I'm beginning to wonder how sad it is to wish you were part of another family. Especially when that family happens to be fictional.
Maybe not sad then. Just....kooky. And spooky....and altogether ooky.
So yes. I wish I was an Addams. Or if not technically an Addams....I wish I was related to them in some way. They'd be the cool cousins or aunt/uncle most of my fam didn't like to talk about.
I mean, sure....I dunno how I feel about eating salamander tripe or hens stew. I dunno if my ears smoking after wine would be really healthy. And I'm sure Uncle Fester would annoy me after awhile. But...they're so ....odd. And fantastic.
A house where a hand brings in the mail and serves as a lookout for the front door, where Gomez and Morticia regularly fence or dance until they begin kissing because somebody spoke French, where the butler rolls his eyes and plays the harpsichord, where children dig tunnels, feed vultures, blow things up and play with headless dolls. Where a lion is a kitty and it's perfectly normal for plants to move about like snakes. Where if you're eccentric, it's embraced and where your family is so worried about you, so generous and care for you so much they'll try to help you in any way they can.....even if meddling might make you end up in weird situations.
I know they're weird.....and I"m not fond of sleeping on a bed of nails. Plus....I think I'd shriek if Wednesday asked me to play with her and her black widow spiders. But.....at the bottom of all thier oddness and goth-like appearence, they're really nice. They genuinely care about people whether they're family, friends or someone they just met five seconds ago. And while they might be naive in some ways.....they're really wonderful.
It's funny you know.
Sure, I used to hide in fiction when I thought my life sucked. But other than Harry Potter, I've never wished to be in that fictional world.....or rather, that that fictional world was real. And never in my life, have I ever wished so hard to have a fictional family.
I do love my family. Thier antics amuse and frustrate me. But I'm so tired of all the bullcrap you know?
Because in the Addams family, love doesn't come with a price. They care about you even if you're marrying someone they don't like. They love that you're weird to everybody else. They don't judge you if you don't want to be a Catholic (especially since I think they're allergic to churches). And they'd take the time to know you and the people you care about. Because they're like that. And if you're an Addams, you're horribly strange just like them.
They'd never put a price on thier love. And that would never occur to them.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I Am Jack's Drunken Brain Not to be Confused With Jack's PeoplePleaser Synapse
I had a drunken night to celebrate a divorce. While it's quite hard for me to grasp why a divorce is a reason to celebrate....hey. It was festive.....and there was alcohol.
This was a win.
So, me, The Boy, his mother and her fiancée moseyed on down to the Bar. I'd never set foot in there because, well, I thought it looked pretty damn sketchy from the outside. I'm not very comfortable in that setting anyway.....but it's possible my upbringing has something to do with my overall wariness of places with juked-in music, pool tables, sticky counters and excessive amounts of alcohol. I am Sheltered Catholic Girl.
Which was brought up. Sort of.
His mother was drinking beforehand. She poured herself two glasses of some raspberry rum/crystal light concoction before we even left for the bar. I think I witnessed my first pregaming.
So anyhoo, we'd toddled off to the bar and settled in at the counter. I was the only one officially carded (The Boy already had his out and offered it to the bartender but hey....with his goatee/beard he looks about 23 or 24)and then the round began.
I started with an Amaretto Sour (adventurous is my middle name, I know), Boy chose a Rum and Coke (also adventurous) and the other two had Long Island Ice Teas. I raised my eyebrows when they slid over. I'd just read about those drinks. They are a major kick in the ass from what I've heard. Something I'd certainly never have unless I really desperately wanted to wake up with Stars and Stripes Forever in my head and worshipping the great toilet god.
So, the drinks continued. A second round was had and I had another Amaretto Sour. I think at that point everyone stayed the same with their choices. The second drink was as strong as the first and I really was feeling the tingly by then. The Boy's mom began talking more frequently by then. And louder.
