Cut, cut. - 2007-02-09

No, really... how are YOU? - 2006-10-23

And now, finally: something (ish) - 2006-07-27

What Happened to March and April, eh??? - 2006-04-25

Well hello there, February. - 2006-02-16

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< L DykeWrite3 # >

2003-05-22 - 11:13 a.m.

The other night, in the aftermath of my 45 MINUTE DIET COKE “BENDER”, my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/beverage of choice and I had been previously scheduled to have dinner with my aunt… AUNT JILLY (not her real name)… and couldn’t possibly cancel. Not on AUNT JILLY.

Aunt Jilly is my father’s sister (has been all her life) and was always my favorite (okay, really… only) AUNT. I can remember being young, too bright for my own good and being caught up in the cavalcade of younger siblings being born. I was briefly shipped off to AUNT JILLY’s house for what seemed like 3 months, but was, in all reality, probably just overnight. AUNT JILLY was wacky and eccentric and a lover of all things crafty and a “risky cook” (butter AND Crisco…. Oooooh). Delightful, she was delightful. And, if she is in her mid to late 50’s now, and I’m (covers hand over mouth in murmuring gesture)… 38… that means she is, like, only 20 years older than me. That means that when I was visiting her, my AUNT JILLY, when I was like 7-10, she wasn’t even 30. Not even mother-f’n 30 and she seemed ooooooooooooold!

You know what made her seem old(ish)? Her husband….UNCLE ROCKY (not his real name). UNCLE ROCKY scared me. Not in a creepy uncle/sexual way, but in a “he just keeps getting bigger and bigger” kind of way. Very “add water to this tiny pill-sized sponge thing and watch it become the size of a football” kind of way.

He was probably only 30 at the time, too… but his labored breathing scared me. His greasy/flakey appearance and onion-in-the-bottom-of-your-shoe-smell scared me (smells can scare you). The way he devoured his meals scared me (would I be next? Would he cover me with a brown gravy and gulp me down?) And they way he treated my AUNT JILLY creeped me out. He rolled his eyes, used an angry voice and DEMANDED things from her, RIGHT THIS MINUTE. His word was god’s word. No physical abuse, but there was some definite mind-fucking going on (I’m sure the other type of fucking was completely out of the question due to the aforementioned labored breathing and lack of personal hygiene.)

Ahhh, the importance of observing healthy, loving relationships at a young age. Oh, joy! Considering the screaming that was going on in my own home at the time it’s a wonder that UNCLE ROCKY’s screaming even fazed me.

Tragically, UNCLE ROCKY’s health grew progressively worse over the years, Diabetes and other issues began taking over and my AUNT JILLY was the most devoted mate ever. The Diabetes started taking him, one piece at a time (Left leg, right leg, etc) and AUNT JILLY cleaned his wounds, waited on him hand and… well, not foot, but hand and… hand…. pushed his wheelchair, installed ramps at the house, charmed all the hospital staff during his visits, all the while UNCLE ROCKY continued treating her “the same as it ever was”. Damn-straight sad.

UNCLE ROCKY finally passed away (sorry, but what was left of him) passed away 2 years ago and AUNT JILLY has really come to terms with it and is beginning to realize that she has an entire REST OF HER LIFE TO LIVE. I’m so happy for her. She has 2 kids in their 20’s (my only cousins, don’t ask) and has gone back to work as an elementary school teacher (seriously, the best teacher EVER).

So, back to our dinner: me, my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/beverage of choice and Aunt Jilly. Me, caffeine-induced MIGRAINE, guilt-ridden due to my fall from the “no-diet-coke-wagon”, etc. My lady lover had to carry the entire evening. She charmed, she listened, she nodded, she ordered, she cut up my food (okay, maybe she didn’t cut up my food, maybe she was stealing from my plate) and most of all, she was AMAZING.

AUNT JILLY is very progressive. She introduces BOTH of us as her “nieces”. She asks “how things are in the bedroom”? (does she want a thread count on the sheets, or wonder which drawer we keep the sex toys in? note: bottom one on the left) She’s… well, she’s just AUNT JILLY…. And she’s a TALKER (oh come on, a TALKER is MUCH WORSE than a RAMBLER).

So…. Hour 3 of dinner (hello to the late-night kitchen staff at the HAMBURGER HAMLET (Aunt Jilly’s choice) and she begins telling us about a recent “Set up” date she had. The “Fella” (her word) was charming, in his early 60’s and completely taken with her. They had a wonderful dinner, saw a movie and he dropped her off at home. He called her (the fella did) the next day to tell her what a great time he had. Here’s where he made his mistake:

FELLA: Jilly, I really had a great time with you last night. I hope we can get together again soon because… I CAN’T WAIT TO NAIL YOUR UNDERWEAR.

(pause while you re-read his words: I can’t wait to “nail your underwear”).

((another pause while we discuss what a really POOR choice of euphemisms he used. I mean bad. I’ve never even heard of that one, “nail your underwear”. Is that something that’s written on the outside of the VIAGRA boxes?? “In no time flat, you’ll be nailing her underwear!!”It has to be due to VIAGRA, because why else would an otherwise charming man in his early 60’s be making a comment like that to MY AUNT JILLY???))

So, here’s where AUNT JILLY really showed him.

AUNT JILLY: Listen, “Fella”, I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m not some kind of WALKING VAGINA… I’m a person… with (blah, blah, blah, blah…)”.

(pause: Yes, she said “I’m not some kind of WALKING VAGINA”)

Aunt Jilly looks across the table at us (now in hour 4 of dinner, Hamburger Hamlet employees are in the back hosing each other down, coughing the “ahem, it’s late” cough, etc) and my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/beverage of choice/lesbian saint of all lesbian saints and I are…. Well, at a loss.

I say “Nail your underwear”? He really said “Nail your underwear”?

Aunt Jilly says: Yes, can you believe that locker room talk?

I say “No, wait—Aunt Jilly, that’s not locker room talk, that’s RETARDED talk (not even retarded-locker-room talk, simply retarded talk). I’ve never heard that phrase “Nail your underwear”. Not once. Not in my life. Not from a fella-lezzie, not from a Man, during my “getting my underwear nailed by a man” days, not ever. Zip.

Retarded, icky, Viagra-induced line. Ewwww, to “fella”.

So, once I’ve made a HUUUUUUUUUGE deal about how retarded his statement was (and acknowledged that, indeed, my AUNT JILLY was not just a WALKING VAGINA, she concludes(ish) with this:

Aunt Jilly: “So girls, I called my friend, the one who fixed me and “the fella” up and I told her that we’d had a lovely date, but his follow-up call had been a bit awkward. My friend told me that she’d already heard from “the fella” and that HE was ASHAMED of his behavior and hoped my aunt jilly would give him another chance.”

Note: Aunt Jilly had probably already told the “Nail Your Underwear/Not a Walking Vagina” story to dozens, if not hundreds of her friends/co-workers/neighbors/phone solicitors by this time.

Imagine if “The Fella” gets another chance. Imagine if “The Fella” becomes a regular in my Aunt Jilly’s life. Imagine when I meet him. Imagine what I might say. Or not.

So… that was dinner with AUNT JILLY.

Remind me to tell you the story about the year at THANKSGIVING when she insisted that UNCLE ROCKY, newly leg-less, should be in charge of CARVING THE TURKEY at THANKSGIVING. Rolled his wheelchair up to the cutting board, electric knife in his hand and:

Uncle Rocky: “Who wants a leg?”

Yeah, okay. So I guess you don't have to remind me to tell you that story.

Thanks for playing along.