Friday, February 15, 2008

Get forked

I've been pretty lucky when it comes to receiving gifts. I've received some dumb gifts, of course, and my share of useless and thoughtless ones, but nothing that ever tipped over into 'truly demented' territory.

Not until Party Girl came into my life.

She's the Yummy Bikers mom. Now, Party Girl is a nice woman. She also happens to be a lifelong, hardcore alcoholic. I have never seen a human being put away the vodka like this woman can, and I mean from the time she wakes up in the morning, brothers and sisters. That first cup of coffee in the morning is half Smirnoff. No fricken lie. If you happen to be up at the same hour she'll pour you one too; and then sit there and laugh at you while your eyebrows singe and your nipples shoot off the end of your tits. It WILL wake your ass up.

She isn't a horrible drunk. Sloppy, yes, but not evil. At her worst she likes to wander around in a flannel nightgown, overflowing with love for all mankind, and give big friendly hugs. Nothing wrong with that.

The wrong part is when her giant braless boobs come swinging down like two Smithfield hams and nail you right in the face.

You can't really put your hands up either. I mean....yeah. You get the picture.

And let's say you're sitting down low, like on the sofa or something? Come the actual hug you get an added bonus: 25 pounds of big old blubbery mother-in-law boobage laying right on your lap.


What are you going to do? I mean, here's this sentimental woman who is still overjoyed after 22 years that her baby boy found someone without a prison record to marry; and she's just plowed enough to where she loves the whole world, so really, what CAN you do? Pretty much just sit there. "Ok....I love you too...Ok. Boy, those are really just, you know, sitting right on my lap there. Yes indeed" ...and sigh and pat her on the back while she sniffles and tells you how much she loves you.

Bear this in mind as well: The Yummy Biker got his physique from HER side of the family. This is a woman who tours on the amateur champion golf circuit, ok? She's 73 and she's got biceps like wrecking balls. The last thing I want is the possibility of her pissed off at me.

Come the official winter Holiday season she shops, wraps, cooks and writes Christmas cards to the tune of a 5th of vodka every other day. (And remember, that's just vodka. Their neighborhood becomes a 24-hour floating cocktail party during November and December.) In a good year the card will be legible and there'll be money or a check. On a bad year?

We got a giant box-a huge monster box just tore all to shit by the post office. Inside the box was probably a months' worth of Sunday newspapers all wadded up tight into little balls. Three small boxed presents floating around in the middle of all that.

By this point in the unpacking process there is literally newspaper filling my front room. As it accumulates, once freed of the compression, the level is rising too; we sat on the couch and watched it gradually unfold itself and swallow the television and roll out through the divider into the kitchen. Ever see The Blob? We were laughing so hard we had tears rolling down our faces.

The biker opens his present; fine. My daughter opens hers; fine.

I open mine.

First I unroll a tube of tissue paper.

What to my wondering eyes does appear?

Three picnic forks.

Three yellow picnic forks.


Well, forks. Ok. Forks are.....useful.

But wait! Theres another flat package jammed beneath the first! Whatever could it be?

It's soft; maybe it's a t-shirt! That'd be cool; I can always use a t-shirt.

It is not a t-shirt.

It is underwear.

Big underwear. Big, big underwear.


Laundered briefies.

Five pairs. Of briefies.

My mother-in laws old, used, wore-out briefies.

This is the same woman who will roll up in a car that cost more than my house and announce cheerfully 'I have presents for you!" and mean it sincerely; in a voice that means she's expecting you to jump up and down with anticipation.

It also means that the trunk of her Cadillac is loaded with boxes and bags filled with the partially used contents of her refrigerator. Half-heads of lettuce and limp cukes with creepy sunken-in places on them and packages with like 2 pieces of bologna left.

