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.
“No blood. No police. No crying.” – Quote from my most recent blog entry.
Well, well, well…
Let me get all ‘Pulp Fiction’ on you for a moment and start at the end. We partied two days early because of my brother’s girlfriend’s work schedule. Here is the opening scene from my mom’s attempt at an early Christmas Eve celebration. Fade to black…
One of my best girlfriends, Maggie, and I were watching videos I took in New Orleans. She accidentally clicked on a video of me masturbating. We laughed. At the peak of our drunken laughter, Sheree, my brother’s girlfriend came running into the kitchen.
“He just punched me in the face! Someone has to go and get him! He’s leaving! They said if I didn’t want to party with them that they could find some other girls to party with! He hit me! My face!”
Maggie went to console Sheree. I walked outside just in time to see my brother and his friends speed away. I came back inside to Sheree crying and holding her bloody lip, saying “I should call the cops! He fucking hit me! He’s lucky the police aren’t on his ass right now!”
Fade to black… again.
The afternoon was spent playing with my niece, Madyson. She is a very pretty little girl and she knows it. She is 16 months old and plans on auditioning for ‘America’s Next Top Model’ next season. Seriously, check out how adorable she is when she hugs the baby doll in this next video.
That baby carriage looked like so much fun that I wanted to give it a try.
My mom’s best friends, Sandy and Renee, drank champagne and ate shrimp cocktail with me. We tried to sing the ‘Winnie the Pooh’ song, but couldn’t remember how it went. We opened some gifts, talked about movies, and watched my mom finish the other half of my cookie. Party on, mom! I got very emotional about some gift certificates to my favorite mexican fast food, Del Taco. It’s like Taco Bell without the rats and the burritos are made by real Mexicans, not bitchy black girls like they are in NYC. Sandy explained the benefits of gift certificates to my niece – “It’s just like money! You grab it and spend it!”
The maintenance guy from my mom’s apartment complex came over dressed in black slacks and a white turtleneck. He reeked of oddness, and not the funny kind, the annoying kind. I assumed that my mom invited him over, for whatever reason, but turns out he was just a weird party crasher. I get to travel 3000 miles to spend Fake Christmas Eve with this nutball? He was a tiny, nerdy man who told bad jokes – “What character from the Bible works in real estate now?” After a moment of silence from the crowded room, he answered, “Noah, because his investments always stay AFLOAT”. Another beat of silence. Then, my niece started doing something cute that everyone could look at instead of interact with The Maintenance Guy.
While I was in New Orleans last month, I bought a baby mammy doll for Madyson. I have unofficially, and without ceremony, dubbed myself Captain Cultural Expansion with regards to gifts for Madyson. She has many pretty, white princesses and visions of blonde Cinderellas everywhere. Her mammy doll was about 9 inches tall. I had bought an additional mammy doll for myself, just over a foot tall, so we can play with our dolls together. You know, little sister/big sister mammys, or mother/daughter mammys, or prison bitch/bull dyke mammys – whatever our imaginations would conjure up. Part of the reason I got the gift was so my Racist Granny would see it as it was revealed, however, Racist Granny pooped her pants, or something, so she didn’t make it to the festivities.
When Madyson opened the doll, her reaction was delightful. Watch her eyebrows!
After Madyson plowed through her gifts, the adults started opening some of our stuff too. My mom got me an awesome scarf, new pajamas, and the yearly tradition of new socks. I never buy socks throughout the year because I know Santa Mommy will always come through with socks. Yes, my mom signs all the gifts to me and my brother ‘From Santa Mommy’.
My brother and his girlfriend got me a bitchin’ black and white Harajuku Lovers manbag. I have been looking for some sweet-ass Harajuku Lovers shit on ebay, but hadn’t found anything perfect. Well, this manbag was perfect. My friend Maggie came over (who ended up giving me an amazing Harajuku Lovers wallet) and we gabbed and gabbed and gabbed. Mostly, I talked about how much I love Harajuku Lovers crap.
Notice how much I love my manbag? Also, notice how my mom has decorated her stuffed tiger and dressed him in a santa hat?
