Well Internets, I’m heading off on a road trip extravaganza this week. The Hubs and I are driving from Seattle to Smalltown, Colorado. My hometown. A town with more than it’s fair share of whores, lunatics (you know who you are) and broken dreams. Fun times are sure to be on the road ahead, right?
|Hey Colorado, try putting some COLOR in your
“Welcome to COLORFUL Colorado” sign
When I drove out of that town about a hundred years ago, saying goodbye to my less than stellar life choices, middle finger up, screaming “So long suckaaaaas!”, those people that were dickheads to me back then, were forever frozen in my mind as just that; dickheads. And there were plenty of them. Now, I’m sure over the past 100 years those people changed. I’m sure they grew up; matured. (no they didn’t) But, all I see in my mind when I think about returning to M-Town is those same loathesome douchers from days that are far in my past. :: sigh ::
|You tell ’em ‘lil fella!|
But who gives a shit about them, right?
Internets, you know what other people are in the M-Town? Only the biggest group of crazy ass nutbars that I know: my family! (hi mom!) I know everyone always says that their family is crazy, and truth be told, every one’s family probably is, in their own special way. But my family? Of course they’re crazy. But it’s the awesome kind of crazy. Let me elaborate.
I have people back in the M-Town like my 96 year old Nana, who taught me that the best Screwdriver is made with “orange juice for color!” and that it’s perfectly acceptable to have a Manhattan at 9 o’clock in the morning if someone else is having a Bloody Mary. (cheers, Nan!)
|What? This isn’t a breakfast item?|
Then there’s my Uncle, Mister Pete who is my dad’s brother and is so many shades of awesome-crazy that I can only hope to be as cool as him when I’m that age. He has a farm with pigs and cows and goats and chickens and geese and bunnies and lambs and….. ok, aside from the pigs and cows I’m not really sure what he still grows… farms?…. raises?…. whatever. But there used to be all kinds of animals and I loved it. Except for those turkeys. Those turkeys were bastards. Mister Pete is married to an equally awesome woman, my Aunt Arlene, who has the most sparkling eyes I think I’ve ever known, with a personality to match. On top of that, she’s a baking goddess. Also, she may or may not be known for falling into Christmas trees if given too many Sparkletini’s. I can’t say for sure, but I heard things.
|You had it coming asshole|
My cousins. There are a fucking shit ton of them in that town. (holla!) I cannot believe that the entire city council, sheriff’s office, police department and tourism board does not consist solely of C’s* yet. For reals. There are alot of us. And they are all good for partaking in a refreshing adult beverage of the beer or cocktail kind. (Tara, call me!)
It wouldn’t be right of me not to mention the fabulous 1,745,873,974,632 children of the cousins. (stop growing up you guys! you’re making me feel fucking ancient!) While I’m in town it will be a top priority for me to find out who the jerky one is that started calling me Aunt Crazy.
And of course, there’s my madre. She is a goddamn bit of alright. Sure, she may have a slight obsession with yard sales and bingo, but whatevs, we’re controlling it with meds for now. And when I say meds, I mean trips to casinos.
|Slots. Cures the urge to play bingo|
So, I guess what I’m saying is this; to all of those dickheads from my past, my family’s awesomeness far outweighs your assholedness. And to my family; break out the swear jar and the cocktails. Heather’s coming home.
*No, I’m not going to tell you my last name. Because you already have my first name and if you have both you’ll find my address on the interwebs and you’ll all want to move here and live by me and there aren’t any houses for rent in my neighborhood.