one for my homies

Sleigh Ride - The Ventures

I'm headed home o'er yonder to sonoma for a couple of days for what promises to be another twisted holiday gathering with my legitimately looney relatives. thinking about perhaps documenting the traditional midnight graveyard run on film for the first time... would that be sacrilegious? would it be more sacrilegious than pouring stoli and glitter on my grandma's grave on jesus' birthday?

here's a throwback to last year.

tuesday, december 25, 2007

"o, holy nite"

as much as I am prone to bitching of the familial kind, I really do look forward to each year's batshit insane christmas dinner antics. the evening was kicked off by my mother trying to teach me how to bake a proper cherry crunch casserole and nearly succeeding in burning the house to the ground. the moment I set foot in my grandfather's house my cousin katie, (outfitted in garden gnome pajamas,) offered me a breast to squeeze as she'd just acquired a new pair. my eldest cousin's infant was googly eyeing the scene in such a way that makes me suspect he's already got ulterior motives. my crazy aunt had called me twice during the day to let me know about the sale at longs on almond roca of which she bought 15 boxes, and then to ask me if I had use for a temperamental fondue pot that she found in the barn. her holiday icebreaker was to tell me that she'd been visited from beyond the grave by my deceased ex boyfriend, but she couldn't tell me what they've been talking about for fear of sounding-- you guessed it-- "crazy". she then handed me a coors light and demanded that I chug it, followed by a pint glass full of bourbon that she changed her mind about and took back after I'd held it for 20 seconds. she leaned in and batted her eyes and whispered, "your horns are showing." and I put my hands up around my head to play along, and she said, "no, the ones poking out of your ass."

my cousin scott recently had a spleenectomy and as a result has lost 25 percent of the use of his liver and thus is not allowed any party sauce. scott is a bigger man than I in more ways than one pertaining to general wherewithal, but to brave a ruggeri gathering without the aid of some sort of mind altering substance (namely anti-anxiety medication) is to have great big balls of the finest brass. I sat next to him at the dinner table and looked wistfully askance at his wine glass full of milk after tia loca was finished chasing me around the kitchen holding up a piece of slightly overdone fried abalone yelling, "it's a vagina lip! LABIA MAJORA!". I managed to successfully give my asshole of a little brother the silent treatment for most of the night because I haven't forgiven him for backing out on me for my move earlier in the week. the mongoloid baby drooled. racist jokes were told. questions regarding how I planned to conduct my reproductive future were asked. grandpa had no wisdom to impart on us this year, but he did stop to make eye contact and shake his head with almost every one of us to communicate his unexplained disgust that may very well be just an onset of senility. we all received those chalky lumps of emotional coal with a grain of yuletide salt.

after the presents were opened and everyone began to gather up their new toys and make a break for the door, there was a great divide. there are two kinds of ruggeris. the kind who get invited to the top secret afterparty at aunt peggy's, and the kind who don't. included in this exclusive crew is myself, my mom, jack, our honorary family member, max scoville, scott, peg and her husband, bruce. this is much like any other afterparty as it includes copious free flowing alcohol and shit talking, but there's guitar hero in the living room and not a key bump in sight. after a round of rock band on the xbox that we named Dickslap Bruises and the Unsolicited Squeege, and once everyone was sufficiently plastered (excepting Scott the Brave), we set sail for the after afterparty. at midnight, we all piled into a minivan, picked up crazy renee out of guilt/necessity, and floored it to the graveyard to sprinkle glitter, christmas bows, and a water bottle of vodka on my grandmother's grave.

the evening even wore on for an after after afterparty with my mother and max, as we passed a cuban cigar back and forth in the dining room, and at some point my mom wandered off to meet the sandman. I fell asleep, max took off, and I woke up at 6am to my kitty standing on my chest and looking at me expectantly. I ruffled his little scrappy head and sighed, "welcome to the fam."