Hey everyone! After a long stint licking my wounds I’m back and I have plenty of crazy stories to share. I’m really hoping to get two new stories out within the next week and a half so keep your eyes peeled for some great sh!t! 😀
For as long as I could remember my dad has been a nuisance at events. When we were children my dad would wear sunglasses to our choir or play performances and routinely fall asleep then begin snoring very loudly. At my brothers baseball games he would chew tobacco and then spit it at the players and raucously yell rude and inappropriate things at both teams. “You’re a sissy, go home and cry you little crybaby! Look at you gay boy! Can you going to throw that ball or are you going to stand there and cup it instead. You suck old man balls! Go home to your old man so he can beat you for being so embarrassing!” Little did he know that he was the embarrassing one.
When Scholar was in high school he was force to attend one of her plays and when ever the main characters, who played lovers would kiss, my dad would make over dramatized annoyingly loud kissing noises. When the players came into the back stage they exclaimed “Oh my god! There is the rudest man in the audience making kissing noises! What an ass”
“ummm” Scholar interjected quietly and looking down cast “That’s my dad.”
“Oh! Sorry Scholar!” They said apologizing for the insult to her dad, but mostly they were sorry that she had to go home to that at the end of the night.
Out of all the weird stuff my dad would do at our childhood events, the craziest one was a show that was never meant to be a show in the first place. When I was but four years old, I vaguely remember this story so I had to ask my mother for the details. My little brother Ruffus was in a stroller and my sister and I trailing behind my mother awe struck by our surroundings. For a treat my parents had brought us kids to the San Francisco Zoo. My dad of course was making snide comments through out the entire park but things got a little more interesting when we sauntered up to the lions den. There sat a pride of lions only a stone throw away. What was saving us from being devoured completely was the steep drop of a ravine between the viewers and the wild animals, my dad being the wild animal.
It was feeding time in the lions den and as all the lions were gathered around their daily meal my dad crept up to the edge of the fence like the sneaky little kid he is. As he was pressed against the rail that came about chest level on him, the craziest idea popped into his calculating brain. As the lions were licking the very last of the tasty meaty morsels from their lips my dad let out a huge deep guttural roar!
“RRRAAWWWRRRRRR! I’m the king of the jungle now bitch!” he protested.
The biggest lion in the den stood up with his eyes fixed upon my dad in contempt and roared back in ferocity in order to assert his alpha status.
“Ohh! You want to see who’s the boss” my dad exclaimed and then let out another large roar. Another lion stood up and began to join the alpha lion in his quest to concur. The battle of who was the strongest and most vicious began and my dad was not letting up. With each lion that stood up to join in the fight my dad grew more animated, excited and roared his terrible roar and gnashed his terrible teeth. Finally it was my dad against the entire lions den and surprisingly he had convinced the entire pride to stand up and protest against his battle cries. My mother, mortified beyond all belief, decided that this would be the end of his little escapade. She began to chastise him as she pulled him away from all the onlookers who had gathered in droves to see the impromptu show between a pack of angry lions and the large moron who decided to rile them up.
As a kid I thought my dad was the coolest dad in the world! He did the unthinkable by putting on the most epic show a kid could ever spectate! Though looking back on it, I’m surprised he wasn’t thrown out of the zoo and commanded never to return again or worse attacked by a provoked lion who escaped from his cage to take revenge… sound familiar?
My family Christmas parties have always been a bit interesting and jam packed with crazy. So when I brought Jables for the first time to the family holiday party, which was also the first time he’d ever met any of my extended family, it was no different.
There were about 50 plus people milling about and an over abundance of children either running around knocking into anything in their way or safely nestled in their mothers arms too young to bumble about yet. The minute the unidentified, handsome, youthful Jables stepped into the house, a gander of aunties sunk their claws into him and dragged him away from my protective grasp. They immediately pulled him into the light examining his face and physique, fighting over him like a bunch of hens fighting over a snail. They wondered aloud where he came from and who he belonged to. After I finally wrestled him away, the night only got more interesting from there when my grandmother’s arrival was announced.
Jables and I were already outside grasping a bit of fresh air with my beautiful, statuesque, and Swedish looking female cousin Stemple. My Aunt Pearl burst out of the house and came looping towards my grandmother’s car stopping only a few inches away from us. She excitedly exclaimed our way “Oh my god Grandma’s here! Grandma’s here! I’m so excited I could pee my pants I just peed my pants, oh my god I just peed my pants!” and with that we all burst into raucous laughter thinking that clearly this was a planned joke. But without even a word, my dear Aunt Pearl disappeared back into the house. We all looked at each other, wondering if she really did in fact pee her pants. Our question was answered only moments later when we were back in the house with Grandma and silly Aunt Pearl was in a completely different outfit. Everyone was wondering why Aunt Pearl had a wardrobe change but Jables, Stemple, and I knew the truth behind the fashion show.
