As soon as I got off the plane, New York City slapped me in the face. It was freezing cold and people were fighting each other for taxis. Babies cried. Cops yelled. New Orleans faded away from me while I stood in a 30 minute cab line and watched the world collapse.
I woke up the next morning with a balloon head so I called out sick to work. Once the afternoon rolled around, I felt fine, so I did every ounce of laundry from my trip. Everything smelled like booze and boys and needed to be washed immediately.
Last night, my alien roommate told me that he was going out of town from December 18th to “sometime in January”. He informed me that his friend, “Dimitry from Europe”, will be staying in his room while he is visiting family in Texas or Jupiter or somewhere.
“Do I get to meet Dimitry from Europe before this is official?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think that’s weird, since I’ve never met him?”
“Well, you can’t meet him. He’s in Europe.”
A couple months ago, when Joaquin from Jupiter first moved in, we had a conversation about our travel plans during the Chrismukkwanzakkuh Holidays. I mentioned that I had plans for a friend of mine to come to town and spend Christmas with me. Joaquin said no problem.
When I tried to explain why it is strange that some dude is gonna live in some other dude’s room without having met some other dude’s other roommate, a blank look of stupidity washed over his face. Joaquin from Jupiter said that it’s the same thing as me telling him that my friend was staying with me. He failed to understand the difference was that I would still be physically present with my friend for the duration of his week long visit, while Dimitry from Europe would be alone with me for an indefinite amount of time. Seems different to me.
Dimitry from Europe could look like Jake Gyllenhaal and have a thing for chunky gay boys and we could fall in love and he would take me to Europe where he is a DJ and I get to sleep in late, or Dimitry from Europe could be a murdering, drug addicted, sloth who steals everything I own. Either way, Joaquin from Jupiter is a complete moron.
My alien roommate’s and my trails of thought are from two different planets. There are many hilarious stories about what a dense piece of cat crap he is, but this is the one that has broken my will. I’m trying very hard to not escalate this to The Great Christmas War of 2008. How do you reason with someone who has no reason? How do you explain anything to someone who is tuned out to the world around them and only interested in the world directly in front of their loud-eating, smacky-gross face?
I will have my New Orleans blogs up as soon as possible, but my computer is full and won’t let me download all my photos. Of course.
New Orleans! I miss you!
I even miss that tiny, bullshitty shower I had to shower in every day.
It was just under a year ago that I went to my friend’s farm in The Poconos for the first time. This trip, there was a huge cornfield on his property. We arrived after dark and, after much prodding by the others, I ran into the cornfield with everyone. It was completely dark and creepy. The moonlight poked through the clouds. I had been thrust into a real life horror movie. Giant stalks of corn whipped wetness at my face. I looked down at the ground to what I thought were animal bones. It was just a rotten ear of corn that had fallen to the ground. When I looked up, everyone had ran in different directions. I was alone. I could hear distant giggles surrounding me. Fucking assholes. I kept yelling “YOU’RE NOT SCARING ME! I KNOW WHERE YOU GUYS ARE” over and over. But it didn’t work. Someone ended up scaring me. Twice.
The next night, after a long day of thrifting, we set up a make shift tent of sorts in the garage. The walls of the giant tent were made of purple and gold sheer fabric that was found in a box marked “FABRIC”. We made a vegetarian pasta with a white sauce and also a meat past with red sauce. Garlic bread and lots of wine helped fill out the meal. We all dressed up in our fancy clothes we had bought while thrifting. Wigs, boas, and polyester suits from the 80’s were all present and accounted for. After we said grace (“GRACE!”), we noticed an old man at the door, peering through the window. The rainbow colored curtain had been left open, so he was able to see right into the garage, but not through the purple and gold wall of fabric. The old man fumbled with the doorknob and walked right in. Our hostess, Chris (who wore a large and lovely argyle scarf that flowed to the ground), greeted him at the entrance.
CHRIS: Can I help you?
OLD MAN: Oh! Hello! I thought there was a poker game going on in here!
CHRIS: Um. No… We’re just having dinner.
OLD MAN: I had my eye on the scrap metal in your front yard for the last couple weeks.
CHRIS: Ok…
OLD MAN: Just wondering if you had anything planned with it.
CHRIS: Um. Yes. Someone is coming to pick it up.
The Old Man finally realized that he had just wandered into a strangers house. “Oh, ok, well thank you. Have a good night”, he said and dashed out the door. We all waited an appropriate amount of time for him to be out of ear shot before we burst into hysterical laughter. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT GUY THINKING? That’s how people get murdered! He’s lucky he stumbled on a group of artistic fruitloops playing house instead of a maniac’s lair of torture and death.
CHRIS: Do you think he saw us all dressed up around the table?
ERIC: (In character) There’sss no way he sssaw through all the sssheer.
I took so many pictures last weekend. I found out a bout a new color feature on my camera and it totally took some bomb ass pics. I will post them in a future entry because I do not have time at the moment. Needless to say, I’m becoming more and more interested in my photography hobby.
A bunch of us went out to The Poconos this past weekend. A lot of the straight people pitched tents and went camping. The gays and My Straights roughed it indoors on inflatable mattresses. Thrift shopping, BBQing, and crafting were all on the schedule. Also, a surprise trip to a hillbilly Pizza Hut and a very manly fireworks display were in effect. There was too many pictures to post on this blog. I’m thinking of making a Snapfish Book.
I had packed all of my things the night before, so I was blazing to go at 7:00am. Even though I didn’t hate every minute of this trip and some fun actually DID sneak in, I was ready to get back to New York. I helped load everything into the van. Mom and Sandy were going to drive me and Broseph etc. to Jacksonville and then return to the condo to pick up Uncle Friendship. I escaped a creepy hug by already being sat in the back seat. Instead, I smiled and waved goodbye, wondering if I actually called Uncle Friendship and asked for some gay porn DVDs, if he would deliver.
As much as I wasn’t looking forward to spending time with strangers who go by the name of Family, I did gain a slight appreciation for them. I would rather be forced to spend time with people I don’t know who like to have fun than to be a part of the groom’s plastic, tired family. Our redneck ancestry is much more interesting. Even though our family’s communication is sloppy, our blood in love with alcohol, and there are plenty of issues, THANK GOD I AM NOT BORING!!
