Ma Famille: Unrest

I went to bed at midnight and I was up by four. I was in the gym by 4:30. Gyming always makes me sleepy, yet here I am, awake. It’s almost Hanukkah. It’s almost Christmas. Normally, I’m bouncing off the walls with excitement. I’m supposed to be throwing a party next week and I haven’t even sent out the evite yet. Anyone that knows me knows that my invites go out three weeks early.

Most of my gifts have been bought. My tree is up, my wreath, my stocking, and my lights. Everything is as it should be, well, everything but me. My heart just isn’t in it this year. This is why I wanted to go to Australia. I tell people I want to go because it’s summer there and I want to wear a bikini and have two summers this year, but there real reason I wanted to go is because it’s not Christmas there. I mean, it is, but it isn’t. There would be beach and sunshine. I’m here because my mother needs me. Otherwise, I’d have left already.

My poor heart just hurts. I miss my nana. I keep doing stupid things. I was in the Valero and, without thinking, picked up a Snickers Bar for her. I went to buy new Santa hats and, without thinking, I bought six: Mom’s, Dad’s, Sister’s, Brother’s, Mine, and one for my nana. Or like the time I left from my mom’s and I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and I ended up at the nursing home. It wasn’t until I was about to open the door and get out that I realized where I was and what I did. I sat in my car and bawled. It’s reflex, even after all these months that she’s been gone, to go and see her after a visit with my mum.

That little lady holds such a large piece of my heart. I feel lost without her.

State of the Union: Bereft
Listening to: Nothing

Edited: December 21st, 2008

Ma Famille: Confessions

“So, you know I was the one who taped your Malibu Barbie to that bottle rocket that time, right?”

“You remember that time I drew moustaches all over your New Kids on the Block posters?”

“You know I was the one that ran off with your Fairweather Johnson cd, right? All three times?”

“I was the one that put the frogs in your sleeping bag that time in Yosemite.”

“I was the one that pulled the strings on your halter top that day you flashed everyone at Element.”

“ You knew I was the one wearing the Jason mask the day we played that prank on you at McKinney Falls and you ended up fainting, right?”

“I was the one that really lost the hotel reservation stuff when we were in Germany, not you.”

It’s funny how, when people know they’re not long on the earth, they will start fessing up to everything bad they’ve ever done to you. He told me so many things, but these are the ones that stood out, probably because they were the ones that I was the most outraged about at the time. He told me that I was his perfect girl, well, provided I took three or four inches from my waistline and added them directly to my ass. That bastard. I’m still laughing about that.

It’s been six months. Six loooong months. I’ve had time to not be morose anymore. Don’t get me wrong; I still miss him. I still lie on my back at night, staring at the ceiling as a running movie of us plays in my head, but it’s a good thing. I cry happy tears because I have happy memories. I think about him and Brandon a lot. They taught me so much about men and what they wanted. They shaped so much of who I am. They turned me into a dude with boobs, basically. They taught me to love sports, to drink beer, how to fish, that you aren’t supposed to speak until the game goes to commercial, how to shoot a rifle and skin the rabbit I just shot.

Gianni taught me how to not cry because it’s emotional blackmail and that a man won’t care much if you sleep with his best friend or burn up everything in his home, but will feel it down to his nutsack if you fuck up his car. He’s why I started cooking. He’s why I kick ass at Rock Band. He knew everything about me, all my secrets, all my flaws, all my faults, all the stupid things that I tried to keep hidden, and he still loved me anyway. I told him that I wouldn’t write some depressingly perfect blog entry when he died about how wonderful he was and gloss over the fact that he could act like an asshole at the drop of a dime.

We made a whole list of things that I needed to do before I die. He told me his fondest hopes and wishes that he had for me. He told me that I was the only girl that never let him down. He told me I was the best sister/wife he could ever ask for. He told me that he wanted me to keep one picture of him inside my home and not to replace the others because he didn’t want to become someone relegated to a photo album or put in a box in the back of my closet because I can’t bear to look at him, knowing what I had lost.

So, there’s one picture sitting proudly in my living room, the same picture that I have on my bulletin board at work that houses pictures of those I love. I will carry him with me in my heart every single day and, until I see him again, there’s one picture, taken on one perfect day, that I will carry with me everywhere I go.

