go outside while home alone, and try to find out who these people were, because that was just creepy. Then it got more creepy.

They proceeded to get out of their car and wander all around our yard, never coming up and knocking on the door, or trying. Because this was so weird, I didn’t want to go outside unless I was on the phone with someone, because I automatically assume people who don’t come to the door of someone else’s house and instead randomly run around their property are ax murderers. It turns out I was close; they were the old owners of our house.

No, really, they’re nice people, they just handled things a little odd. I hung up the phone and started talking to them, only to find out they weren't sure where the septic tank was either. They had an idea, but they weren’t totally sure, because it was never on their deed when they bought the house off of the original owners. They were going to inquire with the original owners about the location of it after they got settled in, only the original owners happened to go to the big pie in the sky, so they were unable to do so.

After that conversation, and one about how they really didn’t have to come over; they could have just called, they got in their car and left. I thought it was quite nice they came over, and it just confirmed my initial thought of them from thirteen years ago; they are strange, strange people, but nice. It’s the nice that counts.

And speaking of counting, there are now five people involved in the septic tank debacle. My mom, myself, Becky, and the two previous owners of the house. Five more to go.

Since it was dark after my mom got home, we packed it in and called it a day. Then the next day happened and Aunt Bev got involved. Do you see where I’m going with this, folks? Yes, this is totally going to turn into the greatest show on earth. Forget the circus, you should be here.

By the time I awoke, both Aunt Bev and my mom had a plethora of holes in the yard. So many, in fact, that I sang the song from the major motion picture, Holes, to myself several times. And you know what, it fit. Our yard completely looked like the desert in holes.

By the time I ate, went out on the porch, and decided to really inspect things, there were two other people in our yard; our older neighbors. I’m not sure what happened, but I looked out in time to see my mom and Aunt Bev coming back into the yard with these two, so at best guess they went and got them and asked them if they knew where our septic tank was since they were the oldest people in the neighborhood and had been here before time even started. Okay, so I hope they didn’t word it like that, but in all fairness they’ve lived here forever and knew the original owners, so it was worth a shot.

They hemmed and hawed around and decided they thought the septic tank was in a totally different place than the people we bought the house off of thought it was, so then my mom and Aunt Bev made more holes. Then they gave up, because no matter what they did, they were not finding the septic tank.

Ah, but I forgot the best part. You know the original owners of our house that are dead? Well, they’re not dead at all. In fact, they’re alive and well and live but twenty five minutes from here. The older than time neighbors told us so, therefore, after giving up, we decided to do some research and find the original owners and call them. This is how we got up to nine people being involved.

Upon calling and talking to one of the original owners, we found out that they never recorded where the septic tank was on the deed after they installed it, so no one but them actually knows where the septic tank is, so eat that, Becky. They gave us approximate measurements from the house as to where the septic tank would be. We dug there. They were wrong. Eat that again, Becky. The original owners didn’t even know where the septic tank was and they installed it, so HA!

I know, that was so mature of me. I want to be sorry, but I’m giggling like a child, and I suck at lying. And in a very childlike manner, I would also like to announce that she started it.

Anywhomaburger, while my mom and Aunt Bev were digging a hole in the particular spot where the original owners thought it would be, this happened. My mom was in charge of digging, and Aunt Bev was in charge of using a hammer to pound metal rods into the ground to see if she would run into something solid. I guess my mom was worried about Aunt Bev using a hammer, because she proceeded to say the following.

“Use the side. (of the hammer)” Aunt Bev does this and starts pounding away merrily. My mom’s next response?

“Watch your face!” Folks, I felt like I needed to take away anything sharp, pointy, or metal, and replace them with tiny tools Ala Lorelai Gilmore. Come to think of it, that probably would not have been anywhere near the worst idea in the world.

And on a similar note, I wonder what my mom would have said had Aunt Bev been using power tools. The world may never know, but in case this does happen, I will be sure to report it, therefore, the world will know.

