Bye Bye Ms. Irish Wreck Hello 2012!

05 January 2012

485

R. Linda:

Here we are, another year down and the year that is supposed to end us all be here at last! 2012, who'd a thunk it? Certainly not me. I ignore the end-of-the-world touters and am no fan of the Mayan calendar, so I go on. I am one of those who, no matter what is going on and how exciting it gets, end up muddling through despite it all. I see no reason why THIS year should differ from past ones. So here we go; let me start you off, R. Linda, and tell you about New Year's Eve to catch you up.

I resolved, first and foremost, me New Year's resolution be NOT to pay any attention to Sinead O'Connor, no matter what antics she can muster up. I saw the cocaine confession that it wasn't weed she was looking for on the honeymoon night, and I saw she has gotten back with her addiction counselling groom and going to give it a go as "friends" in a marriage with "benefits" -- yes think about that one. I did not jump on and write a word. It was New Year's, after all, and I resolved . . . until now, but my excuse was to tell you why there was no writing on the subject. Done now.

Since my parents weren't here for the annual New Year's Eve fiasco, and me wife's mother KNEW that we were invited down to the Cape May, New Jersey fiasco for the ringing in of the New Year. Or, in this case, the shouting in of the New Year. I tell ya, I did not want to go. I have had it with relatives, hers AND mine to the back teeth, but what could I do?  Tonya got the plane tickets, set up the limo (yes, we had to get a driver because the rest of her relatives were too busy partying to pick us up) and then waited for one of our bags to be shoved through onto the conveyor belt at luggage pickup (it was the last to be served up). Then fight the Newark Airport holiday traffic to the highway, and once on that, sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic all the way down the shore on the ill-named Garden State Parkway (nothing garden about it).

Once to the furthest shore point, it was still slow going. It was like everyone arrived in Cape May this year to celebrate the New Year. So once again, we crawled through town, and it is a picturesque town, all decorated for the season, and full of people as if it was the height of the summer season. And it might have been. The weather was so warm on New Year's Eve, and we sat on the beach! Cape May seems the place to be for the holidays in Jersey, with so many planned activities that I was told about during the entire stay by the Dragon-in-law. "IF only you could have got down here for Christmas. We invited you how many times?"

She seems to forget that my job will be hectic now that Romney has won Iowa. I will be reporting on the New Hampshire primary; however, news on all the campaigns was given a rest for the New Year's weekend (thank God), and it was the only time we could come down. If I had my way, we would not have. I much prefer being in me own little abode . . .

We arrived with a lot of help getting our luggage in, and we hardly had a chance to sit down. We were herded to the beach for a bit of throwing the old Frisbee and being outwitted by the dog. The damn thing would leap into the air and clamp the disc in its jaws and then run down the beach with us, trying to get him. I tell ya, it was more trouble than it was worth.

We went back to the old Victorian home that my in-laws dwell in, and I will say it was rather a pretty place, all decorated for the season. The children, in particular, were taken with it, and of course, it WAS Christmas all over again because, in the afternoon, Dragon had Tonya's cousin Matt dress up like Santa. He came to the door with a bagful of presents for the little ones, of which there were at least 10 small screaming humans jumping up and down in total glee. Talk about Mad Hatter's tea party; you try surviving a lit-up palace with a giant Christmas tree (the ceilings are high, and Dragon made the most out of floor to ceiling tree. O'Hare had stood in front of it as if in worship when first he saw it), and invite ALL the children, spouses and kiddies (all who are from hot blooded bloodlines), and tell me if you were more taking part in a ruckus mardi gras or the holy season. Throw in someone dressed like Santa with a bag of toys (forget the weather was spring-like), and what do you get? You have a healthy mix of midget CHAOS!

Once through this, the hired babysitters (yes, Dragon-in-law pulled out all the stops) arrived, the small ones were herded off for a dinner party of their own, complete with servers and caterers, and the adults went off to change. We went to Hemingway's (inside the Grand Hotel) just down the street (we walked, it was a lovely evening) for dinners of steak and seafood (superb), tab picked up by my father-in-law. We lingered over drinks until it was time to walk off dinner, some on the beach, others slowly waddling to the house. We arrived at about nine, and the servers and caterers were setting up a party for us! I found out that this is done every year by the in-laws. This is their big celebration, and with a family of 38 people, they find outside help the only way to go. I admit it was a grand celebration, and I enjoyed the relatives. It was Dragon I kept shy of and did just fine when I did.

Because it was early, Tonya and I had promised the boyos we'd take them to Rotary Park to see the town Christmas tree all alight. It ended up that Tonya's two brothers and their wives and kiddies came too, so instead of a quiet 'ooh and ah' experience, the air was full of shouting, "GIMME DATS MINE!" and "MOMMA HE KICKED ME!" and "I WANNA GO BACK TO GRAN'S I LIKE HER TREE BETTER!" Oi!

