A Very Special Someone

This entry is dedicated to someone very special. She’s not somebody that’s mentioned on here very much, if even at all, and that’s something that’s needed remedied for quite some time.

You see, I get very comfortable with people and the relationships that they have. My wife’s younger brother, The Düd, was in a long-term relationship with his High School Sweetheart for as long as I knew him. They were comfortable together, seemed to be a good fit, and eventually rented a place together where I attended many a party (most of whose end was signalled for me by staring into the bottom of a toilet bowl). Things were nice. They were comfortable.

But, as we are all sometimes forgetful of, ‘comfortable’ does not equal ‘ideal’ or even ‘happy’ and things with them were slowly showing themselves to be less-than-ideal. Not terribly un-happy, but not the desired anymore. The Düd had called more than a couple of times to announce that they’d broken up, or were on the verge of it at least, only to get back together within the week. It was a song we’d all heard before. Then, one day, he said it differently and it made sense. It was just time to move on.

He’d talked about this Irish chick at his work for a while, telling us how cool she was and how if I went with them out somewhere we’d perfectly fit the beginning of that joke, “An American, an Irishman, and an Aussie walk into a bar…” Sounded cute and all, but I worried he’d just turned his attention onto the next seemingly best thing and was too invested in that. Having fallen victim to this myself, I was wary for him, but kept my mouth shut as I am ever one to let others make their own mistakes.

He ends up on some sort-of-kind-of-dates with this chick and is fully into her. She, to be quite frank, doesn’t seem that into him. He holds it together though, and justifies what appears to be her ambivalence as her being one of those people that doesn’t just let people get close to her too quickly. Having known more than a few of those, and also having justified many a romantic rejection with that same argument, I again kept quiet and was secretly pleased, yet anxious, that she was still around.

Then BOOM, they’re boyfriend/girlfriend, and we’re meant to be meeting her officially at sister-in-law’s house on the weekend.  Wife is all chick-ish about meeting the ‘new’ chick and I’m appropriately apathetic about it all, with the exception that deep-down, I was still a bit put off that he’d gotten rid of the other one without my permission and I was also feeling quite ready to not like this girl at all. Let me repeat: I fully intended to NOT like this chick at all. Not straightaway, anyway, some serious work was needed on her end to get me interested in this union in the slightest. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted The Düd to be happy, but I wasn’t going to welcome this chick in with open arms by any stretch.

Then, I met her. Wife liked her. I liked her. It was a house full of the usual chaos that comes at sis-in-law’s and I recognised that. Then, we hung out again, this time at the setting of that joke set in the bar. Again, “An American, an Irishman…” and we drank, and she bought shots, and we hung out, and her and Wife enjoyed each other and I enjoyed her and did I mention we drank? Yeah, good times.

Months later, and it became a Friday Night Thing at our place to have her and the Düd over. Her and Wife were getting on like Beshtesht Frendsh and I was starting to think that I didn’t want her to ever break up with The Düd, regardless of what a pain in the ass he is sometimes.

He starts ring shopping, and I start to wonder if she’ll actually go for what I secretly want, which is for them to stick together indefinitely. I also wonder if The Düd will screw it up in any fashion. Strange things were happening with The Düd though, he was actually sorting out a lot of the crapulence that I saw when he was with the other one. He was taking similar situations in this relationship that he’d handled differently in the other one, and was now changing how he did things, fixing himself in a way, for her. For HER. I couldn’t have asked for more proof on the quality of this chick other than she made him a better man.

Then, it’s set. They’re engaged. She was her usual dry and sardonic self in relating the tale but it was wrought with emotion, the silly sweet kind, and we were overjoyed not only for the announcement but that they came straight to our place for drinks to tell us. Friday Night Thing was firmly ensconced in our lives, and this cemented it. She was going to be family now… family. As long as he didn’t screw it up before the actual D-Day.

They had a party, an Engagement Party, and even invited the Prime Minister (who didn’t even RSVP, the butthole) and when it came time to make toasts, I lifted my glass and gave a shortened version of what I’ve just written above. While some were not terribly impressed, she got the message. It went something like this:

“When you guys first hooked up, you were replacing somebody I am very fond of, and I was fully prepared not to like you. I had every reason not to like you and I stuck with all of them for as long as I could. Thing is, I never expected to end up loving you like my own family, and I’m happy as hell that you are, as far as I’m concerned, already that.”

Except make it more drunker and picture me announcing things loudly even though some folks are uncomfortable and me seeing that they’re uncomfortable and only getting drunker and louder. Got it? Good.

Anyway, it was sweet and heartfelt and I stand by it steadfastly even as I write this. I love that girl. She’s made my brother-in-law a better man and made my life better for having her in it.