After the manbag, pretty much everything went downhill.
My mom had started to really enjoy my cookies and kept misplacing her champagne glass. Uncle Dirty started drunkenly wrestling invisible polar bears on the lawn. Sandy got a phone call from somebody, started crying and left. My brother tried to force everyone to take shots of tequila with him. My brother’s friend, ‘Swifty’, made the following comment to Sheree – “I’ve beat up girls way fatter than you.” That poor choice of wording was the beginning of the end.
Sheree, like a verbal Rottweiler, wouldn’t let this go. She was super drunk, as was everyone else except me and Maggie, and her bark was deafening. Her verbal daggers shot all around the apartment complex. Her anger expanded from ‘Swifty’ to include my brother since he wasn’t “sticking up for her”. So now she has her anger hooked into my brother, which of course flares up their unresolved issues (a list a mile long and I don’t have time right now to list it because I have a flight I need to catch this Thursday). My brother and his hammered friends all decided to tease Sheree and say they are going to a strip bar. She flipped and pushed my brother. He pushed her back. She scratched his neck. He punched her in the face.
One of my best girlfriends, Maggie, and I were watching videos I took in New Orleans. She accidentally clicked on a video of me masturbating. We laughed. At the peak of our drunken laughter, Sheree, my brother’s girlfriend came running into the kitchen.
“He just punched me in the face! Someone has to go and get him! He’s leaving! They said if I didn’t want to party with them that they could find some other girls to party with! He hit me! My face!”
Maggie went to console Sheree. I walked outside just in time to see my brother and his friends speed away. I came back inside to Sheree crying and holding her bloody lip, saying “I should call the cops! He fucking hit me! He’s lucky the police aren’t on his ass right now!” My mom asked her why he hit her and she said, “I don’t know! He hasn’t hit me since that time in Vegas!”
Serious. She said that. You can’t make this shit up.
My mom had fallen asleep in her bedroom and came running out to see what happened. Maggie and my mom tried to calm Sheree down while I attempted to call my brother. No answer, of course, and we were all left to wonder where they all went. Luckily, my niece had went to bed awhile ago and was sound asleep. Maggie left as soon as possible and I walked her out to her car, thanking her for a wonderful time and made less dramatic plans with her for the next day.
I slowly fell asleep on a lumpy pullout sofa while I heard my mom crying in one room and Sheree crying in another. I fell asleep with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head as I tried to focus on my Harajuku Lovers gear.
I can’t wait for Real Christmas Eve! I haven’t even seen my father yet! Where did my brother go? Will there be a Christmas miracle? Will my mom stop crying? Do we need to go to the store to buy more boxes of wine?
50 bucks says we don’t even talk about the issues at hand and instead we all will focus on how adorable Madyson is…. thank goodness we have a baby to divert our problems! Maybe I should get a baby!
There’s nothing worse that I hate than flying during the holidays.
I was out the door at 4:30am. The first flight, NYC to Washington D.C., was delayed, but I didn’t notice too much since I was zombified. The second flight, Wahington D.C. to motherfucking ATLANTA, had two of the sauciest little sky queens I have ever seen. The two Mary’s took turns servicing me with headphones and keeping me stocked up with bloody mary’s. I decided against the pot cookies because I didn’t want to be tired upon arrival. I wanted to be drunk.
The Atlanta airport was a brand new experience for me. What a pit-hole – crowded trams, switched gates, broken escalators, duty free kiosks, and an overwhelming amount of nicely dressed Mexicans drinking Starbucks. My flight had a “change of equipment” and had to have their “seating charts re-arranged”. I knew this meant there could be a danger of having to fight for my aisle seat. Sure enough, when I presented my boarding pass, which said I had an aisle seat, the computer re-issued me a ticket for a middle seat.
In times like these, I have to rely on my powers of improvisation.
ME: I need to mention that I have severe claustrophobia and I cannot sit in the middle seat on a plane. How can we fix my seating assignment? THEM: There are no more seats. ME: I had booked an aisle seat five months ago due to my condition. THEM: Ask someone to switch with you. ME: And if that doesn’t work? THEM: Talk to the flight attendant on duty.
