Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2016-03-06 01:48 am
azurelunatic) wrote2016-03-06 01:48 am
Entry tags:
Eldest Aunt's actual birthday (Saturday the 27th), and the subsequent Sunday.
Last Saturday was Eldest Aunt's 70th birthday. I'd woken up briefly around 3am because Very Pregnant Cousin was coughing miserably with the acid reflux somewhere in the depths of the master bedroom, possibly in the master bathroom because that was on the other side of my wall and therefore the loudest possible location. When I woke up in the morning thereafter, Eldest Aunt was beaming and Formerly Delinquent Cousin, Very Pregnant Cousin, and Train Enthusiast Smolcousin were nowhere to be seen.
It had transpired that Very Pregnant Cousin had in fact gone into labor around 3am, which had occasioned everyone being bundled into the car and them lighting out immediately for Los Angeles and the preferred home base hospital. She'd been dropped off at the door, and while Formerly Delinquent Cousin was getting a parking spot, Newest Smolcousin was born, on Eldest Aunt's birthday, and named in honor of his great-uncle (my dad). (It was shortly after posting this on Twitter that I remembered that I should probably specify that my family are goyim, to avoid any confusion.)
Cousin Anna and Smolcousin Aaron were about; Aaron is like 6. Then Uncle Davy and Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy (Retired) and Smolcousin-by-Marriage Adam showed (Adam is the offspring of Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy's child from a previous marriage, and is about 7), in a convoy of a normal vehicle and a reasonable sized RV (rented), complete with Uncle Davy's tiny yapdog Izzy with a locator chip and a bell. The San Francisco Plane contingent arrived: Woodworking Uncle, Infamous Cousin, and Infamous Cousin's very sweet girlfriend Bradette.
All in all things were very chaotic and noisy. We went down to see the birds. There were two tiny white bantam chickens, very pretty and talkative, a nervous turkey lady who was finally becoming accustomed to the peacock, and Shitball the Peacock.
He had not wanted to go into the barn the night before when roundup with Train Enthusiast Smolcousin was going on, but had apparently put himself to bed after the commotion ceased.
There was a tour of the rented RV, and people poked and prodded at the various bits, trying to understand how they all worked. There was the overhead bunk, and the cushion with the board bottom which pulled over the driving compartment. There was the dining area which converted to a bed somehow. The main bed in back, which looked as though it might have been a great place to ride, except there were warnings all over saying that it was not, and all passengers should be belted. There was a little galley, with a sink, and then a bathroom sink also, and a bathroom compartment with a shower and a toilet (not combined as they are in some). I perched on the bed in back and listened to the old folks (I was tempted to say grown-ups, but I'm a grown-up now) chatter about this and that. Eldest Aunt complimented me on my hair color (nicely blue) and fluffy and lacy skirt (my party skirt). I fluffed it in pleasure.
"That's a very girly skirt," Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy (Retired), said. I must have looked taken aback, because she continued insistently, with a bit of a sour note in her voice: "It's got lace, and lace is always girly."
I did not have a dissertation on European male fashion from the former part of the 1700s cued up and ready to go, so I decided that it was time to be elsewhere.
I was called in for kitchen service, and helped Guide Dog Aunt grate carrots and cabbage for coleslaw. There was a rotary grater which was a bit of trouble, as its clamp was the wrong size for Eldest Aunt's counters. It did fit on a cutting board, but then there was some trouble making that stay still. I eventually appropriated a non-skid mat from the laundry room, rinsed that off, and used that to help things. There was also the little matter of the grater not being sharp enough to grate the things unless they were presented at the exact correct angle. So I eventually grabbed a wooden spoon as a pusher, as we were out of carrots. That finally went well.
During all the grating, I found myself in the unpleasant position of having my back to the kitchen, and being in a main corridor. So people would have to make a door of me to get through. I do not like unknown and untrusted people behind me. Unfortunately, I haven't spent enough time with some of my family to make them known and trusted, and I've spent enough time with other parts of my family to make them known and untrusted (at least as far as showing my back to them goes). I wound up tense and miserable from that bit.
Introvert Uncle cooked stuff on the grill. It was tasty.
There was a cake. There were, in fact, three cakes: a small chocolate layer cake with white whipped frosting of some sort, a yellow cake with raspberry stuff, and another chocolate one in reserve. The smolcousins got the cupcakes associated with the chocolate cake.
Infamous Cousin looked up the lyrics to the Birthday Dirge, and found a gracious plenty. He caught my attention, held up his iPad, and we sang. After a certain point, we chose to forgo the chorus.
Guide Dog Aunt's present to Eldest Aunt had included a yoga ball, and that was inflated and being used as a spare seat. The smolcousins got onto it as well, and there was havoc and giggling.
