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Monday, April 13, 2009

I Love My Goofball Family
or proof that I come by my wackness honestly

(I realize the events of the day might get lost in translation, but... what the Hell. Sue me.)

Okay, so Easter is one of the holidays where my entire family gets together at my Mom, Big Mar's house. There are three of us sisters who live here in the Burgh, my brother lives in New Paltz, NY and my oldest sister travels from New Jersey. This year our two nieces were MIA--one at NC State, the other studying in Japan--but the nephews were in attendance.

Last Saturday night we all gathered at the family homestead, and let's just say... the festivities started in earnest.

So my sister, Weez and I decided to crack open the alcohol early--namely Limoncello. Okay... I decided to crack open the alcohol early, but she partook of her own free will, I swear! For those unfamiliar, Limoncello is an Italian liqueur comprised of lemons steeped in vodka for, like two weeks, then blended with a mixture of equal parts water and sugar, then frozen to a thick lemony, kick-ass, goodness which will make you very, VERY happy.

The guys were drinking beers, we were drinking Limoncello, the conversation was lively, the jokes were off-color, the snacks were abundant...

Snacking was good, but we needed real food. We decided to order grub from a terrific BBQ place down the street.

Have you ever tried to place a food order in a room full of inebriated Italians? No easy task. Plus, I don't know why, but I could NOT stop making lewd comments and know, like I was at work with my equally lewd buds. I blame you, demon Cello. Je accuse!

We started debating how many "racks" we wanted. ( probably know where this is going.) Having no self control, I motioned towards my and my sisters' decolletage and blurted "how about three" to which my brother, Buddy just about blew beer out of his nose.

Next up...pulled pork.

OMG! Apparently my brother has issues with the very idea of pulled pork. He launches into this whole hilarious tirade about how you can't trust where the "pork pullers" hands have been, how he knows the dude doesn't wash his hands in the john, how there are no paper towels so he wipes them on his grimy shorts, how his cigarette ash precariously dangles over the meat... yadda yadda yadda. All the while I'm making with the rude hand-job gesture. See, I told you I couldn't stop myself. Again, I blame you, Limoncello! Je accuse, infinity.

Anywho, Weez finally places our order for 2800 pounds of chow, and we charge up the forklift to get it all. Meanwhile, we all get busy clearing the table, cleaning up and getting ready for dinner when the phone rings. Weez, being closest to the phone, answers.

"Hello? Yes, we placed an order for pulled pork."
(pause...looks at me, perplexed)
"You.. you want to know if we want YOU to pull the pork.. or if WE want to do it... ourselves... ??
(she turns to her hubby, David--again with the puzzled look)
"David.... do we want them to pull the pork or do we want to do it ourselves?"

Okay... at this point, I'm heading up the cellar stairs laughing! my! ass! off! AND about to wet myself. I'm totally Lizzing. Tears are running down my cheeks. Is this dude serious? Really?

"Uh... I think, you should do it?"
"Oh! You guys SUCK!!" Slam! goes the phone.

Okay, honestly I don't remember what she said, because I was too busy doubled over, howling and trying not to ruin my pants.

Next thing I know, my brother and bro-in-law crawl back into the house roaring with laughter, tearing up. They had just punked my Sis. Beautiful!! That is the first time I have ever seen any of them there boys laugh so hard they were crying. Seriously. 

Half hour later, Weez and I drag my brother out of his comfy chair to go get the grub, camera in hand because, you know, we aren't obnoxious enough and he wants to document the pork boys. We have to wait...natch, so we start taking pictures of stuff like us molesting the concrete pig sitting out front, the alleged "pork-pullers" hands through the window (kinda freaking them out in the process) and the greatest souvenir t-shirts EVER which say, and I quote "We think of you when we pull our pork".

Right-hand to God! HaHaHaHaHa!! 

I know what some"Buddy" is getting for his birthday. 

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