Guys, check out this story on my nephew, Ben.
Thanksgiving in a Nutshell
Don’t worry, this won’t be one of my long emo posts. It’ll be a short emo post.
Two things worth mentioning happened today (well, three, now that I think about it…but I promise to stop there. Or at least put the rest in a new post if I think of more).
1. My older sister, who is the one who has spent the last month or so trying to guilt-trip me into being at my dad’s for Thanksgiving (she stayed with him when he and my mom divorced, so he still loved her), was here. She didn’t make the trip to Dad’s house, even after all the time she spent trying to convince me that I’m a terrible person for not going. My younger sister, who was the one in the family who understood why I didn’t want to go, actually went. Hope she doesn’t feel silly being the only one of us who is there (considering that he’s not actually her dad, although when she was born, he and our mom were still married).
2. When I sat down to eat, my chair collapsed. I tried to catch myself with both arms, and my already-screwed-up left shoulder has been in constant pain since (as opposed to only when I move it, like normal). My older sister told me “Oh, yeah, I heard a crack when I sat in that earlier and saw that the leg separated from the crossbar, and figured I’d broken it.” Somehow this didn’t become important information until after I
sat on it sat through it.
3. My older sister’s kids are 11 and 4, and still not potty trained. I went in to the restroom to make room for pie (we actually didn’t have any pie, but the phrase works today), and had to clean up the two rolls of toilet paper that my four year old niece had TP’d the bathroom with. Then I had to clean the seat of the toilet, which was covered in pee from the 11 year old nephew. When I mentioned it to my sister and her husband, their response was “Oh, yeah, they do that all the time.” That was it. So if, in about ten years, you work with a kid who has less social skills than we do, and pees all over the bathroom, I’m sorry…it’s probably a relative of mine whose parents couldn’t be bothered to raise him.
OK, fair enough, my parents couldn’t be bothered to raise me either, but I had my grandma to keep me in line, for the most part. I still have a ton of issues, but at least, on those rare occasions when I do miss the toilet, I clean up after myself.
In which Kenny decides to reblog a picture for his friend Kristyn and it turns into a Truthful/TMI Tuesday post, because I’m long-winded like that:
Fortunately, even without a father, I haven’t peed myself since 1999 (it was New Orleans, Mardi Gras, and the only way to use a bathroom was to pay $3 to use a port-a-potty or buy a drink at a bar for them to let me use theirs…meaning I’d have to pee again after I finished the drink, then buy another drink so I could pee, meaning I’d need to pee again, so I’d — well, it’s a vicious cycle…I decided to walk back to my hotel, but I didn’t make it).
But since then, I’ve been golden. Well, not golden, more like clear. Wait, that still sounds like I’m describing pee.
I’ve been OK since then. As far as peeing on myself goes. Not doing it, that is.