The first flight attendant I saw on the plane was a 46 year old-ish, chemically treated blonde. By sight, I could tell that her favorite hobbies included voting Republican and applying eyeliner. I went through the whole routine with her. She sighed and, in a well polished, fake caring tone, she said, “I’m surprised you fly at all!” Bitch! Kudos for sounding like your being professional and interested in my well being, but actually cutting me down. I hate you, but congratulations. She recommended that I speak to Marny, “the large woman with a big personality” who is “taking care of the guests who are seated where you will be sitting.” Wow, a casual mention of how I will be sitting there – a decent attempt at a Jedi mind trick. Bitch was gooood!
I met Marny and put on another consistently brilliant performance, making sure it seemed I was trying to be discreet about my “medically diagnosed claustrophobia” while I was just loud enough so everyone could hear me. The only only seat open was a window next to a 6 year-old boy and his rigid looking mother. Marny asked her to slide over. Miss Rigid had the nerve to say SHE had claustrophobia! She said if she sat by the window, the ceiling “would be too close” and make her feel “closed in”.
ME: I am a foot taller than you and weigh 300 pounds. You think it’s going to be less severely claustrophobic for me? HER: I just can’t physically do it. ME: I just can’t physically or emotionally do it. HER: I can have my son move over to the window seat. You can have the middle. ME: The middle seat definitely won’t work. HER: Well, I don’t know what to tell you. ME: I know what to tell YOU! MARNY: Do you think you can handle the window seat? ME: I can try. I just took my paxil, so maybe it will be OK. I hope this compromise works…. it didn’t last time I tried.
I then made a big deal about squeezing by the mother and son. I expanded my body to seem fatter and purposely bumped my elbows and forehead all over the place. Once seated, I made a big show of unzipping my jacket and taking it off. After struggling with the seatbelt and breathing irregularly, I felt satisfied that I made a valiant effort to reclaim my aisle seat. I hadn’t sat next to the window in forever, and with the small size of the kid, I actually had plenty of room.
A young hippie couple seated in front of me smiled and offered me a Valium. They were my new best friends! The had a little hippie baby whose name was Parker and we chatted about out favorite flavor of cocktails (they are whiskey fans, I am a rum guy). They were delightful and cared about my unfair predicament… not enough to give me their aisle seat of course. But hey, free prescription meds!
Ms. Rigid was eagerly looking out the window as we prepared for take off. I closed the shutter on the window, blocking her view, and started watching season two of ‘Weeds’ on my ipod. If she was in charge of the aisle in the aisle seat, I am in charge of the windows in the window seat. She was bugged and didn’t speak to me the rest of the flight. Marny made a big tah-do on checking on me and gave me free booze the rest of the flight. She was a stern but gentle-hearted southerner. We chatted by the restroom while I took a stretch break. We talked about reality TV, airplane technology and the cunt with the sparkly attitude I encountered when I first started my plea for an aisle seat.
ME: She wasn’t too helpful. MARNY: I bet. She’s new with this crew. ME: She told me to speak to Marny, the large lady with a big personality. MARNY: Oh did she? ME: Yeah, I mean, you’re tall, but I wouldn’t use the word ‘large’. MARNY: Very interesting. ME: And your personality is aces to me. Thanks for helping me. MARNY: You’re welcome. Another rum and coke?
I hope I laid the foundation for a bitch fight on board the next flight between the two of them. That red state, aging beauty queen needs to have her teeth knocked in a little bit and I think Marny was just the lady to do it.
Anyway, I made it to The OC and went to my friend’s restaurant and drank a bunch. I spent the evening with some buddies from my old theatre company and two fo my best friends in The OC, Keith and Justin. So far, not too bad of a trip. No blood. No police. No crying.
Southern California is the setting for popular shows like ‘The OC‘, ‘Laguna Beach‘, ‘Newport Beach‘, and my favorite, ‘The Real Housewives of Orange County‘. My hometown is full of televised glitz and glamor. Tans, blondes, energy drinks, surfing, surfers, big houses, fast cars, and white smiles are partial ingredients to my big holiday vacation. They are really just the backdrop to what really can happen.
