Dolomite's Ranting
may 2000

     Hello and happy Easter, o' loyal readers. Many of you probably stuffed yourselves silly with all sorts of chocolates, candies, and the chocolate stained Easter grass (I know that I am not the only one that does that). What many of you probably did not do is go through the little Hell that I did. My Easter, much like my entire Easter break, was an experience I would not like to go through ever again. Here is the tale of my Easter:

     It began at 10am. That is when I woke up. I know that seems like an adequate time to wake up on such a holiday, but I did not fall asleep until about 7am. I had endured two hours of a special "Easter vigil" mass and another seven hours of work at CVS during the night. But that is a less interesting story, so back to the original. I awoke to the feeling of a cannonball being dropped onto my stomach. It turned out it was my dog being thrown in by my hung over brother. He had spent much of the night drinking (the bastard drank for nearly every hour that I had worked!), and had been awoken by cold water, courtesy of our little sister. For that, I excuse him the dog throwing. The opening of the shades to "let the sunshine in" was inexcusable however. Even the drunks know the sun burns those that live for the night, or at least work during it. So, awake I was not, but out of bed I was.
     Soon, it was 11am. I had just finished with my shower, all thirty cold minutes of it. My brother, quicker than a half-awake Dolomite, managed to get the only hot water in his shower. Then he threw up all over the shower. Bastard. It took me fifteen minutes to clean up his mess. Then an arctic shower that would make a penguin shiver was my only reward for that horribly degrading chore. After that shower, my little guy was more of an inny than an outy. All I needed at that moment was for a cute girl to walk in on me while I was drying off. God, obviously angry with me for entering his house the night before, had my second cousin Jan walk in on me at that moment. She, being nineteen and as good looking as any lingerie model (hey, I said second cousin), has always been a question of the family. Mostly because she was thin and good looking, whilst the rest of the family was relatively overweight and at best average looking. We believe that a mistake happened in the hospital. Well, when she saw me, barely in what the stork gave me, she muffled a scream with her mouth, and then started laughing. She managed to explain, while rolling on the floor with laughter, that she just wanted to say hi and warn me about how much of the family had arrived. That was the best part of the next 12 hours.
     After drying off and grabbing an old shirt and jeans from the clean pile in the laundry room that adjoined the shower area, I entered the living room and saw that most of my family had indeed arrived. Not only that, but half of them were not even invited to begin with. And amongst them, all staring at me with a look of horror and strange fascination, was Jan still red in the face and trying to control as her laughter as much as possible. My grandmother was the only one of them with the bluntness to hint toward what was wrong. "Is it really that small, honey?" she managed after adjusting her glasses. That was when I remembered that I had forgotten both a pair of boxers and the fly of my jeans. Backing into the kitchen, I tried to zip up. Then I tried again. And again. And once more. The damn thing was rusted stuck! "Fucking God and his creation of rust!" I said in what I thought was a quiet tone. Boy was I wrong. That sent a cry of anger from several of my mo! re religious relatives. Jan ran out into the kitchen. What she saw caused her to laugh even more. With my back toward her and facing a corner, I was jerking up and down with my right arm while trying to lubricate the zipper with cooking oil that was nearby, all the time muttering, "get off you son of a bitch. Why won't you just get off? Just get off and I will be happy." I did not even know she was there until I heard my aunt behind here nearly scream out to my relatives that she had caught me in the act of self-molestation with the cooking oil. Damn ex-nun (she left the convent to marry my uncle, who only wanted to have sex with a nun. Later he found out she was also an ex-prostitute). Like a herd of cattle running toward the last bale of hay, my family came running into the kitchen. Strangely, they were only disappointed when I explained my self. Jan took my hand and led me away from them and into my room. She was still red with laughter and not looking like she was going to stop anytime soon. With the patience of a saint, she turned around and waited for me to get some working jeans on, as well as boxers and another shirt.
     Now, many of you are probably saying to yourself: how can it get any worse? It did. But that would be later. In the meantime, Jan and me talked in my room for a while. We talked about college, women, movies, and music. Turns out, Jan and her girlfriend were doing good, despite their differences (I was the only one in the family that knew she was a lesbian). She asked if everything was zipped and covered and said that we should go out to sit and feel odd around the family. "After all," she said, "that is what the holidays are for." The sight of my family altogether in one spot was almost too much to handle. In the corner was my brother and a few cousins, all drinking beer and telling of false conquests. In another corner of the living room were my father and three of my uncles, drinking beer and asking each other how business was going. My mother and an aunt were in the kitchen, trying to make a meal for twenty hungry fat people (hey, that is what you call the overweight). My two grandmothers were sitting watching Ben-Hur and had the younger cousins sitting amongst them. The dog was outside, and probably the happiest of us all. My cousin whispered, "It is the calm of the storm. Just wait until five minutes before the ham is done."
