Last weekend was Rob’s family reunion. It was a camping reunion, which automatically means there is more potential for things to go south. I mean if you only spend like half a day with your extended family, you can sober up for long enough to appear normal. When you have an entire weekend… in the mountains… a much different potential for disaster exists.
I already know my family is nuts. We talk about it regularly and accept it wholeheartedly. On my mom’s side we’ve got recovering drug addicts, alcoholics and a bunch of ornery people. The last family gathering consisted of drunk people repeatedly dropping F bombs in front of small children and kissing my grandma on the head while others sighed heavily and made sarcastic comments under their breath.
On my dad’s side, it’s pretty much just a bunch of Mormons. I am fine with people being Mormon. I used to be one of them. What I am not fine with is a testimony meeting at the family Christmas party. Yes, this really happens.
Anyway, Rob’s family didn’t appear to be nearly as interesting at first glance. That could partly be because we see them, sadly, like once every few years. I think I’ve only met one of his sisters once… at a funeral. This last weekend proved that they have crazy potential just like my family though! Which is good, because otherwise this would be the most boring blog ever.
The family reunion was progressing splendidly until a certain crazy showed up. This crazy will remain unnamed. It’s not important that his name is Bill anyway, is it? Oops. I’m kidding, his name is not Bill, but I will call him Bill. Bill is new to the family. Technically he’s not officially a family member quite yet (engagement status). This was his first time meeting everyone, so he kindly took the time to walk around the fire and meet each person. It became clear quickly that he might be on some sort of heavy drug when his conversation with Em and me went something like this:
Me: Hi, I’m Sondra. I’m married to Rob, Fred’s (his fiance’s dad) brother.
Bill: Ok wait, who is Rob?
Me: Rob is my husband.
Bill: But who is he?
Me: Fred’s brother.
Bill: Long drug-induced stare.
Me: And this is my stepdaughter, Emily.
Bill: So, your stepdaughter through adoption?
Me: You’re fucking kidding me, right? (This is what I said in my head) Ummm no, through marriage.
Bill: So, she’s your biological daughter?
Me: Yeah, I just decided to add step to make her feel small (again in my head) No, she’s Rob’s biological daughter. I married Rob, so therefore she’s my stepdaughter.
I’m pretty sure his head exploded after that.
The rest of the weekend consisted of him stealing food out of people’s coolers and asking every adult how old they were. Then, on Sunday morning, I witnessed him stealthily open his car trunk, grab a massive bottle of vodka and take a few major swigs. This was 9:30am! He made his way back for a few more blasts of the good stuff about 30 minutes later. Little did he know Detective Stephens (that’s me in case you didn’t put it together) was on the lookout!
Thank God he came, because other than his antics, we thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with each other and roasting starbursts in the fire (If you haven’t done this yet, you must. The starbursts turn into crystallized, warm, chewy pieces of goodness).