The sad thing about this past weekend is not that I had to deal with irritating and/or unruly family members. It’s that I was disappointed when nothing really happened.
No one came to blows. No one got really drunk and fell in the lake. No one offered me any illegal drugs. And by no one, of course I mean my dad.
There are a few things worth mentioning here and there, but considering the material my family usually presents me with around the holidays I’m deeply disappointed.
I left the office and headed straight home. My dad arrived early that morning and my stepmom flew in that afternoon. I was sure I’d find him on my Papa’s patio, a sloshing brown paper bag in one hand and a cigarette in the other, telling my stepmom in no uncertain terms that she was to fuck off and leave him to his work.
Instead I found him asleep in the recliner. What a waste. I kicked the side of the chair and he continued to snore.
“He’s really tired”, my stepmom said.
“Eh”, I replied shrugging my shoulders.
My Papa has seven dogs. One of them is a round, chocolate colored Cocker Spaniel named Bud. I hate that dog with a fiery passion. If I could I’d have him butchered, skinned, roasted, and served to my Papa’s Filipino girlfriend. This has nothing to do with her nationality and everything to do with the fact that she encourages the fat fuck. (Although I do have my suspicions about her mother’s dietary habits in particular.)
Every time I set foot in the door that dog charges me like a bull. Sometimes the bastard even nips me on the leg. Everyone says it’s because I harassed him when he was puppy, but I didn’t. I was just in the vicinity when he was being harassed by my cousins. They tormented the dog and for some reason, he’s seen fit to torment me in return.
Anyway, I was facing my sleeping dad, my back was to my Papa in his chair and I was talking to my stepmom when I felt a sharp pinch on the back of my leg. I immediately whipped around, ready to kill Bud who had been barking at me for the past three minutes straight. As I turned I shouted, “YOU SONOFABITCH!” and came face to face with my Papa. He was laughing so hard he nearly died.
“You shouldn’t talk to your Papa that way”, he said still laughing.
I glared at him. The fat bastard had pinched the fuck out of my leg!
He spent the rest of the weekend telling everyone the “hilarious story” about how I thought the dog bit me and I called him a sonofabitch. Hilarious indeed.
Because I love my Papa and I know what’s good for me, I went home and made him the apple nut cake he requested for Thanksgiving dinner. I also had to make a pound cake for Thanksgiving lunch at The Grandmother’s. I still maintain the theory that if a man eats my cake, he’s smitten forever. Which is why I never bake for anyone but family.
The rest of the night, that wasn’t devoted to baking, was spent watching movies with my sister. She insisted that I watch a scary movie called Paranormal Activity. I hate scary movies, but I heard from several people that saw it in theaters that after they watched it they didn’t sleep for days and that intrigued me a bit.
But it was stupid. I didn’t find it scary in the slightest. My sister, however, was terrified and begged me to sleep in her bed. We haven’t really slept in the same bed in years. I took the opportunity to make it a miserable experience to keep her from asking again in the future. I’m a bit of a thrasher and she’s prone to nose bleeds.
I bundled my cake and various other odds and ends into the car early that morning. I’d promised The Grandmother that I would come over before the others and help with lunch. Of course I was 45 minutes later than I said I’d be, with wet hair and no makeup. It’s become a disturbing trend, looking like a bum.
My Aunt, bless her, recently moved in with TG. From personal experience I know that TG is one of the hardest people on the planet to live with. But in her case I’m not sure what’s worse: staying with her husband or living with TG. I probably would have jumped ship too. The man is an absolute nutter.
I wasn’t there an hour before I was hitting the rum and coke. Eleven in the morning and I was drinking liquor. Dear lord, I’ve become my father.
The minute we returned to the kitchen for orders she said, “Are you two drinking?” Nothing gets by that damn woman.
Of course we denied it. “I’m high on life Grandma”, I said grinning.
“Well that’s the only thing anyone should ever be high on!”
“And Jesus”, I replied.
After arguments over seating arrangements and who was going to say grace (it was unanimously agreed that I wasn’t fit to pray for our health), we finally settled down to eat.
I decided to do the smart thing and give up on my diet for the weekend. It would have been unfair to my family to have me ripping out my hair at the table and salivating all over their turkey and dressing. There was no conversation for the first five minutes or so and I was in a heaven no granola bar could ever take me to.
Being an important member of the family (read: being put in charge of name tags and being a lefty) I was sitting at the head of the table. My mother was at the foot, my Aunt D (a different one) to my left, and TG to my right. I love sitting next to Aunt D. She always smells of pot and looks around like she’s lost. Sometimes she even laughs out loud for no reason and talks to herself.
