The family is going to hell . . .
So I spent my tragically ephemeral spring vacation not skiing at Bachelor. While I had a fantastic time sitting on my ass in Sunriver (where, by the way, only families vacation--there are no single guys), the original mission was to ski 'til we were broke and broken. Unfortunately, as some of you may already know, Kerry jumped the gun and broke herself before we even got close to the Columbia. I enjoyed the slacker session, but my heart cried when it snowed not once, but twice. FUCK. Anyway, that's not really the point.
The point is this. On my way home from Vancouver/Hockinson/Brush Prairie I stopped in Steilacoom a.k.a Stilly-compton to visit my family. Johnny treated me to "food" at KFC. Word to the wise: if you take a girl who's never eaten at a KFC before to a KFC--do not order her something that appears to have been drowned alive in grease collected from a cow's sweating ass crack then rolled in crusty shit they like to call barbeque sauce. This is not a good plan of action, even if that girl is your cousin.
Johnny went somewhere to do something and left me with Erica and Aunt Susie. This was the most valuable neglegence of time I've ever partaken. Susie revealed to me the most amazing dirt on my parents from way back in the days of lore. Good god. My dad had a harem. In fact, my father was blatantly promiscuous. There was a muffled reference to a letter in which my father described some nameless girl as "really knowing how to nasty." On top of that, he "experimented" with drugs. Mark and David were clearly defined potheads, but fortunately my old man was spending all his money on albums and didn't have enough money to develop a serious relationship with marijuana. David and Tracy (a notoriously "fast" girl with an even more notorious reputation within my family history) smoked an entire lid of pot while sailing a foam boat in the middle of the fucking Columbia River and forgot to come in before the wind died. My uncle is a genius. My mother met my father at an all-out kegger at the U, not the friendly "get-together" described to me previously. My mom got totally fucked up because guess who was the bar tender. That's right, dear old Dad. So Mommy just kept going back for more until she was sloshed good and hard. My father then staggered home to tell Susie that the cutest drunk girl had made out with him. My mother was apparently hell on wheels. She had long blonde hair and was a little hottie in a sports car who partied like a pro. Duh, we're Swedish. But honestly, I didn't need to know all that about my old man. I really didn't. I was enjoying the illusionment of looking at his lame-ass dork of the year ASB president photo in his Hudson's Bay yearbook and feeling confident in my father's overwhelming loser factor. Back then, before Susie shattered my sheltered existence, I knew that my father was a good, clean, wholesome Eagle Scout. Now I realize he was an Eagle Scout who might have tried to pass of crabs as something he caught from a sleeping bag during a camp out. Sick. What was worse was when my very own aunt (by marriage, in her defense) described my dad to me as a "hot stud." That can't be. No, no I just don't believe it. My dad was a weirdo, a dud, and a dork. None of this worshiping hords of women crap will ever be true in my mind. NEVER.
The point is this. On my way home from Vancouver/Hockinson/Brush Prairie I stopped in Steilacoom a.k.a Stilly-compton to visit my family. Johnny treated me to "food" at KFC. Word to the wise: if you take a girl who's never eaten at a KFC before to a KFC--do not order her something that appears to have been drowned alive in grease collected from a cow's sweating ass crack then rolled in crusty shit they like to call barbeque sauce. This is not a good plan of action, even if that girl is your cousin.
Johnny went somewhere to do something and left me with Erica and Aunt Susie. This was the most valuable neglegence of time I've ever partaken. Susie revealed to me the most amazing dirt on my parents from way back in the days of lore. Good god. My dad had a harem. In fact, my father was blatantly promiscuous. There was a muffled reference to a letter in which my father described some nameless girl as "really knowing how to nasty." On top of that, he "experimented" with drugs. Mark and David were clearly defined potheads, but fortunately my old man was spending all his money on albums and didn't have enough money to develop a serious relationship with marijuana. David and Tracy (a notoriously "fast" girl with an even more notorious reputation within my family history) smoked an entire lid of pot while sailing a foam boat in the middle of the fucking Columbia River and forgot to come in before the wind died. My uncle is a genius. My mother met my father at an all-out kegger at the U, not the friendly "get-together" described to me previously. My mom got totally fucked up because guess who was the bar tender. That's right, dear old Dad. So Mommy just kept going back for more until she was sloshed good and hard. My father then staggered home to tell Susie that the cutest drunk girl had made out with him. My mother was apparently hell on wheels. She had long blonde hair and was a little hottie in a sports car who partied like a pro. Duh, we're Swedish. But honestly, I didn't need to know all that about my old man. I really didn't. I was enjoying the illusionment of looking at his lame-ass dork of the year ASB president photo in his Hudson's Bay yearbook and feeling confident in my father's overwhelming loser factor. Back then, before Susie shattered my sheltered existence, I knew that my father was a good, clean, wholesome Eagle Scout. Now I realize he was an Eagle Scout who might have tried to pass of crabs as something he caught from a sleeping bag during a camp out. Sick. What was worse was when my very own aunt (by marriage, in her defense) described my dad to me as a "hot stud." That can't be. No, no I just don't believe it. My dad was a weirdo, a dud, and a dork. None of this worshiping hords of women crap will ever be true in my mind. NEVER.