What wrapped up the night perfectly into a dysfunctional fucked up bow was the closing of the holiday night when we all gathered for a family picture. Grandma, Parents, cousins, kids, babies, significant others, and friends were all assembled together waiting for my crazy Aunt Pearl, who was the photographer, to give the ever so common command “say cheese” and snap the picture. But to my horror she got more creative and said instead “say sex!” I should have known better but I coughed as I gasped for breath and looked over at Jables who was laughing his butt off. Thank god he can roll with the punches.
Though this is a holiday story that makes me laugh every time I recount it, my absolute favorite one was from a time when I was a youth. My over populating Roman Catholic family use to celebrate the holiday on Christmas Eve at my grandmothers house where drink, food, song and presents were all part of the elaborate festivities. The house was so packed with people that a missing drink here and there would go unnoticed. I must have been merely a pre-teen when the event unfolded and unbeknownst to the adults, there was a thirsty little thief catching cocktails and tossing them into the tiny pit of her stomach.
No it wasn’t me, it was my much younger cousin Sparkle picking up and draining the contents of any drink that was unattended or set down for a mere moment. By the end of the night Sparkle was very drunk and stinking like a bum on a drinking rampage. By this time we were all smashed into cars and driven to midnight mass! When Scholar and I walked into St. Catholic Church with Sparkle stumbling between our arms and her mother walking closely behind us, panic was coursing through Sparkles veins. She was like a fox with her leg caught into a hunters trap, ready to gnaw off the troublesome appendage. Quickly trying to come up with a plan to cover up the alcohol smell before she had to take the long drive home to Crappaville with her mother, she was begging us to come up with a solution. With the desperation of a cracked out Hollywood starlet caught drunk driving, a festering turd of light bulb appeared above her head.
Quietly she enlightened Scholar and me with her “brilliant” idea over the priest’s ramblings, about taking communion to create a cover up story for the fact that she smelled like a trucker bar in the middle of Nebraska. Scholar’s jaw hit the ground in disapproval and I could only muster an uncomfortable giggle. Shortly after the deed punishable by the holy fist of fury was done, she sat bolt upright in the pew with a horror stricken face, then dashed to the holy porcelain throne to which we’ve all bowed to. Needless to say, the communion cover up didn’t hold up.
When I was a kid I was innately a snitch, my mom saw this as a positive thing and convinced me to be a spy for her. This way she would be able to keep my siblings in line and know what was going on from inside enemy lines. Unfortunately, I hate to say this, but I don’t think I ever really grew out of it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t snitch like I did when I was a youngster, but I keep my eye out for things and inform my mom immediately, this way she is never in the dark. She’s the matriarch of our family and has to be all knowing, so you can say I’m her educated little informant.
Well when I was in high school my parents had one computer in the house and all five of us kids would fight to use it. We never had to worry about my dad pushing us off of it, because according to my dad, that weird contraption was for office work and my dad did not do office work nor did he work in an office. If you’d asked my dad to get certain files from the computer he would turn into a primate and begin to bang, push and throw the computer around trying to “crack” the code to gain all of the computer’s secrets.
My mom bought the computer simply so she could use it for work, so she was very specific about not crashing or uploading a virus onto it. We kids had completely different ideas about the uses of the new computer and it wasn’t for school or work. I was only interested in looking up cute clothes and the latest music, Traveler was interested in searching pictures of the next exotic traveling trip to day dream about, Scholar wanted to find out about the newest books on sale, Rosco and Ruffus were looking up the surf report and surf pictures and someone was looking up porn.
I was always pretty skeptical of my brothers on the computer. They were disgusting teenage boys and I know what dangers laid ahead on the great internet super highway. The play Avenue Q, or as my friend calls it Sesame Street on crack, was right when they penned the song “The internet is for porn”. The line in the song floating through my mind “so grab your dick and double click for porn porn porn” as I think of all the horrible things my brothers can get into with just a click of a button. I was on a noble quest to find my perverted porn brothers entangled in the web of shame. I was always meticulously checking the history bar on the web browser to see if they were visiting any inappropriate pages that would invite virus’ onto my precious resource finder! Finally all my careful espionage was rewarded when I found a whole slew of sex sites on the web browser. It was just a normal day trolling the internet and bam! Caught you! I waited until the next morning right before school, when stress is already high, to hit my brothers with the accusation. And I knew exactly who did it; he fit the bill to a tee!
“Hey Ruffus! I know what you’ve been doing and you better knock it off before I tell mom you little perv!” I raged while pointing a careful finger at his face! My brother looked completely freaked out, he was probably ruining through his head all of the things that could possibly get him into trouble that I could find out about. So he did the smart thing and denied, denied, denied.
“What!?!?!?! What! I didn’t do anything! What are you saying I did!?” Ruffus bit back. He was a tougher nut to crack then I initially thought. So I attempted the good cop, bad cop approach next.
