Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003


To clarify. I have 31 great aunts and uncles on just my mother's side. Apparently my people breed like rabbits. So it is a little more understandable that you become less attached to many of them just because you can't keep their silly names straight.

It is completely different on my father's side. My grandmother over there had just one brother, who died before I can remember. And my grandfather had seven or eight brothers and sisters. I only know the brothers, minus the one that died during the seventies.

So I would feel differently if one of those great uncles died. Not because it would be more sad, but because I know them and they know me. This aunt knew my name, but she wouldn't be able to tell you one thing about me. And I couldn't tell you anything about her.

Or I couldn't have until her funeral.

What I found out makes me think that I would have really enjoyed knowing her. Had I had more of an opportunity. She owned half a dozen successful businesses and served on many governor-appointed committees. She was a brash and blunt person. She made some mean cookies. And she knew everything and if she didn't she would make something up.

I can appreciate that in a woman.

So I am sad because I didn't know her. But happy that I got to hear even that much.
On a happier note, the luncheon after her funeral was very interesting.

First. My mother, cannot remember most of her relatives. I mean, she can be forgiven. Because even though they are her aunts and uncles there are just SO MANY of them. And they have SO MANY children. Who have children. Who have children.

Our family reunions used to look like small towns.

And so I spent at least part of the day making up stories about the people that my mother knew she should remember but could not. I know it is not appropriate to suggest that your second cousin is really the long lost ex-husband of one of your other cousins who left her for a showgirl who turned out to be a man and now he is a born again Christian.

Even less appropriate was my mother laughing.

Sadly, it wasn't true. But he was a cousin who had just gotten out of rehab for some unknown drug addiction and everyone was trying to avoid talking to his dad about it because the dad wants some one in the family to hire him. And all these people own businesses, businesses that could undoubtedly use some unskilled labor.

I talked to him for a while because I do not have a business. Also, he totally thought I was my sister.

So did everyone else. Apparently most people forgot that there were two of us, since we looked so much alike and they didn't see us often. I did not, sadly, take advantage of this and say things that would humiliate my sister and make me laugh all the way home. I do have some respect for the dead. At the next wedding though? I am totally telling them I have a monkey fetish.

It was a little awkward when a great aunt (? not sure, I think she is but she is totally younger than my mother, by about ten years) told me all about how her son had this crush on me (my sister). Now we all knew about it and it was funny at the time (because with this many cousins its not like you even FEEL related and we found out this weekend that more hooking up than people should feel comfortable about has gone on). However, her telling me about how he carried my (my sister's) picture around and whatnot was a little odd. Thankfully, this cousin was not there. His brother was, and he tried to look down my shirt.

Suddenly, my husband's family seems less trashy. But not a lot.

Our family past time is totally sitting around and eating and gossiping about each other. Which is why a. they are all fat and I felt VERY thin and b. I felt SO AT HOME.

I learned who had made out as children. Who was gay. Who tried to steal my mother's car (I knew this story but didn't know his face).

But the best was a lovely bombshell made by my mother. Unknowingly.

So we are on our way out and she whispers to me, "see that person over there?" she is indicating a very old and weather old man in a flannel shirt. With bad teeth.

"Yes?" I mean I see him. And she tells me that is Aunt N's "companion."

She makes a big deal about this word COMPANION.

I think this is because Auntie N is a rebel and did not get married and have eighty four thousand children. Go Auntie N. Even if your companion is scary.

So we are in the car, driving home, and my mom lets out that this companion (whose name is SOCKS my god, and no one knows the real one)is actually a woman.

SOCK IS A WOMAN! Everyone on I-5 North was grateful I wasn't driving because I would have crashed the car.

Ya'll I can spot a male to female tranny from sixty paces. This happens when you work in the bridal industry. But apparently I know shit about women who either are living as men or just dress like one. I really couldn't tell.

And my mom is such a babe in the woods she couldn't tell me for sure if she was just a lesbian or living as a man or just had ugly hair or what.

She needs to get going with the family gossip.

Anyway. We shopped and bought many many things in the no sales tax state. We stayed up late Thursday night watching a movie on TBS and talking in the dark like it was camp. We annoyed the hell out of some man at continental breakfast. It was a great time. Which makes us monsters because we went for a funeral.

And SOCKS IS A WOMAN is my total new catch phrase.

1:30 p.m. :: comment ::
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