Aunt Bev came out unscathed and the snark just kept on coming. After all this went down, I sat on my Spongebob chair and mentioned how everything looked like the movie Holes, what with eight holes now in a small area of our yard. This is when my mom pointed out that she once had a dream where she was married to Shia Lebouef and he was a great, amazing man and husband.

Let’s stop here to recap. Shia is in his early 20s and my mom is in her 50s. Apparently they were the same age in a dream. I don’t ask questions about such things. That would be stupid.

Anyway, with my sarcasm and whit toward marriage and dating, I asked my mom how having a dream about being married was actually a dream. Aunt Bev replied with, “dating someone your own age is always a nightmare (at our age). Dating someone thirty years younger is the dream.” Touche, Aunt Bev, touche.

From here, I made a smart ass comment about dating people thirty years younger than you, and how odd that is. Aunt Bev came right back with, “That’s the dream; it’s better not to date anybody.” I love you, Aunt Bev, especially when, directly after this, you pointed out that you shouldn’t talk like that because you’re going to mess up my dating life. But it’s okay, because I already know a lot of men are jerks and don’t have a dating life by choice because, well, boys are jerks, so it’s so not your fault. Feel free to say more funny things.

After digging so far and seeing that obviously there was now another motion picture worthy hole and still no septic tank, my mom and Aunt Bev threw in the towel for the day. As we went into the house, my mom commented that, once we find this septic tank, we better mark the area and mark it well so we never lose it again. Among the suggestions of things we could mark it with presented by yours truly, were:

- A garden flag
- Dancing munchkins in technicolor outfits, holding umbrellas and pom-poms
- A brightly colored sign with an arrow that shouts "I AM HERE!"

Wait, let’s go back to that second one. Dancing munchkins in technicolor outfits, holding umbrellas and pom-poms. Apparently I wanted to make our yard OZ, minus the yellow brick road. I’ll have you know this is still my favorite idea, because cute, dancing munchkins is so up my alley, but it was vetoed. This makes me sad.

Day three rolled around and I figured things couldn’t get weirder, and no more people could possibly get involved in this. Then I woke up.

My mom and Aunt Bev had been out dealing with her car again, and when they returned, they decided to re-collaborate and figure out how they were going to find this septic tank. The idea had come up the day before that they go rent a metal detector since we were told by the original owners who put the tank in that the lid was metal. It was a 50/50 on if we should believe anyone when it came to anything about our septic tank, because we had five wrong people so far, and then the three of us had no luck on our own, but we decided we’d take what we could get at this point.

After asking our neighbor, therefore getting another person involved, we found out that the older than time neighbors who had tried helping us the day before, and who were also the parent-in-laws of said new person involved, had one. Said new helpful neighbor went and got it and came over to try and help find the septic tank. Now we have ten people involved. In case you lost count, I will chronicle everyone for you in no particular order.

Mom
Myself
Aunt Bev
Becky
2 people we bought the house from
2 older than time neighbors
1 original owner of the house
Neighbor who is the son-in-law of the older than time neighbors

While my mom was rounding up the new helpful neighbor, Aunt Bev was sitting inside with me while I was eating. She happened to look down and notice my ultra-hip old people support hose. I have no idea how she noticed them. It’s not like they were obvious when I was wearing shorts, socks over them, monkey slippers, and they didn’t match my skin color, but alas, she noticed.

She commented on how hot I looked in them. I told her I knew how hot I was, and I know I’ve had a bad run with finding nice guys to date, but I was confident that this new fashion trend was going to pick me up the right guy. She pointed out that it would pick me up someone alright; a old guy who thinks a woman with her own support hose is hot stuff. I told her that I was just trying to be the next Anna Nicole Smith, and that old guys were the only nice guys left because they couldn’t try to force me into sex. Hey, I may be on to something.

