Allys (heyscarfgirl) wrote,
Allys
heyscarfgirl

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A black sheep still goes "baa".

Sunday dinner was surprisingly not as terrible an experience as I thought it would be. It wasn’t great, but I didn’t have the urge to sling as many insults as I usually do. Even Gilly was surprisingly low on the “pompous asshole scale”--even though he still looks like he wants to throw a fit every time I call him by his old nickname. It’s not my fault dad gave him a French name I couldn’t pronounce as a little kid, but maybe it’s mine that it turned out to be such a funny enough one that it stuck.

(He’s still seeing that little dope fiend of a twig much to Mom’s displeasure. I made a point to ask when he inquired about “Casper the dead boyfriend”. I suspect he uses but I have no proof. Snorts coke, maybe, like his stupid yuppie friends.)

Lisette’s pregnant. Again. She’s hoping for twins. Her husband’s just hoping they survive. Lisette loves kids but pregnancy is hard for her. That my nephew made it to term and was born healthy last February was really nothing short of a miracle. (She’s had three miscarriages since then, all of them followed by crushing depression. We’re a bit closer to each other than we are to Gilly because he stays away when she gets like that, whereas I don’t.) I worry about the effect it’s having on my nephew. I wish she’d just adopt.

My mother’s still as quietly eccentric as ever. The feast she cooked last night could’ve easily fed twenty. I still have leftovers sitting in my fridge, enough to last me a week.

And then there’s Cecile--or really, the subject of Cecile, who probably beats me for the Black Sheep Award. Aunt Blanche (who’s basically this amazing woman and super-famous photographer in France and who taught me most of what I learned before ever setting foot in art school) called again. The details work like this: Her only daughter, after no contact for like…six months, called her out of the blue a few days ago and informed her that she’d made arrangements to come to America for a little while. It wasn’t that she’d asked her mother; she told her. There was no discussion, only the equivalent of, “I’m going to America soon. Adieu!”

So my aunt freaked and asked my mother for help in terms of housing, because even though Cecile is nineteen and independent, she’s also very…well… We’ll just say she has a very interesting occupation and that it’s the reason she’s estranged from the rest of us. But naturally, this caused a bit of an uproar about who’d get stuck with her.

Turns out, of course, it wound up being me. She’ll be here in like a week or something. Wonderful.

And to kick the shit, the boy from last year was at the Trio show last night. Fantastic. I missed seeing Trio for free AND Viticus. Maybe I’ll get around to messaging him…
Tags: alkaline trio, france, punk, relatives
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