the numbers don't lie

but mainly due to the fact they are incapable of speech.

i wish the cat would hop down off the computer chair. i am currently performing some bastardization of a flying fellini gig because ever since we got a new computer chair, pepper has decided it's hers, and has been a real twat about relenting and letting me have it. as a result, i balance precariously on the front of it (on a unicycle and juggling chainsaws) and she curls herself up into an angry (and uncomfortable) little ball.

there are a couple guarantees about the holidays with my family. my aunt l will be there. my aunt l has hypochondria down to a science. and she is more than a bit of a whiner. she only half follows conversations and will then interject something from her personal experience that has little or nothing to do with what was being discussed in the first place. then, loudly, from the other room, my mom will jump her shit for something she has said. a short argument will ensue, with my mom playing the loud berater, and my aunt l playing the cowtowing apologizer. my mom's friend b and i will get into a heated discussion of the world's ills and i will get carried away, forget, and use the eff word loudly. she will wince and say, "god! i hate that word, please don't use it." and i will feel like an ass. my father, my brother (unless he is present, which completely negates and changes the current set of guarantees), and my ex will be discussed at least once. mom will bring up at least one dead relative that i have never met (most likely dead before i was even an itch, o my beloved non-existants) and drag aunt l into the conversation. this may or may not spark another argument.

cool, the cat has relinquished the chair. now i can type in my preferred writing posture, which i am sure every keyboarding teacher i ever had said was the worst possible posture for typing, that is to say: leaning back, feet up, wrists resting on the desk, and eyes at half-mast. the cat is, however, still hovering close by, alert, lest my ass lift itself a few inches off the seat and she might insinuate herself back into it, and thereby force me back out of the territory that she has apparently claimed as her own.

there are a couple guarantees about the holidays with my wife's family. food and drink will abound. if you go hungry or thirsty, it won't be for want of readily available (and extremely tasty) fare. there will be laughter. my wife's father and i will get into a heated discussion of the world's ills and i will get carried away, and forget, and say the eff word. repeatedly. without any kind of chastisement from him as long as the kids aren't too close. we will disagree. disagreeing won't change a fucking thing. familial issues are discussed in an open, matter-of-fact manner ("oh, so-and-so never comes to these things if i am here. we had a falling out years ago, and he has never quite forgiven me."). i am made to feel like i have been a part of their family since the dawn of time (in some ways, i feel more connected to her family than i do to my own). my stories are guaranteed to be laughed at. (well, except the whole "fut off" story. everyone seemed quite shocked that i would tell my kid to fuck off, and as a result, the story didn't go over very well.) maybe it's because they haven't heard many of them before.

in my mind, the holidays aren't over till after new year's eve, but as they stand to date, they have been good times, o my droogs and only friends, the very best of excellent times.

darth sardonic