There was a guy a few seats down who was unfortunately leaning over the counter. This created a rather large plumber smile that was brought to our attention by her. Of course, she told us rather loudly. Thank God "Put Your Ass Into It" was blaring or that dude might have been more than a little pissed. As it was I was slunk down in my seat and Boy was caught between shushing his mother and hiding his beet red face.
The shenanigans continued as the drinks kept being poured. The Boy had his Dr. McGillicuddy's (mouthwash) shot and the others decided on trying shots as well. Fiancee decided on something with Gold flecks in it (yep...you can ingest gold) and The Mother insisted the rest of us have Slippery Nipples.
Now, by this time I was nursing my third READ IT third Amaretto Sour and it had taken some serious debating to even let me get that far. I had a feeling this Nipple could be my downfall. Especially considering the fact that I was giggling every time the drink was said.
But The Mother insisted that we all (her, Boy and I) have them. And I found myself torn. First of all, it contained vodka and vodka is not my friend. I don't enjoy feeling like my esophagus is in need of a fire extinguisher. And secondly, I had a feeling that I was going to be hitting my limit soon. (I'd already went pee the first time and knew another was coming in like 10 minutes. Stupid alcohol). And yet, I agreed.
And when the Nipple was set before me I looked it over with a bit of distaste. Because it looked like Butterscotch death. And because enough of me was sober to realize that I was going along with what others were saying.
Still, I sipped the Slippery Nipple. I was wrong. It tasted like Butterscotch three alarm fire. When I coughed and made a face I was urged to "finish it! C'mon, one gulp!" Now, I'm not a chugger. And I've never been a fan of the drink it anyway thing. That's reserved for medicine as far as I'm concerned. But...I did it anyway. I gulped down the rest and coughed.
"Don't cough." she said. "Isn't that great? It warms you right up!" I looked at her, with possibly the first sardonic look I've given in a long time. I doubt she noticed though. She was pretty much gone by that point.
She had The Boy help her over to the jukebox to pick songs so we were listening to something other than Eminem, Ice-T and Lil' Wayne. While they were gone, The Fiancee apologized for embarassing me. The two had been getting friendler and more dirty in their comments and jokes as the night progressed. I shrugged and told him I'd heard and told worse at school.
He mentioned my little shell that I was in. Am I really that obvious? I wondered in my buzzed little brain. Apparently.
I waved it off. He was a nice enough guy, despite the occasional racist joke. Plus, they were treating! >_<
When everyone was settled again, the jokes continued. In all honesty I can't remember all of them but I do know that I had my face in Boy's arm more than once. Those two had Alabama Slammers (which I don't think either of them needed but hey....) and Boy tried a new rum and coke mix. I finished up my Amaretto Sour and decided against anything else. I contemplated asking for a Mudslide or Sombrero but I had a feeling the bartender didn't have any kahlua. Besides.....I knew I didn't need any more.
As it was, I'd already bumped into the bathroom doorway, had to lean against The Boy to steady myself and was starting to lose the ability to read. Or at least, words were beginning to blur and move. I began to realize what people with dyslexia felt like. I'd hit my limit. Or at least, the limit I'm comfortable with at this point. So, I declined, stating that I wasn't particularly used to this amount of drinking anyway.
I get to be a bit of a chatter box when I'm drunk. Mainly saying things that either don't make sense to anyone but me(like telling Boy that chewing on a mustache was like chewing on tinfoil, only fuzzy) or stuff that's followed by more elaborate hand gestures than I usually use. The 1/8th Italian comes out when I'm drunk, I guess.
Well, the others thought I was kidding. "Really?" Yep.....I don't drink that much. And hardly anyone in my family does. Other than my Jersey relatives.
And when I said this, The Mother said something about my mother. "Of course she doesn't drink. She's the freaking Catholic Daughters of America."
And something about that rankled me a bit. Maybe it's because she was slurring and laughing. Maybe because it sounded like she was dissing my mom. Or maybe it was because she'd said almost something along the same lines before we were even inside the bar. We were walking up to the door and I said I'd never been but my mother had back in the 80's. And that was met with surpsie that my mom would even go in a bar.
