My family is weird

Yesterday I had the official graduation ceremony for my law school. This meant that I would have to see my father's side of the family. I would probably have seen my mother's side of the family, but she is an only child and is probably mad at me right now for no good reason. Compounding the dreaded "I have to spend time wit my dad's side of the family" problem was that my Uncle was turning 60 and had his party on Saturday night, which I would have to attend. Here's what followed:

Saturday Night:
My Uncle via marriage to my dad's sister decides to have his party at a restaurant called Marrakesh. As you may be able to tell by the name, it is a Moroccan restaurant and there was a promise of belly dancing on the invitation. So we drive to the location and its not exatly in the best neighborhood. In fact, the restaurant does not even have any windows. Plus, the name of the restaurant is written in Arabic or Farsi or Sandskrit on the outside without a hint of English.

We were supposed to get there by 5 o'clock as they would not seat anyone after 5:20. We got there around 5 and wanted to valet the car (as promised on the invite). The valet guy says that he can't take the car until 5:30. Ok. So, get there by 5, no seating after 5:20, but we won't take your car until 5:30. Seeing the brilliance of this flawless logic, we just found a spot on the street and hoped the car wouldn't be stolen.

When we walked to the restaurant, we could see about 20 yards ahead of us was my gay uncle (not the one whose birthday it was and not that there's anything wrong with that). He was rocking the leather pants and floral shirt. One of his tamer outfits. We finally got to the outside of the restaurant and they made us wait outside until our reservation (which was apparently at 5:30). Then I saw my aunt (who wears a wig for some reason [she's not religious]) and the birthday boy uncle. He was wearing his own fez, ready for the festivities. Apparently, he also just graduated from paralegal school on Friday, though I'm not sure what career he had before this and why he's switching at age 60. He also has those googley eyes where you're not really sure where to look when you talk to him. Nowhere to be found was my cousin (my only first cousin) who is adopted, 6'7", and in a halfway house right now. [Weird enough for you? Just wait.]

So my girlfriend, sister, and I are all getting introduced to the people we don't know or haven't seen for a while and my dad starts introducing us as his three children (I'm not married, engaged, or related to my girlfriend so its obviously an uncomfortable situation for everyone involved, mostly me). One relative calls him on it and says, "I thought you only had 2 kids" and he had to explain himself. I got the usual barrage of questions from everyone about what kind of law I want to practice, which I always find amusing since I don't want to be a "lawyer." After about 15 minutes of talking to my gay uncle about the latest Broadway shows and restaurants he went to in NY, they finally decided to let us in the restaurant.

We walk into the place and the lobby area is a small room with incense burning and pictures of famous people who ate there. The lobby is reserved for the pictures of the presidents. Both Bushes and Clinton as I remember. Then they lead us past the main dining room through hallways covered with pictures of famous people from actors to rock stars to politicians into the back where we are in a party room.

The party room looked like it was part of Epcot center. There was a stage in the middle for the belly dancers, a bar on the right, and lots of little tables surrounded by cushions to sit on. Did I mention the place had no windows? They explained that we would have to eat with our hands and share the communal dishes. So they start by bringing out a pitcher of water and a bowl to wash your hands with. They then hand you a towel, which will serve as your napkin for the rest of the night. But I digress. Back to the relatives.

There was one relative who was your typical fat obnoxious American. She's the reason other countries (especially France) hate us so much. On a funny side note, her husband did not say a word the entire night. I think he's just given up. So we're at our little tables and she leans over to me and yells, "WHEN ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?" I'm not sure if she was knowingly busting my balls or recklessly spewing whatever bile came to her mind at the moment, but everyone at the table sort of leaned in to hear the answer. Since there really is no good answer to that question, I diffused the situation by saying, "we'll see." I promptly turned back to the other side and took a big swig of Moroccan beer.

Later on in the meal that same woman (presumably after a few too many glasses of wine) yelled out to me again, "HEY! DIDN'T YOU USED TO BE FAT?" Again, very uncomfortable silence around the table that I let linger in the air like a stale fart for a second or two before coming back with, "I'm still fat." It was meant as a conversation ender/slight barb at her since she looks like a vienna sausage. But I think my material was too smart for the room (which isn't really that hard to do). She then returns serve with, "NO NO NO. WHEN YOU WERE 4 OR 5 YOU WERE A REAL CHUNKO!" My more immediate relatives then start denying that I was ever fat at all, which is clearly not true. It just wasn't when I was 5. It took my parents more than 5 years to fuck me up. She finally shuts up and we go back to the meal.

After a few courses of Moroccan food, the belly dancer came out. Our table was on the way to the stage and she danced with a few audience members on the way there. Then she gets to our table and starts gyrating around my gay uncle. He did not even acknowledge her presence and made it quite clear the everyone in the room that he wasn't interested at all. High comedy.

After about 2 and a half hours of this, I told everyone I had to leave to go to a graduation reception (which I did) and my girlfriend, sister, and I excused ourselves (but not before getting an uncomfortably long hug from my Aunt). After that meal, I was glad that we were in such a bad neighborhood because I needed some crack to forget about what just happened.

That was exhausting. Maybe I'll go over Sunday in a later post.