Mom called me at about crazy:thirty in the morning because she wanted to let me know she was coming over to look through the kitchen to see if she could find something she needed for making dinner today that she forgot to take with her in the move. Seriously? I mean just come over, don’t call me. I would not have heard her fummaging around in the kitchen at that hour in the morning probably anyway, and even if I did it wouldn’t be like a big freakout thing “oh no, there’s a stranger in my house.” I’d know it was her most likely looking for something. But calling my cell first? That’s nuts. And so very un-country-style where people just drop in, which I hate actually. I don’t know where she learned her big city “I’ll call first” ettiquette. But then again, they’re not typical farm folk either.
Yeah, it’s going on almost fourty years now since Dad became a veg, and he’s never budged for one minute to eat a bit of the bird on the big Tday. Last year we had salmon, and he does eat fish. But this year we’re back to the silly traditional overstuffed large fake hormone-injected factory-created bird feast feeding overstuffed football brainwashed zombies, except for Dad, who’ll have to make due with the sides.
And there’s going to be a lot of it left over. They anticipated more of the family coming over, especially in celebration of their new place, but it looks like it’s just going to be me, them, and, unfortunately, Marla and a few of her redneck co-conspirators. Lamar, Nina and the kids are going up to Manitou to be with her family because her grandmother is like 100 and they don’t know how much longer she’ll be around. Melanie is working today, and afterward she’ll go to Denver where Trish will be with her family. So it looks like the rational part of the family in attendance will be outnumbered again.
Yup, this is going to be fantastic, I can tell already. Off to a good start. I’m taking my laptop with me so I won’t forget to document any insanity that comes my way.
Here we go. They have arrived. Marla, redneck spouse, and Kyle the boy wonder. Looks like her other kids are not coming. Now, this may be a pretty good match-up: The Paynes vs. The Stokes. Good times.
Ten o’clock is too early to start watching football. It’s just not right. I’m listening to Marla’s redneck husband hurling insults at the Packers and calling them a commie team (Ann should love that one). Of course Detroit is favored in his mind because he’s such a big motorsports nut. You wouldn’t want to be caught dead in a non-Detroit-made car around his way. Why yes, I do drive a Japanese car. But that’s ok, I’m dead to him anyway, thankfully.
He asks me what I’m doing. Yes, I had anticipated that, and have set up a bunch of tabs in Firefox with various football links so it looks like I’m checking sports stats and shit, just in case he looks over at my screen.
No, Marla, jello is not a substitute for a vegetable, you fool. And Dad will not eat it. Just because it is called a “jello salad” does not mean it is salad like in any form. You are stupid, Marla.
Dinner’s over, turkey was dry, but Mom cooked it forever. Dad wasn’t missing anything. Now it’s more football. Football Marathon. And more football. No one really gives a rat’s ass about football except The Redneck. Dad just watches it out of habit. I don’t think he’s really engaged.
Now we’re watching Miami vs. Dallas. OK, now I’m listening to Redneck hurl homosexual slurs at at Miami. Good thing Melanie isn’t here.
More football. More homosexual slurs being hurled at San Francisco. What an idiot. You know what is really funny? He doesn’t know where Balitmore is! Priceless. He really is a total moron. He thought it was in the midwest. It’s a shame he fathered five children. Too much stupid going into the human gene pool.
This is whole day is stupid. I’m going back to my place. I’ve had enough. The cat needs fed.