I mean, yeah. My mother never drank while I was growing up. My mother doesn't like to drink in all honesty. She doesn't like the loss of control and you know what, that's kind of what I'm afraid of. That losing control. Which is why I still have a limit. But my mother did indulge in a sombrero the summer before my senior year in high school. Hey, it was Atlantic City and she was on vacation. And she drinks a little wine here and there now when she's cooking. She's not a prude. She just.....grew up around some drinking with my family. And I think the drunkeness made her rethink doing it herself.
And my mother WAS a Catholic Daughter but she quit. She got sick and tired of all the dramatic, catty, political, hypocritical, BULLSHIT and she quit. And people try to get her back and she ignores them. Because it was ridiculous. Kind of like Dance Club after we all got split into two groups. Shameful in middle-aged and geriatric Christian women but hey....high school never ends, right?
So...yeah. That shot through my fuzzy brain. Because nobody disses my mom. But I was too drunk to do or say anything about it. Or maybe I was too sober to let my tongue fly free?
Either way, I firmly turned down further drinks. Even when The Fiancee had another gold drink and The Mother made Boy have another Slippery Nipple with her and she then had a Grape Crush. I refused and munched down on the cheesy Chex mix The Boy brought over for the two of us. I declined further and ignored the "c'mooooon....aren't yuouf in familernty outiieng." which I translated to "C'mon. Aren't you in the family outing too?"
I knew I was starting to sober when I tried to pull myself away from her once she swung my arm wildly back and forth, trying to get me to dance along with her to some 70's song. And the next time I went to the bathroom, I managed to get some of the jokes scrawled on the stall. "Jenna Talia" (always popular), "Dick Goesnya" (unfortunately this confused me through most of the evening) and of course, the perfect line for a Vermont bar: "He can plow my fields any day."
Finally, it was about 11 and the poor bartender was cleaning up. The fiancee supported his very tipsy other half and I grabbed The Boy's hand as we toddled out of the bar. I didn't need his hand but I felt better holding onto him. Especially since I was increasingly nervous about the ride home.
Boy had had less drinks than the Finacee(unless I'd lost count) but he was the one elscted to drive. Even Boy driving would have made me nervous because he had been drinking as well after all. But the older man had been walking around for cigarette breaks alot. He could hold alot of liquor apparently. Still...my stomach twisted a bit. This was exactly what my mother had lectured me about when I turned 21. This was exactly what those I-Ruined-My-Life videos we'd been forced to watch throughout high school were about. So, I was internally FLIPPING OUT.
But I said not a word. The Mother was saying something about how I was too drunk to go home tonight. "Jus stay our ouse." But I knew that was not going to happen. I didn't care if my mother saw me giggling madly as I drunkenly stumbled in the door. I was going home because Dad waking up at 3 and not finding me home was a worse situation, trust me.
I buckled my seatbelt securely and pressed my hands in between my knees. The Fiancee turned the car on all right and even stopped for the stop signs and used his turn signal correctly. I began to feel better. Slightly. I was on my way to sober so I was caught between reassured-ville and blantant paranoia at doing something I was expressly told not to.
And then, we drove past a cop. I was hit by a brand new fear. We would get pulled over. The driver would be arrested. We would all be arrested, the rest of us for being dumb enough to get in the car with him. I would get my permit taken away, my parents would find out and I would have a record. Fuck. But we drove on toward our street and the cop continued on his own way and nothing happened. Boy made a crack about "bacon at the donut shop" to which his mother responded "I didna raise no disrespetful sonofabith." Which struck me as funny. Actually just her talking was making me laugh.
We arrived with no incident back at thier house, The Fiancee laughing his ass off at having driven past a cop and not getting pulled over. I wasn't entirely sure whether I really found that funny or not.
