Three Posts! What? So – while reading the other links on yeah write, I stumbled upon BloggerIdol. Here’s the rules for this week, straight from the site:
Each Monday, we will give you the same assignment that the contestants are doing, and then you can come back here and link your post so that others can read it.[The current contestants] have to write about a tradition that they participate in with their family, extended family, or friends, but at the same time, really let their new fans know who they are, since it's their first post. There are no word limitations, but you have to include at least one image in your post.
I was meeting my boyfriend’s family for the first time … and it was Thanksgiving. Talk about fucking pressure. God, my boyfriend was a dick. Why was I dating him? As you can imagine, I was nervous as hell. Not only was I meeting his parents, I was meeting his grandparents, his aunts, that one drunk, perverted uncle you know we all have, and his cousins.
So, I asked my girlfriend Carrie for some advice. She had been in a lot more committed relationships than I had. To assist, she took me to Victoria’s Secret to buy a good bra. I didn’t need to have attractive breasts to meet his family; I just had to cover my breasts up. I was twenty-two, and I didn’t wear a bra. She said my potential in-laws definitely did not want to see my nipples upon first meeting. I didn’t know; no bra had always made me really popular at the bars.
So, I wore a good bra to Thanksgiving and I was quite charming. The parents did end up as the in-laws. Yes, we did get married … and, yes, we did also get divorced. There was far bigger issues in our marriage than the fit of my bra … believe me. So, I went back to spending my holidays with my own family, something I stopped doing during our marriage.
Why go home to my family? My cousins were all creepy little pimple-faced assholes that I had no desire to see. My aunt suffered from psychosomatic disorder and prattled on and on about her numerous imagined illnesses. I was like, “Yeah … your bones aren’t too long for your arm. You have carpal tunnel. So do I. Just wear a fucking brace to bed.” She didn’t like that shit. So, pretty soon it was just me, my siblings, and my parents -- extended family be damned. Blood doesn’t always run that thick when you’re related to a bunch of pricks.
My mom made one hell of a Thanksgiving turkey and the best damn green bean casserole I have ever had. But, we ate and that was about it. There were no special traditions in our family … unless you count Jack Daniels and Coors consumption as tradition. Actually, I guess we would play poker then too, but we never really expressed any kind of gratitude or thanks for one another as the holiday itself suggests we should.
My sister once tried introducing a tradition to our family. She cut out a bunch of leaves on construction paper and we were all to write down something we were thankful for. Before eating our meal, we were to share what we had written. I participated, and was proud to say that I was thankful for my family (as crazy as they can be) and my “hot ass.” Damn, I used to have a nice ass. I also said I was grateful for God. To this, my brother said “there’s no god,” and thus began an argument on the existence of Christ. My brother told me that I should also say hello to the unicorns and leprechauns when I get to my make believe heaven. When it was his turn to share what was written on his leaf, he held up his blank sheet of orange paper and stated two simple words: “Fuck. This.”
And so we all just loaded our plates with potatoes and began consuming our beverage of choice. I made good friends with a bottle of red wine that night. And thus, I am thankful for a rich Red Zinfandel. Welcome to my world.
And here’s my mandatory picture. This is not a picture of my family. This is my hot ass. I miss you hot ass; children have changed you. Beyonce didn’t have nothing on that!
Follow my formerly hot ass at Not Appropriate Angela.