Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Greetings From Val-You Vac-YAY-tion

OK so I got seriously slack and didn't write for four days but let me tell you, I had a good reason. I am in recovery. First from the party I attempted to have and second because at the moment I am writing to you from the spiffy third floor lobby of my cousin's timeshare at the Val-You Vac-YAY-tion Resort in freezing cold Orlando, Florida where it appears that the entire stretch pant wearing, Hamburger Helper eating Midwest portion of the US has descended this week to see parades at Disney World. I'm not kidding you. I think entire Ohio towns are completely deserted and several trailer parks in lower Delaware are empty. Orlando scares me, but I am here to gather my wits once again after a weekend with Aunt Kiki's daughter and my sister, her new beau Rusty Brad, and everyone who has ever worked at the Rusty Badge at some point.

The Party

I had really wanted to have a beautiful, classy Christmas party this year. My parents left me with a fabulous house on the water, complete with a fireplace and a gas stove and every possible amenity for having perfect parties. Saturday was the night of the annual boat parade in my city and it's so festive to sit outside and watch all kinds of boats, from sea kayaks, outrigger canoes, fishing boats and sailboats to gazillion dollar yachts, all decorated and gliding down the canal. I decided I would have a boat parade party. At the same time my sister decided that she too would have a boat parade party. Her idea of a party and my idea of a party are very different things.

I invited all of my intellectual poet friends from school. They're the kind of people who bring lovely gift baskets and wear lacy party dresses and behave themselves. A wild night for them is an argument about Foucault vs. Fish, and by Fish I mean Stanley not tuna. If my friends get really wild they might compose a poem with a mild innuendo deeply encoded. They might even enjamb.

My wonderful cousin Fallon, Aunt Kiki's daughter, also decided to come down and I was excited to see her because I hadn't gotten together with her in a while and she's unbelievably fun and rivals even me in her storytelling abilities. She just can't write so she has to tell me the stories and then I have to write them down. Remind me to tell you about her friends who live in a storage facility sometime.

My sister invited all of her friends from the Rusty Badge, the beachfront dive bar where she tends bar. A wild night for them involves public nudity, a brawl, an arrest, a trip to the emergency room and stitches. In a few short years it will also involve cirrhosis of the liver, but they don't seem to care. This group of people includes a mix of Irishmen from the Southside of Boston (at one part of the evening I swore I was in a Matt Damon, Ben Affleck movie), a couple random old men, social outcast potential stalker guys, two or three dudes with sunburns and mullets, 27 flamboyantly homosexual servers, innumerable slutty girls, an old lady, several frat boys and a menage a quatre of middle aged swingers who nobody knew but who got into the jacuzzi and stayed there until 3am. My sister has inherited from my parents the penchant for freak attraction that I have tried to resist for the past 34 years.

One of my sisters gay friends is now one of my favorite people on earth. His name is Stevie Gay Brawn and he wears tight tee shirts, cut offs and work boots. He has a fetish for old men who look like Santa Claus, which creeps me out more than you can imagine (its just sacreligious to imagine Santa with his pants down, I'm sorry), but I can forgive that because Stevie Gay Brawn brought me not only a large chafing dish of steak, but my very own SNOW MACHINE!!!!!! My party was complete, I thought. I had a snow machine to blow foam all across my parents' backyard and hopefully not do permanent damage to the pool filter and I could spin around and blink soap out of my eyes and pretend that I was in the Green Mountains of Vermont instead of in 85 degrees with 100% humidity.

I put a pot of mulled cider on the stove, made popcorn and set out the dips and candy canes. I lit candles and the whole house smelled like cinnamon and fuzzy baby reindeer. I swear we even had a smores making set with skewers and sterno and I was ready to sip virgin eggnog and toast marshmallows with my friends while watching the boats.

This lasted for about two minutes and then people started getting naked. Then they jumped in the pool. One girl fell down twice and I just knew she had cracked her skull open and that was the end of my parents' homeowner's insurance. Girls were running around in thongs, people were trying to have sex with each other, gay men were turning straight and all hell just ripped loose. Someone turned off my tasteful Christmas mix and replaced it with Flo Rida and pretty soon Fallon was showing all my poet friends how to do The Cyclone. Somewhere in all this, my sister's new beau, Rusty Brad, showed us all why she likes him so much and I'll just leave it at that. My eyes burned. There was a lot of pink and hair. I don't want to think about it.

My other cousin also flew down from Millpond for the occasion and she brought her Pimp goblet which is a huge black glass that says PIMP across it in rhinestones, because my relatives are full of class and sophistication that way. The problem was after she got a little too low low low low she couldn't get back up up up up. She barfed and passed out and missed most of the excitement.

Oh my Lord, Readers I was mortified.

The poets left. I think I have no friends left at school except now they have seen for themselves that all the crap I write about is actually true.

The next morning we woke up and there was fruit all over the backyard. I have no idea where it came from because we didn't serve any fruit, but Bomboclaat was running around the patio collecting grapes and melon balls and I prayed they weren't alcohol soaked because I can just hear the conversation now.