“Just fess up now so the judge will go easy on you” embarrassed that I obviously watched way too much CSI I switched back to the good old fashion point the finger trick “Oh you know what you did you dirty dog!” I barked back. “You were looking up porn sites on mom’s computer! I followed the history and found tons and tons of sex sites! You know you can get a virus that way! Mom’s going to kill you.” I exclaimed seething anger that my plan of getting a quick and easy confession out of Ruffus wasn’t panning out.
“I didn’t do it Katra! I promise I didn’t” He whimpered.
“Well if you didn’t do it, then who did?!” I questioned, looking smug and in control. He looked all about him at this moment trying to push the blame on to someone, anyone but the only person in the room was Scholar who was sitting back enjoying the show.
“Scholar.” He started out slowly “It was Scholar!” just then a weird expression spread across his face that seemed to say ‘shoot, I picked the wrong person’.
“What! You’re blaming me you pustulous maggot! It absolutely wasn’t me! If I wanted to see naked ladies I would just look at myself in the mirror!” She stated boldly in her Alpha voice.
“I mean that Rosco did it!” he said while looking around for him to point the finger at.
“Rosco!” I called out. When I finally found him in front of the mirror adjusting his curly blondilocks with gel I said “Hey I found porn sites on the history bar of the internet browser and Ruffus said it was you who was searching for sex sites.” I was careful this time because Rosco had a fuse the size of a shortened pencil and a temper that could turn into the Chernobyl disaster.
“Hell no!” He said calmly pulling on a curl “I know how much trouble I would get into if I did that! I’m not stupid; the freaking computer is in the living room for god’s sake! That’s something Ruffus would totally do.” He snarled back not looking away from his reflection.
“He said he didn’t. And if it wasn’t you or Ruffus… who could it be?” I asked completely stumped and scratching my head.
“It was Huey.” Rosco stated matter of factly. Huey is Rosco and Ruffus’ really good friend who lived across the street. Huey, who is a tall and tanned beefy Mexican kid with a big goofy grin, practically lived at our house. He would often spend the night and regardless if he did or not, every morning he would be at our house to be a part of our carpool. First I would drive to the middle school and drop off Huey, Rosco, Ruffus and Traveler and then I would continue to our high school, which was a little farther out, where Scholar and I attended. On this particular day Huey didn’t spend the night and I only had to wait a few minutes when we all trickled out of the house to jump into the car for school to see him.
Slowly we dragged ourselves out of the three bedroom house toward my little blue piece of crap car. That’s when we spotted Huey bounding across the street in his awkward canter to join us on our trip to school. When everyone finally smashed into my five seater car and I was safely pulling away from the house I sprung out at Huey like rabidus dog. “Huey! Did you look at porn on my mom’s computer?”
“Nooo!” He sang back in his strange speech pattern that my brothers also adopted.
“Really!?! Because there was a site that said Instant Axsexxx! With Three X’s! You know what that means? That wasn’t you?” I snidely rebutted.
“Instant Axsexxx! HA!” He gaffed “That so wasn’t me, it was Ruffus!” This is when the he said she said really started grinding at high level. ‘You did it, no you did it! I saw you doing that yesterday! I knew you looked paranoid when I saw you last’. Finally in the cacophony of arguments a miscued squeak issued from the tiny redhead smashed between the giant Huey, and the quiet raging Rosco.
Thankfully by this time I was at a red light because all five of us turned towards Traveler. Traveler, the one person who through out the entire fight was as quiet as a mouse and the only one who wasn’t accused of the sex site searching. Traveler is the youngest of the lot and for the longest time we thought she was completely A-sexual since she never ever spoke romantically about anyone or anything. So her looking up porn sites was a complete shock to everyone in the car.
“WHAT!?!?!” We seemed to have shouted in unison. We were all hanging in the bows for her next sentence.
“Well, I was on the computer yesterday and I just typed in ‘Sexy’ and then a whole bunch of inappropriate sites started popping up and any time I would click some away more and more and more would pop up! It was a nightmare!” She explained. I can just imagine innocent A-sexual Traveler sitting at the computer naively typing the word Sexy in internet search field and then BAM, more boobs then in the playboy mansion are flashed upon the screen while her squeaky scream filled the room.
After her explanation, the car that was supposed to be the bus to school, turned into a raucous clown car full of idiotic laughter. It was as if laughing gas was being blown into the car through the vents, no one could contain the hilarity that was building since the morning accusations began. Even embarrassed and bright pink Traveler couldn’t help but laughing through further explanations of “I’m not a perv! Please stop calling me ‘Instant Axsexxx Traveler!’ It’s not funny! Okay! I didn’t do it on purpose!” I felt so bad for poor Traveler because for months, maybe even years after this incident when ever her name was uttered by us carpoolers, ‘Instant Axsexxx’ was always tacked onto the end in a hush whisper, closely followed by a bout of maniacal laughter.