Tonya and I did get to walk on the beach by ourselves while the round-up of escaping kiddos took place. Our two were, believe it or not, the best-behaved of the bunch. They sat quietly waiting . . . well, not really. They sat together, chewing gum and laughing as they made a big string connected to each other. I tell ya! We are still trying to get the gum off the hoodies they had on.

In the lead-up to New Year's Eve, the kiddlets had all been put to bed, and the three sitters stayed to ensure they stayed there while the adults gathered in the downstairs parlour, music room, and dining room for food and good times. During this interlude, I had the bad luck of finding meself engaged in conversation on the Republican nominees when I discovered Dragon standing next to me.

"I don't know why anyone would vote for Ron Paul for President," she said. "That's like voting Russell Brand for president—sheesh!"

"That's harsh," her son said.

OK, I ignored that, but there was no stopping her.

"And Newt, what kind of name is Newt? I think of a fat lizard," she plunged on. "And he's so angry with Romney. Can you imagine what he'd do if he was angry at some other country? BOOM! Finger on the button."

Well, true. Both her son and I nodded.

"And that Rick Santorum he's good, but he's too young and unseasoned." She said.

"Well, if I may," I ventured, "he'd make a good VP candidate, and he'd get all that "seasoning" in the White House and could later run for the main job himself," I offered.

"Yeah well, he's got to change that Rick thing to Richard." She sighed.

"Dick," the son said and laughed.

"You can't have two Ricks running; it gets confusing," she muttered, referring to Richard Santorum and Ricardo Perry.

Her son laughed, "RICARDO?"

Oh boy.

"AND what kind of name is Ron Paul anyway? Ronald Paul? It sounds so non-name." She offered this after I took a good look at her to see if she was sober.

"And the good-looking one, Mitterand Romney," she plunged on.

"MITTERAND?" Both her son and I blurted.

"His name is Willard Mitt Romney, named after the Marriott Hotel tycoon -- the Willard, that is, and Mitt from his father's cousin Milton," I tried to inform her.

"Well, THAT'S an improvement!" She declared rather earnestly or not, who knew? I tell ya, the woman be a nutter if she was sober, which I still don't know if she was or not, or just plain crazy? That too.

So around the countdown, we all went into where the big screen TV had been on to New Year's Rockin' Eve, and Ryan Seacrest was doing his thing. When suddenly, we all jumped back at a spray-tanned Dick Clark with a pink lower lip and pinkish-white lower eyelids. It was a fright when not warned. Most of us thought that because we had been plying on the drink, we were seeing things, but after a few seconds of eyes adjusting to the orange glare, we realised we were seeing what we were seeing. SIGH.

I will not go into how bad we behaved after that, but some of us could not help ourselves, and as the countdown started this year with a prompting screen for Dick at number 17, we all joined in with 17 - 14 - 16 - 10 - 15 - 2, and so it went until we all managed the zero Happy New Year together. It was iffy there for a while, I will say that.

The next day, the house slept in except for me, who went for a jog on the beach with the in-law's dog G-O, which I have a sneaking suspicion is short for Gabriel O'Sullivan. G-O is an Australian Sheepdog, one of those long-haired collie-like animals with those strange light blue eyes that look CRAZY. How did I end up with the dog? Well, I was the only one up. As I descended the stairs, a sleepy Dragon came out to see what insane member of her inebriated family had made it up at nine a.m. Seeing it was me, she told me to take G-O with me so he'd get out to do his business. I didn't need a leash; he'd be fine. Yeah, right, he heard that and knew in his doggy mind that going for a jog with me would be a good time for him.

So I got him to the beach. There was not a soul up but me! I had the place to myself, and off I set with the dog. Only the dog decided he had a bit of a hangover, and I was going too fast. How to slow me down? Nip at me flapping sweats, and if that didn't slow me down, sped up with a bit of the material in his mouth and came in front of me, tripping me headlong into the sand. Yup.

I reprimanded him about that, brushed meself off, and started off at a slower pace, happy there was no one to witness this. And thank God there was no one because there were three doggy take-downs. I was wearing sand where I shouldn't have. That damn dog's herding instincts came into play because I realised I was the sheep, and he was the shepherd dog herding me where HE wanted me to go, which was into the ocean, and that water was COLD. Oi, oi, oi, OUCH!

Finally, I gave up being full of nip marks, and we walked back to the house to find the others had made it to painful consciousness. I had a quick bite and then went to shower the ton of sand off. When I was dressed, and at the top of the stairs, I could hear the pandemonium of family arguing in the kitchen and dining room. I heaved a sigh as if going into battle when I was met at the top stair by Dragon coming out of her bedroom, G-O with her. Just as that happened, the doorbell rang. The dog was about to fly over the stair railing to rip up whoever it was, but Dragon quickly told me to catch him, which I did.

"I need to get the leash; don't let go of him," she said, disappearing down the hall.