(I guess) I (sort of) wish there was (a little) more time to spend with all those yahoos. Maybe then, I wouldn’t be so hesitant to go to family functions – not that there are any planned. Speaking of – when and if I ever get gay-married, all these yahoos better show up (they won’t). There will be a few rules I implement.
1. It will not be called a “wedding”. It will be called a Love Party.
2. You must dance.
3. The only way to be invited is if your phone number is in my cell phone.
4. If you act stupid or annoy me, you will be ejected.
5. Any children present, must make kid noises all the time.
6. Name cards will be switched around at the reception dinner so that people from both sides of the families will be forced to talk and mingle.
Finally, I leave you with a slide show of my niece, Madyson. Often times, she was the only cool thing going on around Georgia. She likes to pose like a model. She loves the camera. When I said, “Say cheese” or “Smile”, she would strike a pose, then, after the camera flashed, she would strike another. Afterwards, she always wanted to see the pictures on the camera. She laughed and pointed at herself. Nearly all of the following pictures are posed, even if they don’t look like it. She is THAT good. Hilarious.
The storm hadn’t let up all night and it seemed that it would continue all day. I was up at a decent hour because I wanted to go to the Mother’s Day brunch that The Mother of the Groom was hosting. Mommy was hung over so she slept. Aunt Computer and the girls left early in the morning to catch a plane. Uncle Friendship, however, was still on the loose and ready to party. He was already standing near the open bar when I arrived at the brunch.
Arriving at the brunch was quite the journey. I walked into the hotel lobby and the lady at the hostess stand told me very complicated directions. En route, I walked past a wonderful spread of shrimp, soups, a make your own omlette bar, salad!, fruit, an esspresso machine… a brunch with all the fixings. I couldn’t wait to get to my free brunch, which I went to by myself since most of my family was still drunk and in bed. There really is nothing better than a make your own omlette bar! When I arrived I saw that “brunch” was an egg casserole, some fruit, cold bacon, and bagels. Also, there was a giant pot of grits. Grits suck.
I ate quickly with some of the more sober members of the Rabble Rousers family. I caught a glance of the new couple sitting with pod people in pastel polo shirts, but I was already walking towards the exit so I didn’t even say goodbye. I knew this would be my last opportunity before they left for the honeymoon. Whatever.
I had eaten part of a special cookie. We were gonna go over to Uncle Georgia’s condo and BBQ by the pool later, but it was still raining, so that plan was up in the air. I saddled up to the big screen TV with a bag of Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom had just started. I was pretty excited to have some nothing time to myself. Then, the power went out. FUCK!
The storm wasn’t just a storm. It was a storm with tornadoes! They were touching down everywhere. Even the locals at The Beachcomber were fleeing. Everything in town closed. It was gross-hot and windy. The rain stopped, but it looked like doomsday outside, like when Satan arrives to town in that Stephen King book, Needful Things. Aunt Georgia’s family (my relatives) were still having a BBQ poolside, even though FUCKING TORNADOES WERE CRASHING DOWN TWO MILES AWAY RIPPING UP HOMES AND TURNING OFF ELECTRICTY SO NO ONE COULD WATCH INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM!
It was cute watching Madyson play in the pool, but that didn’t last too long because Uncle Friendship had gotten into someone’s vodka and barfed all over the pool deck. Mommy took him back to the condo to go to sleep. While she was gone, some college kid I was vaguely related to said, “I don’t like your shirt”. I was wearing my Yankees T-shirt and he was wearing a Boston Red Sox T-shirt and hat. Unfortunately, I had to have a conversation about baseball with this guy who thought I gave two shits about sports. It was actually fun pretending I knew what he was talking about. It made me feel really butch and I caught a glimpse into what it would be like to be straight and talk to my straight guy friends. Thank God I am gay.
Mommy returned and decided that our little family unit was going to spend a nice Mother’s Day dinner at one of the few restaurants that was open for business. The power had come back on and we were ready to leave this oddly forced family BBQ. The Red Sox fan wanted my email for when he and his girlfriend visit in October. Sure. Here’s my email. Have fun with that.
We had to stop back at the condo to pick up my mom’s purse (love that purse). As we rounded the corner, Uncle Friendship, who was supposed to be in bed, had dressed himself and was on his way to a bar. BUSTED! Oh man, the look on his face was so BUSTED! Like, teenager getting caught masturbating BUSTED! It was brilliant. Mommy brought him back inside and we left.
The little diner we went to was very olde timey. They served sodas the size of my head. It was nice to have a quiet meal with just our tiny part of this huge family. Screw all the fakies, the random relatives, and the people who I am supposed to consider family who never call, write, or even send me a friend request on Facebook. Time with Mommy on Mother’s Day, THAT’s why I came to Georgia!
Afterwards, I got to go watch the 3 hour finale of ‘Survivor’ all by myself while eating leftovers from The Beachcomber. I swear, I have gout. Woo-Hoo!
I woke up late on Saturday just in time for Mommy to buy us lunch at The Beachcomber. I thought for a moment, “How much meat does one need to consume before you get gout?” Later, when my fears of gout were voiced aloud, Uncle Friendship took off his shoes and socks and showed me his gross foot. He had been drinking again. We had hidden the liquor in our house so he must have been getting it from a magic tree or something. He told me about his experience with gout and that he had to get his foot “cut up”. The visible scars had gnarled his foot into a stump. After an in depth description of the pain and surgical procedure, he gave me an old pair of his swimming trunks as a gift. Time to disappear to the shower.
For the week leading up to our Georgia Adventure, it had been a sudden concern of whether or not Baby Madyson would be allowed at the wedding. Even though Mommy had asked Uncle Georgia months ago if it was alright, Big Cousin Georgia decided that she didn’t want any children of a certain age to be “at the wedding or any wedding activities.”Isn’t this entire trip a wedding activity? If it was so important for the ENTIRE family to come down to witness a stranger’s wedding, isn’t Madyson part of that family? You know what would have happened if Big Cousin Georgia had decided to tell us this news at a more appropriate time? Broseph and Sheree would not have come to the wedding, which in turn would allow me to back out, which would then save my Mommy a bunch of money that she could use to do something nice for herself. Instead, everyone feels awkward at an already awkward family reunion.
