Before we get to the final chapter of The Files I just wanted to wish everyone out there a belated Happy World AIDS Day. It felt like it came and went a lot faster this year but still I was able put on my annual World AIDS Day reenactment of the time in the
Real World: San Francisco where Puck picked his nose and then stuck the very same finger into the house's jar of peanut butter while former AIDS superstar, Pedro Zamora, freaked out in the background (somehow, though, I doubt that this was the most disgusting thing Pedro ever saw in his life). This year's version didn't look like it would go as well as last year's because Brother wasn't around so I had to play both parts. I lucked out because thankfully I was the understudy for Puck's role last year so I knew all his lines and choreography, and as a result, it all went swimmingly. I just love the holidays!
It's a match made in heaven, child:
Now Part II
When we last left off, Baby had just sent us our Christmas cards, which meant that she was at her house, which also meant that I had to go up there once again and bring her back. Every year after Thanksgiving her condo community (which is only rivaled by Del Boca Vista in Florida) decorates each atrium in each separate condo building. So, for the last 15 or so years we've always had to hear her brag about how beautiful her building's atrium looked. Last year was no exception. There was a major problem however - last year's atrium decoration flat out sucked. Unfortunately, I don't have a picture that will show you this disaster, but luckily for you I remember it perfectly.
Baby's atrium is shaped like an octagon, and it can be seen as soon as you open your front door to leave your condo. No matter the season, the ground is covered in white stones, and there is one tree that is just to the left of the center if you're coming out of Baby's place. Since it was the winter the tree had no leaves and looked pathetic like all trees do this time of year. It was a December tree for a December community. Normally, the atrium is decorated with many of the things you see on lawns in the suburbs. For some reason though, last year there were only three decorations (if you don't include the underwhelming little lights on the naked tree): one plastic reindeer, one plastic snowman, and one plastic
menorah with a clear plastic bag cover. It was the saddest atrium I have ever seen in my life. It was the Atrium of Misfit Decorations, except this atrium had no King Moonracer (which, if you're looking for any last minute Christmas presents for your favorite staff here at Failure's Art,
by all means).
There's only one true king in my book:
Baby was at the house for a couple of days when a big snow storm came along. Now, if you've ever met her, she only cares about three things in life: the weather, traffic/crowds, and making everyone around her eat way too much. The weather though is tops on that list. It's a well known fact in the family that whenever she's at home alone and it starts to rain/thunder, she immediately goes and locks herself in the closet. It's also impossible to come back from a round of golf or a Phillies game without her asking if it was hot, and if it was crowded. You could set your watch to these types of questions, although it wouldn't be long before you destroy that watch out of anger.
In the mind of every old person though a snowstorm is the absolute worst thing that could ever happen to them in their lives, which includes WWII (which reminds me - a large percentage of the so-called "Greatest Generation" were Nazis . . . think about it). So, everyday she would beg me to put on the local news for the weather, and then she would ask what it was going to be like the next day every five minutes, as if she didn't just see for herself. It's almost as if she had a picnic planned and she needed to know if she had to call everyone to cancel. What Baby doesn't understand (though I've told her a billion times - no exaggeration) is that I don't care at all about the weather because there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Sure, I get bummed if I can't go out to golf, or if a Phillies game is rained out, but that's only because I have to find something else to occupy my time. I really don't care what it does outside because it's not gonna change the way I act. I don't mind being cold, and I don't mind getting wet. In fact, my mortal enemy is the umbrella, and I don't care much for his cousin, the scarf, or his stepkids, gloves/mittens. I've always imagined that I'd die during a storm with my fist shaking, screaming at the sky, "IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!?!?!"
You disgust me:
Anyway, nothing really came of the storm and we were trapped inside for a couple of days (which was so much fun!) and then Brother came home for Christmas Break. The problem with Brother coming home is that he and Baby have to share the same room, and then he has to sleep downstairs every night as long as she's here, which has to really suck for him. Now at this point in time, Brother had just gotten his acoustic guitar as an early Christmas present so he would go to his room to learn how to play. Well, he was up there one night at around 9:30 when Baby started to stir because she was getting tired. Normally, her routine is to go upstairs and change into her bed gear around 8PM or so and then come back down and stare at us while we watch TV, and then eventually head back upstairs to bed an hour or so after that. In my eyes, though, it is completely unecessary for her to ever get dressed completely in the first place because it's not like she's going anywhere during the day. If I know that there's no chance I'm leaving the house on a certain day then there's no way I would ever consider getting all dressed up. It's like wearing scuba gear in the shower. I often wonder if she hopes that I'm gonna come downstairs and surprise her by taking her to the Zoo, which she would of course be dressed for and ready to go. I just don't understand this woman.
Well, on this specific night she was behind schedule and she really wanted to go upstairs to what she calls her room. It's not like the first time this has ever happened, but whenever she does she always first has to ask if Brother is up there, which he is, of course. There are only so many places you can be in our house, and no one person can ever not know where someone else is at any time. Baby on the other hand is a different story. So, as per usual, she once again needed to ask if Brother was in his room and if she could head upstairs. Little did we know what kind of gem quote she was about to drop on us. Let me set this this up real quick. My dad was in his recliner in the living room, I was on the sofa playing PS2 on the little TV and watching some show on the big TV (also in the living room), my mom was in the kitchen, Brother was obviously in his room, and Baby was in her chair also in the living room. She then said quite possibly the most hilarious thing any human has ever said. Lucky for the universe, I was there to write it down hours later after I was done laughing. Hold on folks, here it comes:
"Is Brother still in his room? Because I wanna go upstairs, get undressed, and rub cream all over myself."
I'll give you a few minutes.
As you could imagine, my dad and I exploded in laughter. In one joint act of uncontrolable bliss, he unreclined his chair and started laughing histerically, followed by tears, followed by an athsma attack, while at the same time, I dropped my controller, and fell of the sofa, crashing to the floor where I stayed for a good seven minutes. Those were two reactions that would make Brian Hughes as jealous as the only 9 year old Italian kid on the block without a full moustache (hi there, inside joke, have a cookie!). Unlike the Puck/Pedro play, there is no way that I can ever relive this moment of my life through reenactment. It was quite simply the greatest moment of my life. I hope I did it justice.
Finally, Christmas morning came along and Baby Lentini said the same thing to Brother and me that she has for the last twenty Christmases-es-es-es, "you guys really made out like bandits!" We sure did, Baby. We sure did.
Goodbydios!