1.) Each visit home, I end up sitting in a sports bar with my dad wondering if the hot bartender knows how to make a proper apple martini. I usually just order a Guinness in an effort to ‘man up’ and listen to dad talk about the TV show ‘House’.
2.) A yearly trip to the Goat Hill Tavern, where the trendy decorator decided sawdust on the floor would perfectly accent the warm, pickled eggs they sell out of a 5 gallon glass jar. My friends will play pool while I devilishly play “Oops, I Did It Again” on the jukebox. I will watch jocks make out with bimbos all night while I keep a mental tally on which dudes would let me go down on them if I had access to a dark room and a six pack of Corona.
3.) My uncle, whose nickname is ‘Dirty’, might lick a cat butt again with the excuse “that pussy was standing under the mistletoe!” Uncle Dirty is funnier now that he is not on smack, but he still won’t say anything but ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’ to me in a cordial fashion. I love that his AA/NA whatever has allowed him to make amends to everyone but me. Better than yelling “Merry Christmas, you fat faggot!”
4.) On my dad’s side of the family, my racist grandmother and boozy aunt will need to be picked up and escorted to the family Christmas activities by my saintly mother who divorced my dad, their son and brother, ages ago. Since they both can’t drive, they each have an unlimited drinking license to inflict on the world around us. My grandmother will forget what her name is due to the dementia and ask me if I have “found a nice girlfriend in New York yet?” and if I am “still doing that acting thing?”
5.) Perhaps this year my brother’s girlfriend will show me her boobs for grocery money. She did it last year to my mom’s semi-creepy neighbor for 20 bucks. She seems to be slowly easing out of her major bitchiness, as am I towards her. I asked her to lunch this year to apologize for punishing her ever since she said “You don’t have to live with THAT” and thrust a bratty finger in my direction four years ago.
6.) My friends will have all broken up with their boyfriends or girlfriends. Since I am friends with all of them, this will be awkward for me to figure out who is allowed to hang out with whom, who is not talking to who, and how many who’s Horton actually heard. Eventually, there will be a party at someone’s house were everyone plays beer pong and listens to Sublime.
7.) I might try to explore the gay scene via internet in The OC, but last time I did that, I hooked up with an 18 year old version of myself and felt icky. I didn’t feel too bad until he asked me for a ride home and I had to explain to him that I don’t have a license and was planning on taking the bus home. We ate at Taco Bell and talked about the TV show ‘House’.
I wasn’t originally going to go home for Christmas, but then I figured why not. Everyone in NYC leaves. It’s a ghost town! So, this trip I plan on behaving like I would any other day, say what I normally would any other day, and get a few things off my chest….for better or for worse. That means I’m gonna get stoned, talk about how I want Jake Gyllenhaal to fuck the shit out of me, and finally tell some people exactly where I am in life and what I think of the world around me.
Bitter? Healthy? Freeing? Doom? Love? We’ll see. I leave the day after tomorrow. Let’s just hurry up and get it over with…
Brian and I started decorating this past Wednesday. Somehow it took us right up until 7:00pm (the time the party was to start) this Saturday to be completely ready for our First Annual White Trash X-mas Party! My new painting arrived from New Orleans just in time to be hung in our living room! Here is a photo tour of what our apartment looked like beforehand…
There was also a Jewish room and I hung a framed picture of Jake Gyllenhaal in a Santa hat in the bathroom. For snacks, Brian baked himself into a frenzy and made a bunch of cookies. I made cheese and Ritz crackers, a twinkie tower, and a seven layer dip of which I could only think of six layers worth of stuff to put on it. The twinkie tower was a hit – stacks of red and yellow twinkies garnished with spicy pork rinds. A real X-mas treat!
The party got off to a very slow start. Only one person was there on time and she planned on leaving early! Was this a cruel joke? Was no one coming? We thought the G train may have eaten some of our guests! About 9:30pm, people started coming all at once. The Straights got held up at a Cookie Party hosted by single, fat Christian girls with bad attitudes. Sounds like my party was a definite upgrade. Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” played on the radio and all was in full swing.
