Jump into my Nighmare, the Water is Warm

The holiday season is officially upon us. And this year, the Drake family will all be in the same place for the first time in several years...maybe even a decade. Who knows; all these repressed memories make it difficult to distinguish time.

The patriarch and matriarch of the clan arrive tomorrow. I figured that I would complete my morning routine--go to the gym, take a shower, watch some telelvision or write, and Boom! They would be there, needing hugs and tours of the house. My email, however, had to break the news that they are actually arriving at the fucking crack of dawn, and will arrive at the house just two Advil past the fucking crack of dawn.

There will be no gym. No writing. No masturbation. Nothing. Maybe not even showers.

Off to a great start.

I have been instructed to meet my mother at the door with a pack of American Spirit cigarettes (mild) and "something cute on." It's important to distinguish that the things my mom thinks are cute is very different from what my boyfriend's standards are. As a result, I will not be greeting her in nothing but my birthday suit and a multicolored scarf wrapped around my neck. No, I'm not going to suffer through that snafu again. This time, it will be trousers and a respectable-but-flirty V neck shirt. With the perfect, cancer-causing accessory in my hand and a lighter in my pocket.

The only lighter I own is one of those flame-throwery things that you light grills with. I use it for my incense and candles. Think she'll mind?

Great start.

Dinner will consist of the 'rents, my sis, me, my boyfriend, and the Mighty G. I like to think it will sound something like this.

Mom: Well, I am so pleased to meet you two. Do either of you have a lighter to set my cigarette aflame, instead of this innapropriate death machine my daughter supplied me with because she obviously wants her share of the will sooner rather than later?

Pablo Honey: Oh, Mrs. Drake, allow me. I would be more than happy to help you kill yourself slowly if it makes me look like a better, more suitable person to date your daughter.

Dad: That's very kind of you, son. Just don't think this means you'll get to spend the night! No sexual intercourse in our house. Period. Even if our daughter is what you kids like to call "a hottie."

Mighty G: I'm Mexican, you know. Does anyone here speak Spanish?

Sister: What did she say? Seriously. What's her problem? And by the way, does anyone want to know what it sounds like when a rabbit dies?

Mighty G: Hey train wreck sister, tell us again what it was like to go down to Mexico to have renegade microdermabrasion performed on your face.

(everyone laughs)

Hellcat: I have been staying perfectly quiet in attempts to seem at ease. Would anyone like some artichoke dip? And can the waiter recommend a dish that will help stop my skin from feeling like it's trying to rip off my body as a result of stress?

Dad: I heard that sexual intercourse can help with that feeling. Too bad you won't be having any of that! Ever!

Pablo Honey: That's what you think, sir. We're actually going to excuse ourselves about ten minutes into the entree and go fuck in the alley behind the resturant.

Mom: Isn't it nice to be young and in love? Even if your daughter is a slut! Can someone please get me a motherfucking light?

It's the most wonderful time of the year. g