I drank a bottle of wine waiting for Rico to get through the iron clad fists of the US/Canadian Border Patrol on the eve before the eve of Baby Jesus day. Thus began my holiday festivities, which only got more merry and more exciting as the bottle dried and was tossed in the recycling with care as thoughts of DADT, Frida Kahlo and how I could put the Chris back in Christmas danced in my head.
Really though, I had some wine, drank some beer, Rico arrived (that order may or may not be accurate, I was a goner by 8), I gave him a labatt (cerveza) and other festive holiday appropriate fare, like eggplant, garlic, and pita, (comida) and we watched a movie. The movie wasn't great. But I do want to say this...the most impressive part of the film was not Rosario Dawson and Rico so quickly squealed with delight...it was the fact that Will Smith's character committed suicide using the most non traditional method I have ever heard of....Jelly Fish. A singular jelly fish....his pet jelly fish. I totally give that a well deserved golf clap. A for effort in thinking of the most bizarre way to kill off a beloved and conflicted protagonist.
After driving west for a bit from Buffalo to New Jersey, one of the less intuitive moments of my life, we finally got on the right road, going in the right direction and by way of Georgia, made it to New Jersey in time to say good night to my father and make some weird comment to my father about Activia and constipation. Rico headed to NYC to challenges I cannot possibly relate to (you go boy) and I to my parents home in Smoosh town, USA (please use this moment to google "South Park" and "Jersey Shore" if you are confused) to inevitably fight with my mother, ignore my father, and hopefully get into a fist fight with my younger brother.
In this household, thanks to my leadership, no holiday is sacred or safe from family battles. I think this occurs in other households. I imagine if I were to look at other blogs or flip on the tv, Everybody Loves Raymond or some other self indulgent ego maniac would express similar musings. It's nice to know I'm not alone. Nonetheless, this family is a nest and source of much of my happiness and much of my pain and I respect both most of the time.
Boo advised that I blog about my hope that "my little brother remain flacid for eternity" or "that I smother him in cow dung," but it's incredibly challenging to write funny things about family sometimes, particularly when you're in the thick of it. I'm sure soldiers come back allll the time from Iraq and laugh and laugh and laugh at stories of being in the trenches and the other pleasantries of combat. So, maybe when I'm out of the trenches....
The spoils of the battle are pretty fucking good though. I scored a coffee mug, soap in the shape of a crab, soap made out of seaweed, coffee, a book, chocolate, a nuts and oats bar my father bought at Marshall's, some more soap, and a glass paper weight....with a transparent corgie in the middle of it. There's a story to that....My mother, a 60 something year old art teacher, mumbled something about how they just sort of turned up, a lot of them, as my sister also received one with a Golden Retriever in it. Sounds a lot like the all the stuff that "falls off the truck" just in time for a sale in a truck at Main and Utica at 11pm. I love that store.
I am reading a book and its been awhile. I've barely moved off the couch save coopting my sister's computer to write this gem of a yawner.
It's about Katrina and the War on Terror. JOY TO THE WORLD
Boo is currently in 'Zona, so let's all wish her a Feliz Navidad and Felizy Felizy Neuvo Anos. Or something.
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