The City of Cousinly (uhhh) Love

I am not anti-family.  I mean, I write about my sister and Dad all the time.  Even though I don't consider her family, I will concede that "The Fran" is "dotted-line" to my family.  A very long dotted line.

When it comes to a more extended family, such as aunts, uncles and cousins, they are not so much on my radar.  I really dig my Aunt Marilyn in Texas because she is funny as hell.  My Uncle Roger, though I have not seen him in over 20 years, was also very cool to me.  I guess I can't say that any of my Mom and Dad's sisters and brothers were mean to me (well, there was my Aunt Nell...) but I just haven't stayed current with them.

A couple years ago, through the magic of Facebook, one of my cousins from my Mom's side of the family sent me a message.  Out of the blue, she unloaded her life story on me in one paragraph.  How she and her daughter timed their periods together, how her husband had a vasectomy and his doctor's name was Dr. Dick Chopp.  She ended with the comment "I know, too much information!"  I replied with three words, "yeah, it is."  Last I heard from her!  And that holiday season, no Christmas card from her Mom and Dad.  Watch out, that bridge is now out cause I burned it. 

On Dad's side, I spent some really nice vaca time with my cousins in Philadelphia.  I really liked my Aunt Jane.  She was one of the few people who my Mom allowed them to call me Jimmy.  Aunt Jane had two children, my cousins, Debbie and Tom.  This family came into major money all through stock ownership of a little company called Sunoco.  When the parents passed, all that went to the kids.  Good for them, I say.  However, don't fucking rub your snobbishness in my face like a puppy who just pissed on the carpet.

When Debbie got married, it was a Quaker ceremony.  Ever been to a Quaker wedding?  Well, everyone sits around on benches instead of pews.  Benches with nothing to rest your back on.  No preacher, no prayer.  The congregation weds them.  Serious.  Everyone at the wedding signs the wedding certificate.  So how do they do the vows?  People stand up at random and wax poetic about the happy couple.  Then when everyone is done (a God awful two hours later...or maybe it only seemed like two hours), poof, you is married!  Bizarre, let me tell ya.  However, the reception was cool, and Suzann, her daughter Morgan and I all trashed the locals.

Debbie, who by the way, did I tell you that when she was a student at Columbia (Law) and waiting tables dated an aspiring actor by the name of Bruce Willis?  OK, so that is enough for me to hate the bitch right then and there.  Once out of school, I have no fucking idea what she does for a job, but with Sunoco money, a house at Penn's Landing in Center City Philly and another house at Cape May Darling, NJ, who needs basic employment?  Note, that is how they say it and you can hear their nose craning toward the sky...Cape May, Darling, New Jersey.  Oh yeah, they have a time share in Hilton Head, right at the same time Dad goes there.

When we were planning Wearn-a-Palooza I, there were comments being made about inviting these two to the event.  "Over My Dead Body" was my basic sentiment.  I said that if Dad invited them the whole thing was off.  I was, after all, the co-architect of Wearn-a-Palooza, and nothing...nothing...was going to rain on my parade.  Even though I hate parades.  Actually I was kind of an ass about it.  No comments, thank you!  If they were there in Hilton Head at the same time, I would be polite on the borderline of being a dick.  Again, no comments, please!  Fortunately, they were not there (that I was aware of) and the event went off without a hitch.  Well, the Fran was there, so that was kind of hitchy.

So back to these idiots who share a blood line with me.  Dad (and what's her face) regularly visits them in Cape May Darling and in Philly.  Oh, the wonder of it all.  The Fran thinks that they are better than sliced bread.  Not that she slices bread, or would get off her ass to slice bread.  Last visit was a couple months ago.  Oh dang, isn't it a shocker that Debbie had dinner with "some guy who drives race cars"?  Turns out that guy is Chip Ganassi, who is an Indy car driver and really rich.  And famous.  Dad gets a chuckle out of that.  Granted, Dad is the only sibling out of 8 kids left.  There may be some cousins here and there, but they never were close in the age range to me and Suzann, so there wasn't a connection.  Our cousins from Atlanta could have died and we wouldn't know about it. 

So Debbie has been trying to get a family reunion going, only to butt heads (unknowingly, of course) with ME.  I ain't gonna have anything to do with that shit.  I am not going to pay good money (alright, good United miles) to fly to PA to see how fucking fabulous they are. I will not have it.  And I forbid my sister Suzann from doing it either.  Forbid!

That brings me to Monday.  Around 8 am, as I was driving to work, I heard the sound that I got a text.  All I saw on the little top bar of the phone was a 610 area code number and the word Dad and Fran in the message.  I knew right away who it was from.  I had to speed up to get to work to read the text and immediately forward it to Suzann.  Debbie was reaching out.  Wanting to know how I was.

Immediate thought was "Wow, what took you so fucking long to contact me or Suzann (whom she did not send a text to)?"  Last time I saw you was at my Mom's funeral, where you and your brother flew in that morning and couldn't even stay for the reception because you had to bolt back down to Columbus and catch a flight back to Philly.  I didn't even have a chance to talk to you (not that I would have, mind you).

Next question: "Why?"  Why the fuck did you text me?  After what, 12 years, you just want to pop back into my life?  No way, bitch.  I already knew the answer to the third question, Dad gave her my number. 

Did I reply?  Nope.  Will I?  Nope.  Will I admit that I even got the text?  Only to you.

Don't get me wrong, it's not jealousy.  It's not, because I asked myself that question and had an immediate answer.  It's that I refuse to be a pawn in their fabulousness.  They really don't give a rats ass about me, the text was because Dad said "you should reach out to Jim and/or Suzann".  Sure they are "family".  But it is a tie that was cut long ago, and no amount of scotch tape (or Scotch for them) will mend, heal or put it back together.