Thursday, November 27, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving YOU Turkey ass Mofo

I guess this is the part where you expect me to share with you some kind of "Holiday Post" where I discuss my feelings about Thanksgiving. Maybe you would prefer me to write about "This Years Thanksgiving," or at the very least you wish that I would write some kind of post where I tell you what I am thankful for. Except in my case you know I'm not thankful for much in this world. So then you expect to get a shower of negativity that would cleanse you much like the colonic you need but can't afford.

I'll see what I can do. I mean I'd hate to leave you in a sour mood on a holiday. I know what it can feel like to be packed full of bile.

I drove to Sun City to see my family. The family I have in Arizona consists of: an aunt, a cousin, a second cousin, a cousin-in-law, and a step uncle. Just listing people this way makes me feel creepy and weird. Or maybe it's just having my family around that makes me feel weird and uncomfortable.

I guess that's why I waited a year to go and see them, but then I did and every thing went OK. Especially the part where they kept asking me if I ever finished college. They must have asked me that question a dozen times.

I did my best to ignore the situation. I fained disinterest in their question. When that did not work I pretended not to hear them question me, because I was so interested in listening to my cousin's husband tell me all about his favorite past time. Treasure Hunting. Eventually the family noticed that questioning me directly was not going to work, so they altered the question. They asked me what college I went to and then they asked, "Did you ever graduate from it?" Clever. But not clever enough to get them the answer they wanted. Instead I simply told them "I attended college."

The drive to my Aunt's house in Sun City is surreal. The winding road to the retirement community is dotted by drug stores and nursing homes. The only things allowed into the city are old people and golf carts, except on holidays like Thanksgiving. Most of the other cars on the road were ambulances. They sped away from me with their flashing lights on, but their sirens eerily quiet.

I guess here is the part where I tell you that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I tell people Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because Thanksgiving is the coolest holiday. That's because Thanksgiving has cache. If asked all the cool people would tell you that Thanksgiving is "like their favorite holiday," because "it has totally not been commercialized like Christmas."

I liked Thanksgiving because I used to go over to my Aunt's house. It gave me an excuse to see my older cousins who I hero worshipped. I also liked to play in the woods behind the fence in their backyard.

I don't do those things anymore. Instead I played balderdash with my 7 year old second cousin. I watched snippets of the Cowboys game whenever my cousin's husband decided fiddling with his TIVO's settings has become too boring for him and he switched the TV back from 1/4 viewing mode to full screen just in time for the screen to go to a commercial after missing important action that resulted in some kind of scoring play.

I think I now hate Thanksgiving. My new favorite holiday is my birthday. I like my birthday because it is the only holiday that is all about me. Only this year's birthday won't be all about me because all of my friends are getting together on my birthday to plan someone else's bachelor party. The narcissistic personality has decided to poop all over my parade and have his bachelor party intrude on the holiest of my holy days. I can't say I am surprised. Just like I was not surprised after it rained today and the hole in my roof leaked, because that's what holes in the roof do. They leak.

I keep having dreams where I kill myself. The dreams always start off with me being interviewed by David Letterman. In the dream I tell David that the whole celebrity thing is 'bullshit' and so is the whole "genius" and "creative artist" thing. I go on to tell Letterman that I also reject the concept of talent. Mostly because I lack talent, so I would never amount to anything if we were to use talent as a barometer to decide who gets to be famous.

Next, I tell Dave how angry I get when I see how people with even less talent than me get talked about as being 'serious artists.' It just makes me sick. But the only thing that makes me sicker is your belief that Art does anything other than allow us time to jack off. Which I guess is better than encouraging "Rape" because "Rape is violence" and it has nothing to do with ugly men not getting sex from hot chicks just because sometimes granny gets what she's asking for.

I called my mom while I was at my Aunt's house for Thanksgiving and put her on speaker phone. I had to keep reminding her that she was on speaker phone and that being on "speaker phone" meant that other people could hear what she said and all she had to say about that was that, "Your Aunt knows I speak my mind." She might have said something else, but I couldn't understand much of anything from all the slurring in her speech. Mommy was on her thirteenth cocktail. Which I guess goes good with all those pain pills she pops.

Then I told mom that sometimes I write as Sarah Beth on my blog all because she scarred me as a child with her constant droning on about how she always wanted a girl and she finally admitted to me that she should have stopped having children sometime after me, and I said something about how it was good thing there was no Roe vs. Wade when I was conceived, and she said something like, "yep."

All in all it was one of the best Thanksgivings ever.