When I was a little kid I was pretty messy. My family members actually gifted me with the nick name Pig-Pen because it was as if there was a permanent cloud of filth following me around. My mom said if there was a patch of dirt, I would be in it. One time my mother dressed me up for Easter Sunday in a beautiful gossamer white gown. My hair was curled in perfect ringlets and an elegant white laced hat was placed atop my newly washed and coiffed silky brown hair. She gave me a big squeeze, a nod of approval and then turned away from me to get the next child done up and ready to be paraded about at church. Since my mom’s hands were full with four other children and my dad’s complete attention was focused at the cacophonous television, there were no parental figures to stop me from what I wanted to do most, make a mud pie in the backyard. When my mother finally found me I had a freshly dug up hole that I filled with water in front of me. I told her I was making a mud stew to share with my imaginary friends, ‘bugs and mud for everyone’. She just about flipped.
It was there in the back yard that I first had my idea about bugs, wondering ‘just what did they taste like’. I would watch them floating elegantly in a slow dance in my mud stew and in their slow steady progressions around the “pot” they looked enticing. I wondered what texture they would behold. I imagined them continuing their entrancing ways swishing about my mouth, mashed between my teeth and then finding their performances end in the pit of my stomach. I was dying to try a tasty grub or succulent spider and I was just waiting for a parent to give the okay. But any chance I had of devouring a tasty insect was stomped out at my mother’s exclamations of disgust.
“Oh my god! I turn around for a minute and you are a complete mess! Put that bug down! You looked so pretty and now look at you! Covered in mud! We have no time for this and now I’ve got to change you again!” She wheeled around towards my father and said “Hey stop watching the television, I need you to help me keep an eye on the kids, please don’t let them out of the house! We have to get to church and look at what Katra just did!” My mom held me out to display the masterpiece I’ve just created on my now brown bespeckled dress and dirt caked pale pink tights. Painted on my dad’s face was a mixture of annoyance and amusement. His little Pig-pen princess “you look like you belong to a band of wild people Katra!” my dad beamed with pride.
“Don’t even encourage her! She can get as dirty as she likes when it’s not on a day where we have to go to church and then to your mother’s for an Easter egg hunt.”
It wasn’t until a few years down the line that I was fortunate enough to gain the approval of a prominent family member about eating bugs and boy was it a wonderful day indeed. My mom and dad went away on a trip for the weekend to an adults Disneyland vacation with a couple of friends of theirs and they decided to split us kids up and have us be watched by various family members in town. My sister Scholar and I were fortunate enough to be able to stay with my Grandparents. I was so excited! My Grandmother is a fun redheaded firecracker who loves to pamper her many grandchildren. Her hair and outfits are always perfectly manicured and she has a sing-songy attitude towards life. My Grandpa was a mellow and very happy man. I don’t blame him for his joy, my Grandmother is a hottie and she always treated him extremely well. I know I would be just as happy as he was if I was married to a wonderful person like her.
The first morning Scholar and I were at my Grandma’s place she pored us a bowl of Wheaties, the breakfast of champions, and placed them in front of us to devour. Before I even took one bite Scholar and I noticed something out of the ordinary about our bowls of cereal. Something foreign was floating around each flake, wiggling about in attempts to escape what would be a crunchy end.
“Umm Grandma” Scholar boldly spoke up.
“Yes my dear and you can call me auntie if you want to.” She chimed.
“Ummm Auntie Grandma, there are red ants floating in our cereal” squeaked back Scholar.
“Oh posh.” Grandma scoffed back.
“No really, they are dancing around in my cereal Grandma”
“Dancing ants” she laughed “Well, just eat them. They’re a great source of protein.” She retorted. Scholar and I looked at each other with a ‘if you say so’ look on our faces and we chomped right into them with excitement.
“Mmmmm!” I cooed “They’re tasty! I’ve always wanted to try bugs! This is so cool!” I exclaimed. “Grandma! You’re the best”
“Yes, my little darlings.” She calmly sung back as she washed the dishes.
“They’re a bit spicy” Scholar piped up.
“Well they’re supposed to be Scholar! They’re red ants. Aren’t they supposed to be meaner? Red and mean equals spicy, Duh!” I finished.
A little while later Grandma was milling about her Isosceles triangle shaped pantry and to her horror she found “ANTS! Oh dear lord!” she exclaimed. “There are red ants everywhere!” her voice issued out of the pantry and reached us at the bar over looking the kitchen where we were coloring a picture of a Precious Moments angel. We set down our crayons and looked toward the pantry where our Grandma was still concealed.
“Yes Grandma that’s what we were telling you earlier. There were red ants in our cereal.” Scholar chided. Wide eyed Grandma popped out of the pantry fixing us with her gaze. “You didn’t eat it did you!?!” she questioned.
“Well Grandma, you told us to, you said we could.” That’s when she dropped the box of cereal she was gripping and breathlessly spouted “I thought you two were joking! Oh my goodness!”
“Don’t worry Grandma!” I chimed in “I think you’re the coolest Grandma ever! I’ve always wanted to know what bugs tasted like and Scholar and I agree they’re a bit spicy.”