When everyone finally started talking it was, of course, about politics.
So while my mother flashed me bits of “see-food” from her end of the table, TG and my Uncle yelled at each other across the turkey. All because someone had to mention (angelic face) that TG had ordered Sara Palin’s new book.
My Uncle hates Sarah Palin and began a loud and lengthy monologue on her less than adequate intelligence. TG loves Sarah Palin and began even more loudly interrupting him. Soon they were shouting and pointing at each other while the rest of us played ping pong with our heads.
D turned her glazed eyes on me, smiled and asked me to load her plate up with more turkey, my mother flashed me another chewed up mouthful of food, and my sister texted her boyfriend.
A typical American family dinner.
My sister, the kid, and I left around 4pm in order to make it to Papa’s for dinner. Never as formal as TG’s, everyone fixed their plates when they felt like it and sat scattered about the house.
For the first time in years there were no eggrolls and no pig with an apple in it’s mouth. And though I didn’t eat anything except for a bit of my own cake, I was happy I didn’t have to look at a whole pig. There’s something disturbing about them and for some reason they always make me think of that book Lord of the Flies.
My dad passed out with his pants unbuttoned minutes after dinner and there was no liquor consumed by anyone. I’ve never been so disappointed in my redneck side of the family.
In a moment of weakness I agreed to help my Aunt pack up her things and move them to her storage building. She hired Two Men and a Truck to help.
I showed up at TG’s at eight that morning, grumpy and hating life. We drove the 30 minutes to her house and waited for the movers to show up.
Two Men and a Truck finally came. Or rather, three hung over stoners. The leader was a skinny white guy and his cohorts were two hulking black men.
They took forever to get started, laughing, joking and complaining about needing a drink. I went about my business, packing things here and there, but before long one of the hulks started following me around and questioning me.
Where are you from? Where did you go to school? What year did you graduate? Do you know so-in-so? Do you mind if I call you “babe”?
What? Fuck off dude. It’s 10 in the morning on the day after Thanksgiving. I’m sweating like a whore in church and all I want is to take a shower and crawl into my bed with a book. Yes, I mind if you call me “babe”.
He continued to follow me around throughout the morning, offering his help to me instead of assisting the other two guys with the really big stuff. I eventually got my ipod and tuned everything out.
I was standing in the dining room wrapping pieces of glass from a china cabinet in bubble wrap. The song Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry came on which never fails to make me move, maybe even head bang a little, and I started shimmying around. Right when they shout “You’re crazy but I like the way you fuck me!” and I was doing the required pelvic thrusts against the table, there was a crash to my right. I looked and stopped mid thrust when I saw a large leg protruding from the living room ceiling.
The guys were supposed to be getting a few things from the attic but one of the hulks wasn’t walking on the beams and fell through the ceiling. It took me half an hour to calm my Aunt down enough to get her moving again. What made it worse was that the guys found it absolutely hilarious.
After almost five hours, with a timely appearance from my mom’s boyfriend, we were finished. The movers and my Aunt headed to the storage building while Ray and I headed to TG’s to unload his truck. He suggested we stop by Chick-fil-A for lunch since neither of us had eaten that day and knowing my diet was already shot to shit, I agreed.
Bliss. Food. Oh, mayonnaise...how I love you.
By the time I made it home that night I felt like I had bricks tied to my limbs. After a bit of excitement over a package of pig faced gummies I received in the mail (which I’ve decided may have just been the highlight of my weekend) and a shower, I was asleep by 7:30. Only sick people and geriatrics are in bed by 7:30pm. The shame!
The only thing I did all day was read, watch the Carolina vs. Clemson game, and lounge on my Papa’s couch. I did drink a beer with my dad to celebrate the Cocks winning their first game against Clemson since 2006. WOO!
I also managed to find out that my dad will still be working in New Jersey after all. We’ve planned my visit for late February. New York and handbags...here I come.
We spent that morning cleaning and rearranging furniture, the afternoon picking up last minute things from the store, and the evening putting up the Christmas tree.
Throughout the day, my sister’s boyfriend and I became quite close.
He smiled at me. I gave him the finger.
He said pass me the hooks. I said fuck off.
He touched my sister inappropriately. I made a finger cutting throat motion. (That one gets um’ every time.)
Yeah, I’m pretty sure my weekend sucked balls. It’s ok if you say so. Just be nice about it.
On a positive note it’s almost time for my yearly vagina violating appointment. They have Jesus posters on the ceiling. Oooooh baby.
The Itch - a story
6 days ago