I haven’t seen or talked to these people in 8 years. Why am I here?
Mommy and I went over to watch Big Cousin Georgia get her hair and make-up done. I had anticipated bridesmaids yakking, drinks being poured, and perhaps some fun make-up tips from the artist. There was one subdued girl who looked like a bridesmaid, my mom did the dishes in the kitchen, and I was placed in charge of ironing the bride’s sash. Yawn. After it was perfectly ironed, Mommy and I went back to pile up the van of yahoos.
Aunt Computer had taken the girls early again because they had something to do at the wedding. It was just as well, because while I was voicing how lame it was that Madyson may not be able to go to the wedding, Aunt Computer became a rigid fountain of knowledge about wedding etiquette and explained how we were wrong in this situation and that Madyson should be left behind. Ugh. Now I have 2% of a reason not to like Aunt Computer.
Madyson was invited to the giant family picture in front of the church. So, that was nice. She better have, since this picture was the main reason for me dragging my fat ass down to Georgia. I knew it was important for Mommy and so I tricked my brain into thinking it was important for me. Even though I had to stand next to Uncle Dirty. I noticed he was wearing a shirt I own, probably because we shop at the same Big & Tall store. Note to self – ad green shirt to pile for Salvation Army donations. The bride looked amazing. Her dress was fierce. The sash looked dazzling! I wonder who ironed it?
Broseph and Sheree left with Madyson just before the ceremony was to begin and went to Outback Steakhouse.
The chapel was adorable. Amazing woodwork, beautiful stained glass windows, and a Confederate cemetery surrounded the grounds. Moss drooped from ancient trees which gave the appearance that everything was beautifully sad and wet. It was charming in a creepy way. I sat in the rear of the congregation to have a better view. Just before the ceremony was to begin, a young family with a toddler not much older than Madyson rushed in and sat in the second row of the groom’s side of the church. It’s shit like this that just kills me.
The ceremony was very plain. Very religious. Some chick read from the Bible, “Love is gentle, Love is kind, Love is boring, blah, blah, blah…” Everyone looked like they had a gun to their heads, except The Mother of the Groom, who clearly had a hand in planning everything. I didn’t get the sense that this day was for the young couple. Instead, it appeared to be for the happiness of these southern cadavers that were seated on the groom’s side of the church. Robots in suits. The robot toddler made an annoying baby noise. Ha.
Everyone caravaned over to the reception at a fancy seaside hotel. It was hot and muggy. Sweat dripped from everyone’s everywhere. The rich zombies from the groom’s side of the family had all kept on their jackets and ties, salty beads of wetness dripped into their extra dry martinis. Our family thought being hot was lame so we all stripped down. Not as much as at The Beachcomber. Our poor Californian blood couldn’t handle this weather, no matter how much free booze you threw at us. Somehow, we were still quiet and reserved, just like abused step-children… or good slaves.
The reception was complete joke. The majority of our family was seated in the back. I assume this was to keep us quiet and away from the higher members of Georgia society. The food was good except for something that was served with grits. Really? Unfortunately, I had ordered prime rib four months ago when they were taking food orders, so my meatfest continued. There was a dance for the new couple and then a father/daughter dance, both of which were accompanied by a string quartet. The quartet played throughout dinner as well, each song sounding exactly like the previous song. The new couple did not go around to each table, the cake was cut without anyone noticing and served, the open bar closed without warning, and there was no garter belt, no bouqet, and no dancing. NO DANCING! REALLY?
You just fucking invited a million people to a giant wedding and there isn’t any dancing? They clearly did not want our families to truly intermix. At all. Aside from Uncle Georgia’s wonderful speech, this entire day seemed heartless. Thank goodness for Uncle Georgia and his truly brilliant, raw, and sincere emotions. He got a huge round of applause from the back row. If this bogus group of “Souther Society” wasn’t so worried about being perfect and keeping up appearances, they might have actually had a good time. I never wanted to hear ‘YMCA’ so badly in all my life.
I snuck out of the ballroom and went back to the condo to take a cold shower and eat a special cookie. I listened to Mariah, Madonna, and any other Top 40 hit I could get my northern hands on before heading back over to The Beachcomber. Larry The Gay Guy and Amy The Drunk Lesbian were more family than most of the people I had to share space with today.
A little Cuban lady who lost her shoe told me something very interesting – “There is a great difference between ‘family’ and ‘relatives’”. So true. I bought her another White Zinfandel.
The Beachcomber quickly filled up, becoming a post-reception party. Suddenly, the loudest thunder and scariest lightning in the universe whipped down around us. It began to pour heavy rain…
For lunch, I went back across the street to The Beachcomber and had a BBQ Sandwich. I had had some leftovers for breakfast, so this was my third meat meal in a row. My butt was not happy. I was seriously hoping for a nice salad or something at tonight’s event.
I got bored waiting for Uncle Georgia to call Mommy with directions to The Rehearsal Dinner. We all sat around the dining room table in our Sunday second-best. Just waiting. So, I took this slidehow of Mommy at the table. Watch the whole thing, it’s worth it.
The Rehearsal Dinner was to start at 6:00pm. It got to be 6:05pm and still no word from Uncle Georgia. Aunt Computer and her girls had left an hour earlier as they had nominated themselves to be in charge of stuff. They seemed pretty good at occupying their time without Uncle Friendship. The rest of our gang drove over to Uncle Georgia’s condo, but no one was there! We called him. He was already at The Rehearsal Dinner and had forgotten us. It makes sense. If I was trying to organize a perfect Southern wedding for the benefit of the future in-laws, I would accidentally forget our van full of people too – a severe alcoholic, a fag, a couple with anger management issues, a baby, and a party lady. Good thing we all let Mommy drive.
