Martinis & Oily Bohunks: A Night Out With My Family & Members of My Church Choir
Today I shared the link for this site with two of my favorite people and much to my chagrin; my Uncle Tom, or Unc as I call him, said he wouldn't mind being the "butt" of one of my stories. Well, I don't think he gets that title in this one, but he is definitely my costar.
This one's for you, Unc...
Now, it's helpful to know in the beginning here, that my Uncle Tom is my dad's youngest brother and while this apple didn't fall too far from the tree, people sometimes wondered if my dear brother and I hadn't been part of a different branch. If you know what I mean and I think you do. Yeah, we are frighteningly like Uncle Tom. Our inappropriate sense of humor is a dead ringer for his and our ability to make a mockery about the most serious of topics has always caught people off guard.
This tale starts with me at the tender age of 21 driving from where I studied in Lock Haven, PA to the suburbs of Pittsburgh. For what, you ask? A yearly pilgrimage to Uniontown, PA with my dad and my church choir. Seriously, I'm not making this up. My church was an interesting blend of traditional and, well, completely bizarre. We had all the normal stuff; Sunday School, choir practice and the occasional too long sermon, but we also had a hall--with a bar--with a liquor license. Yeah, sounds interesting, right? Believe me, it is. Great people too. I grew up with at least eight sets of honorary grandparents, which believe me, when my birthday rolled around was sa-weet! Ah, back to trek westward on I-80. It's a crumby drive and more often than not (including this trip) landed me in a heap of debt via a friendly Pennsylvania State Trooper, but when all was said and done, I made it to Unc's house where I was welcomed, as always with people hugs and doggy kisses. My Uncle Tom and Aunt Bobbie always had food and booze to great me and their company was one word: primo.
My father called to inform me that we'd all be going to dinner at Monterey Bay Fish Grotto, which I have to admit made the speeding ticket totally worth it! So, having gotten done up for a 4 Star dinner, we piled into the car and met up with my grandfather and his wife, Gertie, for drinks at bar while waiting for my parents and the choir members. There would be 14 of us total for dinner, so take a moment and imagine that amount of alcohol I'm about to ingest while we wait--go ahead. I'll wait. Yeah, it's about to go down Holy Ghost style.
While at the bar, being the little explorer that I am, I came across a "Specialty Martini" list. Oooooooohhh! These look like fun, I thought. Just then, I heard it--
"Ezmeralda, do you want one of those?" Yes, my Pap Pap called me all sorts of nicknames, but Ezermalda was because I was a wild little gypsy as a child apparently. Not much has changed actually. I picked a Watermelon Martini off the list and thanked my Pap Pap for my drink while clinking glasses with his vodka tonic.
So, while waiting for our group to arrive, I played Russian Martini Roulette to see which ones were with best and on arrival of my parents and visiting choir members--I finished off the list. Eleven in total, all while the other 13 members of this little party enjoyed their Manhattans and scotches and God-knows-what-elses.
Yes, it's far to say that we were all feeling no pain by the time dinner rolled around. The table was long to accommodate a party of our size and I took my customary seat between my father and my uncle and near enough to my grandfather that I could tell him about school and answer all of his questions about my studies (not that I was in any condition to do so). As dinner progressed, the conversation turned to my parents' upcoming 26th wedding anniversary and how I, as good child, had arranged for them to renew their wedding vows at church. Yeah, wrong topic of conversation when you have Unc and I sitting next to each other.
Why? Oh, I'll tell you why.
Have you ever seen 16 Candles? Oh, you have? Yeah, so have we--somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 times. This is how it went...
Unc: Where are they doing this?
Me: At da chuch! Dey getting maddied!
Unc: MADDIED?
Me: Yeah, MADDIED! Jeesh!
My mom and Aunt Bobbie by this time were laughing both with and at us, but my father (who has a limited base of knowledge with movies of the 80's) was completely stupefied. This led to him saying, "What?" over and over and to us taking this insanity further with,
Me: She getting maddied to oily BOhunk!
Dad: What?
Unc: She getting maddied to oily BOhunk!
...and on and on until we could take it no more. My dad finally just laughed with us, but even that night when we were on the way back to Unc's house, he and I were in stitches while Aunt Bobbie drove us home to avoid us needing actual stitches.
I guess I remember this night for a lot of reasons, even 11 years later. I spent some serious QT with the family that weekend and it was great. It wasn't terribly long after that that my Pap got sick again, so I remember him being so healthy and fun then. And that thoroughly confused look on my dad's face was priceless. I only get to go to Pittsburgh to see the family once or twice a year, but the next time I go home, I'm asking Papa K if we can do a dinner at good old Monterey Bay and Unc's part of the deal. End of story.
i have to tell you...your writing style is so great, funny, and intimate! i love both of you posts so far, and i can't wait to read more. i hope this blog functions as a creative outlet for you, but i can really see this becoming a memoir (hopefully one you publish and give me a copy of)!
ReplyDeletei'd love to hear about some of your zeta hijinks, too!
i'm definitely going to keep track of this: it made me smile the whole way through! i could use the smiles!
- eliza : ]
hahah -- amy, why have i not met your whole family yet?
ReplyDeleteAimster, for being so drunk, you remember the details well. In case you forgot, the watermelon was number one and that funky blue one was right there. I still haven't recouped my bar bill from that night!
ReplyDeleteUnc!