View from a grassy knoll

6:55 p.m. Coal & Cool 2004-01-07

Reaped So it�s been awhile & I guess it�s time to give the ol� rundown of the Christmas spectacle. A mix of coal and cool, if you will. Mommie dearest went psycho for the first part of vacation, this was expected. Valium was consumed & we moved on. What was not expected was my only remaining grandparent (who�s pretty well off and slightly nuts) kicking me & my sister out of our hotel room for having people over.
That�s right, the dear, sweet, innocent Weez was expelled & driven away from the sunny shores of C0c0a Beach by raving loony relatives. Oh well.
I don�t understand it really. My dad�s girlfriend is extremely OCD, so we can�t stay at his house b/c she thinks we�re dirty & annoying. For example, once I dared to leave my travel bag in the bathroom after taking a shower. I return to find she put it on my bed. While it was still wet. Because it screwed w/ the guest bathroom�s feng shui or something.
This time, we weren�t invited to go with the family to pick out dad�s new high definition TV at Best Buy. I asked if we could, y'know, to see my father, but OCD girlfriends all like, "Nooo, that's too many people...too many cars...too complicated." Later I gleaned from conversation that they didn't want us along because secretly they were going to the Continental Flambe; Melb0urne�s excuse for French cuisine, and lord know�s dad�s daughters were raised in a barn and eat so goddamn much that we�d just be an embarrassment anyway.
So that side of the family thought they had solved the problem of the 2 bratty nasty devil daughters by getting us a hotel room far away from dad�s house. Gramma K paid for it. We get there, they�re all up in her hotel room (which is on the opposite side and top floor from the room we�re assigned). They offer us bloody marys. Give us a case of beer. Tell us to invite our friends to come hang. All is good. So it seemed.
Y�see, back when we were kids we�d get sent to my dad�s house in south FL. Except dad had the white powder monkey on his back, so Gramma K ended up watching us a lot. Which would be fine had she not been completely mad. Like flying into rages for no apparent reason. Calling us little brats. Reading my diary AND WRITING REPLIES IN IT. When I was 11. You wonder why I have issues. Both grandparents on that side of the family seemed to think material possessions, gifts & money = love. Which is fine. Twenty bucks and a ride to the mall when you�re that young rules, especially when the other half of the year mom�s asking the good gramma for 5 bucks to get some McDonalds. The downside though, is that it feels like you owe them that love back, when in reality they�re shitting on you, calling you a brat and yelling at you for sitting on the furniture wrong. This Christmas was the grownup version of those hellish summers.
The day after we get into town we go out to a bar. Being the backwater retirement beach haven C0c0a is, the bars close at 2pm. We�re back at the hotel by 2:15, and barely in the door before Gramma K is throwing it open, dentures out, khaki raincoat pulled over her head like some postmodern babayaga.
�You better not have any big parties in here,� she hissed, �this is a FAMILY place.� She glares, slams the door.
There�s no way we woke her up, b/c we had only arrived a moment before. Was she waiting up for us? What unseen faux pas had we done that warranted that evening�s sneak attack?
We stare at each other. �Is she psychic?� someone asks. Sister had invited maybe 6 people over to chill a bit, smizzle a bizzle, drink some of the CASE OF BEER they�d given us earlier. Average age 26 years old, busted like we�re 17.
So to make a long story short, Gramma breaks up the party a bit later, bitches me out for not controlling everyone, I apologize profusely while Sister chills down on the beach with the 6 people that constituted our big party. Call my dad the next morning, he�s pissed, he told us not to have any big parties, he�s screaming at me to go apologize to Gramma before she goes to church, ranting that he�s gotta find us another hotel to stay in, how we're bad, always bad pains in the asses, yadda yadda yadda. I�m thinking, I apologized to this psycho lady enough last night, I�m not doing it again. I�m 26, I have a car, and free will. Fuck that shit, fuck your alcoholic paternal ass, fuck your crazy mom, and fuck your meth smoking OCD girlfriend. I�m out.
So I say, �No dad, we�ve been enough trouble already. We�ll just go.�
And I hang up. Wake up sister. Throw our shit in the car & race to 0rland0.
The whole business made me very sad. Not because I behaved wrongly, more so because it sent home the fact that we weren�t really wanted over there, never are really wanted over there, except maybe to be the butt of fat jokes or a lesson on what dad�s girlfriend�s son should NEVER BECOME. Gramma K was waiting for us to get back from that bar. Looking for a reason to pick a fight. Who knows why. I regret I only saw my dad about 15 minutes the entire vacation. I don�t regret leaving that hotel, since it�s true, we weren�t paying for it, & we broke some unwritten rule in Gramma K�s mind. It sucks. Good Gramma went to heaven, so now all we have is the evil one.
& of course, dad bails on driving Sister back to North Car0lina because of this whole exile from C0c0a deal. He was going to get a rental car for her, but it was, AGAIN, too much of a pain in the ass for him to deal with. I�m detecting a theme here. So guess who got to do it?
And guess who got some kick ass Wilmington tats with the money I didn�t deserve from evil Gramma?
Uh huh. That�s why Satan�s saving that special seat to the right of his throne for me. Because of things like this. But that�s ok. I enjoy hot climates.
Other than that, break was pretty cool. The end.
Sown

Fresh Cut
New digs - 2004-05-25
Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10
Grumble - 2004-05-07
Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05
Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05