The Rehearsal Dinner was at a lovely outdoor deck, seaside, and with plenty of room for the two families to segregate from each other. I had anticipated meeting some wonderful, Southern characters on the groom’s side of the family, but they were all so stuffy and bland. Only one lady stood out – The Mother of the Groom. She marched right up to me and shook my hand without making eye contact. She wobbled a little bit. I thought she was drunk, but it seemed that her high heels were caught on the wooden deck. “YOU MUST BE DANIEL. I’M GERTRUDE MCGEORGIA!” She politely yelled in a drawl that was almost thick enough to conceal her inner, plastic beast.
First, she was talking too loud and too energetic to be sincere. Second, she had fucking mistaken me for Uncle Dirty. Gross. I explained I was Jeff, Big Cousin Georgia’s cousin from New York. By the time I was finished with my sentence, she had already started introducing herself to someone else. I didn’t even realize it was The Mother of the Groom until after the dinner. Besides her, I thought everyone else had been cut out of cardboard and positioned carefully around the dock.
I chatted with Boy Cousin Georgia for a bit about acting in New York, then I chatted with Aunt Georgia and the bride for a bit about acting in New York. After that, I found myself accidentally alone with Edna. So to pass the time, we chatted a bit about acting in New York. Luckily, the only black person for miles came and sat down with us and we started chatting about her job as a… I forget. She was lovely and her name was Hope. I enjoyed brief, passing conversation with her all weekend. The only black and the only gay MUST be wedding friends!
After talking to me about her favorite episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Aunt Georgia taught me how to take better pictures. Apparently, some gay dude who works with her at Red Lobster showed her how to “roll into it” when taking a photo. See the difference – BEFORE and AFTER. Notice how it thins out any potential double chin? Notice how your eyes look more alive? Again. BEFORE and AFTER. Here are some more examples of “rolling into it”…
Dinner was nice (although the closest thing I had to a salad was an egg roll) and the open bar was nicer, but what was nicest was that The Beachcomber was open late. After we all existed in the same space as that other family for a few hours, hardly a conversation intermixed, most of us headed over to our home away from home from the night before. Joining us this evening would be longtime family friends, The Rabble Rousers. They are a family of hilarious drinkers who possess an uniquely contagious spirit. Before the first round of drinks even touched a lip, shirts were off and cigarettes were lit. After such a snooty dinner with snooty people, I was neither embarrassed or irritated. The shenanigans were welcomed.
Broseph took his ladies home early and the rest of the evening went by without any drama. Everyone left one by one, leaving Mommy, Sandy and myself to close the bar. Woohoo!
Everyone slept in Friday morning. The girls got ready and went to the girls-only bridal shower that Little Cousin Georgia was putting on for Big Cousin Georgia, the bride. I didn’t even make an attempt to crash the party, which left me alone in the condo with Uncle Friendship and Broseph, each of them nursing hangovers. Uncle Friendship had gotten into Sheree’s stash of vodka at some point in the evening and he was tipsy still this morning, talking and muttering almost non-coherently. He couldn’t sit still. Upstairs, downstairs, in the bathroom, out on the patio deck, upstairs, up more stairs, downstairs, sit at dining room table with me, bathroom, patio, bathroom…..
Broseph was doing a good job of ignoring Uncle Friendship by passing out on the sofa in the living room. I had some soft music going and was about to start working on the play I have been writing, but Uncle Friendship called me from his bedroom in the basement – “Jeffrey! Come down here! I need to talk to you for a minute!” I pretended that I didn’t hear him, but 3 minutes later, he called for me again.
I sighed heavily. Broseph giggled at me as I descended the steps. I walked to the doorway and peered inside, slightly hesitant to walk inside the room any further. Uncle Friendship was seated on the bed, his hand gently patting an empty space, signaling me to sit down. Against better judgement, I sat, leaving a comfortable distance between us. A quick thought ran through my mind – OH MY GOD, I’M 31 YEARS OLD AND I AM ABOUT TO GET MOLESTED BY MY UNCLE!
UNCLE: I’m so happy you came down to Georgia. ME: Me too! UNCLE: I never get to see you. It’s nice. (Uncle rubs my shoulder for two seconds too long) ME: Thanks! UNCLE: You got a boyfriend up in New York? ME: Not at the moment. I’m dating a couple guys, but no boyfriends. UNCLE: That’s great. That’s really great. ME: Yeah. UNCLE: You know, I met this guy on the plane from California to Atlanta. He was sitting next to me on the plane. He had really pretty blue eyes. Gorgeous blue eyes. I couldn’t believe how blue they were! Well, we started talking about you and he showed me a picture of his partner – they aren’t married yet – and he showed me his partner on that thing – what is it? ME: iPhone? UNCLE: Yeah that! He showed me his partner, that he isn’t married to yet, and guess what? ME: What? UNCLE: He had a huge six-pack! Unbelievable! The best six-pack abs you’ve ever seen in your life! You would probably be really attracted to them! Great looking guy! So I told this guy I was sitting next to that he had really pretty blue eyes and you know what he did? He put his finger in his eye real quick and the blue was gone! They were brown! ME: Oh? He had colored contacts? UNCLE: I guess. Anyway, he and I exchanged information and I am going to help him make some DVDs. ME: DVDs? UNCLE: Yes! They make gay porn DVDs and I was thinking of getting involved and helping them. Not to be in them or anything, but to help them with their business. ME: Well, that’s nice. The porn business is just like doctors or lawyers or policemen – there’s always gonna be a demand for the service. UNCLE: That’s right! So… you know, if… if you want any porn, I could probably get it for you. ME: DVDs? UNCLE: Yeah! ME: I don’t know. I usually get all my porn online thses days. I don’t really use DVDs. UNCLE: Well, I just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. ME: Well, thanks. UNCLE: Do you ever watch ‘Queer Eye for the Straight Guy’?
Creepy. Creepy. Sad. Creepy. Creepy. Hilarious. Creepy. Creepy. Creepy.
Uncle Georgia, Uncle Dirty, and Pap-Pap came over and picked up Uncle Friendship and Broseph. They all went fishing and beer drinking in the hot, humid outdoors. They offered to take me too, but I wanted to enjoy the afternoon by myself at the condo and take a hot shower and rinse the creepy juice off me.
