auntie nancy

yolanda is the classic typecast absentmindedly hyper crazy aunt, only the urban equivalent that includes a wardrobe that heavily features leather and studs, and some questionable botox. she's introduced herself to me on several (15+) occasions and when I casually mention that we've met, she just waves her hand about dismissively and either spills her drink or does a little dance move. yesterday when we met, (again), she stuck her arm out to touch my shoulder in a casual, scrappy manner, and asked, "hey sugar, what do you think about this?"

"think about what?" I asked.

"the anxious bloodsuckers!" she exclaimed.

"...."

"you know," she continued, "as a potential name for my band?"

"ahh. well, I don't know, it doesn't particularly--" yolanda cut me off.

"roll off the tongue. you're right. when you're right, you're right, catherine."

"christina."

"right, christina, whatever." she lit a cigarette and leaned in, the glowing tip bobbing up and down, precariously held between her lips as she talked. "a band name should be something short and memorable." and she paused for effect, "just like my ex-boyfriend's penis."

I mimed a drummer's rim shot for her joke and she slapped me on the back and added, "you know what I like about you, sugar? you've got some killer timing." and then she strutted off to the dancefloor in her combat boots.