Sunday, November 05, 2006

ThePeach Goes to Her Grandpa's 80th Birthday Party

Oh, this weekend was a real treat. Any weekend that involves the gathering of my family usually is. This weekend happened to be my grandfather’s 80th birthday, and we all traveled to Ottawa to be with him. The night before I was due to be picked up, my plan was to do laundry, pack, and go to bed early so I would be rested and ready to face 48 consecutive hours of my mother without punching her in the ovary. TheHippie’s boyfriend, who has been named “TheCrip” (is it because he’s in a gang, or because he’s a cripple? Ooooh suspenseful!), was trying to pimp me out to his friends that night but I decided to stay in. Not that I don’t fully appreciate TheCrip’s enthusiastic response to my request to start whoring me out, but this was what I was presented with:

TheCrip: I found you someone to fuck. He plays rugby with me and is hot, athletic, and tall. He’ll probably slap you around in bed.
ThePeach: Yes! Yes!
TheCrip: So, come out tonight and meet him. Then fuck him.
ThePeach: Sure! Hey, do you have a picture of my new lover?
TheCrip: Here, check out his facebook.
ThePeach: ok *reads profile*…um, TheCrip? Is my new lover 19 years old?
TheCrip:…no.
ThePeach: This profile says he was born in 1987.
TheCrip:…that’s a typo.
ThePeach: YOU’RE TRYING TO WHORE ME OUT TO A 19-YEAR OLD???!!!
TheCrip: NO! Well…yes.
ThePeach: Has he even HAD sex before??
TheCrip: Probably!
ThePeach: Ya, I’m out. Message me when you find me someone who doesn’t need 2 condoms and a manual.

At 9pm, TheHubby and Cleavage msn’d me to see if they could come watch tv with me. Why not? A quiet night of trashy tv wouldn’t get in the way of my productivity. So I said “hell ya, get your hot asses over here!”

They showed up with the following:
1. A bag of chips.
2. A brick of cheese.
3. A bag of candy.
4. A fat, fat joint.

I didn’t do laundry or pack or go to bed before 3am, but I did watch “She’s All That”, cry during ER (“oh my god, it’s so horrible when people die on tv”), find topless pics of TheHubby’s ex-gf on the internet (“oh my god, I hope she has back-ne!!”), get some gentle Cleavage lovin’, and eat my weight in salty treats. It wasn’t the night I had expected, but it was more than I ever could have hoped for.

Of course, I was fucked the next morning. My sleep-deprived, gravol-craving body wanted to sleep until 3pm thanks to the pot, but I had to wake up at 9 and get ready for the last thing anybody wants to deal with during a pot hangover: my mother. No, not your mother. My mother. I’m sure your mother would at least shut up when she noticed you grimacing in pain at the volume of her voice. My mother coos affectionately at my ‘headache’ and then rambles on for the next 2 hours about her own medical problems, such as her “depressive episodes” and “anxiety” and “hives”. The only thing that shuts her up is a punch to the ovary.

The Pre-Party

We arrived in Ottawa and went to the party my mom had organized for my grandpa. It was in a restaurant that caters to senior citizens. It had a band that played love songs from the 1920s-1950s, waiters who spoke LOUDLY and CLLLLEEEEAAAARRRRLLLLYYY, and bland, mushy food. I should mention that, before he broke up with me, FauxHawk had been trying to get time off to come to the party. He was supposed to save me from the old people and laugh at their senility with me. So, I was feeling a little shit-tacular as we were driving to the restaurant. Which was exactly when my understanding mother decided to spring the following conversation on me:

Peach/Tiger Mom: So, I want you to make a speech tonight, Peach.
ThePeach: WHAT?!
Peach/Tiger Mom: Your grandpa will really appreciate it. Just give a speech to everyone before dinner. You don’t have to do it. No one will force you…but you know how much your grandpa loves you, and how much he does for you, and he is getting old and might die soon…
ThePeach: I hate you. I really, really do.
Peach/Tiger Mom: Oh, and I want both you and TigerCat to dance with your grandpa.
ThePeach: WHAT?! Is there even dancing in the restaurant?
Peach/Tiger Mom: I don’t know, but there will be music. Just get up and dance with him beside the table. You know it will mean the world to him and you might not have many more chances to dance with your grandfather…
ThePeach: I seriously hate you.
Peach/Tiger Mom: And I want you and TigerCat to sit at separate tables tonight so that the guests can get to know you and so you can lead charming conversation.
ThePeach: WHAT?! FUCK, NO. NO. I am putting my foot down. I don’t even know these people and they don’t know me and I just want to talk to TigerCat.
Peach/Tiger Mom: But your grandpa talks about you so much, they all know who you are. He’s so proud of you…
ThePeach: Go to hell. *starts wriggling door handle* Damn these child-proof doors!!! *presses hands up to glass, stares longingly at ditch and freedom*
Peach/Tiger Mom: Oh, and your grandpa has a new girlfriend. She’s black. He also has some mysterious new back injury that he doesn’t want to talk about.
ThePeach: *brain explodes*

My grandpa has a girlfriend. She is black. He has a back injury that he won’t talk about.

