We are family (i think).

I'm hijacking Christina's blog while she's busy with her out of town visitor. My name is Jean that's all I'm telling you about me because I'm not used to this sharing of personal details on the world wide web and I'm terrified my mother will see this one day.

I love my mother. I really do. She is a great person and part of me feels guilty about posting this. But it's not my blog and if she ever finds it I'll say I have no idea who 'Christina' is or why she would post an embarrassing video of her at my brother's wedding.

Yes, this is about my brothers wedding, which I was mildly excited about until my girlfriend and I broke up. Then, whatever visions I had of enjoying the irony of a cheesy wedding in rural Pennsylvania ended as abruptly as my illusions that we could “work it out”.

Arriving at the B&B, I was even more disappointed to not have a date as the frilly white comforter and antiques call out for some dirty raunchy sex. Instead, I start crying. My mother tries to comfort me “Yeah, my friend, who doesn’t know that you were with X or just broke up, was asking me if it was going to be hard for you that your little brother is getting married.”

Well, thanks Mom. Up until now, I was simply mourning the demise of my 4-year relationship but now I’ll also be self-conscious that everyone will be regarding at me as the old-maid sister. Especially since they all think I’m perpetually single since you can’t fess up that your daughter likes girls.

As we’re getting ready, mother starts nagging me that my hair is always in my face and that I look so much prettier when I pull it back which makes me feel like its 1987 and I’m THAT KID, you know the one who hides behind their hair but tries to pass it off as a cool skate ‘do. But I have an $85 haircut and I’m not about to look like this again no matter how much it will please my mother.

At the wedding, I am forced to chitchat nicely with all my parents friends. Howard has been obsessed with me for the past 10 years because he considers himself some sort of socialist radical battling against the homogeny of suburban Boston and thinks we are kindred spirits since I live in the Bay Area. He loves the fact that I worked at Good Vibrations and tells me he still has the catalogues, which makes me incredibly uncomfortable because who wants to talk to their parents friends about sex toys? “Wow,” I say, “that was 7 years ago. I’ve done a lot since then” and excuse myself for a glass of wine.

But despite my tendency to turn back into an adolescent whenever around my family, I act like the perfect daughter all weekend. It is only now that I will become 12 and get my revenge by posting this:
I tried to explain to my mother that this song is a gay anthem but she pretended to not understand.


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