First off, I'd like to apologize for being away so long.  Life has taken an unexpected turn, and I have little to complain about.  Lost a ton of weight, got a good job (doesn't pay much, but the people don't suck), and am having a general blast.  Still painfully single, but after a couple of dates, I'm having reservations about being part of a couple with the dreck out there that's considered "eligible."  So, I'm keeping Energizer in business.

My friends have been great, though.  Nothing beats that.  That's why I picked them, I guess.  They're supportive, friendly, non-judgemental, and (usually) available to take me out and watch me become a pathetic, falling down drunk.  My buddies!  I love you guyshhh!

But I didn't pick my family.  I certainly didn't ask to be born into a clan of overweight, beer swilling, cancer-riddled Baptist fundamentalists that drive down to Salt Lake City to picket the Mormon church, talk loudly and continuously through golf games, and become insulted when you turn your nose up at whatever store-bought, white trash filth they bring to potluck dinners.

I started having homicidal thoughts at the last family get-together.  First off, my aunt took one look at me, and said, "You're wasting away!  You can stop dieting, now.  You look fine."  Fuck you, Vicki.  Probably because I now weigh less than her, she has to put a stop to it.

Then there's Charlie.  My uncle married a Paxil-dazed, shoplifting Chinese woman 16 years ago, and they have two kids.  Brandy (being a sixteen year old, I'm sure she loves having that name.  I remember when she was in the womb, thinking about all the hooker jokes) and Charlie (what the hell were they thinking???  An Asian-American named after the enemy.  Thank God all the kids that no doubt torment him in high school are too young to remember that lovely piece of history).  Charlie is fourteen, and has ADD.  I'm sure of it.  After guzzling an entire bottle of Mountain Dew, he's a real jewel to be around.  When my cousin Rachelle (knocked up and abandoned at age eighteen, high school dropout, working at Subway) was nursing her wailing demon-seed, Charlie turns to me and let's loose this bit of wisdom: "That baby is a lot like you.  Cries until somebody shoves something in it's mouth."

Normally, this would drive me to commit murder.  But, being so full of inner peace and sunshine, I just smiled and asked how he was doing.  Scared him to death.

Then there's Heather.  Ahhh...Heather.  Definitely my favorite cousin.  She's about five or six years my junior, but always managed to make my life hell at every family function the entire time I was growing up.  But, you have to feel sorry for her.  Her older brother has a crippling disease that has rendered him completely unable to take care of himself, and Heather had to grow up in that shadow.  So, when she got knocked up and abandoned four years ago (do I sense a trend here?  And to think, I was once considered the black sheep), living on welfare, and ballooning up to roughly 300 plus pounds, no one was surprised.  I actually started to like her a little.

Until Sunday.  First off, she doesn't say one word to me the first hour she's there.  And then:

"So, we're not drinking today?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"  I say, extending my claws.

"Well, it's just that you're usually wasted at these things."  How observant you are.  Bitch.

"Well, Heather, now I know why."

Still keeping my cool, I wander outside to find that I am out of cigarettes.  Surveying the table of smokers, I am resigned to bumming either GPC's or Virginia Slims menthols.  I decided to suffer.  And I pay for it.  Dearly.

Hours later, cramping from anger and white trash tuna salad induced diarrhea, and dying for a smoke, I reach my limit.  Charlie points out to the rest of the family that I seem to have sprouted some gray hairs.  In denial, I insist they are blond highlights.  That lovely peach Heather pipes up: "No, they're gray, I can see them from here."  She was standing across the deck with her friends; other single mothers who were probably gracing us with their presence because either a. Springer wasn't on, or b. Foxmoor and Fashion Bug were closed.

"Well, Heather...I see you've put on about fifty pounds since April.  I can see it from here."  I say.  Angry for losing my inner peace, but pretty damn proud of my zinger.

Then everyone looks at me like I'm the bitch.

What a way to spend any afternoon, let alone my mother's birthday.  She would have been 61, and she wouldn't have stood for any of it.  I know for a fact we would have left a lot earlier had she been alive, and there.

I decided that I wasn't going to put up with this family shit again.  I guarantee, that once my grandparents croak, these barbecues will come to a screeching halt.  I'm going to cook Thanksgiving dinner for a friend's family this year.  My brother is returning from Texas for Christmas, so getting out of that will be a lot trickier.

I'll just be sure to bring a hot dish...and a flamethrower.

Regards,

Munkygirl

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