I learned to emotionally eat again. I had a bowl of ice cream, a slice of chocolate pie, and a bowl of banana pudding that I made all by myself that was so good that when I asked the family, "if they wanted to keep the dish and the pudding they could," the only answer I got was a resounding, "Please take your cheap ceramic dish home- it clashes with my college degree and big screen TV, but at least the truck you have parked outside our home is not so trashy as to be embarrassing, and because of the truck we will pretend that your answer 'in the affirmative' to the question "Are you in a union?" means that somehow you make "good money" as a blue collar worker and we will try and look past what a failure you are for not graduating from college "because every time we ask how you are doing, your mother tells us you are still in college and we think it is kinda cute how you want to a professional student" to which my reply of "if only it payed better" garners the biggest laugh of the night, because nothing gets rid of uncomfortable tension like inappropriate sharing.

6 comments:

belovedparrot said...

Ah, the all-American Thanksgiving get together. Glad you survived another one.

Give us your recipe for banana pudding!

Romius T. said...

Will do I took lots of pictures for an upcoming segmant on cooking with t.

KELSO'S NUTS said...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROMIUS T: A COUPLE MORE TALES TO SHOCK NEW MARVEL WITH


I met this girl in the city who was some kind of Israeli gangster's daughter and she herself had done a couple of years for dealing smack. I kept a suite at the Chelsea, at the Wynn/Las Vegas, sometimes I'd flop at my folks and sometimes I'd flop at a squat in the EV with this anarchist redneck and his girlfriend. I was NKA (no known address) then. Anyway, the girl who's really gorgeous. Her mother's Milanese so she had perfect looks. Long blonde hair and blue eyes, but Sabra features. Hot, right?

I was up my folks and she lived nearby so she came over just after I finished the hockey. We cooked up some rock and smoked it in the bathroom there and then decided to go to down to the Chelsea. We were also eating Vikeys and snorting PowerPuffGirl (crushed pink oxy and flake). We started fooling around and we realized that neither of us had condoms.

So, she goes "no big deal...I love everything that comes out of a dick...I'll get in the tub and then you piss on me, ok?" I said "listen, with all these opiates I don't think I can squeeze out a good piss but here's what I'll do. I got a Heinken tall in the fridge. Let me chug that, give me 20 minutes and I should be good to go." She says cool. I chug down the beer; we watch some college football and I'm ready to go. So I march her into the tub, take out my shvantz and with 40 oz of beer and not having pissed for all the opiates I fuckin drenched her, yessir, while she jilled off her clit and was just writhing. So, then she says "come on my face." Now, I'm thinking "oh shit...no way." I tell her I'll give it the good ol' college try but we've done a lot of oxy and vicodins, if I use lube I'll shred my dick to ribbbons and not come. She starts pouting so I said "ok, I think I have a small Vaseline in the medicine cabinet if this is all in vain I wont tear myself up like I would with astroglide..." She's like "whatever...get on with it..."

So, it took a solid 15-20 minutes to drill her with the leche but I managed.

Then she was super kind to me. She came down and spent two weeks with me here when I first arrived so I wouldn't be lonely.

Because I knew she was a piss fetishist, I made sure to scrap the opiates so I could give her what she needed. Nice girl. I still talk to her now and then.

Cat-lady story. I was about 13 and my father and I had this nighttime ritual of walking the dog, going to the deli, getting sour pickles and seltzers and the bulldog edition of the News. We'd find a stoop and eat the pickles, drink the soda and read the sports.

We get back to the apartment building, go into the vestibule and my father realizes he forgot to check the mail, so he walks over to the mailboxes and i follow him and fuck if the cat lady in the building isn't writing a swastika on OUR mailbox!

My father goes loco and says like what the fuck are you doing you insane cunt and all that. Then he like corners her with our dog and shouts to me "Bubsy, what are we gonna do with this bitch? Should we rape her? Should we kill her?"

I'm like "I dunno, Dids, whatever..."

"He goes, nah, I got a better idea...let's kill all her cats and skin one and feed it to her raw!"

Now, she's shrieking blue murder and I'm afraid the cops are going haul us both off to jail. So, he just gives her a stern look and curses her out in Yiddish and she runs off and nothing happened. She did't call the cops.

And the fuckin thing of it was that try as we did we never quite got the repainting of the mailbox right so we could always see a faint swastika on it.

Cat ladies, Sombra.

new marvel said...

Kelso,

Wow.... you and the piss and the bathtubs. You should make a movie, because I don't like reading books. The thing is, no one would believe any of it if you did.

PS: I hate cats. I like your dad.

KELSO'S NUTS said...

Newmarvel: I'm not a piss-fetishist and one of those women was a one-off weird situation while the other is a friend. I'm also not a writer so I won't be publishing my memoirs anywhere.

I've lived a pretty wild life but among my close friends, I'd say it was middle-of-the-road. And anybody in the film business who might produce a movie based upon these stories lives way wilder than I do.

Romius T. said...

kelso
write the book buddy. I'd read it. Your memoirs are what is supposed to be going down on this blog only I have no cool shit going on in my life.

I did get to have anal sex with a girl on the first date once.