Eventually the party wound down. The San Francisco Plane Contingent went home. Guide Dog Aunt supposes that we'll eventually find out how Bradette actually liked things, but she seemed to be holding her own vs. the extended clan!
I curled up in bed early-ish, and was out by 11pm.
Unfortunately, I was then up at 1:30am. Until about 7. Oops. Then I woke up around 9:30 again, saw a work email from R, and it was website launch day. I hit the ground running, and occasionally made appearances for meals and to stretch out, but it was a solid 10 hours of work.
I did get a chance to chat with Mama alone, and that was nice.
Turns out one of my oldest friends from school has a baby!
In the late afternoon, Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy commandeered the big TV for Oscars-watching, including the red carpet shenanigans. After the first little bit this got tedious, and I was glad of the excuse of work to pop back into Introvert Uncle's Computer Cave more often than not.
Mama was sort of unsure about the whole induction burner thing, which was Guide Dog Aunt's other present to Eldest Aunt. She was going to cook some of the broccoli in it, but how do technology? I'd only ever used the thing that morning to reheat some pizza, but I showed Mama the basic controls.
When dinnertime came, I popped back out, and found a seat to one side. Most of the family was clustered around the TV, because the Oscars were the loudest and most obnoxious thing in the room. I can't recall whether I was halfway through or mostly done with dinner when one particular segment came on. I believe The Danish Girl was involved, because my impression was of some probably-cisgender dude facing the camera and talking earnestly, but it was in my peripheral vision and I was trying to tune the whole din out with some keywords caught my ear.
"I'm not sure I like that term, 'gender confirmation surgery'," Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy (Retired), said, sounding a little thoughtful and a little peevish.
Before she retired, Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy was in at least one emergency room. My vague memory of the specific nature of her medical expertise was her telling us all that 4LOKO was bad news, as the combination of caffeine and alcohol will allow you to keep making the kind of stupid decisions that land you in hospital, including the continued drinking of enough 4LOKO to give you immediate circulatory system issues.
Things Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy did not appear to have been, ever, at any point in her life: a transgender health specialist, or any kind of doctor with experience dealing sensitively with gender issues well enough to know the current accepted community phrases and standards of care.
Did Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy in fact approve of transgender people getting the healthcare they needed and deserved, or even existing at all? Well, the fact that her first reaction to some white(?)cis(?)dude(?) using the phrase "gender confirmation surgery" was to peevishly rules-lawyer snipe at the phrase, told me that she wasn't super familiar, and that her first reaction to hearing what was pretty clearly a term of art out of a marginalized community was to start picking at the phrase, told me all I really cared to know.
There's a particular tone of voice that occurs when I'm really mad but I'm not actually ready to throw a wobbly. It's a little too even, a little too high, said with a very tight smile, carrying the general impression that the next step might be a knife or two joining the party. "Happily, it's not up to you," I said, then padded back off to the cave to get back to work.
Eventually the work was through for the evening, and I came out and made social once more. I had cooled off by that time, and was willing to not stab anyone. However, despite me being generally vaguely chatty, Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy didn't seem to be up for any sort of conversation or acknowledgment that I'd said anything at all. When she in fact had lost her phone and I pointed it out to her and she didn't respond to me at all, I reckoned she'd been giving me the silent treatment.
When I told this to Eldest Aunt, she congratulated me. Apparently when Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy (Retired) is willing to talk to you at length, she bombards you with variously dissatisfied and mean snipey fat-shamey and otherwise horrible things. So getting her to not talk to you at all is an ending devoutly to be wished.
Guide Dog Aunt and I decided that whatever we could pack up that night we would, and so we did. Mama helped me deflate the air mattress.
I had a nice chat with my dad as well, and then before he and Mama went back down to Introvert Uncle's RV for the night, we all three hugged. I meowed: no cats in family hugs!
It had transpired that Very Pregnant Cousin had in fact gone into labor around 3am, which had occasioned everyone being bundled into the car and them lighting out immediately for Los Angeles and the preferred home base hospital. She'd been dropped off at the door, and while Formerly Delinquent Cousin was getting a parking spot, Newest Smolcousin was born, on Eldest Aunt's birthday, and named in honor of his great-uncle (my dad). (It was shortly after posting this on Twitter that I remembered that I should probably specify that my family are goyim, to avoid any confusion.)
Cousin Anna and Smolcousin Aaron were about; Aaron is like 6. Then Uncle Davy and Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy (Retired) and Smolcousin-by-Marriage Adam showed (Adam is the offspring of Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy's child from a previous marriage, and is about 7), in a convoy of a normal vehicle and a reasonable sized RV (rented), complete with Uncle Davy's tiny yapdog Izzy with a locator chip and a bell. The San Francisco Plane contingent arrived: Woodworking Uncle, Infamous Cousin, and Infamous Cousin's very sweet girlfriend Bradette.
