Have yourself a little white trash Christmas…
What a week. It was with great reluctance I went home to the land of poor dental hygiene and public drunkenness by 3pm. But it was the Christmas holiday and I was laden with guilt about not coming home for Thanksgiving, so there I went.
I ended up staying in a hotel for two nights with another friend who had travel points, which allowed me to not sleep on my sister’s guest bed. It’s not really the choice of exquisite lodging, mainly because she doesn’t put real pillows on the bed. She places couch cushions in pillow cases and expects you to not be hump backed when you wake up. Then there’s the German Shepard that growls and scratches itself under the bed all night. On top of all these amenities, when I try to shower, the water pressure is like a gaggle of midgets gently pissing on my back. Usually my brother-in-law has several questionable individuals with the combined IQ of a grapefruit over, and they’re all drunk and high by roughly 2-4pm. Not quite a 4 star establishment…just sayin.
So I stayed in the fabulous Holiday Inn, where I indeed had the holiday inn. I wasn’t in a great mood to begin with, when my sister began hassling me to set up someone’s wireless router on Saturday. Now to give you an idea of my knowledge of wireless routers, I have none. I can possibly ghetto rig up your wireless network using some aluminum foil, a wheelchair, and some holy water, but more than likely the Indian man outsourced by your internet service provider is a MUCH stronger ally. Not to mention the fact that I enjoy wireless router/networking setup as much as I enjoy giving myself a battery acid enema with a turkey baster. Do I make myself clear?
Despite my steadfast rejections to do this task for my sister, she kept being a bitch and ended up putting me in a horrible mood. Trying to bully me into being the local trailer geeksquad is not a good tactic for making me do something I despise and our text war ended with her telling me to forget about it and calling me the same name as our father, which is an insult in my family. I was already boiling on Christmas Eve, and I knew this wasn’t good.
My mother called me a couple of hours later.
“Are you coming down here today?” she asked.
Keep in mind that the area I am from is not somewhere you can just ride five minutes and be where you need to be. It’s more like, ride minimum 30 minutes to said destination IF a slew of deer don’t knock your mullet in the dirt first. Unless I have somewhere to be, I don’t tend to travel a great deal there, and my hotel was 30 minutes from where my sister lived.
“No, I didn’t plan on coming down there.”
She then got mad because I made plans to meet up with my brother. I guess she expected us to invite her, but inviting Mom along means your ass WILL be paying for her. Lunch? Your tab. Goodwill? She’ll add everything to your cart and ask you to pay for it. YES, at a THRIFT STORE! So I didn’t invite her to do anything because I just can’t afford it. I do okay in my finances but I don’t have a lot of extra right now, and I don’t intend on going without groceries because she can’t keep her grabby hands to herself.
My mom hung up in a shitty huff and I was out having some retail therapy for my already pissed off mood. I get another text from my sister: “Mom is sad you’re not coming down here.”
I ignored the text. When these white trash motherfuckers can pony up $35 to fill my gas tank up, I’ll happily gallop up and down the narrow ass highways to do whatever they wish. Argh, I was in a mood…
A few hours later, my mom calls again, and she’s the biggest sack of pitiful this side of the Tennessee border.
“You know I don’t even have one present to unwrap underneath the tree? Not one. I always had a present to open…I ain’t believin this. Your brother has one, and your grandaddy has a present to open, but no one has one for me!!!”
Now, let me interject here and let you readers know that my brother is so broke, I put his present together for my mother. Yes, I did. Even the damn gift bag. And this grown ass elderly woman is bellyaching about how she doesn’t have a gift to open. I lost it right there. She had gifts coming to her at our lunch at my sister’s house. It’s not like she had zero presents. I lost it.
“Hey mom. How about all your fucking kids have jobs and none of us have cancer? That’s a pretty cool present that NOT EVERYONE CAN HAVE.”
She sighs. “Well, I just think every year it’ll be better and it never is. I never have no money to do anything. I’m just disgusted.”
I hung up after listening to her bitch and I was so angry. All I could think about was Dolly Pardon’s “Hard Candy Christmas” blaring as I lynch myself from the hotel room ceiling. Totally like “Girl, Interrupted” style. After I called my boyfriend back home and bitched for a few minutes, I decided that the best therapy for these hillbillies and their drama would be a cheeseburger. That’s how fat people do when shit gets rough. We reach out to fast food. And I did! AND I had a red velvet cupcake…all in the name of vengeance. It’s my form of a cigarette…seriously.
The next day we had our big Christmas lunch. I had cooked at my sister’s house for 3 hours straight because my sister is about as domestic as a Sasquatch, and should anyone rely on her for food, we’d have fruit loops and Dominoe’s pizza. My mother shows up with a santa clause hat that says “Bah Humbug.” My grandfather had already pissed himself on the five mile commute from Mom’s to my sister’s, so my sister quarantined him to the couch to eat. He didn’t know what day it was, and he thought my cousin’s son was “a very pretty gal.”
We enjoyed our lunch with only having food launched from my sister twice for insulting her. My mother (who hates when we have any sort of fun) refereed the green bean casserole back to the plate instead of my forehead.
We opened gifts and my mother’s horrible attitude quickly faded when her grabby hands were filled with the presents that she had texted me a list for. Yes, my mom texted me a Christmas list. Yes, she is 65, and I am 30. I know, you don’t have to tell me that its fucked up.
After I gathered up my presents and a slew of leftovers, I got in my car and took a deep breath. I had 3 hours to drive back to my neck of the woods and I could not wait. Being in my dinky one bedroom apartment with two lazy dogs has never sounded so amazing.
And that was my little white trash Christmas, in it’s glory. Next year? Getting my ass up on Christmas morning, driving down, and coming back in the same day. Waffle house is open, and I’m gonna get crunk.
Hope all of you had a fabulous holiday, and thank you for reading this blog. I know you could pick classy blogs about recipes or politics, but no…you have low enough standards that you come here for amusement. Aight Nah, Gal.