Grandpa’s hitting the brown sugar. My brain cannot handle this. Please remember that my grandpa refers to black people as “negroes”. Maybe he makes his new girlfriend hoe the backyard and harvest cotton and he got that back injury from whipping her for speaking disrespectfully. Because that is the only way that this union makes sense in my mind.

The Party

I smile pretty for the old people. I talk loudly and slowly. I answer questions about my “school’in” and lead people to their seats by their bony arms. It is a sea of blue hair, baldness, and the smell of death. I have a glass of wine. And then another. It doesn’t help. I help the old people at my table read their menus. I attempt to lead charming conversations. My mother walks over and whispers to me “now would be a good time to say your speech. Not that you have to do it. Nobody is forcing you, honey. I’m just saying that, if you did decide to give your grandfather the gift of pride and love and a memory that he’ll hold dear until his dying day (which could be soon), now would be the time.” Whore.

TigrCat and I give a speech. It is well-received. I want to shit my pants but am comforted by the thought that most of the guests can't hear me anyway, and those who can think that I’m taking their drink orders. The food arrives and just when I think I can drown my sorrows in a cheap cut of beef:

Grizzled old farmer on my right: So, woman, you must have a boyfriend.
ThePeach’s Heart: AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH
ThePeach: *pleasant laughter* why, no I don’t.
Grizzled old farmer on my right: You’re a’lyin’! A woman as beautiful as you must have a boyfriend!
ThePeach’s Heart: AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH
ThePeach: Nope. No boyfriend.
Grizzled old farmer on my right: Stop lyin’ to me, woman! A gal like you has boyfriends lining up out the door! *gets attention of table* Folks, this woman here is trying to tell me she doesn’t have a boyfriend!
Table of old people: *gasp* Impossible! How can you not have a boyfriend? Surely you do! *gasp* *shock* How can a girl like you not have a boyfriend?
ThePeach’s Heart: AAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH
TigerCat: I have a boyfriend! He’s a doctor!
ThePeach’s Heart: AAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH
Table of old people: *appreciative clucks* Now, that’s the kind of boyfriend you should have, Peach.
ThePeach’s Heart: AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH
Grizzled old farmer on my right: So, no boyfriend, eh? You like ponies?
ThePeach: *eyeing the butter knife as a possible weapon of suicide* Sure. Ponies. Ya.
Grizzled old farmer on my right: You should come to my farm someday. I have a pony you could ride, woman. All girls like a pony ride. Even girls without boyfriends.
ThePeach’s Heart: Bitch, I’m out of here. Deal with this shit yourself.
ThePeach: *thumps chest, gasps*
Waitress: HHHHHHEEEEEERRRRRREEEE CCCCCOOOOOOMMMMMMEEEESSS CCCCCAAAAAKKKKKEEEE!!!
ThePeach’s Heart: Bitch, you got lucky.
Grizzled old farmer on my right: Wow woman, you sure do like cake.
ThePeach's Back-Fat: AAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH

The Post-Party

The good thing about having a party for senior citizens is that everyone leaves by 10pm. We go straight home because my grandpa needs to rest his injured back. *shudder* I am exhausted from my night of pretending to be charming, happy, and sober. I go to bed at 11. I dream about FauxHawk. I wake up briefly to punch myself in the ovary. I go back to sleep and dream about my grandpa hittin’ the brown sugar.

I’m sure she’s a lovely negro.

ThePeach

5 comments:

Tigercat said...

I never said "I have a boyfriend!" You know very well that I was being forced to listen to our mothers boyfriends sister talked about my ex boyfriends mother who she used to be friends with ... christ I am lost haha. It wasn't just any conversation either, oh no, it was about how the ex's mother used to prostitute herself and how she has an open marriage. I think my ears bled a little.

Remind to me go for an aids test as soon as possible, haha :)

Cleavage said...

Also, we (I) learned on Friday that benzodiazepines + marijuana = drug coma that lasts 17 hours. Why couldn't work call me? I was comatose. Why did I sleep til 6pm on Friday, only to wake not knowing whether it was day or night? Because I was in a DRUG INDUCED COMA. Best fuckin' sleep ever though. And I was really hungry when I woke up.

asian cymbals said...

Oh old people. I love old people, actually. Except, of course, when they do things like this.

I take solace in the fact that I fully plan on being one of those people in my senility. And being asian, I will smell strongly of moth balls, garlic, and stale Tiger Balm. And I will still wax my yoohoo, and maybe I'll talk about it at funerals and birthdays.

Peach, maybe you can come to my birthday parties, and we can make out for my grandchildren, to show them how to bring sexy back. We can develop a party trick where we swap dentures while tonguing each other. And I can grope your wrinkled rack. Getting old is going to be awesome!

The Legend said...

Well, if I manage to stay alive that long, you two will have to give me some warning before you start making out, so I can find my glasses and bottle of viagra.

Not that I'll ever need it...but staying up 5 hours, come on...that's the only way I'll still be able to out perform those young whiper-snappers.

*shakes fist and yells at people to get off my lawn*

Billy said...

This really really explains how shellshocked you looked.

And for the record, I was (arguably) still drunk.