"So he was like some big rich Vegas real estate guy, but he was gross and old and ugly. Of course he brought his stripper girlfriend who was studying to be a hair stylist to the wedding. And she would put whatever she could get her hands on up her nose. So, then she ends up taking like all her clothes off in the middle of the wedding, and of course like 20 guys lined up to touch her boobs. I would be like so mad if someone did that at my wedding. Hey, but that's Vegas."
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
To Gag a Yankee
We recently spent the weekend at my brother's house. He and his partner live about an hour away from where we all grew up and where my mother and oldest brother still live. Since it was close, my mother planned to visit us at my brother's place during the weekend. The bf and I had brought along a good friend of ours from DC, someone who was blissfully unaware of my somewhat eccentric family. My mom showed up several hours late because her neighbor and transportation for the day was extremely hung over. Upon arrival, hugs and kisses were dispensed to all and we settled down in the living room for a good visit.
When discussing my family, the conversations can usually be categorized by:
1. who's sick
2. who's dying
3. who's sick and dying
4. who died
5. who's been arrested/is in jail/has a court date
6. who's out of work
7. who needs money
8. who's loosing their minds or has lost their minds
9. who's having car trouble (see #7)
Our friend came from a long line of closed mouth, emotionally cool, attentive and polite New Englanders. Their family matters were only discussed with other family members and I imagined that their discussions never included the words "bail", "chronic alcoholic" or "intent to distribute". Our friend never imagined that a simple introduction to my mother would now subject him to our made-for-Jerry-Springer family updates. As mom finally turned to the subject of my oldest brother, I saw the rising fetid tide of our southern gothic begin to swamp the well ordered and white washed world of our Connecticut yankee.
The latest news concerned her attempt to get my alcoholic brother some form of disability assistance from the Social Security Administration. An important part of the qualifying process involved a telephone interview with my brother. In trying to explain how the this dissipated son of the South could get some money out of the government for his ruined health, mom related in a matter of fact way "so you know his short term memory is completely gone due to his drinking, so I wrote down the important things that he should tell them. I wrote down that he is unemployed, that he has had a colostomy, that he can't walk because he needs a hip replacement and that he is an alcoholic."
As each of these vital talking points were listed, our friend looked more and more uncomfortable, as if a colostomy bag had ruptured all over the coffee table and he was fighting his impulse to run, vomit or both. I was suddenly afraid that he would spontaneously combust rather than hear one more dubious disability virtue, so to save him and to preserve the last few molecules of respectability that our family may have had somewhere in the known universe, I quickly added to the end of this illustrious list that my brother was "unbelievably, single and available." The room erupted in much needed laughter, and all thoughts of suicide faded.
Still laughing, I made a mental note to never mix friends and family again and that we were running low on rum and diet coke.
When discussing my family, the conversations can usually be categorized by:
1. who's sick
2. who's dying
3. who's sick and dying
4. who died
5. who's been arrested/is in jail/has a court date
6. who's out of work
7. who needs money
8. who's loosing their minds or has lost their minds
9. who's having car trouble (see #7)
Our friend came from a long line of closed mouth, emotionally cool, attentive and polite New Englanders. Their family matters were only discussed with other family members and I imagined that their discussions never included the words "bail", "chronic alcoholic" or "intent to distribute". Our friend never imagined that a simple introduction to my mother would now subject him to our made-for-Jerry-Springer family updates. As mom finally turned to the subject of my oldest brother, I saw the rising fetid tide of our southern gothic begin to swamp the well ordered and white washed world of our Connecticut yankee.
The latest news concerned her attempt to get my alcoholic brother some form of disability assistance from the Social Security Administration. An important part of the qualifying process involved a telephone interview with my brother. In trying to explain how the this dissipated son of the South could get some money out of the government for his ruined health, mom related in a matter of fact way "so you know his short term memory is completely gone due to his drinking, so I wrote down the important things that he should tell them. I wrote down that he is unemployed, that he has had a colostomy, that he can't walk because he needs a hip replacement and that he is an alcoholic."
As each of these vital talking points were listed, our friend looked more and more uncomfortable, as if a colostomy bag had ruptured all over the coffee table and he was fighting his impulse to run, vomit or both. I was suddenly afraid that he would spontaneously combust rather than hear one more dubious disability virtue, so to save him and to preserve the last few molecules of respectability that our family may have had somewhere in the known universe, I quickly added to the end of this illustrious list that my brother was "unbelievably, single and available." The room erupted in much needed laughter, and all thoughts of suicide faded.
Still laughing, I made a mental note to never mix friends and family again and that we were running low on rum and diet coke.
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