Family Christmas Weekend

This past weekend I went down to Richmond to have our annual Xmas Family Dinner, wherein my brothers and I descend upon my sister’s house to eat, drink and be merry. As this was what I thought to be the best one in all the years we’ve done this, thought I’d collect a few thoughts for you.

My sister, who always hosts these events, is a BIT of a worrier. God bless her, she means the best, but she thinks she’s hosting a state dinner and the Queen of England is coming. “It’s only us, we try and say. But she gets worked up worrying, for weeks leading up to it she’s screaming, desperately trying to make everything perfect etc etc. worried about the meal, someone finding a coaster out of place, whatever. So this year my brother came up with a GENIUS idea to relieve her stress: instead of cooking, fuck that, we’ll go to our all-time favorite Chinese restaurant down the street, Joy Garden. This way we just roll in, have a few cocktails, she ain’t gotta cook or nothing. No worrying, no screaming. So of course by late afternoon she’s worrying about us getting there EXACTLY AT 5PM, who’s sitting where, how we’re getting there, what the Chinese are gonna do about Google, etc etc. But at least instead of the Crazy-O-Meter raging at 10, this was just a healthy purring 4. Beautiful idea. Genius. On a side note, instead of the real Chinese waitresses we’ve enjoyed there throughout the decades (my gems such as “whachu wan for to dwink??!?!” did not come outta thin air, people), we got stuck with some middle-aged former barfly from the sticks. I don’t go to an institution such as Joy Garden to hear “yall” or “sugarpie” or “follow me to the ladies room, Big Fun Buck.” And I ordered a Johnny Walker Black. Ten minutes later she comes out with a SHOT of JWB. Which, of course was wrong. But the funny thing is it wasn’t even in a shot glass, it was in a regular glass, but for some reason she thought “this guy wants a shot, even though he didn’t say so, and even though we don’t have shot glasses in the restaurant cause it’s not like people come here to pound shots, so you know what…I’m thinking what the hell, I'll try giving him a shot.” What the fuck thinking is this? "...I'm back at Xmastime's place, he asked me to come in here and change into sumpin skimpy so we can fuck, so I'm thinking...he probably wants me to fill the sink with shaving cream, then slip out the window and blow the first teenager I see on the street...I'm on it!"

Speaking of the Chinese, as usual I took the Chinatown bus down. I don’t know what it is they’re cooking up but I’m telling you, these people are up to something. I’m surrounded by them on their cell phones, screaming “ACH TUNG DOW!! TUNG DOW CHU CHU TUNG FOO DAH!!!!!!!” Jesus. A violent sounding language. MAYBE they’re saying “Plesse pick me up at the appropriate bus depot upon my arrival, say hello to Grandmama.” But they might also be saying “Damn right we’re blowing this shit up, starting with this fucking bus and Yellowstone. Free MY big swingin Tibet, Niggaaaaaazzz!!”

I actually heard a Chinese girl behind me finish a sentence with “ding ding ding!” Ding ding ding? Are you kidding me? I turned around, I thought maybe I had won a prize. It’s tough to be intimidated by a people who actually say “ding ding ding.” Is there an English equivalent of using the same word three straight times in a sentence? MAYBE when me and Op go out looking to get up in some tongety-tong tongs, but that’s about it. And he’s married, which surely the Chinese already know. Hmm. Velly intresting.

One good thing was that for the second year in a row, Xmastime did not win the “Brother Who Pisses off Our Sister by Being a Dumb Drunk Fuck Award.” Little bro defended his title nicely, following up last year’s performance with breaking a window, covering the driveway in puke, shattering his own glasses on the porch and, best of all, being completely baffled the next morning by our sister peeling the paint off the walls with her screaming at him. God Bless him. All this while yours truly, after years of holding the title and there being talk of having my number retired, sat quietly on the couch in a nicely pressed white shirt, sipping beer while chatting amiably. Little Bro, a lesson for next year: when you're at a get together and about to puke, just lift your shirt away from your chest, lower your head, turn towards your shoulder and let the puke fly, then cover back up. Camon brah! This is remedial shit I'm teaching here!

He did have the best thought of the weekend, though. After we had all had a few cocktails, a group of us got into a spirited debate about something. Little bro decides to jump in and disagrees with me. I say something and then he suddenly jumps up and announces A-HA!!! He wins the argument!...turns out I had used the word “amalgamation.” And, since he didn’t know what the word meant, that completely discredited everything I had said up to that moment. Get that? It’s not even as if he had busted me trying to be showy with a word I myself did not understand, it’s that HE didn’t know it, so TA-DA!! Everything I had said up to that point had no substance, he wins, let’s hit the clubs and drink us up some bub! Unreal. Poor dude, was ecstatic, actually looked around the room for a high five. Sigh.

Of course all great things in VA begin and end with my nephew Paddy Mac. I got to spend hours with him, and I learned to play his favorite “game” with him. He likes for you to sit in a chair, and one by one he will bring you all of his books. Here’s one on shapes, here’s one on trucks, dogs, whatever. At first you’re like “oh, you want me to read this to you?” to which he’s like please shut up, I’ve got 14 more books to deliver. So you sit there til you have all the books. And then of course it’s time to…you got it…return the books. One by one he takes them from you back to the book corner. Fascinating. And once you’re done with book delivery, it’s stuffed animal transfer time. And just like how he has zero interest in reading the books, he simply has no time to waste actually playing with the freaking animals, gotta keep moving product. Penguin, bear, Snoopy, etc etc. I figure he’ll end up as a librarian, or a mailman. Well, or if he actually wants to make money, a drug mule. I dont throw the word "prodigy" around every day people, but I feel it's applicable here.

Everyone spent the weekend being fascinated by how quickly I’d be able to calm little man down whenever he’d get cranky. He’d start to cry, and Uncle Xmas would stroll in, lay hands, and VOILA! Calmed down or, even better, drifting off to sleep. "What a guy!" everyone thinks. I’m the same way with my godsons, they think I have some magical touch. So I guess it’s time I gave up my secret….I keep my fingers coated in whiskey. Go to baby, pat him on head “awww, lil guy, it’s okay…” let him suck your finger for a second, POW! He’s down, and we can get back to discussing why only one chick has ever appreciated it when I tried to introduce Chicken McNuggets into our lovemaking (yes, the fucking 20-pack.)

So I had a great weekend, and in light of recent events I’m letting my older brother know that I’m gunning for him next year for the “Golden Brother” title; I don’t know what I can do to knock him off the top but I’ll think of something. SOMEone might take a sip of his drink and wake up on my sister’s couch the next morning in a Richmond Braves uniform with a note pinned to it “Thanks for last night!! – Love, Coach”