I often describe myself as a silly ‘Glamour Tomboy’ because though I enjoy dressing up and putting on makeup like any city girl does, I still love to hop around in the mud, though I sadly left my appetite for bugs behind. The funny thing is I didn’t even realize I was that messy of a kid until I had a nice chat with my Auntie Carolina about it. She told me “We called you Pig-pen because you always looked a mess as a little girl. That told me you were going to grow up to find yourself confident in your own beauty”. What she said explained everything. I would have to agree that I grew to be a pretty confident woman but what made more sense to me was that I was a dirty kid! For years I’ve asked myself ‘how do those pretty city girls get so clean that they shine’. And now it all makes sense, it was just never in me to be squeaky clean, just manageably so. Don’t get me wrong, I possess proper hygienic rituals in which I religiously undertake. I’m just not shinning like a freshly clean mirror, more like a mirror that hasn’t been properly scrubbed in a week. My friend Sassy and I were actually chatting about this very thing the other day and she quite agreed with me and was equally confused about the tidy squeakiness that some women manage. All in all I guess it’s nice to know that I’m not the only messy miss enjoying the magnificent muck the world has to offer.
Pat Benatar said it right when she sang “Love is a Battlefield,” though I don’t think she quite understood the meaning of those iconic words as much as my sisters and I actually do. Let’s just say we didn’t really “date” until firmly in college for reasons I will explain in this blog post called, Love is a fucking battlefield Ms. Pat! (Dating… Basically impossible with a scary dad, two crazy brothers and insanely bad-ass uncle lurking in the background waiting for you to fuck up).
Picture this, you’re in high school, the opposite sex is enticing but unfortunately you’re marked as a pariah. This is all because of one large dad (who is the volunteer coach of the guys wrestling, football and baseball team, Great) two crazy brothers (who are also on those same teams, fabulous) and a bad ass uncle who could break a grown man in half with the snap of his fingers, extremely scary, and I’m one of his favorite nieces. Yes, every guy’s nightmare. Lord knows that I’m extremely happy that I have these very intimidating men in my life to scare off any guy that is remotely “ill-suited.” So I’m fortunate to say that I’ve never had my heart broken, but I guess it’s not all that hard to claim if you never had the chance to give it away in the first place.
The Spicy boy and his WWE death threat
The summer before I went off to college I met this really cute athletic guy at a restaurant that I worked at. He was a golden blonde identical twin and had the last name of a “spice,” which he was so eager to point out while attempting to seduce me into giving him my phone number. It apparently worked because a week later we were going to go on our first date.
Spice called my phone the morning of our date to let me know that there was a bit of a change of plans and that he wanted our day date to turn into a night one. I was excited because it said “Oooooh sexy, dinner and a movie!” To my dad it meant “this scum bag is going to try to put the moves on my baby girl.” So before I could end the call my dad commanded the attention of Spice by yelling out loudly in his best gruff Ultimate Warrior WWE impression “Hey Spice! If my daughter isn’t home on time, I’m not comin’ lookin’ for her! I’m comin’ lookin’ for YOU!”
If you think that was bad, well it wasn’t even the half of it. The guy actually came to pick me up still and when he walked into the backyard to meet my dad any hope he would assure him that he is a great guy and will have me home on time disappeared the minute he saw what was waiting for him. There my dad stood, with a look that would scare the devil himself, shinning his shot gun! My dad doesn’t even need a gun to terrify a grown man into peeing himself with fright and this just seemed like over kill. But there he was shinning away and sitting beside him was our dog, a mean looking part wolf, obediently rigid by his side and unbeknown to Spice, sweet as a child’s teddy bear! Spice’s eyes looked like they were the size of softballs at this point. Terrified and thinking “what the fuck did I get myself into!?!”
Luckily my dad didn’t say anything embarrassing or unnerving during this first greeting and I was thankful, until right before we turned to leave. My dad exclaimed, “Hey Spice, you see that?” He pointed with his thumb over his left shoulder to a shovel that was propped against the fence right behind him. “I know how to use it.” And then pointed to the guy again, looked back at his gun and then gazed back at Spice once more. If Spice’s eyes were large with fright before they were almost about to pop out of his head from sheer horror!
I tried to assure Spice from the moment we left that my dad was just trying to get his goat. He falls asleep at 8pm every night on the couch and then gets dragged to bed by my mom, so he wasn’t waiting up. My curfew isn’t even until midnight I emphasized. No amount of convincing on my part swayed Spice and starting at 9pm and every half an hour after that he would state “I’ve got to get you back! Your dad is going to be out in the front yard. Waiting! With his shot gun! I’ve got to get you back!” No matter how much I tried to assure him that it wasn’t the case, he wouldn’t let up. So finally at 10:30pm I gave in and let him bring me back home.
I KNEW it! Like I said, the monster dad, destroyer of all dates, was in bed, snoring like a freight train. He was so hard asleep that not even a battle of the bands in his own room would rouse him from his royal slumber. Apparently Spice wasn’t man enough to deal with my raucous dad and his sadistic approval process because that was the last time I ever heard of him. Ever!