This was just Friday morning – wait until I tell you about Friday night…
I drove to St. Simon Island, Georgia from Jacksonville, Florida with Aunt Computer, Cousin Science and Cousin Musical. They were all nice ladies, strangers that I am related to by marriage and blood. The four of us beat the rest of the family to the four-story condo by about three hours. I was able nap, shower, and steal the best room of the house by strategically placing my luggage on the bed before anyone else – just like those catty bitches in America’s Next Top Model.
Our quiet foursome was broken once Uncle Friendship, Mommy, Broseph, Sheree and Baby Madyson arrived. At the sound of the front door opening, I whispered to Cousin Musical and Cousin Science, “Well it was nice visiting with you. I hope you enjoyed the calm before the storm. See you on the other side.” Along for the family adventure was Mommy’s best friend Sandy, who always has a joke and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s to share. Our condo was full, our immediate cast of characters complete.
I went down to help bring up luggage, like a good boy, and there I encountered Pap-Pap and his wife/girlfriend, Edna. Pap-Pap had been given stern lectures about getting along with me and being more gay-friendly. I had nervously anticipated this awkward reunion with the man who was supposed to be my grandfather. We both made a big, happy scene in front of everyone.
ME: Hello! PAPS: HELLO! (A very firm handshake) ME: Long time, no see! PAPS: Yes! Very long time! How is New York?! ME: Great! How is Arizona?! PAPS: Hot! ME: I bet! And you must be Edna! PAPS: And this is Edna! ME: Hi Edna! I don’t believe we’ve met! EDNA: I just love your grandfather!
And that, my friends, was the only exchange of words between Paps and myself the entire weekend. Aunt Georgia and Uncle Georgia came over to pick up Pap-Pap and Edna to take them to their condo where Uncle Dirty, the youngest and least favorite of my uncles, was already drinking warm beer and laughing at his own jokes. I went inside our condo to do something other than what I was doing at that moment to avoid further lame conversation.
After we unpacked, I made Mommy model her new purse. It’s made out of jeans and rhinestones. I am obsessed.
Uncle Friendship woke from a heavy nap and an hour later, we all met up across the street at The Beachcomber. This tiny bar was perfect for this rowdy bunch of rednecks. It was like those restaurants with street signs nailed to the wall and sawdust on the floor – only they didn’t have any sawdust. The locals were friendly and exciting. I asked Amy The Drunk Lesbian if this bar was gonna be able to handle tourists. She put her arm around me and said, “Honey, you ain’t tourists. I can tell you guys are all forced to be here for a wedding. You guys are visitors and visitors are always welcomed here.”
I sat at an empty table in the middle of the bar. Pap-Pap went to one corner with Edna and Uncle Dirty, Uncle Friendship and his family to another corner, and Broseph and his two little ladies filled in the seats at my table. We were all starved and wanted to wait for Uncle Georgia and his family, but we ordered anyway. Meat. Lots of meat. The BBQ was great, but little did I know, I would be eating pork and beef all weekend. This meal would be the beginning of a very problematic bowel issue. Uncle Georgia soon arrived solo, rocking a tank top and some tribal tatts.
We all finished dinner, and it was time to do some serious drinking. Uncle Friendship and family left in order to curb his urge to drink. Broseph got drunk and wore some Cuban lady’s green jacket. He posed for a picture with the jacket’s owner and a black nurse who was picking up a take out order. Broseph left soon after with his two ladies in tow.
I introduced the concept of Captain Morgan’s and Root Beer to the long haired bartender. He had never heard of that combination before and promptly made himself one as well. I made friends with Larry The Gay Guy, who of course, was friends with Amy The Drunk Lesbian. He was hot for Uncle Georgia, who easily wins most attractive of my uncles, so I can see why. Larry The Gay Guy gave lap dances to Mommy and Uncle Georgia, neither of whom thought he was gay.
At some point, Edna had started pole dancing.
Uncle Georgia left and Larry The Gay Guy bought me shots and stole my hat and glasses. I think Larry was gonna settle for taking me home, until Sheree returned to the bar and said, “Can I ask you a serious question? Why don’t you like me?”
Buzz. Kill. — but OK, let’s do this…
I was drunk and she asked, so I laid it all out there for her. She had read my Christmas Blogs from this past holiday season and was upset. I defended my artistic freedom and she actually understood me for the most part. We had a decent conversation about both sides of our issues, each of us apologizing for certain things we needed to apologize for, and decided to start anew. We also decided it would be appropriate for either of us to call the other one out with any bullshit. I plan to use that free ticket whenever necessary.
Broseph tried to start a fight with her later into the evening, but he was too drunk for it to really make sense. Something about Sheree flashing her boobs at the bar in exchange for free drinks, but I heard Broseph tell her to do it, so there wasn’t anything to really fight about. Everyone told him to go to bed because he was being an asshole. He went to bed, but locked Sheree out of the bedroom and made her sleep on the floor in the living room. See? Asshole.
Plums are back in season! I know this because the old hag who sits behind me just slurped up two of them in a minute and a half flat. The poor plums screamed all the way down.
I’m excited to go to Georgia tomorrow, if only to give my ears a vacation.
I managed to make myself go to work today. I figured that since the contractors called last night to reschedule their groundbreaking for Thursday, I should probably go to work. I am so tired! Who knew that relaxing would take so much energy? My eyes are at half mast and my brain is mushy from all the sitting around and doing nothing.
OK, maybe we didn’t do absolutely nothing. We listened to music, ate food, sat in rocking chairs, sang songs, and played croquet. Actually, I watched everyone else play croquet. I did lead everyone in a Share Circle around the campfire. We pretended it was the last night of camp and everyone had to say one nice thing about the other people in our bunk. I think the most endearing comment was by Tony (played by Jon) who said that the nicest thing about Marcia (played by Joslyn) was that “she has a sweet ass”. Oh, camp memories!
We went “into town” on Saturday. That means I got to mingle with the locals. I bought a lot of Jesus stuff. I bought homemade, hand painted plaques that say “And now it’s time to pray!” I also bought Jesus magnets, a ceramic nativity scene, and two baseball hats with a bright, yellow Jesus fish on the front. I bought two of those because you never know when you might need two for a sketch!