I'm still not sure. Call me a prudy pillbox but hey.....that was the most ballsy (or stupid) thing I've done since I stopped being friends with Maggie. While risks are good to take and God knows I need to take them more often, this was close to downright dumb.
Upon reflection I also realized that I was doing it, i.e. drinking more drinks than I was originally going to and doing exactly what my parents said not to (my moher told me specifically before I went out the door with my ID to call if I needed a ride), because I wanted to be liked. By whom you ask? By Boy's mom. By her fiancee.
That's my problem. I want people to like me. That's why I get so damn nervous around people I don't know. It's why say stupid things sometimes around Boy's friends because I want them to like me. No matter how much smack I talk about not caring...I really do.
I want his mom to like me. She's going to be my mother-in-law for pete's sake. I kinda need her to not loathe my guts. And also.....I didn't want to ....well...be a square. Yeah, my fsmily doesn't really drink. Yeah I'm Catholic and shy and sheltered at times. But I'm not...a square. I'm not lame. At least, I try not to be.
And I realized that I was doing the exact same thing I pulled that time Ginger Bitch and a bunch of boys showed up at Boy's apartment. I was drinking to show I wasn't lame. What's more, I was drinking to fit in.
Holy shit......figures I would hit my go-with-the-crowd phase after high school.
Now that's lame.
This was a win.
So, me, The Boy, his mother and her fiancée moseyed on down to the Bar. I'd never set foot in there because, well, I thought it looked pretty damn sketchy from the outside. I'm not very comfortable in that setting anyway.....but it's possible my upbringing has something to do with my overall wariness of places with juked-in music, pool tables, sticky counters and excessive amounts of alcohol. I am Sheltered Catholic Girl.
Which was brought up. Sort of.
His mother was drinking beforehand. She poured herself two glasses of some raspberry rum/crystal light concoction before we even left for the bar. I think I witnessed my first pregaming.
So anyhoo, we'd toddled off to the bar and settled in at the counter. I was the only one officially carded (The Boy already had his out and offered it to the bartender but hey....with his goatee/beard he looks about 23 or 24)and then the round began.
I started with an Amaretto Sour (adventurous is my middle name, I know), Boy chose a Rum and Coke (also adventurous) and the other two had Long Island Ice Teas. I raised my eyebrows when they slid over. I'd just read about those drinks. They are a major kick in the ass from what I've heard. Something I'd certainly never have unless I really desperately wanted to wake up with Stars and Stripes Forever in my head and worshipping the great toilet god.
So, the drinks continued. A second round was had and I had another Amaretto Sour. I think at that point everyone stayed the same with their choices. The second drink was as strong as the first and I really was feeling the tingly by then. The Boy's mom began talking more frequently by then. And louder.
There was a guy a few seats down who was unfortunately leaning over the counter. This created a rather large plumber smile that was brought to our attention by her. Of course, she told us rather loudly. Thank God "Put Your Ass Into It" was blaring or that dude might have been more than a little pissed. As it was I was slunk down in my seat and Boy was caught between shushing his mother and hiding his beet red face.
The shenanigans continued as the drinks kept being poured. The Boy had his Dr. McGillicuddy's (mouthwash) shot and the others decided on trying shots as well. Fiancee decided on something with Gold flecks in it (yep...you can ingest gold) and The Mother insisted the rest of us have Slippery Nipples.
Now, by this time I was nursing my third READ IT third Amaretto Sour and it had taken some serious debating to even let me get that far. I had a feeling this Nipple could be my downfall. Especially considering the fact that I was giggling every time the drink was said.
But The Mother insisted that we all (her, Boy and I) have them. And I found myself torn. First of all, it contained vodka and vodka is not my friend. I don't enjoy feeling like my esophagus is in need of a fire extinguisher. And secondly, I had a feeling that I was going to be hitting my limit soon. (I'd already went pee the first time and knew another was coming in like 10 minutes. Stupid alcohol). And yet, I agreed.
And when the Nipple was set before me I looked it over with a bit of distaste. Because it looked like Butterscotch death. And because enough of me was sober to realize that I was going along with what others were saying.