"Mom, we had a wild party in your house and somehow Bomboclaat got alcohol poisoning from eating some fruit that was on the patio even though we didn't have fruit."

So yeah. Also, Fallon showed everyone the new tattoo she has on the inside of her lip which says her name, so in case she forgets it she can pull her lip down to her chin and read it upside down and backwards in a mirror. At one point in the night I asked her something, I forget what and she looked at me with total seriousness and said:

"I am Kiki's daughter."

That answers it all.

At some other point in the evening I think I may have told my sister that she needs to go to rehab and I think I may have also mentioned to one of the thong girls that she should consider acquiring a little dignity and self respect and not run around stranger's homes with her ass hanging out. I don't care if that's the best way to see all of her tramp stamp or not. You shouldn't take your clothes off at Christmas parties. Ever.

Am I really related to these people?

And dammit it all, I never got to make smores.

Val-You Vac-YAY-tion Timeshare Resort

On Sunday Miss Millpond Pimp Cup was driving to Orlando to stay in her parents, my aunt and uncle's, timeshare at the Val-You Vac-YAY-tion Resort, so clearly needing a value vacation myself, I too drove up.

I have to go eat dinner of one of the apparently 7900 Red Lobsters in this beautiful city, so I can't tell you the rest of the story.

Tomorrow or the next day though I will be certain to give you the inside scoop on all the horrors of Disney World and the people who go to it, as well as the story of how my cousin and I got screwed by trying to pretend like we wanted to buy a timeshare to get free stuff. This story involves a unicorn.

No, for real. A unicorn.

Man, I can't get that Flo Rida song out of my head now.


Sauntering Soul said...

This definitely beats the Christmas party I went to for my law firm Saturday night. I've never seen more awful dancing in my life. Law firm partners in bow ties have no rhythm. But we did have fruit.

Only CHild on the Loose said...

Awesome party Widelawns!! This MFAer had a great time. Between the pimp cup, the cyclone and the overexposure of Rusty Brad, yours was hands down the best party this season. (Please, please, in the name of all things unspeakable, tell the poo story. I tried to retell it to a friend but couldn't because I was laughing too hard!) Hope you have a great vacation and enjoy The Eyre Affair and come home with lots and lots of new material! See you when classes start.

-jbh- said...

> freezing cold Orlando, Florida where it appears that the entire stretch pant wearing, Hamburger Helper eating Midwest portion of the US has descended this week to see parades at Disney World.

Girl, you sure got that right. The Space Aliens have landed!

I grew up in Orlando in the BD Epoch (Before Disney); what you call Orlando isn't Orlando, it's the Magic Kingdom. Or in the vernacular, The Rat. The Rat has absolutely nothing and everything to do with Orlando.

South Florida sure doesn't have a monopoly on the Weirdness Magnet.

BTW, us Crackers had a saying, "Happiness is a Canadian headed home with a New Yorker under each arm."

We've just been doing the same thing we did to poor old Juan Ponce de Leon and those who followed; show him a good time, take his gold and send him on home.

Have a good time, take nothing seriously and you'll appreciate getting back to the ordinary normalcy of South Florida.


Anonymous said...

I object! I didn't make it to the party but you've portrayed the poets as a bunch of Polly Prissy-pants! I would have worn black and made acidic comments about the thong girls and talked trash with the gay boys. I absoulutely would have not discussed freaking Foucault or Fish.


nicrogers said...

Aw, man! Some people have all the fun!

JDogg said...

Which Flo Rida song?

You want your cake errrryyy day?

JoeInVegas said...

I missed something - your sister had her party at your house at the same time you had your own? Or did hers move over to your place?
Whatever happened - I am really sorry I missed that. Next time set up a web cam out back, you could probably charge quite a lot for an evening of live video.

MP said...

I agree w/ the webcam...I SO want to get invited to one of these parties.. So far I've been to a girl only ornament exchange party and then this weekend going to my work party at the country club. These parties are NOT clothing optional. We will not have fake snow..but I'm sure there will be fruit.

catherine said...

Hey, was this the same boat parade where a local strip club (possibly the bubblegum kitcat, lol) had entered a boat complete with a stripper pole and nakkid strippers, OMG!! I laughed so hard when I read that, and the comments from the spectators. Half of them were " OHHH NOOOS!!! think of the chilllldernnnn!!! and the other half said it was great, and the kids had no bizness being there anyways.

catherine said...


This is the only link I could find

SJ said...

Having been one of the poets there, I will say that I felt like a total prissy pants compared to the more uninhibited revelers we shared the patio with that night. That said, I don't think it was because we did indeed, talk a little Foucault--where I come from, all the hardest partiers whip out the Foucault at least once during any party worth the name. I will have to agree with a fellow MFAer who has already commented: hands down, best party of the season. From now on I'm only going to parties with pimp cups and smores.

~*Nanci said...

The party was fantabulous! Sorry I missed the party chick who lost footing and cracked her skull against God knows what! Couldn't have been better and you couldn't have described in detail any better all of the fun! Thank you!

Patsy said...

I would have paid money to attend! Fabulous stories that will live on for years, all in one evening. More please!

About Me

Blog Archive