Brothers, Bullets and Boys
Guys, if you are picking up a girl and ever thought to yourself “Maybe I should just wait in the car?” and your date has a house full of large and protective male relatives… think again. You’re not saving yourself from a terrifying meet and greet, you are just delaying the inevitable and making it that much worse for yourself. This is exactly what happened to this dumb ass who decided to take my little sister out on a date.
Traveler was waiting for Dumbass to come pick her up when she received a call on the house phone. It was him and he was calling to say that he was around the corner in his car waiting for her. When she hung up the phone my dad asked about her phone conversation. “I can’t believe he expects you to walk around the corner. I can’t believe he doesn’t have the guts to come up to the house, meet your father and then escort you to his car. Rosco! Ruffus!” he commanded “Go out and drag that pencil dick in here!”
Traveler’s face turned the color of her fiery red hair as my two brothers, Rosco and Ruffus ran out the door with devious looks plastered on their faces. Moments later Dumbass was dragged inside the house a little beside himself. He looked at my dad and his out stretched hand. With the quizzical expression disappearing fast he slapped it in confidence simulating a high five. In a cheeky tone he replied “Hi DAD!” My dad’s face went blank with rage and he quietly stalked away. In a flash he was back and in that gruff Ultimate Warrior voice he loves using he scolded “When you meet a girls father for the first time you say Sir, yes Sir, nice to meet you Sir, how you doing Sir!”
“Yes Sir, Yes Sir!” Dumbass snapped right back in fright.
“And you shake his hand! You shake it and say SIR! Nice to meet you SIR!” my dad finished. Just then Dumbass pressed his hand into my dad’s and in the shake my dad passed him a small cold item. When Dumbass pulled away he looked down at his hand and in it was a bullet! A fucking Bullet! My dad concluded, “And next time you see that, it will be going a LOT faster!”
The Love of My Life Meets the Pain in the Ass of My Life
I met the love of my life junior year of college and he is worth every piece of shit my family threw at him because 7 years later to everyone’s shock, he is still around. Jables is the kind of guy that every woman prays she’ll marry some day. He is sweet, extremely mellow, patient, loves to cook (and is good at it), is supportive and willing to attempt any hobby or sport once just to make me happy. He adores me with every fiber of his being and I have to say the feeling is definitely mutual. I always say to my friends that he has an adorable hobbit like mien to him. Every time I look at him I expect him to ask “What about second breakfast? What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper?”
He has rounded features, a button nose, almond shaped blueish-green eyes, dark hair and an adorable smile that shows just how happy a life this man has led so far. When people meet him for the first time they always exclaim that he looks like a slimmer more attractive Jack ‘Jabels’ Black and I couldn’t agree more. He’s perfect and I didn’t want my family scaring him away at all so I dated Jables for a good four or five months before I even let him meet them. I slowly dolled out a healthy dose of the crazy family stories so he knew what to expect when the time came and he wouldn’t run away never to be heard of again. With all the prepping before hand, when he finally did meet the fam he wouldn’t have that look that’s usually plastered on the faces of suitors who come to court my sisters and I.
Whenever people meet my mom they instantly fall in love with her because of her caring and sweet disposition so I had no trepidation at Jables meeting her. My mom was actually on my side and she sternly explained to my dad how he was going to act around my new beau. I told my mom that this one is different and that I didn’t want him scared off, so she tried to help with my lost cause. When my dad walked into the house, clearly straight from the gym, my hope for a cordial first meeting flew right out the window. My dad’s outfit consisted of an old sweatshirt, sleeves cut off to expose his intimidating bicep muscles, the collar of it cut out to make room for his tree stump of a neck and a bandana wrapped tightly around his large noggin. Jables leaned into me and whispered, “You never told me your dad is Hulk Hogan.” “Sorry” I seem to plead with my eyes.
“Hi Mr. Rhodes Sir,” Jables greeted. I instantly noticed that he tacked on “Sir” to the end of his greeting. Clearly he remembered the story I told to him about Traveler and the Bullet. Thank god! My dad had no excuse to accost him or pass a bullet. Right away my dad questioned him, “Are you one of my son’s friends?” Jables replied back, “No Sir,” and my dad continued, “GOOD! I hate his friends,” then marched off without another word. A little while later when he returned I was playing my parents upright piano and serenading Jables with my mad skills. Charging up to Jables with another random question bursting from his lips, he exploded “Do you play piano?”
“No, I play the bass guitar,” Jables replied.
“GOOD!” he grunted “cause fags play piano,” and then he mumbled as he turned away “Maybe I want you to be a fag if you’re hanging out with my daughter.” It’s about here that I’d like to make a quick side note, my father isn’t racist, sexist, or homophobic at all he just revels in making people uncomfortable by spouting out inappropriate comments at random. I like to call him my shock jock father… and boy is he.
