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Diane is the oldest child on my mom's side...She lived in Texas for a really...really...really long time but now lives in Indiana. She complains constantly about living there. She smokes three packs a day (Go figure, it's my family) and her voice sounds like a road grater with gravel in the engine...In other words, really smoke-ravaged. When she calls, the insueing conversation is sort of like this...

"Hello?"

"Is Elaine there?"

"No. She's at work."

"Oh, tell her your Aunt Diane called from Laura's house in Indiana. I've got some problems with my thigh. It's getting all wavey and the asshole doctor *COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH* 'scuse me. The asshole doctor told me not to worry. They took a pint of fluid out of my lower back last month and now the hole that they put the vacuum in is seeping this horrible white ooz. It smells like cheese. Also, if you would, tell your mother to tell Frank to tell Grandma to water those plants I got her three years ago. Oh, and tell her that the operation on my ankle wasn't good, in fact I still can't walk."

"Ok."

But Aunt Diane is extremely nice, she's actually one of the nicest people I've ever met. So anyway, I know that I've told this board about how insane my grandmother is. She's the one that claimed the neighbor, who is in her 90's and in an electric wheelchair, was breaking in to her apartment, moving the couch, and then scooting out again, and she is also the one who claims that people are tunneling underneath her apartment. Now comes another one. My grandma claims that my Aunt Diane is going to kill her to steal her picture of the Pope. I'm not making this up. It's all true.


I went to the dentist today to get a cleaning. I don't get the point of them sticking your gums with that pointy mother fucker and then saying "Your gums are bleeding...that's not good, you don't have good dental health." Now, last time I checked, pointy things, when poked into soft tissue like gums or skin, create a puncture wound. Now, unless you brush your teeth twelve times daily and floss seventeen times, which no human does save for maybe OCD's, your gums are gonna at least get a little red when they poke that damn thing in them. Now, I know that bleeding gums is a sign of bad gums in general, but I brush at least twice daily. My teeth work. I needed a root canal because my old dentist fucked up and didn't drill my cavity out all the way. When, in the course of a day, do I poke my gums with sharp objects? Never. And if I did, by chance, poke my gums with a sharp object, I would be more worried if it didn't bleed than if it did.

So tomorrow is the Fourth. Oh wow. This means that my relatives are gonna come over for food and to annoy me with tales of "Babies, Money and Health Problems, Cars, Cut your Fuckin' Hair you Hippie Bastard and Let's See What We Can Blow Up With This." Also, this means that I need to make up an excuse to not see the fireworks show tomorrow in town. My town's fireworks are like watching a game of twister at a nursing home. Not fun at all, and in most cases, very stinky. It's supposed to be 85-90 degrees outside tomorrow, so that means that everyone will be packed into my house, eating red white and blue jello and smoking cigarettes so cheap that even 7-11 won't carry them. So basically, while I'm up in my room playing guitar, wafting smoke creeps into my room, smelling like four sweaty Germans after a Sourkrout bath. Then, to top that off, Mase, my cousin Robin's gigantic, bald, cop boyfriend, is knocking on my door asking me to come downstairs so we can go outside and play volleyball. Once we arrive outside, however, we discover that there is no volleyball net or even a ball. So, we take part in that classic Fourth tradition of blowing shit up in the back yard with Jim's (He's the pshyco neighbor...Fixes cars for a living. Little Italian cat) homemade M-80's. All this noise causes the dogs (I have three) to emit a sound called "High Pitched Shreaks of Terror." This goes on until Mase's lighter runs out of fluid, and we need to grab one of the smoking relatives to come light the fuses for us. This is usually my dad. He waddles (He weighs 300 pounds, smokes two packs a day, and is diabetic) over to us, and begins to light fireworks off. The Clancy's, my neighbors on the left (Both parents are lawyers, they try to do thier own yard work to save money, but usually end up creating thousands of potholes around the yard. Then, they hire a landscaping crew to fix it.) see us and try to out-do us with bottlerockets from Wal*mart and sparklers. This goes on for twenty minutes. Then my dad's lighter runs out of fluid and we have to stop because everyone else has gone inside for dinner.

Dinner usually consists of several types of animal matter all charred to a black, hard mass. My Aunt Bev is usually showing us pictures of mangled animals, telling us, "Don't eat that, look how they slaughter them!" One year I got a picture of a guy pulling a carrot out of the ground and I said "Look at that! That was the carrot's home." Luckily for me, Aunt Bev is very easy going and thought it was funny. I saw her on the news once, she was protesting some fur company. She was screaming "Skin Me, you BASTARDS!" I was proud to be part of her family. At my cousin Robin's graduation party, Aunt Bev was wearing a pair of "Chicken" pants, complete with pictures of slaughterd chickens and chicken farms. She's a character, all right.

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Originally posted by Captain Petersburgh

i was going to copy and paste that 1600 TIMes and correct the numbers but i thought why bother

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