State of the Union: Nostalgic

Listening to: My Old Friend by Tim McGraw

Edited: August 29th, 2008

Ma Famille: Pigeon Hole

My dad has been here for a couple of weeks now. He never stays this long. Ever. He touches down, kevetches about how I live my life, the guys I date, the weight I maintain, he buys me lunch or dinner for a couple of days and then he leaves again. I can tolerate him because he’s usually only here for a few days before he’s off again, but he’s been here for two whole weeks.

He was chomping at the bit to go. I was, as well, because I have to wear a dress everyday that he’s here. (He doesn’t like it when I wear pants) We deal best with each other when we see each other in small increments of time. He’s very judgmental, extremely opinionated, and very outspoken. People say I’m like him, but I don’t see it……..I kid, I kid.

My father, who doesn’t approve of anything that I do, that is mean for mean’s sake, did something so nice and so thoughtful that I *know* he’s been possessed by aliens. I’m moving in eight days. Everything was packed. Everything except Gianni’s closet. I hadn’t gone through his things. I couldn’t even go in there because I would smell his cologne and start to cry. This happened a few times before I just gave up.

He knew that this was going to be hard for me, but that it was something that had to be done, so my father, mean, hard-hearted bastard that he is, stayed this whole time until I was ready to go through Gianni’s things. He helped me fold and sort. He helped me pack and bag. He helped me box and crate. He held me when I cried and he listened to the stories that went with every item. He did it without complaint, without impatience. He pissed me off. Grrrr. Why did he have to be so nice? Why did he have to be so understanding. It’s hard to stay angry when he acts like a human being.

Why can’t people stay in the pigeon hole that you put them in?

State of the Union: Bereft
Listening to: Nothing

Edited: August 26th, 2008

Ma Famille: Home

So, we’re back up and running. Thanks heaps, Chica. You really saved the day. This place feels like home and you guys are like family, but I Iearned my lesson. I copied all my posts and will be storing them at a secure location. I will post mirror blogs on Vox. And I will never log out of EFX again……

State of the Union: Relieved
Listening to: Nada

Edited: August 26th, 2008

Ma Famille: Answered Prayers

On Christmas Eve I blogged about Christmas wishes and how I had wished for the same thing ever year and never got it. My nana had senile dementia and was also diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. The short bus explanation is that she was always afraid that someone was out to get her and she had conversations with voices in her head that no one else could hear. It sounds kinda messed up, but I learned a lot of family dirt while she would be having an episode. It was always good blackmail material for later on. I wished that my nana would go back to being herself. I wished that her mind would be whole again.

My nana was the coolest lady ever. She sang while she cooked, she could make miracles in the kitchen and feed an army of grandchildren on the smallest budget imaginable. She used to make all my clothes by hand, she taught me how to roller skate, she taught me how to clean in times of stress and how, no matter how bad things got, to always keep a smile on my face and always look immaculate at all times. She thought that personal appearance was really important and I think that explains why I go postal if my shoes and purse don’t match and why I care about my hats and belts being perfectly color coordinated with my outfits.

I know that my blogging has been nothing but sadness and bad news heaped on top of more bad news, but I wanted to say that, eighteen years later, God finally granted my Christmas wish. I wasn’t supposed to go to the nursing home the night she died; I was supposed to come the following morning and bring her pancakes. I had an hour to kill before meeting my friends and I wanted to take her the truffles that I made for her. My aunt told me later that my nana said that I was coming. She was waiting for me.

When I got there, she sent my mom and aunt to go get coffee and she sat there listening to me as I rattled on about this guy up north and how he was vexing me. I also rattled on about this guy here that keeps asking me out and how he freaks me out because he’s normal and normal boys don’t like me, so there must be something wrong with him. She took my hand and she told me that I needed to apologize to northern boy because I owed him at least that. She told me that normal boy had his head on straight and could see I was wheat among the chaff. She told me that I needed to graduate, even if it took ten years, but that I needed to do it and make her proud. She told me to finish the book that I’ve been writing since I was twelve. She told me to start sewing again because it’s a shame to waste a gift from God. She told me to get married and have babies because family is the most important thing. She told me to never give up on life and on love and, when she went on her journey, to live life big, big enough for the both of us.