She lost her mum not long after that, to a long and drawn out cancer, and her old man and her sister nicked off to Ireland shortly thereafter. To be blunt, some real shit has rained down on her head all at once. I, like The Düd, have sat back and simply marvelled at how she handled it all. We’ve both said, in separate moments, that we could only wish to have the courage and the strength that she’s shown. She was, quite simply, remarkable. I’m not terribly easily impressed either, and let me just tell you know, this chick... is impressive.

Then during one fine Friday Night Thing, her and Düd announced they were just going to sneak off and get married at the Registry Office a la the mighty beast known as “Juddjo”. Wife and I were among the few there and a feisty little Irish gal smiled down on them while we took silly pictures and had a fine time. Except that wife had a small terrorist cell living in her sinuses and one of them accidentally detonated himself. By the time the party was to be in full swing, she had enough Jihad rockin’ in her nasal passages to require hospitalisation. Missing out on a big event blew big time, for wife and her new best friend.

The Düd and his now Wife got to live in wedded bliss for a while (with many a party at their pad) until her Sis and her Da made it back from Leprechaunpotatoland deciding here was the better life. Back to living somewhere a bit cramped, they’ve trundled along being a happily married couple, and it seems as if it’s always been this way.

A proper and Catholic wedding saw wife staying home with our oldest boy who was violently ill with gastro, leaving the ceremony minus one ringbearer and bridesmaid. We were already down a groomsman and my tux cost more than our rent, so I went to the wedding instead of wife, despite the fact that I had gastro too. I KNOW, hindsight is 20/20 and all that. Wife missed out, I felt like throwing up on the priest the entire ceremony and the only ones from our family to rock the night away was a flowergirl (totally gorgeous) and the baby (who shed her dress for cake and danced like a werewolf refusing all partners). Add this one to the pile of stories told with smiles on our faces and tears in our eyes.

Years on, and birthdays and Christmases, New Years and Australia Days, barbecues and drinkups, have all seen the same basic family unit living, loving and enjoying life. She’s brought the best out in those closest to me, and she’s brought joy and a smile and a many a drunken laugh to my life on many, many occasions. I feel blessed just having known her.

Now, allow me to explain a bit about this... thing that we have going. Being that she’s a natural born shit-stirrer, being Irish and feisty and all, we give each other a hard time as often as we can. I casually flip her the finger whenever I can and she does the same. I send emails to her at work (where Wife also worked for a while, thanks to her) and casually mention that she blows papaya monkeys and she sends me letters, complete with Government Agency Office Letterhead, that proclaim me to be (in very large font, mind you) a “bum bum hole”. In recent months, she’s discovered how irritated I get when she refers to me as a “Texan” and delights in the fact that I can’t get the same reaction out of her by calling her “Scottish”. This little war has seen her hammering me for quite some time with me striking nary an offensive blow.

I have, in my very clever and extremely geeky way, created another blog entry where I’m supposedly telling you all what a horrible hambeast she is, and have isolated her computer to be the only one that sees that entry. I will link to this entry from it, because I have a heart and because Wife told me to, but until she reads that awfulness and sees the video of me slowly and deliberately flipping her off, don’t say anything to her. Cool?

Heh heh, hehehhehehhehehe, haha, hahahahhahahahahahhaah… haha… ha… this is gonna be awesome.

Nic, this one's for you baby.

Updated: Here's the one that she saw...

I’d like to take a moment away from stories of the holidays or my broken pee valve to tell you all about a very special person in my life. She’s my sister-in-law by virtue of marrying the Düd, my wife’s younger brother, and her name is Slutface.

Slutface is from England or Scotland, I can’t remember which, though I could swear that she sounds for all the World to have been born and raised in Southern Ontario. It continually amazes me that she denies being Canadian when that’s how she talks. She even gets offended at people for suggesting it!

I figured for the longest time that she was Protestant because of how much she likes the colour orange, but when I found out she was actually Catholic, I almost threw up on the priest at her wedding.

A wedding, by the way, which cursed me so heavily that it made half my family puke that day and put rocks in my pee squeezers.

I mean seriously, WTF?

Oh, and the thing that makes this chick so special? She thinks it’s funny to call me a “Texan” because she thinks it makes me mad. I tell her what’s up by chucking wet sponges at her mascara and peeing in her champagne (didn’t know I did that didja Slutface?).

So, she thinks she’s funny and has a slight upper hand in this little war we have going, where I positively OWN her by giving her the finger every chance I get and she acts all stupid and pretends she can’t see it.

This video should explain it all:

About JuddHole

This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.