She and her husband go hunting up in Alaska every year. Everything they kill goes straight into the freezer where it sits until someone decides it's old enough to pass down to me. I get frequent bequests of 5 year old freezer-burnt moose and ancient halibut, all of it portioned up and wrapped by a woman who's spent the last 40 years of her life pickled. I've opened a package marked HULBOTT to find only the tail of the fish inside; admittedly a huge impressive finny tail the size of a newspaper, but still...just a tail. Not even with any butt attached to it. Now, yes, it's kind of cool to mess with for a couple of minutes. Chase the dog around maybe. But after the novelty value has worn off you still have this fish tail. And its all huge and everything. Just...kind of....there.
Yup. There it is. A tail.

Her creative side comes to the fore after a few C&V's too. The labelling on anything frozen is always always highly suspect. Waiting for something to thaw is like that part in 'Jaws' where the music starts, and that naked broad goes running out in the water in the dark and meanwhile you're all going "JESUS YOU STUPID BITCH GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WATER THERES A SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND THEN SUDDENLY THE MUSIC STOPS AND

Have you ever seen a moose tongue?

It is very tonguelike.

And here's a little-known fact: Even without the rest of the moose attached the tongue of the moose continues to exude buckets and buckets of viscous freaky alien DROOL. You'd think absence of a moose hanging off the other end of the tongue would tend to put an end to the whole drool production thing but boy would you be wrong.

I make her son deal with that that shit now. I don't even look at it. If I hear the seagulls going nuts out in the field next door a few hours later I can pretty well resign myself to the fact that I've been living with an antique bag full of frozen moose foreskins or something.


  1. *Nails Beast right in the face with my two Smithfield hams*

    *and an ancient HALLBUTT*

    *hopes FN doesn't defend him by smothering me with her giant granny knickers*

  2. Well, at least she's thinking of you. And she does offer you coffee in the morning.

  3. She sounds really interesting. And it seems that she really likes you. Plus she gives you ammunition for your blog. Great stories that keep us coming back for more. I love my mom in law, she has however never sent me platic forks or big underwear, you are so lucky. I hope that you still have them... :)

  4. awwwwwww, I love little hobbit Gramma. And her big frosted-lipstick booze kisses! At least she is loving and not evil like some of the fam...! I love it when she gives us old squaw candy or random gamey jerky, but I love even more how excited Dad gets about it and INSISTS for months that it's the most delicious thing ever. UGH.

  5. allfuckingrightallready.... so we arent related? WTF? um.... the first half the story reminds me of my mum and the second half of the story reminds me of my buddys mum. i never knew my mum to not have a glass without ice cubes tinkling in it and yer makingmefuckingemotionalhere....

    *steps outside to smoke a marlboro*

    yer afuckinawesomeposter.... thanks for the memory lane.

  6. I am a sloppy drunk.

    Details are embarrassing. PLease do not push for them.

    I may pee on your couch.

    That would not be good.

  7. Great, put a smile on my face this frosty sunday morning. x.

  8. Awww that made me laugh , she sounds lovely and eccentric like all good granma's should be and it makes present opening a memorable experience in itself.

    I want an alien drooling moose tongue......

    I am having a little trouble typing as MJ's Jugs keep getting in the way :-(

  9. i laughed so did make me take a better look at my least she is just kind of boring...but is better on the gifts now...used to buy me flannel nightgowns from JC Penny...i NEVER wear flannel nightgowns...she wanted me to be like her i guess...just can't do it...please god don't let me do it!

  10. I laughed at every paragraph. My sides hurt. Thanks very much!!

  11. My MIL used to be fun.Now she is slowly sliding away...

  12. LOL! oh man..... I had a neighbor who used to 'gift' us things like that. And everytime a family member moves we get their leftovers. I still have can of diced tomatoes in my pantry that's the size of a mack truck. I have no earthly idea what to do with it. I mean I have a big family, but not that big.

  13. Hee hee heeeee!

    C'mere an' gimmeeaKISSHHH!

    P.S.: I cannot believe that about the moose tongue. It disturbs my fragile sense of reality.

  14. Bless you. I've been busy of late but made a point of visiting your place. Rewarded with a good laugh to myself. Great post well written.