For the record, I am so far from hot in those things. Here’s hot way over here, and here I am three galaxies away, waving, but you can’t see me waving because I am too far away. I do try to make them work by working them, though.

After a few minutes, Aunt Bev went outside to join in the fun of using a metal detector without adult supervision. Oh wait, I guess the neighbor guy, although the youngest of the three, counted as the adult. Anyway, I finished up my food and was just getting ready to go out and join when I looked outside. Neighbor guy was holding the metal detector above his head, pointing it towards the sky, with a puzzled look on his face. I didn’t ask.

With a little bit of effort, ten people and three days down, the septic tank was found. You would think this was the end of the story, but you would be incorrect. My mom and Aunt Bev still had to dig down to find the tank. They were told the tank was about four feet into the ground. So dig they did, and when they finally found the tank, it was only about two feet in.

This wouldn’t be all that funny, except the old owner of the house made it a point to tell my mom that he had to have someone hold on to him when he tried to get into the septic tank, so that he didn’t fall in. I know what you’re thinking...why was he trying to get into the septic tank? I’m thinking it too, and the truth is, I was too scarred by the idea of it that I couldn’t even bring myself to ask. I suck at getting information for all of you, guys! I’m sorry.

Also, when you think of a guy having to be held to get down into a hole, do you imagine him with some rope tied to his belt loop as leans forward and falls slowly in the hole while someone else holds on to that rope? That’s just me, isn’t it?

While they tried to figure out exactly how large the lid to the septic tank was, ergo, how far over they had to dig, I sat down on the ground away from the hole, only to have my mom hit the septic tank with the shovel and have it vibrate under me. Obviously, the septic tank was large. I made a mention of this, only to be told by Aunt Bev that I was to enjoy my cheap thrill. Then, she started talking about couples having sex on the washing machine during the spin cycle. I love you, Aunt Bev.

This is the part of the blog where Aunt Bev would like me to tell you, and I took this verbatim and made a note, that, and I quote, she is a “wonderful, slightly older, but doesn’t look it, woman, who is looking for a rich man with one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel.” So if any rich, old guys are looking for a hot, single woman, they are to comment on the blog so that I can tell her it’s a match made in...I can’t even finish this sentence.

In between digging and after digging, we all sat down on the steps and had a heart to heart. By this I mean we talked about marriage, gay guys, fish bullies and Evan Lysacek, in that order. Obviously, all these things go together. Didn’t you know? It’s okay, neither did I.

Somehow, and with us it’s hard to pin down exactly one of the three billion reasons this could have gotten started, Aunt Bev brought up where my mom and her went wrong when it came to men. This had something to do with what we were talking about, which I believe was along the lines of how some people get men who financially take care of them and love and adore them. However, that’s not how I took it, which ended quite awkwardly like this.

Aunt Bev: “Where did we go wrong?”

Me: “You got married in the first place.”

See, Aunt Bev, you’re not teaching me this stuff. I think I’ll point it out to you. Oh, this can’t be good. Twenty four and already making marriage cracks. I promise I will find a way to make you feel better about this at the end of the blog. Somehow.

After I brought the conversation wayward with a downer, I decided to throw in an upper. This, of course, would be gay guys. Who doesn’t love a gay guy? They’re pretty much the most awesome thing ever, which brought me to say that I would marry one in a heartbeat, and he could do whatever he wanted. I just wanted the companionship. My mom and Aunt Bev wholeheartedly agreed.

This is where I would like everyone to know that if you’re gay and you need to keep up appearances for a job, for your family, etc, I am here to marry you. You can date guys and you don’t have to kiss or sleep with me at all. I’ll just be a super awesome companion.

I think I’m okay with just how dating ad sleazy that came out.

