Thanksbirthing (or: Why You Shouldn't Let Your Step-Mum Name Holidays)

I spent Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday stuck at home, in bed, with a horrible cold and fever and all that nonsense. I managed to go through 2+ boxes of tissue. I killed so much DayQuil/NyQuil that I'm certain they'll see a 25% rise in profits this quarter based on my consumption, alone (hahahaha, consumption! That's totally a pun right? Because "the consumption" used to refer to some horrible illness? Yes?)....

I may or may not currently be addled by all the cold medications and lack of sleep my brain has been forced to deal with. So, you know, there's my disclaimer in regards to this post.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. It isn't really a huge holiday when it comes to my family. My father's birthday is late November, so we usually just meet up for dinner at some point during the last two weeks of the month. That's pretty much our celebration of Thanksgiving and (mostly) Daddy's birthday.

Because my family is fairly small (it consists of my dad and step-monster, my two younger siblings [Mar and Bug], Dad's parents, and the step-monster's folks) things are pretty flexible during Thanksgiving/Dad's birthday (or, as my stepmum lovingly dubbed it, "Thanksbirthing"... though I think that sounds totally gross).

Since I spent the past few days dying of consumption (or just a cold... you never can tell) and don't want to pass that on to the troops, I'm going to try to gather the family unit at my place this weekend for a Thanksbirthing (ew) dinner.

Last night, I went ahead and wrote a list of things I'm thankful for. Things I'm Thankful For lists are all the rage this time of year, and I need to at least keep up with the trends. Plus, I was drinking a bit and felt it was the perfect time to write a post (and by "write a post" I mean "write half of a post before falling asleep").

Because not everyone may be interested in my sentimental, heartfelt, not-at-all-funny-or-entertaining list, I've stuck it below. I hope that visiting relatives wasn't too brutal for anyone, and that your Thanksgiving Recovery goes well.

Oh Bebe. Your kids are so crazy.

I had the strangest childhood.

After my parents divorced (when I was 2 or 3 years old) I went to live with my dad. My biological mother floated around from place to place for several years, after which she found herself living with her next husband (in what became a long line of fiancées / husbands/ etc.), as well as their two children (my brother is 4ish years my junior, and my sister is 5ish years younger than I am). 

Bio-mum and (ex)step-dad finally ended in a crappy apartment in the northeast suburbs of Atlanta (from what I can remember). Some of my earliest memories revolve around that apartment. 

I remember being around 7, and celebrating Christmas at the apartment. I can see the stuffed leopard I got so clearly in my minds' eye. 

I remember my little sister learning how to walk. She fell in the living room and chipped off more than half of one of her front baby teeth. She was missing half her front tooth until it finally fell out when her adult teeth started to come in. 

I remember my brother waking me up in the middle of the night because he couldn't sleep. We snuck into the living room and I put our VHS copy of Aladdin on the tv. I think it was during the big parade scene (after Genie makes Aladdin into a prince) that our mother woke up and came out to yell at us while dragging us back to bed. (Funny side note about Aladdin: It was my brothers favorite movie when he was 4 or 5. Because of a quote in the movie, any time anyone asked him to, "Say the magic word," instead of replying with, "Thank you," he'd always say, "Genie, I wish for you to make me a prince!" It was fucking adorable.)

One other thing I can vaguely recall about that apartment was the fact that across the hall lived two fabulous gay men. They were my first experience with a gay couple, I suppose. They were sweet as could be, and would keep an eye on us heathen children every once in a while, whenever our mother had to work and my stepfather was too drunk to responsibly supervise any living thing. 

It's funny how the simplest things can hold such sentimental value.

I still have the cheap, silly little gift they once gave me when I was around 6 or 7 (shit... like 20 years ago...). It was a wire stick-figure couple, sitting on a park bench. It sat on a stand, and had a counter-weight on top, so that you could just rock it back one time and it would keep itself swinging for a good long while. 

One of the guys brought it over to me, and his boyfriend got super excited and came to sit with us. Went on to explain to me that it used to represent the two of them sitting together. They said I should keep it always, because one day it would be me and my sweetheart rocking on the bench. I can specifically recall one of them using the phrase "you and your sweetheart" in a southern accent that would almost put Scarlett O'Hara to shame. 

