I just sat there like an asshole.
No booze (again, per my mother).
No weed.
No nothing.
Sure, I'd taken a couple of Xanax throughout the day but after listening to my great aunt Edith complain about all the "illegals" taking over the country, the pills weren't doing shit for my nerves.
I don't bother arguing with the WASP clan anymore. I just don't.
"How are they taking over the country, exactly?" I used to ask. "Are they doing it by way of those hot-ass kitchens they work in for under minimum wage? Or by their incredibly insidious plot to steal all those highly lucrative food delivery gigs? Especially the ones in neighborhoods cops won't even venture into but that they pedal through on their bicycles, in trashbag raincoats?"
Now, I say nothing.
These days, my mother's family just makes me...tired. And angry.
Anyway, my last night there, I sat down on the porch and stared out at the lake.
Sure, I'd taken a couple of Xanax throughout the day but after listening to my great aunt Edith complain about all the "illegals" taking over the country, the pills weren't doing shit for my nerves.
I don't bother arguing with the WASP clan anymore. I just don't.
"How are they taking over the country, exactly?" I used to ask. "Are they doing it by way of those hot-ass kitchens they work in for under minimum wage? Or by their incredibly insidious plot to steal all those highly lucrative food delivery gigs? Especially the ones in neighborhoods cops won't even venture into but that they pedal through on their bicycles, in trashbag raincoats?"
Now, I say nothing.
I'd love to be punk rock and say that I just don't care anymore; that they just don't touch me.
But the truth is, they've just beaten me down. And I'm too depressed to argue with people who won't, don't change.
Because people don't change. They really don't.
And someone that old and bitter and white...
Chances are, they're going to stay old and bitter and white.
And just because I recently read Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life doesn't mean that it sufficiently fueled the fire of opposition in me enough to go head to head with a woman whose ideas about racial purity are really no different than those of Fraulein Fuck-the-Jews, circa Nazi Germany.
She's just a lot more polite. And has a family crest. And knows a whole lot about equestrianism.
These days, my mother's family just makes me...tired. And angry.
Anyway, my last night there, I sat down on the porch and stared out at the lake.
It was quiet and peaceful and beautiful.
I let out a long sigh and tried to relax.
I was kneading the knot in my shoulders when I heard the TV being snapped on in the living room.
Larry King's voice wafted suddenly onto the porch.
"So we're here now with...who's had four operations to become a fully functioning female."
"Huh?" I heard my brother Ben bellow. "What? What the fuck? That's not a guy! That's a lady!"
"Tell us," Larry continued. "You are a man who likes having sex with women. Couldn't you just have sex with women as a man?"
Ben chortled loudly.
"No, Larry," a slightly-straining-to-be-high-pitched voice replied. "I'm a woman, inside. I want to have lesbian sex. And I needed a vagina to do that."
"No way!" my brother yelled.
I peered inside.
He was sitting alone on the couch, eating what looked like leftover lasagna wrapped in a piece of pita bread.
I sat back down, unseen.
"So what you're saying is," Larry pressed. "You had your penis removed so that you could have lesbian sex, with a vagina? Is that right? Is that what you're saying?"
"Yes, Larry. That's what I'm saying."
"Who'd cut their dick off?" my brother mused loudly to no one in particular, mouth full of makeshift sandwich. "Who would do that? That's fucked up! Just get a wig and some high heel shoes! And one of those girdle things!"
I wondered if I told him that I was right outside, having tried to no avail to get fucked up on Xanax all day but still trying in vain to relax after a long, trying day, if he'd shut the fuck up.
I was kneading the knot in my shoulders when I heard the TV being snapped on in the living room.
Larry King's voice wafted suddenly onto the porch.
"So we're here now with...who's had four operations to become a fully functioning female."
"Huh?" I heard my brother Ben bellow. "What? What the fuck? That's not a guy! That's a lady!"
"Tell us," Larry continued. "You are a man who likes having sex with women. Couldn't you just have sex with women as a man?"
Ben chortled loudly.
"No, Larry," a slightly-straining-to-be-high-pitched voice replied. "I'm a woman, inside. I want to have lesbian sex. And I needed a vagina to do that."
"No way!" my brother yelled.
I peered inside.
He was sitting alone on the couch, eating what looked like leftover lasagna wrapped in a piece of pita bread.
I sat back down, unseen.
"So what you're saying is," Larry pressed. "You had your penis removed so that you could have lesbian sex, with a vagina? Is that right? Is that what you're saying?"
"Yes, Larry. That's what I'm saying."
"Who'd cut their dick off?" my brother mused loudly to no one in particular, mouth full of makeshift sandwich. "Who would do that? That's fucked up! Just get a wig and some high heel shoes! And one of those girdle things!"
I wondered if I told him that I was right outside, having tried to no avail to get fucked up on Xanax all day but still trying in vain to relax after a long, trying day, if he'd shut the fuck up.
