I survived the family reunion and all I got was... this pretty awesome margarita, actually

So. After two months of high anxiety (and that last month a solid four weeks of full-throttle cleaning. Y'all, I didn't even know what a baseboard was), my stepfather's thirty-person family reunion dinner is a fait accompli. I mean, I guess--I can't really even verify that it happened, because Brett the Vet evacuated me about fifteen minutes before anyone got there, and by the time I got home four and a half hours later, there wasn't a soul in the house but my parents and the pets. And my mother cleans as she goes--that's just how she rolls--so the house was spotless. The only reason I'm even partly sure it happened at all is that our fridge was significantly less full.

(My mother went into a grand mal fit du shit right before I left, so... good call on my part. I think it had something to do with the fact that she hadn't eaten all day and the air conditioning was being pissy and it was 78 actual degrees downstairs. Yeah.)

So we went to the Iguana (excellent churros) and I had a large Texas margarita even though I probably shouldn't have due to the medication adjusting but dear GOD, did I need a drink, and then we went back to his place and watched the Coraline DVD. Also, there was wine. So I was feeling pret-ty goooood by the time I got home. I'm going to try to get brave enough to set up Camille today--I had gotten to a point where it was like, there is too much stress and anxiety and bad juju in this house with the reunion preparation, and if something goes wrong, no one is going to give the least shit about helping me with it, so... I will wait until we are over and done with this. And now we are. Wish me luck.