Hey there, blogosphere. Did everyone turn in their taxes by the deadline? Are you getting money back? If so, come sit by me, because I could use it.
Today I'd like to write about two people who seem to give me quite a lot of money, as well as my short stature and smartass nature. That's right, my parents, or Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags, as they are more formally known. Today's my parents 31st wedding anniversary! (Note to self: send email to father reminding him that today is his anniversary.) Isn't that crazy? It's even more astounding if you actually know my parents or have witnessed one of their many days-long arguments over such important matters as the volume of the television set or which way to park the cars in the driveway.
Like many married couples today, my parents met in college, and even though my parents are obviously old and decrepit now, it turns out that when they were in school, they were kind of awesome. They both attended the University of Mississippi, or Ole Miss, and first met when my mom was enrolled in a martial arts class that my dad was teaching. That's right, my mom was totally hot for teacher. And, apparently, roundhouse kicks. Hey, sensei! They didn't get together or anything at that time, because obviously that would be super unprofessional of my dad as a sensei, and Splinter, aka, the Greatest Sensei To Ever Live, would not have let him be a Ninja Turtle. But several months later, my mom was given a job as an assistant to the Dean of Students for her work study program. Her assignment? Keep my dad out of trouble.
You may not know it to look at him - and his gun safe - now, but my dad was totally a teenage rebel. He listened to a lot of bootlegs and wore his hair long and made use of Ole Miss's marijuana research project in his spare time. (Well, he denies that, but I totally know what's up.) And he had an awesome job as Entertainment Coordinator for Ole Miss, which means that he got to book all the concerts and stand-up shows for the school. Fortunately for me, and the five people who are glad I was born, my dad's sort of not the most tactful person ever, and he was pissing off a lot of the artists by laughing at their unreasonable demands, so my mom was roped in to be the soothing voice of reason. Also, someone had to keep my dad from implementing his idea of turning the entire campus into a giant hash farm.
So they worked together for a few months, booking such Time Life's "Sounds of the Seventies" acts as Cat Stevens, Joan Baez, Chevy Chase and John Belushi, and I guess a lot of late nights - and my dad's totally fly early 70s feathered hairstyle - led to them holding hands and kissing on the cheek (cause I refuse to believe my parents have ever seen each other without clothes on or touched each other in a carnal fashion. Ew. Obviously, my dad accidentally tripped and fell on my mom and made a baby. Twice.). And they were a pretty happy couple until they had to ruin it all by running off to get married in a Holy Roller church. Begin as you mean to go on, Parents. I mean, did you think that a marriage ceremony spoken in tongues would really be a good idea?
But, however much they fight or have oral sex in the living room (i.e. "Fuck you!" "No, fuck you!"), I think we can all agree that, by being married for so long, my mommy and daddy have brought something pretty darn special into this world: a 28-year-old fully-grown daughter with an overwhelming fear of commitment due to witnessing all of their marital discord. So thanks, Mr and Mrs Moneybags, and may you manage to just barely avoid divorce for another thirty-one years!