But I knew that he wouldn't.
In fact, I knew if I said anything at all, he'd make some crack about me being a transsexual, lesbian muff-muncher who also has a dick and that's why things never work out with my relationships with men.
I also wondered if I told him that Larry and the transsexual guest couldn't actually hear him, even if he was yelling at the top of his lungs, if he would stop.
But I knew that he wouldn't.
In fact, I knew that he'd ask me if I could hear his foot going up my ass, if he shoved if up there as hard as he could.
So I just sat there, my head tilted back and my eyes closed.
"Are you thinking about bigger breasts," Larry chuckled.
"I sure am," came the giggled reply.
"No way!" Ben yelled. "Can they even do that, when you're that flat? Do they put the meat from the dick into the boobs?"
I clawed through the pocket of my jeans for another Xanax.
So I just sat there, my head tilted back and my eyes closed.
"Are you thinking about bigger breasts," Larry chuckled.
"I sure am," came the giggled reply.
"No way!" Ben yelled. "Can they even do that, when you're that flat? Do they put the meat from the dick into the boobs?"
I clawed through the pocket of my jeans for another Xanax.
They really hadn't helped today but one more certainly couldn't hurt.
"How come your five o'clock shadow's gone?" my brother demanded of the transsexual onscreen. "But I can see where your mustache was? What happened with the hormones?"
He sounded genuinely puzzled. And concerned.
"Well, you're very brave," Larry remarked. "Thank you for being our guest."
"Thank you for making me want to throw up this fucking sandwich," Ben called. "I don't want to hear about some guy's nut sack getting chopped off!"
He stood up, heaved out a long belch, turned off the TV, and left the living room.
Except for the sound of the crickets and the water lapping against the dock, it was quiet again.
Sometimes, I think my brother is smart. Really smart.
Other times, I think he's a total, fucking retard. A slightly bigoted, meathead retard.
You have to understand.
"How come your five o'clock shadow's gone?" my brother demanded of the transsexual onscreen. "But I can see where your mustache was? What happened with the hormones?"
He sounded genuinely puzzled. And concerned.
"Well, you're very brave," Larry remarked. "Thank you for being our guest."
"Thank you for making me want to throw up this fucking sandwich," Ben called. "I don't want to hear about some guy's nut sack getting chopped off!"
He stood up, heaved out a long belch, turned off the TV, and left the living room.
Except for the sound of the crickets and the water lapping against the dock, it was quiet again.
Sometimes, I think my brother is smart. Really smart.
Other times, I think he's a total, fucking retard. A slightly bigoted, meathead retard.
You have to understand.
I love Ben more than anyone else in the world.
And these fucking "vacations" make me even hate him, a little.
I really need to stop going.
I really need to stop going.
8 comments:
My family isn't as dysfunctional as yours, but it is really skewed in perspective. I dream of finding a really awesome guy whose family is equally bizarre and who after visiting my family we can just go home and laugh and laugh and have it be ok.
I *know* people like your brother. It's hilarious and horrifying to think that unlike them, your brother's net worth is probably at least seven digits, and fairly likely to be at least eight. Which I guess means that the people I know are like your brother at home, and unlike your brother at work. Anyway, Ben seems brilliant, but definitely testosterone-soaked too. From reading your blog, I think both your brothers are fantastic people. Since I haven't met them, that probably means you think so too, in sharp contrast to your well-earned disrespect for your monstrous great aunt and other relatives. Good for you for calling off these family vacations. I think you'll be much healthier because of it. And if you really skipped out on every drug but Xanax this time, you're already on the way. That means your blog may have fewer real life stories from "Brooklyn as hipster sex-and-drugs hell," but I'm still glad. I've been through some minor disasters lately, and reading this post as it veered from the lake to Ben and Larry was the first time I'd really laughed in weeks. Thank you.
My family's not as dysfunctional either but they're pretty close. There's nothing like having a bitter, racist mother who's married to a south american family. It makes things interesting at times. I have also given up on arguing, it gets me nowhere except angry and frustrated.
Wow. I would not be able to stand that without having a toke recently. I respect you.
You're right, ya know...
people.do.not.change.
It just seems to take a long while for us to see all there is to them.
People can change, and improve. I think it may even be in the cards for fork. For her aunt, though, the 8-ball says "Outlook not so good."
Yeah, I come from a place where people say things like, "I'm not racist, BUT..."
If you have to add "but" to the sentance, then you're a racist. I was recently told that I was clouding the white gene line. I don't know if that comment had to do with Ralph Lauren's 80's white jeans or that fact that I'm with someone brown. I don't stop to ask or argue. I just nod and smile and walk off.
Please tell us you wore something SHORT and inappropriate and a couple of those baby pics happened to get BENT.
Thanks for sharing your life with us.
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