We all went grocery shopping in a small town market. Anytime I am outside the city, it amplifies just how faggy I can be. I don’t realize how saying things like “get that sausage out of my face and stick it up your butt” can come across to the gentle folk of Pennsylvania. I suppose a nice dose of me isn’t so bad. I tried to wear my Corona Beer shirt to blend in with the natives. Oh well.
Once we got back, we did a photo shoot on the playground. I tried to ride a bike, but I got scared. I was going so fast! I thought that certain doom would come to me should I continue riding. Instead, I read a magazine about all those polygamist Mormons who have a zillion kids and they don’t know each other’s names or anything. That shit creeped me out, so I decided to make some artichokes. My mommy used to make them as a special treat when I was younger and I hadn’t had one in awhile. They came out perfectly! Yay for artichokes!
A few cocktails later, we started drawing and crafting in the craft room. I wasn’t inspired to make much since last time I drew a scary face and everyone made fun of me. Instead, I played with the frogs and fish in the pond. I saw two frogs fucking! It was fascinating. I ended up falling asleep in a corner of the basement. It got so hot down there that, apparently, I took off my pants. I mooned everyone in my sleep! That’s what happens when mommy and daddy leave for the weekend and forget to lock the liquor cabinet!
The ride home was too much for my head/body/tummy ache. I shall never over do myself again in such a manner. What a delightful escape from the city. I have been to The Poconos three times now, and every time I think it will be my last, since it’s on the market to sell. Yay for The Poconos! Yay for my bed! Tonight, I will sleep forever. With my pants on this time.
I just got back from The Poconos. Spending a weekend on a farm sure is hard work. I feel like I am going to pass out. The car ride back was brutal. It was only two hours, but it felt like 9 years. I wanted to fall asleep, but that would leave the driver one less person to talk to while driving. I’m so sleepy now. Maybe I will……………….. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
This past weekend I returned to the farm in The Poconos. Country life is nice and relaxing, but I couldn’t imagine living there full time. It’s like you go into a vortex of time and space – lunchtime feels like dinnertime and the moon comes out at noon. If I was a lazy, unmotivated, country teen, I would be very bored in the middle of Hicktown. I can very easily see how someone would develop some sort of drug or alcohol problem because what else is there to do? Watch popcorn pop….
Luckily we didn’t have to become country meth heads all weekend. There was plenty to do besides watching popcorn pop. Sophia hosted a murder mystery game, we put together puzzles, read books, dressed up in costumes, played in the snow, took editorial photo series, had a scavenger hunt, went thrift store shopping, grocery shopping, cooked giant meals, made arts and crafts, played with dolls, listened to every song in my iTunes, and told stories. No need to create a meth lab with this creative group of geniuses!
Below you will find a series of photos along with favorite quotes throughout the weekend. I can’t explain everything for you, just take in all the randomness and enjoy!
We went grocery shopping in a small town store. It was eerily silent and my booming voice could be heard everywhere. I didn’t mean to cause such a scene, but it’s not every day that these hicks see a group of hip, young, New Yorkers in their sleepy little grocery store. Maybe the constant video taping I was doing was a little much. The store had homemade pierogis, which was a total bonus. The cashier looked like she was 9 years old and everywhere whispered to each other as I walked past them. It wasn’t like I was screaming and yelling and dressed in drag. Now, THAT would be exciting! Maybe not as exciting as getting punched in the mouth during the scavenger hunt that I made…
The only television we watched was some big deal football game. The Straights tried to trick me into liking football. Sophia kept telling me how hot the dudes are in the uniforms. I don’t have to sit through an entire game for that! I can look at pictures on the internet, and if I am looking at pictures on the internet, it’s going to be of Brent Corrigan, not some football player in a lame uniform. The end of the game almost tricked me into being excited. There was a tie and a flip of the coin and alot of yelling from freezing fans in the stadium. Jon tried to explain what was happening in the game, but no matter how much it looked exciting, I still didn’t care. Boooring. I was more excited to go out in the snowy field where a creepy truck was marooned in a patch of overgrown weeds and trees. The gays went out for a stroll in the 18 degree weather and we did a photo shoot.
I made breakfast every morning for everyone because I am awesome and also because I was hungry and love breakfast and no one else was making it. Jon fried up the homemade pierogis for lunch. It was fascinating. One of the high points of the weekend came when The Straights, The Other Straights and “Mary” finished the wizard puzzle. I wasn’t emotionally invested into the puzzle like they were, but I was very happy for them when I heard them congratulatory scream from the next room. Whether I was laughing at Sophia in a shitty wig and giggling at the refridgerator or pretending I was a bartender in the basement bar, every minute of time was well spent and well relaxed. Thank you, Martin Luther King Jr. for the three day weekend!
Here are my two favorite pictures from this weekend… one is a candid shot of The Straights that I captured. Jon told me I was “a regular Annie Leibovitz.” The other is of me and my roommate, Brian.
Oh yeah. All weekend I kept taking pictures of myself. Everyone laughed at me like I was an idiot. Well, tell me if this last slideshow is the work of an idiot…
By the time I woke up the day after Christmas, I had decided that the next time I go to California will be because I have to go for some entertainment industry type of something or other. Lying coiled up in the pink blankets in The Princess Room, I realized that I only had about 26 hours left on the sun soaked West Coast, and that I wished I had a fast forward button on my life. Instead, I woke up, ate a tasty breakfast, packed my things, and headed out the door to see ‘Juno’ with my dad. It has become our tradition to see a movie every time I visit. It’s great to have a new tradition with pops, but I loathe that the tradition is sitting in a dark room, watching actors do the talking instead of ourselves.
I had planned on going to lunch with him, but we ran out of time since he was dealing with an ebay issue all morning. Looking for an opportune time to speak to him about my daddy issues proved difficult since there is never an opportune time. He puts on a good show with each visit these days. I wish I could base my opinion of him solely off of his behavior when I see him once or twice a year. He’s a blast when I am not thinking about…the past? Did I really just write that fucking sentence? Hop on Pop.