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6:55 p.m.	Coal & Cool	2004-01-07
Reaped	So it�s been awhile & I guess it�s time to give the ol� rundown of the Christmas spectacle. A mix of coal and cool, if you will. Mommie dearest went psycho for the first part of vacation, this was expected. Valium was consumed & we moved on. What was not expected was my only remaining grandparent (who�s pretty well off and slightly nuts) kicking me & my sister out of our hotel room for having people over. That�s right, the dear, sweet, innocent Weez was expelled & driven away from the sunny shores of C0c0a Beach by raving loony relatives. Oh well. I don�t understand it really. My dad�s girlfriend is extremely OCD, so we can�t stay at his house b/c she thinks we�re dirty & annoying. For example, once I dared to leave my travel bag in the bathroom after taking a shower. I return to find she put it on my bed. While it was still wet. Because it screwed w/ the guest bathroom�s feng shui or something. This time, we weren�t invited to go with the family to pick out dad�s new high definition TV at Best Buy. I asked if we could, y'know, to see my father, but OCD girlfriends all like, "Nooo, that's too many people...too many cars...too complicated." Later I gleaned from conversation that they didn't want us along because secretly they were going to the Continental Flambe; Melb0urne�s excuse for French cuisine, and lord know�s dad�s daughters were raised in a barn and eat so goddamn much that we�d just be an embarrassment anyway. So that side of the family thought they had solved the problem of the 2 bratty nasty devil daughters by getting us a hotel room far away from dad�s house. Gramma K paid for it. We get there, they�re all up in her hotel room (which is on the opposite side and top floor from the room we�re assigned). They offer us bloody marys. Give us a case of beer. Tell us to invite our friends to come hang. All is good. So it seemed. Y�see, back when we were kids we�d get sent to my dad�s house in south FL. Except dad had the white powder monkey on his back, so Gramma K ended up watching us a lot. Which would be fine had she not been completely mad. Like flying into rages for no apparent reason. Calling us little brats. Reading my diary AND WRITING REPLIES IN IT. When I was 11. You wonder why I have issues. Both grandparents on that side of the family seemed to think material possessions, gifts & money = love. Which is fine. Twenty bucks and a ride to the mall when you�re that young rules, especially when the other half of the year mom�s asking the good gramma for 5 bucks to get some McDonalds. The downside though, is that it feels like you owe them that love back, when in reality they�re shitting on you, calling you a brat and yelling at you for sitting on the furniture wrong. This Christmas was the grownup version of those hellish summers. The day after we get into town we go out to a bar. Being the backwater retirement beach haven C0c0a is, the bars close at 2pm. We�re back at the hotel by 2:15, and barely in the door before Gramma K is throwing it open, dentures out, khaki raincoat pulled over her head like some postmodern babayaga. �You better not have any big parties in here,� she hissed, �this is a FAMILY place.� She glares, slams the door. There�s no way we woke her up, b/c we had only arrived a moment before. Was she waiting up for us? What unseen faux pas had we done that warranted that evening�s sneak attack? We stare at each other. �Is she psychic?� someone asks. Sister had invited maybe 6 people over to chill a bit, smizzle a bizzle, drink some of the CASE OF BEER they�d given us earlier. Average age 26 years old, busted like we�re 17. So to make a long story short, Gramma breaks up the party a bit later, bitches me out for not controlling everyone, I apologize profusely while Sister chills down on the beach with the 6 people that constituted our big party. Call my dad the next morning, he�s pissed, he told us not to have any big parties, he�s screaming at me to go apologize to Gramma before she goes to church, ranting that he�s gotta find us another hotel to stay in, how we're bad, always bad pains in the asses, yadda yadda yadda. I�m thinking, I apologized to this psycho lady enough last night, I�m not doing it again. I�m 26, I have a car, and free will. Fuck that shit, fuck your alcoholic paternal ass, fuck your crazy mom, and fuck your meth smoking OCD girlfriend. I�m out. So I say, �No dad, we�ve been enough trouble already. We�ll just go.� And I hang up. Wake up sister. Throw our shit in the car & race to 0rland0. The whole business made me very sad. Not because I behaved wrongly, more so because it sent home the fact that we weren�t really wanted over there, never are really wanted over there, except maybe to be the butt of fat jokes or a lesson on what dad�s girlfriend�s son should NEVER BECOME. Gramma K was waiting for us to get back from that bar. Looking for a reason to pick a fight. Who knows why. I regret I only saw my dad about 15 minutes the entire vacation. I don�t regret leaving that hotel, since it�s true, we weren�t paying for it, & we broke some unwritten rule in Gramma K�s mind. It sucks. Good Gramma went to heaven, so now all we have is the evil one. & of course, dad bails on driving Sister back to North Car0lina because of this whole exile from C0c0a deal. He was going to get a rental car for her, but it was, AGAIN, too much of a pain in the ass for him to deal with. I�m detecting a theme here. So guess who got to do it? And guess who got some kick ass Wilmington tats with the money I didn�t deserve from evil Gramma? Uh huh. That�s why Satan�s saving that special seat to the right of his throne for me. Because of things like this. But that�s ok. I enjoy hot climates. Other than that, break was pretty cool. The end.	Sown
Fresh Cut New digs - 2004-05-25 Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10 Grumble - 2004-05-07 Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05 Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05 Random Shearings Rings		Profile Guestbook Mail D-land Older Home 26 Links Bandified Geek Philosopher /. Drudge Worst.Site.Ever.
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