We Put the FUN in Dysfunction

My mother had a family birthday party for me this last Saturday. I was fairly apprehensive going into it. Due to the limited time I had, or rather, the limited amount of personal time I was willing to sacrifice for my extended family, my mother had invited both hers and my father’s side of the family. My parents were divorced about five years ago.

My father after the divorce decided that he didn’t realize what he had been taking for granted the last 27 years of his life, and proceeded to decorate his home with pictures of my mother, including sticking one onto the dashboard of his car, so he would see her whenever he was in the car. Yes, indeed, quite a bit creepy.

My mother a few months ago started dating again, and has met someone with whom she really likes. So Mom’s boyfriend (still getting used to saying those two words together, BTW) and his adult children were also invited, and my father was to meet him and his kids for the first time.

In addition my youngest sister, C, was to bring her much older boyfriend that nobody is very keen on… so you can imagine the pre-stress of this, MY, glorious day. The stress was for nothing and a good time was had by all… although my poor father might need to go to counseling post this ordeal… but not for why you think…

At one point in the afternoon my father stood at the table looking at the bountiful dips, spreads and toppings for our snacks. He looked at my mother and said, “What is this one here?” My mother looked at him and replied, “It’s Artichoke, Dick… I mean Dip! Dip! It’s Artichoke Dip!”

My sisters, girlfriends and cousins stood there laughing. I threw in the prerequisite, “Paging Dr. Freud” as my mother blushed profusely through her laughing while my father quickly his put his “dip” on the plate and scurried into the other room. My mother has been waiting over 30 year to say that. She finally had her chance… she just didn’t mean to (ish).

My sister, Beba, brought up the fact that I had my beav waxed for my birthday. (No wonder I couldn’t get anyone to stop touching it… I couldn’t either… but we already knew that, didn’t we?) Beba was thinking about getting hers done and wanted to see what mine looked like.

I took her and LaLo into a room and dropped my pants and showed them the perfection that JP had created (JP’s an esthetician). My sister said that she was still thinking about it, but thought that hers was fine. She wanted my opinion, because I told her that guys prefer it waxed (don’t you guys?) Beba told me that she couldn’t show me hers at that time, because she had to… clean it up… She then came up with the genius idea of showing me the picture she had on her cell phone of it.

Now I may have my cell phone pictures in a sexy outfit or wearing my French maid outfit… and surprisingly I find those rather risqué… I may talk and play a mean game, but I’m not about to have pictures of this OCG requiring a daily google check on the www. This of course doesn’t include the abundance of booby pics that I send JP on a semi-regular basis, because I think its funny… and I know she would do anything more than show, not CNN, them to people.

Beba, LaLo and I returned to the living room where Beba grabbed her phone and began scrolling through her pictures. She found it showed it to LaLo then me. I swear to god. I need to disassociate myself from the fact this was my sister. She had a full on x-rated porn picture she had taken of her bald pussy with her fingers IN IT! and then sent to her boyfriend.

I was taken aback, and with our heads nearly together looking at this small phone picture, I could only reply “Oh my God.” I then heard a deep “Oh my God” and turned to see my father had poked his head to see in between Beba’s and mine to better catch a glance at what we were looking at.

I screamed, “Holy shit!” and doubled over in laughter as Beba took off across the room, red faced and laughing in horror. My father went to another part of the room shaking his head, most likely trying to erase this image hopefully not permanently burned into his brain.

I just kept laughing and saying “I am so glad that wasn’t me! I WOULD DIE, I WOULD JUST DIE!” In some Jack McFarland-esque manner. Hilarious, really fucking hilarious… If it wasn’t my family in which it had happened. Little too Springer for my tastes.

My father continued walking away and said, “Well we are just going to have to get through this somehow.”

Screw Dr. Freud… Dr. Phil, do you think you have some time for some family matters we may be dealing with soon? Thanks.

Note: As Rusty brought up to me today, when I implied that Beba had to "clean up" her... flower... it was referring to the need to shave it, NOT that she had hygiene issues... just an FYI