Twinks, to answer your question: yes, we read this thing. And occasionally even write on it = ) I've been in a lull but I can feel my need to blog building up a good head of steam.
So yesterday was another Easter celebration with the Mr-Family. Y'all know that I am dearly fond of Mr. J's immediate family, even though I have my issues with them from time to time. But the extended Mr. Clan wears me out. Good entertainment, though. Is it USA that has the "Characters Welcome" slogan? They should hang out with Mr. J's family.
Exhibit 1: Mr-Grand. Early last week, Mr. J's grandfather got hammered at the country club, drove himself home, and tripped heading up the steps into his old-people condo building. He has stitches in his head and a hand that is so swollen I literally could not look at it while eating.
Exhibit 2: Mr-Aunt (not the one who got drunk at the rehearsal dinner or the one who lives in New Zealand - the other one). I'm pretty sure y'all have heard me before about Mr-Aunt and her obsessive cheesecake production. Every family gathering, whatever the occasion, has to be graced with her plain cheesecake. It is very good cheesecake, it's just, you know, boring for the 800th time, never any flavor or topping, even.
Well, yesterday Mr-Aunt finally made a dessert that was not cheesecake. She made red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and dyed-green coconut flake "grass" with little duck candies sitting on the top. Full points for presentation, although the cake was on the dry side. Oh, and I was the person supposed to bring dessert (as apparently everyone was getting a little tired of cheesecake). So now I have two-thirds of a lemon curd pound cake sitting on my kitchen counter - and you know I had nothing else to do with my time on Saturday but whip that up. She just HAS to one-up.
Exhibit 3: Stripper Boots Cousin. Now Stripper Boots is a really sweet girl, and I like her very much but for her unfortunate predilection to dress like a streetwalker. "At least she has the figure for it," I've often said. She is a little bigger than I am - a few inches taller, probably a size 6 and well-proportioned although not much in the chest department. I would have put her at a small B, pre-op.
Well, not anymore. She's been surgically enhanced. The rack she is carrying now may not be quite the size of mine, but it's close - at least a double D. And she has refrained from purchasing any new clothes. I will let your imaginations fill in the contours.
Oh, did I mention that her 40-year-old boyfriend paid for the new rack? Niiiiiiice.
Exhibit 4: Baby Mama Cousin. Is it socially acceptable to tell someone to back the hell off your kid because she is creeping you out? I have never cared for Baby Mama Cousin, and now she is weirdly fixated on Babycakes. For whatever weird family drama she's playing out in her head, she's determined to make him and her two-year-old son BEST FRIENDS.
As I've said to Mr. J, I'm sure it will be nice for her son and ours to have a cousin fairly close in age to play with at these biannual extended family gatherings. But they are second cousins. I don't know how many second cousins her son has, but Babycakes already has 9. And since Mr. J and I have 19 first cousins, only 4 of whom have started procreating, that number is set to go through the roof over his first decade of life. Added to which, my own sister has two boys, one two years older and one six weeks younger than Babycakes - and she lives two blocks away. His "close cousin" need is filled.
Baby Mama Cousin was not invited to Babycakes's baptism for unrelated Mr-family drama reasons. She pitched a fit and insisted on attending (then showed up late and in her jeans); she also thrust herself into the photos when we were trying to get a picture of Babycakes with Mr-Sister, actually announcing, "I'm getting in your picture." At Christmas when Baby Mama Cousin dragged her son to meet the baby, she assured me, "He knows all about Babycakes, we say prayers for him every night!" (I heroically refrained from saying, "Please stop.") Yesterday she brought Babycakes an Easter basket. (He's starting eating solids, but candy is still a little beyond him.) She tried to force her son to kiss Babycakes hello. (I fended it off by announcing that Babycakes is fighting a cold.) And she brought me photos, plural, of her son.
I've met her kid five times, literally. I don't need a photo. I brought them to work and threw them away.
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