Rural MN Black Sheep's Weekend
Picture the scene, people.
I, the original rural MN thrash-face, go out to get the mail. As I walk up our long driveway, I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I see a cute and gay looking blue envelope stashed amongst the bills. I have been expecting this envelope, yet its arrival does me in. My yuppie sister had a baby and we are (commanded) invited to go to the christening, or whatever they are calling it these days.
Here I pause to grab my dug-out and take a one hit (is “onie” a word?) as I peruse the sappy details. It's in some fucked-rich suburb in the Twin Cities, and it's only ten days away.
Thanks Sis!
I go in the house and break the news to the wife.
"She's your sister! We have to go!"
Not quite the answer I was looking for from Mrs. Rural. Went back outside to toke and contemplate. I know there's some Windsor in the garage...
Fast-forward.
After much hassle to get someone to watch things while we are gone, we are on the road to a family fest where I am the black sheep extraordinaire.
Cool.
I will endure on survival tokes and insincere smiles.
The kids are a joy in the back seat, spilling food and fighting with each other. On the outskirts of Minneapolis, we get off of the freeway to change drivers. Why? Because I can't handle city driving! That's right, I am a puss who freaks out with all the traffic.
Fuck off.
Sorry this is so long. I am getting to the point, soon. I just felt compelled to write something for this keen writers’ site. Oh, and fuck off.
We arrive, and there is no room for us to stay with family. I mean, my disgusting ass might get smoke residue on the bed sheets, for fuck’s sake! (Yes I smoke outside at my house, you cigarette Nazis.) So we're doing the hotel scene. Kids want to go to the pool. And I have to watch them. Damn kids. Who's watching me? Oh, that's right, my fucking uptight family...
So we have a big get-together brunch before the "main event". My other sister is hosting and she has made the whole thing very Martha Stewart.
Barf.
The men fake camaraderie with beers and by looking at my brother-in-law’s new truck. "Gotta have something to carry the baby in." Dude, you could drive around a fucking pre-school class in that thing, and still have room for your precious golf clubs. Asshole. Maybe I'm jealous? Whatever, he's still an asshole.
Still, I survived that hell. You ever see people wrinkle their nose like they smell a rancid fart when you light up a smoke? Outside? Have another wine cooler, fag. Men who drink hard lemonade, when it's not at least 90 degrees out, should be shot.
Somehow, the rural MN family that is always late is the first to leave for the church thing. Wife is driving 'cause I'm a chickenshit. Did I mention the wife has an invalid license because she was popped for speeding and I failed to renew our insurance? It seems like a small detail, but it makes this story longer. Whose fault? Chicken and the egg, man.
Trying to find this place in Edina (aka MEAN STREETS) when I notice this cop (aka Dirty Harry wannabe) doing about 52 mph in the 55 mph zone. Everybody is passing him at 60 or more. My Spidey-sense is tingling, and I tell the wife to get off at the next exit, but it's too late. We are passing the cop.
As soon as we get in front of him, the cherries light up. "Fucking God Damn It!" (That is my swear of choice, when I am really pissed off).
Copper was running plates as people passed him. No ticket quotas, my ass.
So we have a killer ticket. Dirty Harry makes us switch seats. Remember how I said we left for the church first? My whole extended family drove by us, sees ME in the drivers seat, looking super pissed. Kids wonder if we are going to jail. Wife and I are at each others throats ‘til we get there. And I'm having panic attacks, while trying not to kill anybody on the road.
Everybody gives us the "look" at the church. I have to explain 10 times to 10 different people that I got a speeding ticket.
"But wasn't the wife driving when you left?" My dad asks.
"Nope. It was me."
Dad didn't buy it but I was sure as hell not going to tell him our personal troubles, know what I mean? My business.
We were the talk of the event. Sister is pissed that we took the attention away from her and her precious brat. Hell of a weekend.
Hotel room: 85 dollars
Gas: 60 dollars
Driving on suspended license: 180 dollars
Cementing your place as the family fuck-up: Priceless
by
gr8whte