Once everyone had time to mingle and down some cocktails, we did a White Elephant gift exchange. You know, the thing where you get to steal other people’s gifts and everyone sits in a circle? Anyway, the shittiest gift that was brought this year was sheet music from ‘Gypsy’. It was a last minute entry for someone who forgot to bring a gift. Now, I am all for last minute entries – I helped a friend out by wrapping some used CD’s (good ones too!), but sheet music wrapped in newspaper is a new low. However, it does not top the one year in college that someone wrapped an empty Taco Bell soda cup for a gift and when it was selected, you could see the melted ice cubes dripping through the green and red paper. The guy who brought that was permanently banned from my circle of friends.
I stole a pretty dope figurine from the Paris Hotel in Vegas, but Brian stole it from me in an attempt to get me to form an alliance with him to steal the spice rack that he wanted. I almost did it because the dude who brought the sheet music had the spice rack, but in a surprising, last minute turn of events, I stole my own gift (a Jay Strongwater heart pin) from the lovely Jeanne. Now what? Well, Jeanne then stole the spice rack from the sheet music guy leaving him the only choice but to unwrap a new gift. He got a figurine of a girl caroling in the snow, her mouth looked like she was ready to give a blowjob. It was all very confusing and slightly hostile, which seems to be the way games go down in this household, but I somehow ended up with my Paris figurine again and Brian and Jeanne had each other’s gifts they wanted, so they just switched. It was a Christmas miracle! The only miracle that wasn’t so delightful, was the people who got shafted with the sheet music. The Straights thought it might be a nice piece of art, a painting, a water color, perhaps a paint by number….nope.
After a downward spiral of booze, pills, and sugar cookies, everyone was having a good time, or at least was tricked into thinking they were having a good time. The guy who brought the sheet music left his caroling blowjob figurine behind. Maybe accidentally, but The Straights think it was left out of a guilty conscience. The Straights happily took the caroler and tried to roll a cigarette with the sheet music.
My vote for favorite party guest was a Japanese girl, whose name was Miko, I think. She was visiting from Japan. She did not know much English and came to the party stoned. I am still not clear how she got to the party or who she was there with. I leave you with some of my favorite shots from the evening. Enjoy!
1. A cool wallet
2. More socks (black AND white)
3. New shower system
4. This
5. That
6. A house in The French Quarter
7. A critically acclaimed supporting role on TV show with mass appeal
8. To look like Brad Pitt in ‘Fight Club’
9. Starbucks gift certificates
10. iTunes gift certificates
11. Shrooms
This year’s Spectacular Spectacular was a complete delight. I wish there were more hours in the evening so that I could enjoy the greatness a little while longer. A ton of people from Re-Creation camp and a few from my old theatre company showed up. Tiffany’s, Eric’s, and Jill’s families were there too. My mom and her friends, my Aunt Tana, and even my father made a surpise appearance! Now that was truly spectacular.
I ate dinner early into the evening with Jill. She is one of my friends from summer camp. We were able to catch up on all the goings on with me in New York and also what her plans are for this years talent show at camp. We like to chat about “the biz” and our hopes and dreams for success. I want to write a movie. She wants to direct a movie. Sometimes I forget that she has down syndrome.
As the guests trickled in, Keith ‘Nice Guy’ Bennett kept me in good spirits by pouring good spirits into my glass from behind the bar. He had to bartend that night, but he always found time to chat with me in between his mixology. At one point, it seemed like everyone I had ever met in my life was at the party. I thought that would be a good time to change into my Christmas Tree costume. I think that was the turning point into debauchery.
Having a bottomless martini in my hands and wearing a Christmas Tree costume really is a sure sign that things are going spectacularly. We somehow found our way over to the Doty’s house for some post-party partying. About 30 of us were playing “Flippy Cup” on the ping pong table in the garage. I was surprisingly adept at this frat-like game. Each team took pictures of themselves when they would win. At one point, I grabbed my friend Colleen’s boob and fell backwards. Her deadpan response was, “This night has gone from happy to slappy”.