Meanwhile, whoever was at the door could see through the glass and sheer curtain and was shouting, "Mrs. A, it's me Ken, from next door," and I could see he had a basket of goodies. I shouted over the barking dog that she was coming. She returned and disappeared into her bedroom, still looking for the leash. Meanwhile, Ken was shouting to her could he just come in? I shouted back to just wait; the dog was loose, and I was having a devil of a time holding him.

Finally, she reappeared beside me, leash-less, dog struggling, my fingers twisted in its hair and collar and Ken shouting he could see us. Gees.

"Here, you take the dog. I'll let him in," I suggested, trying to hand over El Daggit (her husband calls G-O that).

"You can't do that," she said, and I looked at her questioningly. Why not? I wondered and did voice the question.

"Because no matter what, I must remember where I put that leash."

Meanwhile, Ken was still knocking and shouting that the basket was heavy. Should he just leave it, or would she let him in? I was embarrassed and had no cause for such. He could see me clearly, but Dragon was leaning back against the wall, out of sight, with her thinking cap on.

Finally, Mr. A came into the hall below, asking what was going on and why no one had answered the door.

"Let the dog go, Gabriel," Dragon said, her eyes slits.

"Wha . . . what? He'll knock over Mr. A and Ken."

"Just release the hound."

Well, I waited until Ken was in, and the basket was on a side table and called down to them. I could no longer hold onto G-O. He was coming, so brace themselves. And that dog flew, and I mean I flew; the paws never touched the stairs. He was down there in seconds and jumping on Ken, licking his face, plastering the poor guy to the wall while Mr. A tried to pry him off a very wet and slobbery Ken. Meanwhile, Dragon leaned just far enough off the wall to see the bath Ken was getting and she was sneering. Yes, R. Linda had a sneer the size of New York City on her face.

"What be this about?" I whispered.

"Nothing. Your father-in-law wants to let him in, fine! Give me no time to find the leash. What can I do?" And with that, she went past me down the stairs and stood there watching her two sons, along with Mr. A, get the dog off Ken.

Once they got the dog away, I was stunned at Ken's appearance. He leaned against the wall, exhausted, great strands of dog slobber hanging from his body. He was soaked and smelled of dog, old rug, or both. He sighed, wiped the spit off his face, and addressed us.

"I brought a gift basket delivered yesterday while you were out."

Everyone nodded at the basket. It was the basket Tonya and I sent from New Hampshire. For joi, now it was our fault that poor accommodating Ken was barely standing in the hallway dripping slobber. Yup. Our attentions were turned to the shouting in the kitchen, and off both sons went, hauling G-O with them, as Mr. A told Ken to use the guest bathroom to clean up and join us in the kitchen for "hell knows what," he said. With a snort, Dragon started off, us behind her, basket left sitting on the side table and her muttering about not waiting for leashes to be found. OK!

I had no idea what to expect in the kitchen, but as soon as we neared it, the voices got louder. My wife turned to me and asked me if I could make them stop. Well, the only way to make them stop was me standing there shouting loudly, "Aithnionn ciarog ciarog eile!" That is the only Irish I know, and if you want to know how to say it, it sounds like ah-hneen kee-rogue kee-rogue el-eh.

Well, that did it. They all swung around, and Ken, who had done one fast cleanup, said, "I didn't know you were Jewish."

"Nah, he's talkin' garlic," O'Hare offered. "He said it takes one to know one." And the child, who no one could see, stood there proudly patting me on the butt.

We learned what had been going on, which was a warm discussion- are you ready?- of all people, SINEAD O'CONNOR. They were actually debating whether she was a man or a woman. I mean, really! Once I got this gist, I was like, OH NO, THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING TO ME! I somehow managed to get my immediate gang of three together and get us packed and dressed to go. We had a plane to catch after all, and THIS subject was a part of my New Year's Resolution. I, being Irish, was the one they wanted to direct their questions of gender to. 

I had a bad dream when I came home of that very scene. They were all stalking me, asking me, "Huh Gabe, what do you know on the subject of Sinead?" and "Yeah Gabe, you live in the same country with her; what's your take?" and come to find (in me dream) I was standing on the second-floor stair landing where I held that dog from flying through a glass door at Ken, and there I was stepping backwards, as they moved toward me from the staircase above the landing. I realised leading them was SINEAD, no clothes just towel and tats! I finally lost my footing and fell backwards down the stairs! I woke up before I was hit with a terrible need to catch me breath.

I gasped and shook meself awake away from the terrible images. It was not the way I wanted to start my New Year off. I didn't tell me wife what it was, which led to her being anxious, that perhaps I had a dream about a bunch of Mayans chanting that the world was about to end.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" I asked.

"You were talking in your sleep, saying "Stay back, oh no, no not that,"" and I thought after all that 2012 world coming to an end talk, we were subject to at my parents, THAT was what was on your mind, and you had a nightmare about it."

"Close enough," I said and rolled over and tried to feign sleep.

I tell ya, I need a holiday BY MESELF, I do. SIGH.

Gabe
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