Still, I sipped the Slippery Nipple. I was wrong. It tasted like Butterscotch three alarm fire. When I coughed and made a face I was urged to "finish it! C'mon, one gulp!" Now, I'm not a chugger. And I've never been a fan of the drink it anyway thing. That's reserved for medicine as far as I'm concerned. But...I did it anyway. I gulped down the rest and coughed.
"Don't cough." she said. "Isn't that great? It warms you right up!" I looked at her, with possibly the first sardonic look I've given in a long time. I doubt she noticed though. She was pretty much gone by that point.
She had The Boy help her over to the jukebox to pick songs so we were listening to something other than Eminem, Ice-T and Lil' Wayne. While they were gone, The Fiancee apologized for embarassing me. The two had been getting friendler and more dirty in their comments and jokes as the night progressed. I shrugged and told him I'd heard and told worse at school.
He mentioned my little shell that I was in. Am I really that obvious? I wondered in my buzzed little brain. Apparently.
I waved it off. He was a nice enough guy, despite the occasional racist joke. Plus, they were treating! >_<
When everyone was settled again, the jokes continued. In all honesty I can't remember all of them but I do know that I had my face in Boy's arm more than once. Those two had Alabama Slammers (which I don't think either of them needed but hey....) and Boy tried a new rum and coke mix. I finished up my Amaretto Sour and decided against anything else. I contemplated asking for a Mudslide or Sombrero but I had a feeling the bartender didn't have any kahlua. Besides.....I knew I didn't need any more.
As it was, I'd already bumped into the bathroom doorway, had to lean against The Boy to steady myself and was starting to lose the ability to read. Or at least, words were beginning to blur and move. I began to realize what people with dyslexia felt like. I'd hit my limit. Or at least, the limit I'm comfortable with at this point. So, I declined, stating that I wasn't particularly used to this amount of drinking anyway.
I get to be a bit of a chatter box when I'm drunk. Mainly saying things that either don't make sense to anyone but me(like telling Boy that chewing on a mustache was like chewing on tinfoil, only fuzzy) or stuff that's followed by more elaborate hand gestures than I usually use. The 1/8th Italian comes out when I'm drunk, I guess.
Well, the others thought I was kidding. "Really?" Yep.....I don't drink that much. And hardly anyone in my family does. Other than my Jersey relatives.
And when I said this, The Mother said something about my mother. "Of course she doesn't drink. She's the freaking Catholic Daughters of America."
And something about that rankled me a bit. Maybe it's because she was slurring and laughing. Maybe because it sounded like she was dissing my mom. Or maybe it was because she'd said almost something along the same lines before we were even inside the bar. We were walking up to the door and I said I'd never been but my mother had back in the 80's. And that was met with surpsie that my mom would even go in a bar.
I mean, yeah. My mother never drank while I was growing up. My mother doesn't like to drink in all honesty. She doesn't like the loss of control and you know what, that's kind of what I'm afraid of. That losing control. Which is why I still have a limit. But my mother did indulge in a sombrero the summer before my senior year in high school. Hey, it was Atlantic City and she was on vacation. And she drinks a little wine here and there now when she's cooking. She's not a prude. She just.....grew up around some drinking with my family. And I think the drunkeness made her rethink doing it herself.
And my mother WAS a Catholic Daughter but she quit. She got sick and tired of all the dramatic, catty, political, hypocritical, BULLSHIT and she quit. And people try to get her back and she ignores them. Because it was ridiculous. Kind of like Dance Club after we all got split into two groups. Shameful in middle-aged and geriatric Christian women but hey....high school never ends, right?
So...yeah. That shot through my fuzzy brain. Because nobody disses my mom. But I was too drunk to do or say anything about it. Or maybe I was too sober to let my tongue fly free?