Anyway, while I was able to pull Sheree aside at one point early into my trip, before everything got too Jerry Springer, and apologize for punishing her ever since she was over-the-top rude to me on a certain occasion, I was unable to have a similar conversation toward amends with daddy dearest. I guess apologizing comes easier than forgiving.
After the sincerely enjoyable movie, we went to my great friend, Keith’s, fancy bistro. For the past several years, I have hosted a holiday party called Spectacular Spectacular. It has been a huge, fun get-together for my friends and even some of my family. This year, I didn’t really do the PR or the organization for it and no one really inquired. A good handful of my camp friends had dinner and after most of them left, Keith and I had some drinks. Daddy Dearest said goodbye with a hug and said, “Email me sometime, even if it’s to say bark at the moon and die.” The last time I did that, we didn’t speak for a year and a half. What’s the point? If he isn’t willing to talk and I am not willing to forget, then that’s a cat’s game – no one wins. My mommy drove me, Keith and my other besty, Eric, to our other friend’s house. 30 years old and my mommy is driving me to a party.
…. 30 years old and my mommy is driving me to a party to play Flip Cup. Living 3,000 miles away from people who used to be your closest friends really is sad. I miss them on a daily basis, but when I go “home”, it seems that everyone has moved in different directions, people who used to be friends with each other are now enemies, and my tummy starts hurting. I dressed up as Santa again for a grand entrance. Danielle said, “I love when you come home, you bring such a great energy to the house!” In my mind, I wanna pick up right where we all left off, but sadly, that is not reality. I feel disconnected and I can see the same disconnection in the eyes of others. I am sure we all have deep love for each other and our past friendships, but not even a marathon game of Flip Cup, or a rented Santa costume, can patch up the distance I feel growing in my friends. Not even just with me, with each other. They are all great people, I wish everything was perfect. I wish I had a time machine. I wish for three more wishes.
I was only able to hang out for a couple hours before I had to have my mommy pick me up so I could get enough rest to get up and pack in the morning. Before I left, I was able to re-connect with a friend who hadn’t been returning phone calls to me. We’re both insane, so I knew it would end up working out without much discussion. Justin made me a mix CD, Mark hugged me, I grabbed Coco’s boobs, Keith touched me in a naughty place, Danielle made me a fancy drink, and Amanda and I laughed at each other – a few moments of “how it used to be”.
The next morning consisted of a rushed shower, a rushed packing job, and a rush to the airport. I had overslept. My mom always cries when we pull up to the “This zone is for immediate loading and unloading of passengers only” area. This time was particularly tear drenched, because I had made it pretty clear I didn’t plan on returning to California for some time. This time, I think she understood why.
The flights back to NYC weren’t as awful as the trip out. An hour and a half delay in Cincinnati gave me some time to reflect. No matter how much I want everything to be perfect and harmonious, like my mom’s dream of a Norman Rockwell Christmas, it’s just not going to be perfect. The perfect part has to come from the inner acceptance that everything isn’t perfect, that I should expect the imperfections… and laugh at them, to ride through the turbulence, and then life would be closer to perfect. Perfect. I just said “perfect”, like, 100 times. Whatever. I don’t care. I’m not perfect. Neither is my dad, or my crazy grandmother, or my friends who hate each other now.
Perfection is overrated. Imperfection is more interesting.
No strip clubs. My brother passed out at a friends house and Sheree begrudgingly went to pick his hungover ass up and visit our granny since she had decided that she wasn’t going to go down to San Diego to my dad’s house for Christmas. Once my mom’s house was clear of people, my mom and I slept all day to catch up on the rest we lost out on from the shamble of the night before. Once my mom woke up in the afternoon, she was pissed. She was too tired before to have any emotion, and now she was angry and crying. Since it was clear to me another day had been ruined, I went to T.G.I.Friday’s with my friends Maggie, Corey, and Taffy. Nothing cures familial dysfunction like a nice plate of jalepeno poppers with your family of friends.
The next day, my mom, her friend Renee, and I packed up the Saturn Vue and headed down to San Diego. My mom and Renee dropped off their stuff at a motel next to a Hooters and we met my brother, Sheree, my dad, my stepmom, and of course my adorably perfect niece, Madyson at El Torito. We went to dinner there for Christmas Eve because “tonight is a big deal for Mexican families to go out to dinner. El Torito will be open late.” My brother and Sheree were on their best behavior – all smiles and laughter. My dad was an outgoing and likable personality. My mom and Renee promptly ordered margaritas. I followed suit and attached a rum and coke to my lips as to shield myself from the plastic vibe.
Dinner was full of the standard questions – “How is New York?”, “Are you still liking your job?”, “How’s the theatre stuff going?”, “Where are you living?”, “Do you like it?”, and the classic “When will you be moving back?” After our cheery dinner, the perfect couple packed up the toddler and went home to put her to bed. Thankfully, everyone had a nice coat of booze in them, so when the bitchfest immediately turned to the topic of my brother and Sheree, it was done in a lighter manner than the weight of the situation. At this point, I am so bored of the drama with the golden couple that I zoned out and started watching whatever football game was on the big screen TV in the bar…at a motherfucking El Torito… on Christmas Eve.
My stepmom went home to clean up the guest room, which has been dubbed ‘The Princess Room’ on account of the pink doilies, pink stuffed animals, and pictures of my niece with Disney princess picture frames. Naturally, I would be sleeping in this room. Now, there were only four people left at Christmas Eve dinner.
My dad loves to blame my mom’s side of the family, The Hurleys, for any sort of angry fight that emerges throughout the years. “That’s the Ol’ Hurley Temper showing through!” He likes to contrast The Hurley’s to The Marx’s by saying how the Marx’s are “peace, love, let it be… you don’t see us hitting each other!” I am quick to interject on this subject – “I wouldn’t say The Marx’s are peace and love. They may not be physically hitting each other, but at least The Hurley’s communicate in someway.” We all agree that both sides of the family have a alcohol problem running through it and that possibly both sides have landed on my brother’s face. I thank the gene pool for giving me the fun, gay genes and not the boring, straight, beer guzzling, bad relationship, Jerry Springer genes. Somehow, mention of my brother’s neighbor comes up.