As we were sitting there, I was looking for Teddy the Terrific Toad. TTT is a toad that has his summer home behind our hose. I had just seen him the other day and wanted to be neighborly and say hey. I couldn’t find him, however, and shared my chagrin with the girls. Aunt Bev then told me that her super huge frog that lived in her pond and would kill her Koi fish wasn’t there any longer. She suspects that the two Koi that survived the frog's attacks decided to become bullies just to get revenge on the frog, and then chased him away. I like this theory. A lot. Therefore, I shall share my new motto.

Fish bullies; they make a bad day for frogs.

As the day wore on, we all sat there throwing banter around, until my mom decided to bring up the septic tank again. When she did, she pointed out how excited she was to find it, only she sounded like she was so bored she could cry. I compared her to Evan Lysacek. I think it was warranted. Look, I love, love, love Evan Lysacek, but he’s the least excited, excited person ever. If you don’t believe me, Dancing With the Stars even did a segment where the pieced together every time he said he was excited about something, and by the end of it, the judges were fake sleeping. It was awesome. I can't find it to share on here, but it was still awesome.

This also completes the awesome, with the moral of the story being, if you put in a septic tank, please mark it on your land deed. Unless you want three days of debauchery and a ten person circus, then by all means, don’t. Just remember to alert the new owners of your house that, when they decide to mess with the septic tank, to let you know so you can forget where it is and then come over and watch the shenanigans unfold.

Oh, and Aunt Bev, because I promised I would make you feel better about me and dating, I am going to try, and probably fail here. As for the rest of you, if you like pretty, pretty wedding gowns, then please stick around.

As I’m typing this, the show Girl Meets Gown is on. The one girl was taking a long time picking her color dress, which made me want pick it for her by yelling at the television my choice of color. I didn’t, because obviously this would be dumb, even though I do it all the time during every other show known to man. However, as soon as I realized how dumb this was, I also realized there’s about a zillion different color whites, and I am totally going to be the girl who stands there for three hours just picking a color for my dress. I also realized someone should slap me for this.

This should already start to make you feel better, because my first thought wasn’t, “if I ever get married I’m going to take three hours to pick a dress color.” It was “when I get married.” My second thought was “when I get married, and am 90 in an old people’s home.” My third thought was, “If I get married.” Anyway, telling you all of that is just getting counterproductive.

Because I couldn’t imagine how many different color whites there could possibly be, I decided to go online and start looking at wedding dresses to find out just for the hell of it. I had to know. Then the worst thing possible happened.

I fell in love with a dress. In absolute, complete love. This is great, because I totally have had a boyfriend in the past three years and am so close to get married. Not. I just couldn’t help myself though, I loved it. Then, to top it off, it has lace. I hate lace. If lace went down in a burning ring of fire, I would have been the one to start it, and then I would sit around it with marshmallows singing campfire songs until there was no more lace left in the universe. I wouldn’t even get up to go to the bathroom or anything. There would be no time for that. I’d be too busy killing lace.

Anyway, I decided since you’re my Aunt Bev, and you’ll never believe I found a pretty, lacy, girlie wedding dress, that I would share it with you. I’m positive that, not only won’t they still make this dress when I do get married, but it wouldn’t have been in style for at least five years, but a girl can dream, right? Contrary to popular belief, I would love to get married one day. I just love making fun of the idea of it more.

Before I show you the dress, I shall take you through a saga of all the dresses that I love, until we get to the dress. Come on, you have time for a saga. Grab some food and a drink, sit down, gather round, and enjoy the pretty dresses.

I came across this one and automatically loved it. Then I looked at it a couple times and thought, I can’t wear this. It’s everything I hate all in one. It’s bling, it’s tulle that sticks out below the dress line, it’s foofy and bunching and it shows off the ladies...but it’s oh so pretty and so different. I sighed. (Perla D’)

Next, I came across this one, and although I started out just looking at colors, I thought this one could also be a contender. What lost it for me is that it looked a little like a maternity dress, what with not being fitted. I could have even lived with that, but then I noticed the weird lacy thing going on at the bottom. However, I don’t know what kind of wedding I’m going t o have, and if it was a beach wedding, or an outdoor, easy-breezy casual wedding, this would be the perfect dress, and the lace would add a beauty and a touch of elegance to my comfortable, casual, special day.

