SCENE #1: Airplane ride to New York by way of Orlando. Literally, a million kids, in various states of crankiness and hand stickiness, bump and bounce their way past me. With a vacant seat next to me and one behind, I curse the Southwest Airlines gods for not getting with the program and assigning their damn seats.
Nutbag Wife: I gotta pee!
Soothing, Noble Prize Worthy Husband: Well, we have to find our seats first (switch child, luggage, food, and assorted Disney crapola from one arm to the other).
Nutbag Wife: But I have to pee! And we HAVE to sit together!! I won’t make it on this flight without you.
Stares in my general direction, hoping her loud plea will guilt me from my comfortable emergency exit row and goad me into volunteering to sit between Jabba ‘Should Have Paid for 2 Seats’ Hut and Just Smoked 12 Packs of Ciggies. In response, I crinkly my forehead as though New Moon were War and Peace.
SNPWH: Um, my wife has a HUGE fear of flying and we need to sit together.
Hans: (hot male flight attendant who, despite his name, is of Latin descent)Unfortunately, sir, our flight is e’full and we donnut haav any seats together.
Nutbag Wife: Well, what if SOMEbody were willing to switch seats.
Hans: No, no, my lady. No baybees is allowed in dee emergency e’seets.
Old Dirty Bastard: I’ll move.
And saddles into the seat next to me. For the next 2 hours, he proceeds to tell me how he divorced a stripper 14 years his junior because she is crazy. If he had to do it again, he’d marry a Black woman because he likes women who are direct and with meat on their bones. Even though they (and he employed the ‘no offense’ tactic to remove me from the following insult) are only after money. And, hey, how long will I be in town because we should grad a drink. And, did he mention that he is an ex-Marine and can name 3 massage parlors in town where you can get a happy ending for less than 60 bucks? And he works for Pepsi. And here’s his cell phone. And land line. Be sure to call him after my brother’s graduation.
Yeah. I’ll get right on that.
SCENE #2: My sports-oriented, competitive father decides this weekend will be the sports tournment where he proves, once and for all, that 62 years of time on earth has prepared him to beat us all in sports. The lineup: Taboo, Batting Cages, Bowling, Miniature Golf, Cards. Brother’s apparently ultra competitive girlfriend has volunteered to represent the teens, my brother- the early 20s, and I, the early 30’s.
Me: (giving Brother clues for Taboo) Where perverts go if they want to get dates with little boys…
Brother: The priesthood!
Competitive Girlfriend: (to Brother) What I say you are…
Brother: A jerk? Stupid? Annoying? Lazy?
Competitive Girlfriend: Right!
Brother: (to me) That place where you go with the person that does the thing…
Me: ????
Competitive Girlfriend: The ATM!
Brother: Yes!!
Dad: (to Competitive Girlfriend) What women use when their husbands are gone…
Me: The Pool Man!
Competitive Girlfriend: A vibrator!
Dad: Right!
Me: Wait? ’Vibrator’ the word on the card??
Dad: No, the word was ‘vibrate’ but she got it, so shush!
Me: Ewww…
SCENE #3: On the way to my first Yankee game in the new stadium.
Brother: What are you doing?
Me: I gotta Twitter real fast.
Dad: Twitter? What’s that? Some kind of new dance?
Brother and I: (Look at each other and burst into laughter)
Dad: What? I bet it IS a dance! It probably does like this…(turns around and shakes his butt from side to side like a duck)
Brother and I: (Look at each other and burst into laughter)
SCENE #4: On my way to meet Dingo and Blakspring on my first solo subway ride, ever.
Dad: You’re gonna wear that?
Me: What? You said I am going to Manhattan. Isn’t this how people dress for dinner there?
Dad: Not where you’re going. We’re you’re going they’re gonna think you’re a hooker.
Me: Is it the shoes? I’ll just wear these flip flops then.
Dad: No, it’s not that.
Me: Is it the shrug? I’ll just wear my denim jacket.
Dad: No, that’s no it… it’s those pants.
Me: My capris? What about capris shout HOOKER to you?
Dad: I don’t know…it just looks like something a hooker would wear.
Me: (blank stare)
Dad: No offense.
Me: So, you think I look too dressy.
Dad: Yeah.
Me: Could you have just said that??
Dad: What? What’d I say??
SCENE #5: After 2 rounds in our Sports Tourney, Dad has 1 point for bowling, I have 1 for batting cages, and we are at miniature golf; which is clearly Competitive Girlfriend’s forte. She has pared all but 2 holes and has started counting each of our strokes to prevent anyone from cheating.
Dad: I gotta hit the head (translation: pee)
Me: We only have 2 more holes, can you hold it?
Dad: I’m 62, so no.
Me: Well, just go down that hill, I’ll cover you. (Next thing I know, I hear a very deep and manly scream as my Dad careens down this hill into a fence).
Me: (stifling a laugh) Are you OK?
Dad: Ohhhh, I hurt my shoulder!
Me: Brother, go down there and help him up!
Dad: No, no, I’m OK.
Me: Are you sure?
Competitive Girlfriend: Yeah, Mr. J are you sure?
Dad: Yeah, I’m fine.
Competitive Girlfriend: OK, then, you are on your second stroke.
SCENE #6: Farewell dinner, before I head back to Austin.
Competitive Girlfriend: (tells tragic story of having to put dog to sleep)
Me: (tells story of tragic death of The Hubster’s cat)
Brother: I know. I felt really bad when my fish died.
Dad: (stifling laughter) It got so big that it clogged the toilet when we tried to flush it. Brother was yelling at me ‘Daddy! Look what you did to my fish!!’ I had to get some tools to snake it out before we reflushed it.
Me: That’s so sad! How old were you when that happened?
Dad: (fully laughing) It was 2 months ago!
