June 18, in the words of the Sexy Mexican, would best be described as epic. Epic in randomness, epic in ridiculousness and epic in phun.
It all started with a little trip to Hollister for a wedding. Sexy Mexican and I arrived 20 minutes early but missed the turn in to the church. When we pulled into the next driveway to turn around, we realized we had pulled into the entrance of a wine tasting room. Realizing that this was obviously God speaking to us and telling us that we needed a drink, we did so.
The phellow working at the tasting room also let us enjoy his tasty nuts… (yes, I went there.)
The wine was well-timed, as I then sat through a very lovely, very non-English speaking Catholic wedding. I very much enjoyed the phive words I was able to understand.
There was a bit of down time between the ceremony and the reception that we had to phill. That meant we grabbed our phriend, Wrong Baby Wrong, and headed back to the tasting room. This trip, we had enough time to play a phew games of horseshoes, join the wine club and watch Wrong Baby Wrong take a phun trip down the hill behind the horseshoe court.
We arrived right on time for the reception in downtown Hollister. It was then that history was really made and epic status was achieved, as my liberally lubricated alter-ego phinally phound her name- Mrs. Olive Bedlam.
Once Mrs. Olive Bedlam arrived, the party started. The bar tab was opened, phrivolity ensued, brain cells were killed.
Time was taken out for a few tortilla chips…
…and a phew bites of rice, beans and other deliciousness.
Sexy Mexican and I left the wedding and headed to meet phriends and my Pops for dinner at Toast.
They had pre-ordered some roasted garlic and olives which we helped make disappear.
Apparently I then had some soup!
Note to my phriends and phollowers. I do not like prime rib. It could be the best prime rib in the history of the world- I still don’t like it. If I ever order prime rib in your presence, that is the time to take me home. It indicates that the wheel may be spinning, but the hamster has had a phew too many. I have no actual memory of considering, ordering, photographing or eating this.
I blame Mrs. Olive Bedlam.
When we got back to the house, Mrs. Olive Bedlam phound some bubbles and nibbles with which to amuse herself.
Phancy, eh? Who knew what lovely things one could create with a phew graham crackers, some phruit and a little ingenuity!
It was entirely Mrs. Olive Bedlam‘s phault that Phooey ended up in the sink. I would NEVER do something like that!
Welcome to the world, Mrs. Olive Bedlam. I’m glad you now have a name… easier to identify you with the next time you attempt to make an appearance.