One time, we were left with these men across the hall for a good couple hours. I'm pretty sure my sister was taking a nap. I don't recall if my brother was up wandering the apartment, or sleeping as well. But as the eldest, I didn't always have to take naps, and certainly couldn't be bothered to keep up with the schedules of Those Who Must Nap. 

I don't know if they did this because it was the only animated movie they had, or if they figured there's no cartoon that a 6ish-year-old wouldn't love, but that afternoon they introduced me to Bebe's Kids.

For those of you who have never seen this movie, it's on Netflix streaming as I write this blog (in fact, this evening I decided to revisit the film after 20ish years, which was what prompted me to post). 

The interesting thing about showing a movie like Bebe's Kids to an impressionable 6 year old is that she's going to absorb it. If she's raised in a household that promotes the idea that all people deserve to be empathized with and treated like human beings (regardless of skin color, or country of origin, or native language, or differing culture) then she won't understand why her white, Atlanta-native ass is told to be quiet anytime she tries to reference a quote from that silly cartoon she watched that one time.

Needless to say, my 6ish-year-old brain was baffled as to why certain things were SO hysterical when spoken by these cartoon characters, but god forbid I ask anyone why they're funny, or reference anything from the movie in passing. I didn't understand why things worked that way. Sometimes I still don't. The world is such a weird place. 

Well, with that being said, I'm going to go to sleep. It's bed time (the earth-shattering snores that are coming from the unconscious Great Dane laying next to me is the best indicator). But before I go, I'll leave you with a taste of the 1992 classic, Bebe's Kids. 

"She so fine she makes me wanna get a job... with benefits!"

"If you don't tell me where your brother is I'm gonna beat the black off you, and you're gonna look whiter than Michael Jackson!"

"If you tried to phone hell from here, it'd be a local call." (It's sad that no one born after 1990ish would get this joke, because who the hell pays different rates for local vs long-distance anymore?)

And finally, the yo momma jokes. Because who doesn't love the shit out of some yo momma jokes?

Until next time,

-Slagathor 

Bourbon sucks at hide and seek.

It's funny how quickly circumstances can consume everything around you. They can completely blur the path you've been trying to carve out for yourself, so much so that you end up wondering if that's really where you wanted to be, or if it's just random fog. Circumstances can cause you to neglect the person you've strived to become for so long that you end up devolving into some flawed version of yourself that you swore you'd never be. They can distract you to such an extent that sometimes, on rare occasions, you can't even find your whiskey after coming back inside from a 5 minute, impromptu smoke break.

And where the fuck is my whiskey, anyway?

...

Despite the perpetual stress, the anxiety, and even the AWOL beverage, I feel that there is solace in the constant whirlwind. You can find anchors, even if they're short-lived. Whether you find yourself momentarily grounded by friends, silly conversation, odd but wildly entertaining situations, or just by snuggling your obnoxious, loud-ass, snoring douche bag of a dog, you can always manage to find your core (some people call it "inner peace", but I think it's just the root of who you are).

I could go into a detailed pity party about my current job bullshit. I could whine about my personal relationships and their shortcomings. I could spend days lamenting over my insecurities that constantly tell me my life is beyond reparation...(too lazy, too unattractive, too young, too stubborn, too comfortable with cursing like a fucking sailor, too sensitive, too emotionally flippant, too undereducated, too... well... anything) to accomplish my personal goals (both old and new). But fuck that.

I can do anything I like. Not regardless of my shortcomings. Not in spite of them. But because of them. They comprise the person I am. I'll admit this, despite how smug my father will be if he reads it, but struggle builds character, damn it.  And while some things I'd like to do may take eons more time, patience, effort, exhaustion, and perseverance than I'm willing to offer (or even capable of offering, at this point in my life), I can still, one day, accomplish any goal I put forth. As can most. The hardest part is accepting that I can actually do whatever I want, and committing to it enough to make it a reality. Does that make sense? Maybe?

You know, they say a positive attitude can do wonders. At 26 years old (almost 27... christ...) I'm starting to tentatively agree with "them". I mean, shit, I just found my fucking whiskey (and I'm way more excited and proud of my ability to find beverages that I put down mere minutes ago than I should be.... Be excited with/for me, damn it). And what better symbol of hope and positivity is there?

Goodnight, and all the best.
-L