I was watching her. Her eyes weren’t cloudy or confused. Her thoughts weren’t muddled. She looked at me with an expression I hadn’t seen since I was in primary school. She was alert and aware and oh so there. She took my hand and kissed it. She rubbed my face and told me that I was beautiful. I laughed and said she was vain because I look like she did before time marched over her body. She kissed me and said that I was her best girl and that she waited for me. My mom and aunt came in the room and I turned to tell them that nana was back. When I turned back around, she looked at us one last time, closed her eyes and died.

Everyone wonders why I’m not falling apart and screaming with rage at the world. How can I be? My Christmas wish was answered and my nana came back to me.

State of the Union: Peaceful
Listening to: Don’t Get Around Much Anymore by Duke Ellington

Edited: August 23rd, 2008

I just wanted to give everyone here a head’s up. My sister’s grandmother lost her struggle with cancer last night and passed away. Demetrius is understandably upset, because her grandmother was a second mother and a best friend to her, but she values all of the friendships that she has here and I just thought that you all should know.

Edited: August 18th, 2008

Ma Famille: Desert Storms

I haven’t blogged here in a while and I haven’t read any of your entries and I apologize for that. Most of my energy and attentions have been on the brother unit. He is not doing well at all. I am not allowed to voice that or give it away in my look, speech, or deportment when he is near. I have to be the “Ambassador of Goodwill and Good Cheer.” Yes, I am the lucky bastard that has been appointed to lie to him and make him think everything is all right. Yeah, if only my hands would stop shaking.

Anyway, we’re holed up here at the Ritz Carlton in Phoenix. We’re here for our last Super Bowl trip. We’ve been going every year for the past twelve years. This one is a little more painful because it’s the last one that I’ll ever go to with either of my brothers. It’s probably the last time my dad and I will ever have a civil word to each other, either, but no matter. He still has a bug up his ass about the money he paid for the extra ticket to tomorrow’s game. It was supposed to be a present for a friend’s birthday, but, in typical Demetrius fashion, I fucked up, we got into a fight, he’s not here, and my dad is on the warpath.

For the past week, I’ve had to listen to my dad bray to anyone that will listen about how I am a flake and my friends are, too. Tonight, he started his shit up again and I couldn’t take it anymore, and just exploded on his ass. I went to the Bank of America, withdrew the money he paid for the extra ticket, went back up to his suite, and threw the money at him and told him to find something else to get his knickers in a twist about. He looked like he was about to backhand me and send me flying through the window. Lord, where would I be if not for Gianni and his timely interventions?

I will be in the stands tomorrow in my Pats gear, cheering my heart out. Gianni loves the Giants, as does my father, so I will be sitting in enemy territory, but no matter. I will represent regardless. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the extra ticket in time for you to get off work, Birdy. If my dad ever lets me come again, I will bring you for sure.

You guys won’t see me or hear from me for a while. After the game, Gianni and I are headed to Santa Barbara. I don’t think he’ll be with us too much longer. My heart plummets every time I think about how gaunt and wan he looked when they got off the plane from Sydney. Lordy, I can’t allow myself to think about that right now. I have to make the time he has left the best of his life and that doesn’t leave room for tears, broken hearts, or anything other than rainbows and sunshine. My face will probably crack with all this false cheer, but I refuse to let his last days be anything less than storm-proof.

Be well, all of you, and know that all of you are in my prayers.

Edited: August 18th, 2008

Ma Famille: Sisters Are Awesome

I had a test last night, so I couldn’t skip class, so my mother had the task of taking my little sister to see Hannah Montana. She called me on the way home and prattled on in my ear about how much fun she had, how she knew all the words to all the songs, about every outfit that she wore, and how nothing would EVER top this moment in her life.

She thanked me for being the bestest big sister ever and that she took back everything bad she ever said about me. Then she said that she never said anything bad, but she heard me say that to my mom, so she had to say it, too. She is over the moon and her friends are pea-green with envy that she got to go while they sat at home living out their mundane existence.