Enter the Master of Death
This story begins with my cousin, we’ll call her Love, and a guy she dated a million years ago. Demo was a dark emo type guy obsessed with death and dying. He would often dream about the many ways he would finally come to his demise. His dreams mainly consisted of something as simple as being hit by a car or slitting his wrists. On a good day however, his dreams would lead into more elaborate types of torturous death scenes, such as doing a triple axel into a wood chipper. One nice summer evening Love brought Demo to one of my families get-togethers, boy was that a bad idea. The minute Demo met my uncle, the Master of Death, the primordial demonic sh!t hit the fan.
My uncle is the most bad ass fighter in the world and he’s been training since he was a kid. Out of all my crazy and intimidating family members he has the potential to be the scariest. Luckily my uncle is the Zen Master of calm and collectivity. At first glance there isn’t too much about him that screams run for your life. He is actually a very approachable and lovable man. There is a surfer like quality to him; he’s tall, sun kissed, and has a lean toned sculpt to his physique that shows he is a very active man. But upon closer inspection his gaze is intense and radiates power. So needless to say, my uncle saves his scariest moments for necessary means of intimidation. Such a need arises when he meets his niece’s boyfriends.
“Hi Uncle Master, this is my boyfriend Demo,” Love chirped in anticipation. Master scanned the pale frail guy before him and took an instant dislike to Demo. This kid had on a black shirt with an inscription on the front of it that screamed “I would rather be dead then here with you stupid humans”. His hair was a shade of black that only crows don and it had a greasy unkempt look about it. The kid appeared to have already given up on life and its hygiene rituals completely. Master pointed to Demo’s shirt and calmly exclaimed, “You like death” It seemed more like a statement than a question. Master’s mind was already made up.
“From dawn to twilight death is all I think about. This so called life is just a waste of time. I look forward to the day when the dark lord snatches what pitiful remains there is left in this decrepit shell that I am forced to call a body,” Demo preached shaking his head as a cord of greasy hair slapped violently against his cheek. Demo looked down upon the frame that he obviously detested beyond all belief, his own.
“Well kid, then this is your lucky day,” Master replied grabbing Demo and fastening him into a skilled choke hold. Demo was getting a taste of the afterlife, but to his horror and surprise he was no longer running pell-mell towards the end. Instead he was fighting, fighting for the one thing that he didn’t think he would ever struggle to keep. Demo’s vision was getting dimmer with every passing second until almost everything was snuffed out into a cloud of total darkness. Right about the moment he would be visiting the great beyond a flood of life hit him like a vampire’s first sunrise. Realization washed over him. Where just moments before, he was standing on his own accord, now he was on the floor hacking and coughing trying to regain his breath. Master bent down into Demo’s frame of vision and scoffed, “Hmmm, for a guy who loves death so much, you sure did fight for life.”
I ended up recounting these events to Jables on the drive over to meet my uncle for the first time. When we walked into his house together, my uncle was waiting for us. “Hey uncle Master, this is my boyfriend Jables.” Immediately Master looked down at the writing on Jables shirt and when glancing back up at his face he calmly inquired, “You like death?”
Jables immediately looked down at his shirt and to his horror, realized that the inscription on it read, “Cake or Death?” With eyes the size of saucers he shook his head frantically and spun around and pointed to the back of the shirt where it read, “Ummm cake please.” With the smallest shaky voice ever, he said, “Eddie Izzard, it’s an Eddie Izzard skit. Ummm cake please. I don’t want death sir, just cake.” Masters eyes were slits when he remarked, “Okay, I’ll let you slide.”
I used to think when I got older that this protective screening process of my suitors would cease to continue or at least die down once I finally obtained a long term suitable boyfriend. But still to this day my dad gives Jables hell, indiscreetly hinting at him that he thinks he’s gay or a woman. Luckily Jables has the patience of saint and takes it all in stride. The most I got from him was a smile and a light laugh when I told him that my uncle threatened to “make his death look like an accident” if he ever hurt me. Both he and I know my uncle would never stoop to such things as murder. Master cracking a empty threat about redemption meant he simply wanted me to know that he’s got my back for what ever support I need in my life, whether it be a shoulder for me to cry on or an declaration of death to make me smile. I am entirely too blessed with the strong men I have in my life, they truly are the reason why I’ve never had a broken heart.
The other day my friend Sassy and I were at an event where they had all sorts of cool things. A craps table, roulette wheel, D.J, photo booth, a plethora of tasty delights and my ultimate favorite two artists creating Caricature drawings of people who were patient enough to stand in line to get one done of them. My friend and I were two of those very patient people waiting our turn to get an amazing drawing of ourselves done. I was elated beyond all belief! It brought me back to when I was a kid, which was the last and only time that I’ve had one of those done for me.
When I was around 9 my mom and aunt brought my two sisters and I to San Francisco. We were so excited, we were use to the suburbs of the bay area and when ever we went to the city it was a treat. On our travels in SF we came across an artist creating colorful Caricature drawings with fun San Francisco type scenery in the background of the drawing. We some how talked my mom into letting us get one done.
