Sunday, May 3, 2009

Naked Pictures of My Mother

So my new haircut looks like I'm back in boot camp. Why the hell can't there be a sign in the "Hair Cuttery" window that says "CANT DO WHITE PEOPLE HAIR" or something? I swear I won't be offended by the warning. Despite my clear and simple directions Sista Necktattoo thought she was getting me ready for my role in the new Fitty-Cent video or something.

What a fitting end to a long weekend.

Those who know me know I've had two brothers who've died. Don't email me condolences, the acute grieving process is over. Every year on their respective birthdays, however, I get together with my youngest brother and we have a few ritual things we do in remembrance. May 2 and October 13, those dates seem to fall pretty much around the same time of year, every year. My youngest brother, though, always seems surprised. Christmas, too, always seems to sneak up on him. Anything that involves him spending money, even if it's only to drive to my house for the weekend.

(His XBox 360 and stereo)

Every family has someone like my little brother. The one who never seems to grow up and become responsible. Who gets angry and defensive if you point this out. Who blames everyone else for his shortcomings, real and imagined. You have a brother like this, right? Uncle, cousin, whatever - the one who always is about to get some fantastic job but never does, who's perpetually broke but always spending money?

(New computer and speaker setup)

Mine lost the job he'd held a year (longest-running job ever) when Circuit City tanked and moved back home with my Dad again. He's spent about as much time living on his own as I've spent drinking - a few hours a week, on average, sounds about right. Up until 6am each night playing video games, sleeping until the afternoon, job-hunting* all day, eating the parent's food and letting my stepmother clean up behind and feed him. You know, like how an ADULT behaves, so he demands a little respect.

(*job-hunting: "Everything is on the internet now. I fill out applications every day online but nobody ever calls me. There's no point going out and looking for a job, everyone just tells you to go to the website." Almost makes me want to tell the people with the signs in the window and newspaper ads they're doing it wrong.)

ANYWAYS he stopped looking for work, period. "I make almost as much from unemployment as I did working! And besides, I'm gonna join the Navy. I just need to lose some weight and pass the tests. No point in getting a job." So he bought running shoes. Running pants. A running shirt. Oh, and several pairs of running socks. That's how running is done, I understand. A new computer chair. Monthly subscription to World of Warcraft. World of Warcraft figurines.

(World of Warcraft figurines. Yep.)

And . . . now he's too broke to drive to my house to spent our late brother's birthday together.

I admit I sound a little angry here, but that isn't the case. Disappointed, yes. Disappointed often enough I can't even get angry. Not when he refuses to help clean the house he lives in. Not when Dad has to mow the lawn after working 70 hours that week because nobody else will do it. Not when he yells and complains he doesn't like the friends my parents have over and goes up to his room. (This actually happened last month at his 26th birthday party.)

I've tried to raise him right, Lord knows. Well, okay, I moved out when he was 8 and moved back near where he lived when he was 18, so for a good decade I didn't try very hard, arguably, but I've tried recently. To encourage him to want to go to college, get a good job, make a good wage, live a comfortable life, &cet., I've done some Manly mentoring. Had him up on days I fire up the smoker to teach the boy how to barbecue. Demonstrated pick-up techniques in bars. (Remind me to tell you the story of the Whisky Girl in the honkeytonk in Kansas City sometime! Teaser: that's why my truck has a King Cab.) For his 21st birthday I was really pushing for college so, in the lesson entitled "What Life is Like for White Guys with Money" I put him in a suit, took him to dinner - where he learned what respect and deference feel like - and then to his first Gentleman's Club. Everybody remembers their first time, don't they? The lights, the thumping music, the vulvas smooth and shiny so they less resemble a body part and more resemble someplace to swipe a credit card, the brush of fingertips and thighs with the lingering scent of vanilla and sparkle of glitter (or as we call it, "stripper dust"). Skimming the prurient details, the two guys in the suits who act like they own the place - well, they get treated like they do. Got my boy a no-holds-barred half-hour lapdance, free drinks and free swag. Imagine his face coming out of the VIP area, eyes shining like a 6-year-old's meeting Santa, saying "She took off my tie with her teeth!" That's what a Fun Night Out looks like, my friends, if your big brother loves you.

