Well as you may know my family reunion has taken place and it was the one thing that just sucked up most of my free time and cash reserves. When it was going on I thought of the things I would post here, but the problem with writing about my family reunion is that I have to write about my family. That’s not really a problem in it’s self but the problem comes along when I think about the family members that I know who have visited this site and read what I’ve posted - when I do that I tend to try and censor myself just a bit. I almost decided not to write anything else about the reunion but hey, it’s my blog and I don’t want to censor myself, so I decided that I would write about my life and the people in my life the way I see it.

When I was a kid I used to think my Aunt Frances was the most sophisticated person I ever met. She lived in a house that was always immaculate and she always talked about her trainer and how healthy her meals were. If I remember correctly she used to have a little cooler with healthy stuff to eat throughout the day. It seemed strange to me that she could work out with long fake fingernails, but I was young and as scary as those nails were, they still, in my mind, were a show of sophistication. She was so sophisticated that she bordered on being stuck-up. Being stuck-up is not a bad thing and just like all my quirks are part of my charm, sophistication and stuck-upishness (I made that word up - go out and use it) was part of her charm.

I don’t know what changed her, maybe it was the heart attack my uncle had, maybe it was the economy - we can blame everything on the economy, or maybe she didn’t change at all - maybe I changed, but I don’t think so. No, she changed and I know the exact moment that I noticed she had changed. We were in California for one of my brother’s school graduations and we were walking on the Santa Monica Pier. Something seemed different about her, but I really couldn’t place what it was. As we walked she told us about the heart attack my uncle had even though he was probably the most healthy person in the entire family. I remember the night before my uncle had the heart attack he called and told us about a diet that worked with your blood type, it sounded great and I thought I would try it, then less than twenty-four hours later we got the call that he had a heart attack and I said, “screw that diet.“ As she was talking something that seemed way out of the ordinary, or at least very unexpected and out of my aunt’s sophisticated character happened. She stopped in mid-sentence and picked up a penny off the Santa Monica Pier.

“what’s the saying?” she said as she picked up the penny from the wooden planks. “If the penny is faced up, then it’s good luck?”

As strange as that seemed to me, the next thing she did really shocked me. She suggested that we stop in one of the little food places on the pier and eat some French fries. Not only did she want some carbs, she wanted fried carbs. At that moment I noticed she didn’t have those long scary nails and not once did she talk about trainers or working out. She seemed down to earth and normal.

So now we skip to the present - my aunt has been really cool and I enjoy her company a lot, so I was happy that my uncle called and confirmed they would both be coming to the reunion. I was starting to get a little worried because no one had called or bothered to let me know that they were going to be here except for my cousin Velinda, who said she was going to be here and she was brining her entire family. Since she was the first one to call I told her that she could use my car while she was here so she wouldn’t have to rent one, saving her some money that could go into the slot machines, where one pull can change your life. We like to tell the tourists that so they spend more and we don’t have to pay state taxes.

The day that my cousin Velinda arrived with her family was also the same day that my Aunt Frances and Uncle Joe arrived and they all would need a ride from the airport. I was helping my mom with a few things when I happened to mention that the kids had spilled a little bit of juice in the backseat of the car. It wasn’t long after that that my mother disappeared. I looked all over the house for her but couldn’t find her, then I searched outside and there she was. She was in my car with a bucket of soapy water cleaning the seats of the car.

I looked at her a bit shocked and said, “mom, you don’t have to do that. I cleaned the juice and by now it’s dried anyway.”

My mom continued to scrub the seats and in her motherly voice asked, “didn’t you tell the kids not to step on the seats? There are footprints all over the seat.”

“I did tell them, but apparently they didn’t listen to me.”

My mom scrubbed the seats even harder to get all the kid sized footprints out. “Don’t you have any shame at all? How could you let your cousin use your car when it’s so dirty.”

Although I should have learned through the years that it’s pointless to argue with her, I still tried to make my point. “They don’t care if there are footprints on the seat. They’re happy they don’t have to rent a car for the week.”

I stood there and watched. “They may not care but you should care…” I sort of let her talk and my mind went off somewhere else, probably thinking of the surprise I had planned for the family reunion dinner.

“Is that going to be dry when I pick them up because it’s almost time to leave.” My mom reassured me that the seats would be dry because she was only using a damp cloth and just wiping the surface of the seat to get the dirt out.

I went inside to get my keys and my mom took her slightly damp rag and bucket of dirty water back inside the house. I sat in the car and almost immediately I felt my ass get cold and damp. This is not good, I thought to myself. I ran inside and got the largest towel I could find and laid it across the backseat hoping that would keep my family from getting their asses wet. I drove with the windows down so the dry Vegas heat would help dry the seat - I would arrive drenched in sweat but at least my family’s asses would be dry.

It took me awhile but I finally found everyone at the airport. My Aunt Francess, Cousin Velinda, and Uncle Joe sat in the backseat. No one said anything so I figured the seats had dried and I could move on. I checked off my mental checklist - Dry Asses, check, check, and one more check. It wasn’t long into our trip that my Aunt Frances let out a little yelp - I took it as a sophisticated way of yelling “Oh my ass is wet and it’s so cold!”

“what is it?” I asked pulling onto traffic, “is the seat still wet?” My aunt was cool about it, she acted like it was normal to sit on a wet backseat when she went on vacations. I tried to talk about any and everything to keep their minds off their cold, wet asses. I think it worked because no one said anything bout it. We arrived at the hotel and I said as my aunt got out of the car, “If you’re butt is still wet just think of it like an air-condition for your butt, much like the water misters they have outside.” I don’t know if she actually heard me or not, but I used my most sincere voice and I said the word “butt” because my aunt is religious. I know they say the word “ass” in the bible many times, but it’s not the same and besides talking about my aunt’s ass to her just seems kind of weird.

Delivery of the guests to the hotel - Check!