I remember some people getting into the Doty’s hot tub as it started to rain in the ealry morning hours. Magically, I ended up at Keith’s apartment where I promptly laid down to pass out. Then, just as magically as I had arrived there, I threw up everything inside me onto his new white carpet. Merry Christmas!
Nights like that remind me why I come home to visit. The group of friends I have here are amazing. Even though we may only be at the same place at the same time two or three times a year, it makes it worth the wait.
12 mixed drinks drinking, 11 cigarettes smoking, 10 jokes a-cracking, 9 neighbors mooching, 8 football games a-watching, 7 Mariah Carey’s Christmas songs a-playing, 6 breaking hearts, 5 FAKE SMILES, 4 flipped birds, 3 French kisses, 2 chocolate turtles and a giant pill of Xanax for meeeee.
On a scale of 1-10, 1 worst/10 best, this Christmas was overall pretty decent. I would maybe give it a 7.5. Not a ton of drama. I think the entire family has finally learned that actually talking about anything that bothers us or trying to communicate with each other about anything other than “How’s New York” or “Can I get the recipe for that Oreo Cake?” is completely futile. Its better to just keep the status quo and pretend that everyone likes everyone. I would love nothing more that to have a Christmas that was a total blow out, get everything out on the table and then respectfully pick up the pieces. Hopefully at the end of all that crap, there would be a wonderfully constructed puzzle, that wasn’t missing any pieces. We could then glue it permantently together. I would hang it on the wall to display all year round. Then, every Christmas afterwards, we would look at the painting – in harmony – and say “Aren’t we glad we all had that fight that year. And wasn’t it worth it, because now we understand everyone a little better. Merry Christmas, everyone!”
Won’t ever happen. There are too many triangles of deep rooted resentment and anger. Every Christmastime with the family, I feel like I want to talk or solve past issues. I would like nothing more that to have a serious talk. I am not the type that feels the past is in the past. I think looking at and figuring out past mistakes are what makes for better futures. I guess I haven’t figured out how to put the past behind you and simply not care about it. I think my mom’s a genius about doing that. She’s great. In fact, if it wasn’t for her, I probably truly would not care about coming home for Christmas.
I received some space-saving hangars from my aunt. When I pulled them out of the bag, I exclaimed “Oh good! Now I can do my own abortions!” That was awkward. Later on, my aunt told me to stop saying “that word”. I hadn’t cussed or anything, so I asked what word she was talking about. She wouldn’t say. So I started guessing.
“Was it shit?”
“No. It was worse than that.”
“Was it fuck?”
“Not that bad”
“So somwhere between ’shit’ and ‘fuck’?”
“Yes.”
“Bitch?”
“Jeffrey – stop it!”
“Well, tell me what I said. I don’t think I said anything.”
“I’m not repeating it. You have a dirty mouth.”
“Was it whore?”
“Jeffrey.”
“How about cunt. Did I say cunt?”
“No”
“How about bloody cum bubble.”
“That was it! You guessed it!”
“You’re lying.”
“I just want you to stop it.”
“‘Bloody cum bubble’ is somewhere between ’shit and ‘fuck’ on the cussing scale?”
“Jeffrey Roma Marx. Knock it off.”
We had to stop three different places for Christmas Day. We had done Christmas Eve at my mom’s house. Delightful. My friend Amanda came over and we had a few drink drinks. Which was good because I had to occupy the same space as my niece’s mother. I have to have a few drinks around her because the comedian in me has to get pushed way down. The silly things that come out of her mouth are full of material. I could do a one man show based on her ramblings. For instance, yelling at my brother to stop cussing, when I hear her say ‘goddamnit’ every other word. Or when my brother was trying to set up a baby crib, she was watching from the side saying ‘oh, come on, it can’t be THAT hard’. Five minutes later, she joined in to help. They both couldn’t figure it out. I thought it couldn’t be that hard? I also had to endure a conversation about the entire birthing process. She was describing it to family friends and neighbors. My favorite part was how she wasn’t sure if she shat while she was pushing the baby out because everything down there “felt icky”. Even though we will NEVER get along (since she totally owes me an apology for something awhile ago and I owe her an apology for stuff since the original ‘incident’) she DID make a pretty adorable baby.