The artist was going to put all three of us sisters onto one sheet of paper and then we were going to hang it in our room. My older sister was up first and the artist started sketching away. My littlest sister and I were in awe! Everything was silent and calm until the artist started putting details into the drawing of my older sister’s face (lets just call her Scholar). My littlest sister (we will call her Traveler) screamed in horror and pointed to the picture. “Oh my god Scholar! He is putting pimples on your face! Lots and lots of pimples!”
Panic erupted over Scholars face, but was quickly snuffed out when the artist piped up to defend his work. Aghast at the suggestion that his masterpiece was being misinterpreted, by a 5 year old none the less, he spouted! “They’re not pimples! Look at her face, she’s got little freckles around her nose and sprinkled on her cheeks, I’m just replicating that, but I’ll make sure to put lots of pimples all over your face when I get to you.”
My little sister was a defiant young thing and has only gotten worse with age. Her face contorted in rage and she bleated out “Oh No you don’t! I won’t let you put pimples on my face!” Laughter issued from us all, we couldn’t help it, and we were egging her on. Imagine a small red head girl trying to boss around a grown man, it was ridiculous. Traveler has always been a very bright kid, I think that at first glace she really thought they were pimples but upon further inspection realized that they were in fact freckles. But seeing as this garnered laughs and attention from my group as well as on lookers, she kept up the act, like I said, smart kid.
Back and forth they bickered until it was my turn. Since I didn’t have any freckles there wasn’t a pimple incident. But once Traveler was calming sitting in the chair she blurted out “And remember! No. Pimples!” As you all might have guessed once the artist got to the detailing of Travelers face… Pimples. “You’re putting pimples on me! Stop! Stop!” she articulated “Stop!” as she swatted towards his hand. “Oh I think you need lots of pimples” He teased back “Lots of pimples”.
I recounted this very same story to Sassy while patiently standing in line for 30 minutes. I was like a kid again, exuberant, innocent, and expecting an amazing picture of me to be drawn. At last I was the next in line, but just then the artist states that the woman she was currently drawing would be her last for the night. I looked around… I was the only and last person in line, and I waited for a half an hour! I wanted my picture drawn! I wanted it! When I reverted to childlike wonder and elation, unfortunately I also was at the same emotional level of a 9 year old.
I waited until the woman was done drawing the “last” customer to calmly throw a temper tantrum about the unfairness of her cutting the line right in front of me when I was the LAST PERSON IN LINE! When I confronted her, I was surprisingly sweet until the bitch was completely way too rude and then I showed her… and quickly burst into tears. Normally I would have been able to tell her how rude she was being and that I’m going to complain, but just then… I couldn’t and I ran for it. On the way home I called my parents in hysterics. “Mom, that woman was so… so m-mean! I uuhh am uuhh so upseeetttt!!!!!!”
That’s when I heard my dad in the back of the call yelling, “You should have punched her! You should have kicked the crap out of her! You should have called her a Bitch! You should have called her a big cunt! You should have gotten her in a choke hold! You’re my daughter! You could have creamed her! Punch her when no ones looking! Go back there and sucker punch her in the gut!” All this is going on while my sweet mother is giving me an emotional hug over the phone. Finally she calmed me down, which she is good at, and I promised her I would call her the next day to let her know how I was doing.
So fast forward to when I called her back the next day. My dad answered the phone and instead of the usual “WUUUUZZZ UPPPP!” I got “You should have punched the bitch so hard in the gut, real hard, but when no one was looking. That part’s real important. You have to make sure that NO ONE is looking. And then you scream real loud ‘Oh my god she just had a seizure! Don’t worry! I’m going to give her C.P.R’ and that’s when you just start pounding on her chest in a fake attempt of the chest compression part of it, make sure it just looks like a sloppy job. Then you get up and leave. No one would know you were actually kicking the crap out of her. And some might even think you were heroic. Don’t worry, remember she deserves it.”
Immature enthusiasm heavily laced his voice and this is how I realized it was all a joke to cheer me up. Well it worked I was laughing so hard! My dad’s humor is a bit sadistic and inappropriate but it never fails to make me laugh. My mom pulled the receiver away from father Incredible Hulk and with a love struck air she was saying, how adorable he is, and how much he loves me and how he wants me to smile and be happy. I told her it worked and that I love him right back, that crazy teddy bear man.
Later that night I thought about it. It would have been fantastic to have my dad there. The picture clear in my mind, my monster of a dad giving the rude artist the death look then grunt at her. Like a cartoon character she would leap into trying to stay in my dad’s good graces, which usually happens by the way. I would end up walking out of that party with a caricature of me and in my dad’s embrace we would laugh about how easy that was. But in reality I was reduced to tears and embarrassed. Note to self, must clone dad and bring where ever I go. This way I would get what ever I wanted and would be the coolest, most protected girl in San Francisco!