DAD: Some girl wants to have a threesome with your brother and Sheree. ME: Yes. I heard all about it. MOM: What? DAD: Some neighbor girl keeps hitting on them. MOM: What? RENEE: Do you think Justin would do it? ME: Of course, it’s every straight guys fantasy to have two chicks. MOM: Wait. What? DAD: So, threesomes aren’t a gay guys fantasy? ME: Nope, that’s just a regular Friday night. MOM: I need another margarita.
Soon after, dad and I went to his house. Mom and Renee went to visit a local Marine bar to say ‘Merry Christmas’ and spread some holiday cheer before heading back to their motel. They asked me if I wanted to go to Hooters. Absolutely not. I want to go straight to my dad’s house and go to sleep in ‘The Princess Room’.
Waking up on Christmas morning at dad’s was a new experience. Usually, I am at my mom’s house, but since our entire family schedule had to be adjusted to Sheree’s work schedule, we all fluctuated plans. I didn’t care too much, but I know the change was an interesting difference for my mom. At least, she got out of having to drive my dad’s sister and mother (my boozy aunt and racist granny) up from Orange County. Instead, my dad and I made the trip up there, since they were not coming down there. Granny is probably my least favorite family member. She is always negative, quick to judge, and very vocal about all her opinions on black people, mexicans, and gays. During my last visit, she told me how she used to be such a fan of Clay Aiken. She isn’t anymore because “it’s such a shame about him being gay. He used to be so talented.” This is amazing to me, since, even though The Marx’s refuse to talk about it, everyone knows I am gay! Hellloooo! She greeted me with the following exchange…
GRANNY: Merry Christmas! Look at how handsome you are! ME: Thanks grandma. Merry Christmas! GRANNY: You have any girlfriends yet? ME: Now, why would I have a girlfriend? GRANNY: I’m sure you have to just beat them off of you! ME: Oh, I’m beating off, that’s true. GRANNY: You have so many girlfriends, I bet. ME: Yup. They come over and we do each other’s hair.
After that, I was particularly excited to give her my present. For her gift this Christmas, I framed this picture and told her it was my boyfriend. I also gave her a children’s book on Martin Luther King Jr.
Let me just take a minute and dissect this wonderful piece of film. First, I love that she says “Who ‘dis?” when she opens the box. Her blank stare directly at me after I reveal to her who ‘dis’ is more than I could have asked for. After a second and a half of stone silence in the room, my aunt puts something shiny in front of granny to shield her from the bomb I just dropped. Granny grasps immediately at the shiny distraction. The ho-hum conversation about the cute angel figurine provides the brilliant backdrop for my granny to grab another silent stare towards myself and dart a glance towards my father off camera before returning to the angel in her hand. Nothing else was ever said of the gift. My aunt pushed the book and the framed picture under the sofa.
Somehow, my aunt talked granny into coming down to San Diego for the rest of the day, even though granny complained that she didn’t want to go. Now, my mom and stepmom, who try to hide from granny as much as possible, were in for a real surprise! Granny is coming after all! My dad, his sister, and his mom and I all packed up the PT Cruiser, harnessed the reindeer, and readied the huge sack of gifts to bring back to the unexpected. My aunt asked me about my recent trip to New Orleans for Thanksgiving and where I might go for next Thanksgiving. I told her my friends and I were trying to decide between Amsterdam and Berlin. When she asked me what the “selling points” were to each one, I said that “Berlin has cheap ecstasy, but Amsterdam has amazing pot.” After that, the car ride got very long and very silent. As soon as we arrived to my dad’s house, where everyone was waiting, I quickly changed into the Santa Claus outfit my mom had provided. It was nice to slip into a character in the midst of a family trying to hobble together a community theatre production of ‘Christmas’.
I am not sure what my favorite part of this video is yet. It’s either my mom trying to film it sideways or the fact that I just realized my stepmom has framed and mounted giant starfish on the walls of the living room. My brother dressed in an elf costume. I tried to talk him into wearing the green and red tights that went with it, but he refused. “It won’t make you gay”, I told him, but he still wouldn’t do it. Instead, he wore red and green feather boas around his legs. Hmmm. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, I suppose. We tormented our granny again too.
Time for Crabfest 2007! We had giant crab legs for dinner along with a feast of different casseroles, tamales, and more rum. Every year we get to be subjected to a relentless diatribe about how much Sheree hates crab. “The smell makes me barf!”, “I can’t even look at it!”, “That is sooo disgusting!” Seriously, shut up. We get it! You hate crab! You hate something that you never even tried! Message received! Now be quiet, for once, and let everyone else enjoy it! God, it’s so hard to try to like her. Her mouth doesn’t give you the opportunity and honestly, if this is an element of the annual holiday visit that is going to be consistent, I am gonna have to start doing alot harder drugs than just the pot cookies I brought. Instead, I took pictures at the dinner table with my awesome stepsister.
Oh yeah, at one point, I had to help my mom’s friend Renee, who had passed out on the toilet. My mom and I were like a team of sorority sisters helping our pledge go lay down in The Princess Room. Renee’s shoe fell off on the stairway and she exclaimed, “Oooh I am Cinderella!” I told her not to eat a whole cookie. Oh well.
After dinner, I hit up the makeshift wet bar my dad had set up on the washer and dryer. Nothing but the classiest for The Marx’s! My mom had tapped out from Christmas two nights ago, so she took her thankless assignment of carting granny and my aunt back to The OC. My mom always wants to have a perfect, Norman Rockwell Christmas and I feel bad that it never happens. She was very sad all week over my brother being a temporary idiot and Sheree sinking her teeth into everything, everywhere. I think next year, my mom and her friends should come to NYC for Christmas! Rockefeller Center, The Rockettes, and gay bars on New Year’s Eve would be a welcome change.
Our assorted guests – a silent marine, a religious nympho, another gay dude, and a friend of my stepsister – had left awhile ago. My brother and Sheree took the cutest kid in the universe home, leaving my stepmom, stepsister, father and I alone to try to play that DVD game, Scene It. We couldn’t figure out how to work it and got bored. My dad got on the computer to look at some ebay crap while my stepsister fell asleep. I went to The Princess Room and watched the rest of season two of ‘Weeds’ on iTunes. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
