The fabulous Hastings came over last night, watched a movie, sent me to sleep and left around midnight, much like the other Chris, leaving the door unlocked and the alarm off. Apparently, I tend to hang out with platonic straight men named Chris who have no concept of ghetto.
For all intents and purposes, Hastings and Big (Chris) high five me goodnight and leave my front door ajar. I'm quite used to falling asleep thinking, "Aw, Chris. What a gem. I bet that asshole left my door open."
And that's exactly what I was thinking when I fell into a fitfull sleep last night. Tossing and turning, my dear roommate in blissful cuddle at his charming girlfriend's home, my eyes flashed open at every creak and crack. Finally, around 4am I relaxed and fell asleep.
At exactly 5:32am, I awoke to a huge crash against my front door.
Most people would get up and investigate, especially being home alone in an unlocked house in the ghetto. Not me! I lay on my bed, wide awake, waiting to die. What's going to happen first? Rape? Torture? Demands to know the location of my gold bouillons? Oh god, here we go. I'm going to be a Cold Case File and my parents will spend the rest of their days joining useless victims advocacy groups. Needless to day, the crash was followed by nothing.
I fell back asleep and woke at 8 in a very false attempt to get to work on time and a very real attempt to watch the West Wing. Finally, I made it to the door and had almost forgotten about that 5:32am disturbance. Honestly, I expected to be dead by now.
And there on my filthy Ikea doormat was a huge brown box from Salt Lake City.
Salt Lake City?
My Uncle Ted, in his kind attempt to have high-end charcuterie delivered to my door had scared the living shit out of me.
My dad's an only child. My mom had two brothers, Bill and Ted.
Bill and Ted.
Both of whom are artsy and younger and always seemed much more like older brothers to me than anything else. My unlces (again, Bill and Ted) are goddamn weird and funky and always understood me a little bit more than anyone else. Bill and Ted know the odd depths of our gene pool, they know our genetic penchant for overindulgence and they know that being different tends to freak those out who are really entertaining to freak out.
In my experience (even though just like any kin has the ability to do, they can drive me fucking nuts) I'm beyonf grateful for Bill And Ted. Because they're weirder than me, which is a challenge in and of itself, and they occasionally scare me to death while trying to send me cured meats for no reason...