I realize this is a blog and not written in real time, but I feel the need to, "say excuse me for a moment while I go figure out what the heck I just saw run across the floor." I thought it was a bug, but it was at least five inches long, and I’m not sure I want to know what it is, but I must. If I don’t come back...well, you’d never know because this blog would never get finished.

Please enjoy the music while I am away.

Okay, I’m back and I have no clue what it was because now I can’t find it. It ran so fast and it was so large that I’m now afraid to put my feet on the floor and seriously wondering if I want to sleep out here. I don’t even know if it was a bug. Now I’m gicked out. Oh well, back to the wedding dress saga.

Third, I found this one. It was simple and a little oddly shaped, maybe a little too much for me, but I thought the belt just made it perfect. Then, I saw that the belt was discontinued. I sighed. Then I realized that there’s a million other bridal belts on the market and I could pick any one that I wanted. The dress was still a contender.

I came across this one next and thought I really liked it. At second and third look, I think I just like the belt and the bunching. Other than that, it’s kind of plain and not as elegant as I would like, and I just don’t know if I would be happy in a dress this plain. I put it in the maybe pile.

I came across this one, and I loved the color instantly. I never saw myself in anything but a pure white dress, but I don’t think this dress would be very pretty in white. It’s the color that makes it so very special. I know what you’re thinking, this dress is more plain than the other one, but the material is different so it doesn’t just look like a big, plain bunch of material. It looks elegant and flowing, and I just love it. Especially the flower. It makes my world go round.

This one is about in the same league as the last one, although I think the last one grew on me a little more. This one has the same ruching around the waist as the last one, and a flower, but it has a belt too. I just don’t care for the material as much. It’s that not-as-elegant material.

When I had first started looking, there was a very specific dress I was looking for. Mostly because it was one of the dresses the girl was hemming and hawing over the color of, and I wanted to see how many colors it actually came in. While looking for it, I found this one instead. It’s very similar, just not quite as intense. I don’t think I’d care for it without the belt, but the belt makes it gorgeous.

I later found the dress I was actually looking for. What’s sad is that I don’t love the dress in the picture as much as I did on the girl on television. The way it moved when she walked was so gorgeous and flirty. I really thought I could see myself in it. The girl on the show was also wearing a sage belt with a big bow on the right side, and I found I liked that better as well. Still, though, I love the dress. It’s in my top three.

When I found this dress, I instantly thought it was possible that it would be my dress. It had the same flowing, fun and flirty bottom as the last one, but it was more unique. It was technically strapless because the straps didn’t hold up the dress, but they’re still there sitting elegantly and uniquely on your arms. It’s so carefree, especially with the ruching and the little bit of bling. Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t this dress just scream Alexis, from my novel? It’s so her, and maybe that’s why I liked it, because I'm so attached to her as my character.

Then there’s the gown I fell in love with. When you see this, you’re going to wonder if my brain passed out when I found this dress, or drunkenly stumbled across it, because it looks nothing like any of my other dresses. There’s no big, flowing skirts. There’s no ruching. It’s not as wedding dress like as the other ones as far as being big, solid and over the top. The material is light and feathery and it has my hated lace. But oh, something about this dress stops my heart and I can’t help but be in love with it, even though I can't explain, for the life of me, why I am. Ah, life’s little mysteries.

Saga finished.

So see, Aunt Bev, you have not ruined me from wanting to get married and find love from the things you say. In fact, what started out as just wanting to see how many colors of white there were, turned into me not only falling in love with several dresses, but choosing the one I’d want for my wedding and chronicling why I liked each and every dress.

Oh, and if I never mentioned it, I want to be a wedding planner for a day job, and moonlight as a writer. So I still believe in love out there somewhere, because you can’t plan weddings and write stories without love.