Madyson, the baby, sure was cute. Very expressive eyes and a sweet personality. She seems to be a true light and her giggle is very uplifting. She sleeps through the night and doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. She takes after her father.
Then we had to go visit my racist grandmother who recently had a long stay in a hospital. It is always sad for our elders to get older and have health problems. An added benefit from her recent health problems is that she did NOT say anything racist or prejudiced this year. She also never got around to mentioning how I should “stop this foolish dream of acting and look for a real job”. That was sweet. I think she enjoyed my gift this year. Last year, I gave out a series of paintings to my whole family. Her’s was orange. She had said “Why is mine orange? You know I like purple. What am I going to do with an orange painting? This painting should be purple.” So this year, I took a lavendar color and painted the entire canvas with light purple. I gave her a plain purple painting. Just like she wanted.
Then it was down to dad’s house where we all ate crab legs. That was awesome. Crab legs = Good. Trying to figure out what to talk to your dad about = Bad. I ate some pot cookies with my stepsister and her friend. I gave one to my brother too, in efforts to build a brotherly bond (which is hard to do since the mother of his kid and I hate each other), but he split it with her instead and they left pretty shortly afterwards. I loved hanging out with my stepmom and stepsister. They’re terrific. And mommy dearest was along for the ride the whole day. Thank goodness.
Tonight is the much anticipated SPECTACULAR SPECTACULAR!! I can’t wait. My mom and her friends are coming. Along with all my friends too. Finally, a holiday extravaganza where no one feels weird or bad. It’s just all good love to pass around. And no bloody cum bubbles.
Well, looks likes Santa came early this year. Last night, I was at a holiday party where I played board games with Project Runway’s Austin Scarlet. Adorable!
The Christmas tree, unfortunately, didn’t have any tinsel on it, but the room was sparkling anyway because Austin is such a pure, bright spotlight. He is simply a great person.
He had a delightful holiday ascot worn around his neck. He was dressed great, although I enjoyed his outfit last year better – a Christmas soldier motif. Last year, he and I were looking for the pickle in the tree. Apparently, there is an old Christmas game that the hosts hide a pickle in the tree somewhere and whoever finds it first gets a prize. I didn’t find it last year. I was sad.
Great snacky foods from Trader Joe’s always make for a fun shin dig. Also, the melon margaritas and pomegranate martinis were the snazziest. Austin’s team won the game of Outburst, but I found the pickle!
The weather is definately cold and crisp now. Which means it is almost Halloween. Which means it might as well be Thanksgiving. Which means Christmas is here. Which means I need to make New Years resolutions right now. Which means its pretty much my birthday. Which means I’m 30 years old now. Blech.
Some motherfucker launched me into my 30’s prematurely this weekend. I was drunk and in a good mood just walking down the street to a friends birthday party when a cute little window in a cute little brownstone in cute little Greenwich Village had flashing Christmas lights screaming at me. Assholes.
Halloween is plenty marketable enough. We do not need to skip it entirely. Plus, I really like Halloween. Something about the idea of putting on a mask and being someone else has always appealed to me. I have grown accustomed to skipping Thanksgiving to pave the way for Christmas. I am never happy about it, but I have begrudgenly been able to let it slide. But this fast track that the world seems to be living in will have us buying stocking stuffers in June and hiding Easter eggs in our jack-o-lanterns.
That said, it did remind me that I should make a Christmas Wish list…in October.
Top Ten Things I Want for Christmas or Halloween.
10. Socks & Underwear (Target Giftcard)
9. New CD Player (Virgin Megastore Giftcard)
8. Digital Camera (Best Buy Giftcard)
7. Ipod (Apple Store Giftcard)
6. New Clothes (Casual Male Giftcard)
5. Private Jet (JetBlue Giftcard)
4. Amazing Loft Apartment in Chelsea (Chelsea Realty Giftcard)
3. Oprah for President (White House Giftcard)
2. Jake Gyllenhaal (Jake Gyllenhaal Giftcard)
1. My Own Reality Show (MTV or BRAVO Giftcard)
