apocalypsos | (no subject) (Reply)

My love for the bunny knows no bounds. *snuggles*

Also, it turns out I'm going to run out of extra icon time next week. I really need to scrape together some bucks and do something about that. And extending my paid account time, and ... er, buying a pony.

Oh, and while I was at work today, I was pissy because the other guys in the office totally hijacked my radio (and were playing the Christian station on it, which was sort of a double insult) and I wanted to listen to Don & Mike. And then my mind started wandering and promptly tripped over one of the games they've played on the show.

I can't remember what it's called -- something like "Big Happy Family", I think -- but basically, they get two family members on the phone and ask them three questions separately to see if they match answers. If you've never heard it, the questions are:

1. Which family member has the biggest problems with drugs or alcohol?
2. Which family member would you consider the most attractive?
3. If you could get away with it, which family member would you kill?

#2 is pretty easy, because I'd immediately pick my aunt Carolyn, who's blond and gorgeous and has a wardrobe I want to raid like crazy. As for #3, I'd probably pick my uncle Butch, just because ... well, hell, I don't know. If he wasn't related to me, I know I wouldn't speak to him as a friend. All of my other relatives, I'd get along with, but him ... not so much.

As for #1, the easiest would be my uncle Johnny, but if we're dealing with "problems" in a less serious definition, I'd pick my mom. And I'm not saying that because my mother is an alcoholic, which she isn't. I'm saying that because my mother has the most "embarrassing things I did when I was drunk" stories of anyone I know. She doesn't get drunk often, but when she does, it's always amusing for everybody else. (Well, usually.)

Anyway, those of you who weren't around at Christmas Eve missed when my mom went out with her friends bar-hopping that day and get wasted -- before, I might add, she was supposed to host Christmas Eve. This meant that while my mom was puking her guts out in the bedroom, little miss Fresh-Off-An-Eight-Hour-Bus-Trip was downstairs cutting veggies and making stuffed shells. Considering I had this basically flung in my face, I ended up doing a pretty good job. (I messed up some stuff, but come on.

So, there's your set-up. My mother, in her bedroom, sick and drunk and laid out on the bed moaning. Drunk Mom is really more amusing than it sounds.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom across the hall, my brother was drinking a Bacardi Silver.

See, I come home that day and walk in to say hi to find him casually drinking a Bacardi while checking his email. A friend of his bought a six pack, decided he didn't like the taste, and let Bryan have two bottles. I could have flipped out, but really, what would that have accomplished? Besides, I'm supposed to yell at him because he's drinking one bottle (he was saving the other for another time) at home, while in his bedroom, when he knows he won't be driving? Yeah, right. If my parents are going to tell him they know he's going to drink and they won't give him hell as long as he drinks responsibly, I sure as hell am not going to yell. (Especially considering I already knew my mom was trashed.) My only advice was, "You'd better make sure you get rid of that bottle when you're done."

So right about then, my mom calls me into her bedroom and asks me to take over Christmas Eve duties. Okay, fine. Whatever. I head downstairs to start cooking, and it's about this time that my mother barges into my brother's room and essentially tells Bryan, "You really shouldn't get drunk. Really. Not if you don't want to throw up like I just did."

All my brother could do was stare at her, then at the half-empty Bacardi bottle in his hand, then back at her. Bottle. Mom. Bottle. Mom. (He even did the impression later on. I was vastly amused.)

Mom never noticed it, and went right back to her room after telling him that.

Now, a question. Which one of these two people is a responsible drinker?

A. The woman who knows she has to host a party for fifteen people and gets drunk anyway?

OR

B. The teenage boy who, while he theoretically shouldn't be drinking and if he had any common sense wouldn't be doing it in his own house, only had one on a night he knew he'd be home and wouldn't be driving?

For lack of a better option, I pick B.

The best part came the next day, when Bryan, who isn't delighting a Super Sekrit part of himself unless he's in trouble with my parents, left the empty Bacardi bottle on his computer desk and my mom found it. My mom then runs to me and starts complaining about how stupid he is. Which, okay, yeah, drinking alcohol in his room, but I still can't believe I didn't blurt out, "Mom, you saw him drinking it already."

In retrospect, I should have, just to answer her "When?" with a dry, "Oh, right after you stopped heaving your drunken guts into the bedroom trashcan." 'Cause, you know, I'm a snot like that.

In any event, I really should call my brother this weekend anyway. My parents are going to New York City for the weekend to see my grandfather (and get spoiled rotten, because Al's cool like that), and they're leaving Bryan home alone to take care of the cats. You know, I think he can be trusted to take care of himself for two days, what with him turning 18 next week and all, but the last time they left hime alone for the weekend with the cats, he only managed to feed them on time, while not cleaning up piles of cat puke on the carpet and not changing the litter. (In any other house, it might not be a problem, but there are seven of the little buggers.) I think the only reason they get fed at all when Bryan's in charge is because if you so much as think the word "kitchen", they promptly swarm you and start steering you towards the direction of the cat food drawer like a herd of very determined Siamese cows.

Ten bucks says I call on Saturday and he hasn't cleaned the cat litter. If I were really cruel, I'd lie and say that I called Mom on Friday and she said that if he didn't clean the litter, she was going to dump it on his futon. Then again, I don't think that's called "lying" so much as "the first stage of advanced precognition."

EDIT: *pounces on