Her enthusiasm was the balm that I needed for an otherwise shitty week.

State of the Union: Tense, but hopeful
Listening to: Nada

Edited: August 18th, 2008

Ma Famille: Kentucky Deluxe

I feel like I’m being split. I feel like I am an atom and I am splitting, over and over again. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Two hours last night. Two in the morning and no sleep looming on the horizon, either. Yet another pounding migraine to look forward to tomorrow. Great.

He called me a few minutes ago. He knew I would be up. He knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I don’t think he’s been sleeping much, either. He asked me why we never married each other. The fact that it is quasi-incestuous comes to mind, I tell him. We laughed together. I think it’s the first time I have really laughed in days.

He told me that I had to marry him because he is a dying man and it’s his dying wish. He told me that I just wasn’t thinking about it in the proper fashion. What kind of fashion of thinking would make me marry a man that I have loved and grew up with as my brother? I just had to switch my mind set, according to him and imagine that we were from Kentucky. That set us off in gales of laughter.

At the same time, we both shouted, “Kentucky Deluxe!” at the top of our lungs and started laughing all over again. Damn him. For a moment, he made me forget that my soul is permanently scarred and that my heart is eternally broken.

That bastard.

State of the Union: Heart Sore
Listening to: Myself sighing

Edited: August 18th, 2008

Ma Famille: Mutiny on the Bounty

Friday found me at the Carnival with Mindalicious (Don’t blame me. She already had that nickname when I met her) celebrating her birthday. Shivering uncontrollably and being tipsy from Jim Beam are not conducive to good fun but it ain’t my party and I can’t cry if I want to because it’s too flipping cold and I’d probably make ice cubes. We ended up going to Rodeo so she could “scam some fresh, barely legal ass,” her words, not mine. While we were there, I ran into Jorge, the guy that taught me how to dance sonideros and basically made me the dancing fool that I am today. It felt odd being there without my dance partner, Fernando, but the beat went on and I guess I have to, too. I danced and danced and danced. For the first time in a really long time, I felt like me. It was awesome. It also didn’t hurt that all those younger, thinner girls were gnashing their teeth with envy because the chubby black girl can dance to Mexican music better than they can. Life sucks and so do you, Chick.

I went out today in search of the illusive “winter jacket.” Finding a heavy jacket in Texas is like looking for meaning in a Jessica Simpson movie; It ain’t gonna happen. I found a jacket that has goose down in it, but it still feels incredibly thin. I’m going to freeze my ass off in Boston. I already know it. I searched my closet and am having the hardest time finding a pair of boots that don’t have three inch stiletto heels. I went to the mall today and all the boots I found are the same. So, I’m going to freeze my ass off as I fall on my ass in Boston. At least I’ll look cute in my new skullies.

Everyone came over for the Patriots/Giants game. I made tortas with chicken, steak, and milanesa. My dad and brother are back from Greece. My dad doesn’t seem to realize that I’m pissed at him and I’m too done to explain. Thebigp would kick my ass if I rooted for anyone other than the Pats and my dad, a rabid Giants fan, is on my eternal shit list, so I cheered long and loud for the Pats and my dad just ripped me a new one when the Pats won. If he wasn’t like three of me, I would have kicked his ass when he said that I needed to learn where my loyalties should be. Gee, Dad, maybe you should practice what you preach. There’s a novel approach.

Gianni is trying to play peacemaker, but there’s no peace to be made. He would kick my ass for saying this, but he’s starting to lose muscle mass. I’d better start cooking more protein. He’s accepted that he’s going to die sometime next year, but he refuses to lose “the bod of steel” as his has been christened. Sometimes, I think the doctors were wrong. He looks as healthy as the proverbial horse, but sometimes, when he doesn’t know that I’m watching, I see him and I see his fatigue.

Time to go. The Evil King is loudly voicing his displeasure because the Long Suffering Princess is not out there pouring his ale and kissing his ass. Little does he know that the Princess is about to mutiny.

State of the Union: Rebellious
Listening to: My dad bellowing “Hey Tubby! Where’s my beer?”

Edited: August 18th, 2008