Have a Merry F**king Christmas

I guess I never realized how popular it is to go out on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving once you’re in college. It’s when everyone who went to high school together comes home from college, and goes out. So anyway a few weeks ago some friends and I went to a popular bar, like a little more upscale backer, but when you say that it’s like going from ass nasty to just nasty, so still a shithole nonetheless. One of the people I was with is good friends with one of my best friend’s sister. This girl used to be on my bus in grade school, but I hadn’t seen her in years. Like an hour after getting there, she was hanging on me and I was getting friendly ass grabs for the better part of 10 minutes. It was as if she was a species from another planet sans butt cheeks and wanted to know what they felt like. Within a minute of this commencing, I felt a tap on the shoulder and expecting it to be her turned around, only to find that it was a classmate of mine from grade school who I haven’t seen in 8+ years. Now you probably all know a version of this girl. I’m talking about the “creeper who used to live in her own isolated hut” syndrome. That quiet girl who changed so drastically in high school and college, that the amount of makeup they wear is enough to keep Maybelline in business. If you don’t have someone like this from grade/high school, just live vicariously through Jersey Shore. Needless to say, that night was a wake up call to see how people from years past have done quite little with their lives.

Now on a COMPLETELY different note, besides hearing about goddamn chestnuts roasting on an open fire for the 86th time or that Transiberian crap, the holidays bring along the best thing of the year….. dysfunctional family gatherings. Well, I don’t mean dysfunctional in the sense that the family is full of Marilyn or Charles Manson’s (if yours is, you’ve hit the lotto, along with the emo teens), but in a way where the quirks and stories that have accumulated over the year come leaping to the forefront. For example, the whole family makes fun of a relative who isn’t at the gathering for being the complete f’in psycho that they are. Case in point, one of my aunts who can be a bit overly sentimental, nostalgic, and nosey, randomly asked my cousin earlier this year (pulling her seriously off to the side secretly, mind you), “How are your teeth?” This will be brought up on Christmas. Or that one time when a relative has the squirts, doesn’t make it completely to the toilet bowl, and proceeds to create his own collage all over the wall (yes, this happened, and my mom cleaned up the shitfest). This will be brought up on Christmas. Great stories from the last year and years past always seem to come up at holiday gatherings, and I was completed reminded of this a few months ago.

Unfortunately back on Halloween, my mom’s brother died after having complications for several years from a stroke. Now, being in a family where my mom is 100% Italian and my dad is 100% Irish, you see how differently each nationality views funerals. The Irish funerals in my family basically become a sad, yet joyous, celebration of that person’s life, culminating with a lunch or something where everyone gets trashed and forgets why they met in the first place. The Italian funerals, however, can be as stereotypical as portrayed…. mostly black outfits, crying, crying, more crying, the headwear, etc. Upon walking out of the church my grandma, with her son’s coffin merely 15 feet away, turns to me and says, “Don’t forget the grapes are in the back of Uncle Tony’s car, along with the bread and danish.” Being that she is as quiet as a jet engine, everyone heard this and got as much comic relief out of the situation as you could. But several other interesting things came out the whole unfortunate ordeal.

First off, I found out how badass my grandfather was if I had actually gotten to know him (died in 1990), being that at these sorts of events people like to reminisce, etc. So I had always known that he was a WWII vet and a retired New York City cop, but I guess I never realized how involved he was in the, shall we say, new york underground. We had always joked about him being in the mob/gambling, but stories from relatives at the funeral who, a) I’ve never met, and b) Haven’t spoken to the rest of the family in years, moved that notion closer to reality. It’s funny how relatives feel they can tell you more juicy stories about the past simply because you can hold a drink in your hand and shoot the shit. I don’t know if it has been the same way with your families, but it seems that the best stories I’ve heard have come in the last two years. So anyway, apparently after “retiring,” my grandpa had a friend who trusted him enough to run the financial aspects of an underground casino they ran in Brooklyn. He first was in those circles because he was a phenomenal card player (that gene wasn’t passed on...), and I’m talking really good. Eventually, and Meghan would appreciate this, he moved out to Las Vegas after being “recruited” by the Aladdin casino and employed solely to play cards. I guess the premise is that they hire people who are extremely good at cards in order to attract more people to the table since they see someone starting to beat others and the house consistently, and it doesn’t matter whether my grandpa made money because it wasn’t his (and he was getting a steady salary anyway). Then the clueless people drop more cash... seems like a profitable cycle.

Basically, and here’s a PSA, if you still have the opportunity to talk to grandparents, DO IT!!! Even if they’re so depressing that whatever they tell you is some senile bullshit, hell, you’ll at least get those good family stories out of it, or maybe a few unintentionally hilarious comments. Like a few weeks ago talking to my grandma, who turns 95 in a week, about how she learned to drive using a Model A during the Great Depression. That’s so much cooler than me learning how to drive on a Chevy Fucking Lumina in June 2003. Or how she had a family friend die on the Titanic while I know a person who’s gone cruising on the Queen Mary. Seriously, talk to your old relatives!! Hopefully you’ll be doing that talking at the Christmas family gatherings, and I hope it’s dysfunctional, alcohol-oriented, and fun as hell. Enjoy your Christmas and New Years!! It is definitely my favorite week of the year... as long as no one gives me a Snuggie.

P.S. About a week ago, my mom was eating animal crackers and she took one out and started dying laughing. It was two crackers attached, with what looked like a dog mounting a sheep. Honestly, two crackers having sex is better than the image of Mary in a freakin piece of toast, so maybe I'll sell it on ebay.