     Just like when I was sixteen and she told me that girls taste better than boys, I could not wait to see if she was right. So, an hour or so goes by and little much changes, except that the dog came in saw the large amount of people with no food, and decided to wait in the kitchen, where there was food and few children. My brother and nearly drunken cousins got a little more boisterous about their false claims on who they did or almost did. However, when the scent of the ham and food were hanging in the area like the stench of vodka hung around my one aunt, the natives got restless. The children began to whine about how hungry they were. My father and uncles decided to "help in the kitchen" and snatch a piece of ham here and there, receiving a wooden ladle induced welt for the juicy morsel. My brother and cousins were slowly looking at their beers and holding their stomachs with a look of dread on their face (except John, he had passed out a half an hour ago). Jan and me looked at each other with the look of joy and fear mixed together. We could not wait until dinner, but feared we would be to close to the frontlines to get away unscathed.
     Dinner began in the usual holiday fashion. Every mother was trying to stop the children from eating before everyone was seated, while the fathers were eyeing the seats and slowly moving as fast as possible toward the favorite seat (the epicenter of food placement). My brother, the drunken cousins (except for John who was still out cold on the couch), Jan, and myself were seated at a "big kids" table, while my sister and the younger cousins were at the "little kids" table. Then it was time for Grace. Everyone had the same look on his or her face. It was identical to those of linemen waiting for the snap to make that critical first move. Even the dog had that anticipatory quietness about it. Then, like a referee's whistle, my father said Amen.
     What happened in the next minute should never be seen by anyone not on an empty stomach. My two aunts collided in their efforts to stab the same piece of ham. My father and two of my uncle's (all fans of the tip of the ham, claiming it to be the juiciest) stabbed each other with their forks when going for the piece. My other uncle, shrewd beyond belief, stabbed the piece next to the tip, but lost it in the air to my leaping dog. That is the price you pay for the corner seat. My mother was pushed into the creamed corn by the entire "little kids" table in their race for fresh, hot rolls. My drunken brother and cousins ambled over to the table, looked at the greasy ham, greasier kielbasa, glistening salad (Italian dressing does that), diced potatoes, and fried okra and grabbed the nearest bowl/container to throw up in. My brother, knowing the terrain of the house leapt for and got the trash bin nearest him. Joe, having never been this drunk before, grabbed the water pitcher and filled into nearly to the brim. Jack, an experienced drunk and all around asshole, raced the four or five steps to the stovetop where the rest of the ham laid in its pan, and vomited onto a week's worth of leftovers. Jan and I looked on in horror. We were both hungry, but not quite as much anymore. The only thing unspoiled was the fried okra. Neither Jan nor I were fans of vegetables, even if they were fried. We took in one last look at the scene before us: My aunts were both rubbing their heads from colliding into each other, the children were eating their rolls and staring at the vomit, my father had knocked out my one uncle and was choking out my other uncle who had managed to get the tip onto his plate, my other uncle was failing in his attempt to take his piece from the dog, my brother was spasming over the trash bin, Joe was giggling as he swirled the vomit/water mixture that was in the water pitcher while slowly spilling in onto the table, Jack was out cold in front of the stove, my grandmothers went back to the living room to finish watching Ben-Hur, and my mother was slowly wiping creamed corn off of her dress. Jan ran for her car, with me close at her heels.
     Two hours later, Jan was buzzed and I was in that sober/drunk stage where you know how truly trashed you are. We came in together, leaning on each other for support, singing the last song we heard at the strip club we had just visited. Jan had managed to even get two G-strings. However, she forgot to stuff them all the way into her pockets. As soon as we had walked in, most of the relatives were in the living room, muttering about how bad this Easter had been. Smelling food, my dog came rushing up to us. She also managed to smell the strippers' scents on us, since we had each several lap dances (in honor of the Risen Christ). She also managed to smell and grab on of the G-strings. Then she ran up to my dad. He noticed the G-string, looked up at us, and suddenly the conversations stopped and we had the floor. Jan was nervous. She did not want them to know about her being a lesbian; they would make her an outcast (she was already somewhat disliked for her lack of overweightness, despite her eating habits). My dad noticed the other G-string hanging from her pocket. He lowly rumbled, "Jan, is there something you have meaning to tell us." She was scared silent. She did not know what to do. She was scared and digging her nails into my shoulder. She looked at me and I saw tears welling up in her eyes. I knew what I had to do, and it would be easier since I was drunk. I took my arm off my shoulder, patted her hand and told her that it was time to tell them, that we could not keep it secret any longer. She almost cried right there. I stepped forward and announced that they were mine. I said that Jan knew and I promised her to keep it a secret until I was ready to tell them. I reassured them that I was not gay, but merely enjoyed the feel of women's G-strings, especially those that were four sizes too small. So I took the bullet for her. I had already had a crappy Easter. And she was my favorite family member. She had confided in me and was willing to tell me anything I wanted to know about her lesbian life. She even promised me the secret to pleasuring women someday. Besides, I could care less what my family thinks of me.
      The rest of the day was spent watching the claymation version of Jesus' life story. Then we bade each other goodbye and Jan thanked me and promised me that if she ever had to have sex with someone in the family, it would be me. Freaky maybe, but it was a joke and smile we both needed after that day. And besides, I still had pictures of her dancing with several of the strippers.

Dolomite
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