My absent note

Alright, so I don't come back to nasty little notes about slacking on the posts, I'm going to be gone all week, kids. My mom is going to watch Anthony for me, so I am going to take a train to her place in Oregon tomorrow. Pray that stupid pile of crap mountain doesn't burp again, the amtrak rolls right next to it. Tuesday morning I take a plain to the 3rd layer of hell, otherwise known as Orange County. I have layovers on both flights in Las Vegas, I'll bring some nickels for the slots (yes, they put slot machines in the airport). Wednesday I attend the service for my departed cousin, and proceed to avoid sensitive conversation with my dysfunctional nightmare of a family. Shouldn't be too hard, recent word through the grapevine is that they all consider me less than dead anyways. Then I'll wanderback and pray the hotel has a bar so I can drink away any memory of those people. In California, they can sell hard liquor in grocery and convenience stores, so I could always count pink elephants in the privacy of my little rented hovel. Thursday morning I'll drag my hungover ass onto a plane and meet Mom in Portland, where she'll just drive me and kiddo back up to Seattle.

I cherished the last time I was able to see Nathan, and his brother, Chris. All the bad history and lost time was water under the bridge, and we really did rekindle that closeness of our former years. If it wasn't for that care I resurrected for Nathan, and poor Chris who's been handling this whole thing, I would be writing this whole trip off. My third cousin, Nicky, will be seeing me for the first time in almost 15 years, as will his mom, my Aunt. Nina I know will be welcoming, but the rest of the family has apparently permanently shut the door on my end of the family. The conversation I had tonight with another cousin (remember, Italian families are fucking BIG. Nicky, Chris and Nathan were my only set of first cousins, but the number of seconds and thirds count to well over 40) was difficult to hear. Apparently I'm considered on the "forbidden list", usually only reserved for any criminal element of the family tree (again, we're fucking Italian, and yes we do fit that pathetic stereotype).

Well, fuck them. I'm still family, and I didn't do anything wrong. I'm walking in with my head held high. If they want to put me in the corner and pretend I don't exist, then Uncle Karl, Uncle Tony, and cousin Fred and I can sit in our corner together. At least I'll be in good company. Fuckin' A, someone better give me a drink now...
See you next week kiddies. I should be returning to the cyber world by Friday, so y'all can look forward to an oh-so festive update on the events of the week when I return. And please, folks, cross your fingers for me that our dimestore version of Krakatoa (aka Mount St. Helens) doesn't blow up too big during some crucial times. Flying into Portland could be seriously screwed by an ash cloud coming from ol' gassy over there.