Either way, I firmly turned down further drinks. Even when The Fiancee had another gold drink and The Mother made Boy have another Slippery Nipple with her and she then had a Grape Crush. I refused and munched down on the cheesy Chex mix The Boy brought over for the two of us. I declined further and ignored the "c'mooooon....aren't yuouf in familernty outiieng." which I translated to "C'mon. Aren't you in the family outing too?"
I knew I was starting to sober when I tried to pull myself away from her once she swung my arm wildly back and forth, trying to get me to dance along with her to some 70's song. And the next time I went to the bathroom, I managed to get some of the jokes scrawled on the stall. "Jenna Talia" (always popular), "Dick Goesnya" (unfortunately this confused me through most of the evening) and of course, the perfect line for a Vermont bar: "He can plow my fields any day."
Finally, it was about 11 and the poor bartender was cleaning up. The fiancee supported his very tipsy other half and I grabbed The Boy's hand as we toddled out of the bar. I didn't need his hand but I felt better holding onto him. Especially since I was increasingly nervous about the ride home.
Boy had had less drinks than the Finacee(unless I'd lost count) but he was the one elscted to drive. Even Boy driving would have made me nervous because he had been drinking as well after all. But the older man had been walking around for cigarette breaks alot. He could hold alot of liquor apparently. Still...my stomach twisted a bit. This was exactly what my mother had lectured me about when I turned 21. This was exactly what those I-Ruined-My-Life videos we'd been forced to watch throughout high school were about. So, I was internally FLIPPING OUT.
But I said not a word. The Mother was saying something about how I was too drunk to go home tonight. "Jus stay our ouse." But I knew that was not going to happen. I didn't care if my mother saw me giggling madly as I drunkenly stumbled in the door. I was going home because Dad waking up at 3 and not finding me home was a worse situation, trust me.
I buckled my seatbelt securely and pressed my hands in between my knees. The Fiancee turned the car on all right and even stopped for the stop signs and used his turn signal correctly. I began to feel better. Slightly. I was on my way to sober so I was caught between reassured-ville and blantant paranoia at doing something I was expressly told not to.
And then, we drove past a cop. I was hit by a brand new fear. We would get pulled over. The driver would be arrested. We would all be arrested, the rest of us for being dumb enough to get in the car with him. I would get my permit taken away, my parents would find out and I would have a record. Fuck. But we drove on toward our street and the cop continued on his own way and nothing happened. Boy made a crack about "bacon at the donut shop" to which his mother responded "I didna raise no disrespetful sonofabith." Which struck me as funny. Actually just her talking was making me laugh.
We arrived with no incident back at thier house, The Fiancee laughing his ass off at having driven past a cop and not getting pulled over. I wasn't entirely sure whether I really found that funny or not.
I'm still not sure. Call me a prudy pillbox but hey.....that was the most ballsy (or stupid) thing I've done since I stopped being friends with Maggie. While risks are good to take and God knows I need to take them more often, this was close to downright dumb.
Upon reflection I also realized that I was doing it, i.e. drinking more drinks than I was originally going to and doing exactly what my parents said not to (my moher told me specifically before I went out the door with my ID to call if I needed a ride), because I wanted to be liked. By whom you ask? By Boy's mom. By her fiancee.
That's my problem. I want people to like me. That's why I get so damn nervous around people I don't know. It's why say stupid things sometimes around Boy's friends because I want them to like me. No matter how much smack I talk about not caring...I really do.
I want his mom to like me. She's going to be my mother-in-law for pete's sake. I kinda need her to not loathe my guts. And also.....I didn't want to ....well...be a square. Yeah, my fsmily doesn't really drink. Yeah I'm Catholic and shy and sheltered at times. But I'm not...a square. I'm not lame. At least, I try not to be.
And I realized that I was doing the exact same thing I pulled that time Ginger Bitch and a bunch of boys showed up at Boy's apartment. I was drinking to show I wasn't lame. What's more, I was drinking to fit in.
Holy shit......figures I would hit my go-with-the-crowd phase after high school.
Now that's lame.
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