Quick aside, that was the same face an ex-girlfriend made about two years back when I took her to her first stripclub and taught her how to hold a dollar bill in her teeth and get it snatched out by a dancer's tits. I'll never forget the face she made, like a toddler who just made a poopie ALL-by-herself! or a kid with her first bike ride off training wheels. The PRIDE is beautiful. I understand her current man can hardly keep her out of those places, God bless her bi-when-drunk self!

Alas, however, he wasn't inspired to go to college. Five years later I can say he hasn't been inspired to do much.

The rest of my family, though. Damn. My mother is a lesbian living in a commune near Chattanooga, last I heard. Haven't spoken to her since 2000. She stole my ex-wife's car. My Dad, God bless him, is a retired Navy biker who works at a merchant marine school teaching people from around the world how to fix hull leaks, put out fires and, get this, FIGHT PIRATES. Yes, I said that. He teaches small arms classes to transport ship crews to FIGHT PIRATES. Tell me that doesn't kick ass. The ONLY thing cooler than fighting pirates would be fighting pirates dressed as a cowboy. He also loves flower gardens and decorating cakes. My stepmother, she is, um, well, she is, um, well, she's a drinker. And she refuses to wear pajamas. NEVER leave your bedroom at night. NEVER leave your bedroom at night. She roams the house naked if she has to pee, or smoke, or whatever-the-hell in the middle of the night. Also living in the house is her son, my stepbrother (nothing like the movie, I assure you). Well, not *living* in the house currently. Currently he's living in jail. Otherwise he lives in the house, too.

So with my brother being broke when May 2 leaps suddenly out of the bushes and strikes, I went down for the weekend. At the risk of anticlimax, I had a nice time. Dad & Stepmother & Little Brother & I all celebrated the birthday of a missing family member and it was, indeed, very nice. The stepmother's first husband, my stepbrother's father, was there with all the neighbors and some Puerto Ricans from New Jersey that have some sort of relation to the stepmother's first husband, and there were some kids and some people and some other folks and did I mention the neighbors? I decided to be congenial and just have a few drinks. A few drinks an hour. 

Product placement: the cutest little RN from the ER where I work recommended Sweet Tea Vodka. Good stuff. I bought a 1.75L of "Sweet Carolina" brand. Mix the bottle with the juice from 12 lemons and a cup of sugar and call it a "Bawlmer" 'cause it's just like the "half and half" sold by every self-respecting chicken-box-and-lake-trout joint in this city, PLUS vodka! Try it. Taste some Baltimore. For a more authentic flava, drink it over ice, throw the styrofoam cup in the street when you're done, yell at your kids and call one of em's babyfava for your child support he didn't send. Mmmm, tastes like home.

We set off fireworks in the middle of the cul-de-sac in the quiet residential neighborhood because, well, that's what rednecks and blacks and Mexicans and Ricans like to do when they all get together to party. 

Saturday the stepmother spilled something on her pants so took 'em off. This is her posing seductively in a houseful of guests this past weekend. In her underwear. Good times, huh?

Glad to be home today and back to normal. I called the nice girl (whose name, I've since realized, I don't actually know. I call her "girl." She calls me "Sir." Communication is important) for head tomorrow after work to smooth some of the rough edges of the weekend. 

That was my weekend, my family, my stupid goddamned haircut, and my plans for tomorrow.

Hopefully things get interesting soon because I'm already getting bored. Maybe I need to get away for a while. Anyone up for a roadtrip? Let me know.


  1. anonymously anonymousMay 3, 2009 at 11:19 PM

    um. i so want some of that sweet tea vodka. kidney stones be damned. tho i am a little fearful i could be a little dangerous under the influence of the sweet tea vodka. hmmm...

    i dont even know what to say about this post. except i am grateful you werent here whilst i was reading, because i laughed inappropriately in several placed ~ which is what i am certain you were aiming for.

    you really have a boring life. i am hoping also for some excitement. ;-P


  2. As bitchy as I am, you should've called me. Sorry your weekend sucked! Then again I should've called you, I re-arranged my place again and moved everything myself, now my body hurts. And Jo's dresser needs to be fixed, you didn't do it right the first time, I want a refund, if a BJ can be refunded?!?
    Your Puta Loca

  3. Putaloca, I got an IKEA dresser in a 4-year-old boy's room to last a YEAR after I fixed it? That's amazing work!
    I'll fix it again if you'd like.

    Same price.