I haven't written in a while, and that's because the holidays are hella stressful. On top of the typical festive bullshit of finding gifts for my four nephews (that they will destroy and/or lose interest in about 30 minutes), I have a boyfriend for the first time in many years during the holiday season (well, one who doesn't suck). This means that I had the added pressure of finding what was sure to be the most underwhelming presents ever for him. And I do believe I succeeded...in underwhelming him.
Additionally, most people at my agency have this amazing ability to manage their time are therefore are out of the office, skiing on some remote mountain with their rich husband or galavanting off to where it is warm and sunny and people bring you drinks with umbrellas mixed with cheap liquor. (I should point out that since I work in nonprofits and most of us are poor, this is all in my head.) Nonetheless, I am completely incapable of catching up let alone being proactive, so I still have deadlines to meet on top of trying not to grow to 500 pounds from stress-eating the fuck out of the office cookies because I CAN AND NO ONE IS HERE TO STOP ME.
This year has also been really stressful on my family (not me, although indirectly). My sister in Indiana's divorce finalized three days before Christmas, my sister in NYC/Connecticut got stuck in a house she can't afford because of a break-up with her ex-fiance (who is now married to a woman he met one time), and my mother needs a new hip. My bro and I are fine. For once, I am not the one everyone in the family is worrying about.
This year, my mother went to NYC to spend the holidays with my sister, her crazy cousin Martin from Ireland, and his new young boyfriend/plaything, Daniel. I'm sure it was a roaring time in NYC, however, I stayed in Illinois with plans to spend Christmas with my freshly divorced sister in Indiana.
I'd been asking my boyfriend what he wanted to do for the holidays since the beginning of OCTOBER because we are a couple now and making plans for the holidays typically means splitting the time between families and spending the day driving between the two family feasts (read: covens of crazy) or taking one family per holiday. We split Thanksgiving, so for months leading up to the holidays I proposed we go to Minnesota. Finally, he said I needed to stop asking. So I did.
So imagine my surprise when SIX DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS he told me that he wanted to fly to Minnesota for Christmas. I got so mad, I think we got in no fewer than 3 telephone fights, two ending in one of us hanging up on the other, and once I asked him to leave the room because I was so mad at him "I couldn't look at his face"--albeit adorable, stuck in its innocent "I honestly can't understand why you're upset" face.
I had JUST told my sister that we'd both be there for the day. So I explained to him that 6 days before the largest holiday of the year was not the time to be looking for flights. Then he somehow convinced me to go to Minnesota with him for four days to meet his family shortly after Christmas. TO MINNESOTA. IN WINTER. FOR FOUR DAYS.
I will try to summarize this trip as briefly as possible.
Day 1: The hostages are captured and taken to the native's leaders.
Day 2: The natives and hostages engage, both leave wounded and agree to ignore the fight.
Day 3: The natives push the hostages to the edge, but neutral reinforcements arrive and quell any pending battles.
Day 4: The hostages escape. With lovely parting gifts.
Honestly, everything and everyone was pleasant. I mean, except for Minnesota itself. Ain't shit to do there when it's 20 degrees. I left smalltown USA a long time ago because I got bored, and here I was plop down in the middle of it again. For four days. 96 hours. BUT WHO WAS COUNTING. Apparently only me.
But this was for my boyfriend--to see what made him who he is. To plan for the navigating the crazy that is our future together, much like I'm sure he's looked at my family and thought, "Oh shit. Well, how can I navigate this and avoid pushing her to this place of constant nagging and bickering?"
We stayed with his mother, who was a nice lady, but like all mothers, will drive their own children insane in no less than 7 minutes upon arrival. We had dinner with his grandparents two nights--traditional Czech soup was had, and explained to me that it was made with chicken though traditionally made with squirrel or pheasant, which were MUCH tastier. I cannot be too upset with the cultural differences that I may find strange (and disgusting), I mean, my family is mainly Irish, English, and German. Also known as the worst cooks in Europe. I mean, salt and pepper were "spicy" to my people. We also saw his brother and his brother's family. I met more of his cousins and we had drinks with his aunt and uncle, who were also completely lovely people.
All this was fine as long as I kept my tongue tied when I needed to (ie, when I would've let my own family have a lashing) and we steered clear of a few topics: his parents' divorce, politics, religion, my tattoos, drugs, my non-profit's mission, my pro-choice/feminawesome beliefs, and basically anything else having to do with who I am as a person. I quickly learned there were some safe topics: the weather and the mall. So we spent a lot of time talking about the benefits and drawbacks of the Mall of America and all the things you can do in the summer when it's nice and toasty and not covered in snow and 15 degrees.
Also, medical ailments. Older people love to talk about their bodies and what's right and wrong with them. Listen to old people talk some time. It will undoubtedly be about hips, arthritis, and cancer. I get it. These things consume you, and it becomes all you can think and talk about since your body starts being your enemy and everything else has been said and seen and done before.
I digress. Most of my conversations ALSO did. I ended up somehow telling his mother over Chili's appetizers about my long history of drug use and longstanding hatred of marijuana. I also was able to dip my toe in conversations about my tattoos, how I thought my boyfriend's mom needed to stop telling him about her ex (his father) and their legal disputes, and about everything liberal that most of his family appears to disagree with.
I'm not totally stupid and I knew where lines were drawn, and this being my first time meeting the majority of the family, chose not to cross those lines. I mean, they are entitled to their beliefs just as I am to mine. No one's going to convince me that cutting taxes for the rich and food programs for the poor is the way to enrich America. And that's okay. I didn't need to convince them of my way of living.
There is a reason I left a small town, and a reason I enjoy them for brief respites. They are typically red, and I am pretty blue. They are typically quiet and have one Asian eatery. I am anything BUT quiet and I need at least 5 Thai places within a 10-block radius so I can decide who will be awarded my prestigious "#1 Crab Rangoon Within the XXXX Neighborhood" trophy. (In case you are wondering, it is Dib WAY over Siam Noodle and Rice in Uptown, and don't even ask me what is up with Siam Cafe.)
Saturday night (Day 3), I may have encouraged bf to get me out of the house and take me somewhere (ANYWHERE) fun as this was also my vacation. We saw "American Hustle" and ate at a local pub.
My boyfriend and I, all and all, had a nice trip. I met the family. I realize (or hope he agrees at least!) that our families are just as tough as the other person's, but in only the special way that a crazy family can be to the members of it. Kind of like a cult. It looks crazy from outside, but from the inside, it's warm and friendly, and you all laugh off the Kool-aid drinking because you're accustomed to it.
I returned to Chicago's frozen tundra (aka, "Chiberia") and lived through a quiet and perfect New Year's Eve. As for the rest of January, I've started working out again to prep for all these crazy races I signed up for (ack), had my review at work (meh), took my mom to the doctor where they told her to cut back on pain pills until she gets her new hip next month (eeek), and my parked car got creamed by a driver while I was out of town (fantastic!).
I also just easily plowed through about 10 Oreos while writing this post. Well, at least something stays the same. :)
HAPPY FUCKING NEW YEAR/FUCK YOU, 2014.
No comments:
Post a Comment