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muckefuckApparently I am helping to plan a straight guy's bachelor party. The brother of my cousin's husband, assuming the latter doesn't have a different recollection of events once sober. He and his wife live in Toronto and I was reminiscing with them about my last visit with and he exclaimed, "You know the city better than I do!" "We know different parts, I suspect," I told him. "I know the places my friends know." Then he mentioned that he was planning on flying into Chicago in May with his brother and ten buddies of theirs. "Friday we're going to a Cubs game, Saturday night is dinner at a steakhouse. Where else should we go?" I told him I'd ask around and get to back to him. Where would I want to visit if I were a hetero 20something from Canuckistan?
By this time, it was late in the evening and we were down to the last dozen relatives strung out along the bar. Sis&Co were long gone, but of course I wasn't leaving until Mom was ready and that wasn't until nearly 11, but I still had a buzz on from two Old Fashioneds hours earlier. There's something of a feeling of routine to her family Christmas party these years, but it's a good routine--to the point that being one of the hosts is hardly more work than being one of the guests. As I told her, I had the fun bit: Greeting, taking coats, and checking on everyone.
I gave one of the married-in's hell for not getting in touch during her recent visit to Chicago. (She's unflappable, however: "Actually I called e. and said, 'Don't tell![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bunj or muckefuck but let's get together.") I talked a lot with Gay Uncle and am still doing my best to woo him to Chicago one of these days. I praised the Santa-for-hire to Uncle Gun Nut[*]; having exhausted the store of relatives, he'd bribed a retired Boeing salesman with a box of cigars and the guy did a great job. (Shame I didn't get to thank him personally--he was actually an old German named Manny--but he was out of there as soon as he had the suit off.)
It felt a bit smaller than past years, but the relatives who were missing were mostly ones I don't set much stock by anyway. I had a couple of bittersweet moments, once when one of my cousins talked about our much-missed youngest uncle and once when I walked into an empty room and realised "Ave Maria" was playing, the version my grandma used to sing at family weddings. But there was no drama, no last-minute craziness. Mom and Sis kept the prep simple to the point where even arriving twenty minutes before the guests wasn't an issue.
Today is Wrapalooza at Mom's, which means I'll finally get a chance to size up the place. Then we're heading over early to Dad's to hang out and feast on goose. It's a short trip this year: I only got in 3 p.m. on Sunday (Amtrak was bang on time for a change) and I fly back on Friday. Until then, I'm booked solid: Boxing Day will be dedicated to sorting and archiving my departed aunt's genealogical materials. I thought I might at least make it to a store, but so far I've hardly stepped out of my sister's house. Which is fine: All I really need for Christmas is within these walls, or will be by this time tomorrow.
[*] Seriously, his favourite gift was the Ted Nugent Kill it and grill it cookbook.
By this time, it was late in the evening and we were down to the last dozen relatives strung out along the bar. Sis&Co were long gone, but of course I wasn't leaving until Mom was ready and that wasn't until nearly 11, but I still had a buzz on from two Old Fashioneds hours earlier. There's something of a feeling of routine to her family Christmas party these years, but it's a good routine--to the point that being one of the hosts is hardly more work than being one of the guests. As I told her, I had the fun bit: Greeting, taking coats, and checking on everyone.
I gave one of the married-in's hell for not getting in touch during her recent visit to Chicago. (She's unflappable, however: "Actually I called e. and said, 'Don't tell
bunj or muckefuck but let's get together.") I talked a lot with Gay Uncle and am still doing my best to woo him to Chicago one of these days. I praised the Santa-for-hire to Uncle Gun Nut[*]; having exhausted the store of relatives, he'd bribed a retired Boeing salesman with a box of cigars and the guy did a great job. (Shame I didn't get to thank him personally--he was actually an old German named Manny--but he was out of there as soon as he had the suit off.)It felt a bit smaller than past years, but the relatives who were missing were mostly ones I don't set much stock by anyway. I had a couple of bittersweet moments, once when one of my cousins talked about our much-missed youngest uncle and once when I walked into an empty room and realised "Ave Maria" was playing, the version my grandma used to sing at family weddings. But there was no drama, no last-minute craziness. Mom and Sis kept the prep simple to the point where even arriving twenty minutes before the guests wasn't an issue.
Today is Wrapalooza at Mom's, which means I'll finally get a chance to size up the place. Then we're heading over early to Dad's to hang out and feast on goose. It's a short trip this year: I only got in 3 p.m. on Sunday (Amtrak was bang on time for a change) and I fly back on Friday. Until then, I'm booked solid: Boxing Day will be dedicated to sorting and archiving my departed aunt's genealogical materials. I thought I might at least make it to a store, but so far I've hardly stepped out of my sister's house. Which is fine: All I really need for Christmas is within these walls, or will be by this time tomorrow.
[*] Seriously, his favourite gift was the Ted Nugent Kill it and grill it cookbook.