All in all things were very chaotic and noisy. We went down to see the birds. There were two tiny white bantam chickens, very pretty and talkative, a nervous turkey lady who was finally becoming accustomed to the peacock, and Shitball the Peacock.
He had not wanted to go into the barn the night before when roundup with Train Enthusiast Smolcousin was going on, but had apparently put himself to bed after the commotion ceased.
There was a tour of the rented RV, and people poked and prodded at the various bits, trying to understand how they all worked. There was the overhead bunk, and the cushion with the board bottom which pulled over the driving compartment. There was the dining area which converted to a bed somehow. The main bed in back, which looked as though it might have been a great place to ride, except there were warnings all over saying that it was not, and all passengers should be belted. There was a little galley, with a sink, and then a bathroom sink also, and a bathroom compartment with a shower and a toilet (not combined as they are in some). I perched on the bed in back and listened to the old folks (I was tempted to say grown-ups, but I'm a grown-up now) chatter about this and that. Eldest Aunt complimented me on my hair color (nicely blue) and fluffy and lacy skirt (my party skirt). I fluffed it in pleasure.
"That's a very girly skirt," Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy (Retired), said. I must have looked taken aback, because she continued insistently, with a bit of a sour note in her voice: "It's got lace, and lace is always girly."
I did not have a dissertation on European male fashion from the former part of the 1700s cued up and ready to go, so I decided that it was time to be elsewhere.
I was called in for kitchen service, and helped Guide Dog Aunt grate carrots and cabbage for coleslaw. There was a rotary grater which was a bit of trouble, as its clamp was the wrong size for Eldest Aunt's counters. It did fit on a cutting board, but then there was some trouble making that stay still. I eventually appropriated a non-skid mat from the laundry room, rinsed that off, and used that to help things. There was also the little matter of the grater not being sharp enough to grate the things unless they were presented at the exact correct angle. So I eventually grabbed a wooden spoon as a pusher, as we were out of carrots. That finally went well.
During all the grating, I found myself in the unpleasant position of having my back to the kitchen, and being in a main corridor. So people would have to make a door of me to get through. I do not like unknown and untrusted people behind me. Unfortunately, I haven't spent enough time with some of my family to make them known and trusted, and I've spent enough time with other parts of my family to make them known and untrusted (at least as far as showing my back to them goes). I wound up tense and miserable from that bit.
Introvert Uncle cooked stuff on the grill. It was tasty.
There was a cake. There were, in fact, three cakes: a small chocolate layer cake with white whipped frosting of some sort, a yellow cake with raspberry stuff, and another chocolate one in reserve. The smolcousins got the cupcakes associated with the chocolate cake.
Infamous Cousin looked up the lyrics to the Birthday Dirge, and found a gracious plenty. He caught my attention, held up his iPad, and we sang. After a certain point, we chose to forgo the chorus.
Guide Dog Aunt's present to Eldest Aunt had included a yoga ball, and that was inflated and being used as a spare seat. The smolcousins got onto it as well, and there was havoc and giggling.
Eventually the party wound down. The San Francisco Plane Contingent went home. Guide Dog Aunt supposes that we'll eventually find out how Bradette actually liked things, but she seemed to be holding her own vs. the extended clan!
I curled up in bed early-ish, and was out by 11pm.
Unfortunately, I was then up at 1:30am. Until about 7. Oops. Then I woke up around 9:30 again, saw a work email from R, and it was website launch day. I hit the ground running, and occasionally made appearances for meals and to stretch out, but it was a solid 10 hours of work.
I did get a chance to chat with Mama alone, and that was nice.
Turns out one of my oldest friends from school has a baby!
In the late afternoon, Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy commandeered the big TV for Oscars-watching, including the red carpet shenanigans. After the first little bit this got tedious, and I was glad of the excuse of work to pop back into Introvert Uncle's Computer Cave more often than not.
Mama was sort of unsure about the whole induction burner thing, which was Guide Dog Aunt's other present to Eldest Aunt. She was going to cook some of the broccoli in it, but how do technology? I'd only ever used the thing that morning to reheat some pizza, but I showed Mama the basic controls.
When dinnertime came, I popped back out, and found a seat to one side. Most of the family was clustered around the TV, because the Oscars were the loudest and most obnoxious thing in the room. I can't recall whether I was halfway through or mostly done with dinner when one particular segment came on. I believe The Danish Girl was involved, because my impression was of some probably-cisgender dude facing the camera and talking earnestly, but it was in my peripheral vision and I was trying to tune the whole din out with some keywords caught my ear.
"I'm not sure I like that term, 'gender confirmation surgery'," Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy (Retired), said, sounding a little thoughtful and a little peevish.
Before she retired, Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy was in at least one emergency room. My vague memory of the specific nature of her medical expertise was her telling us all that 4LOKO was bad news, as the combination of caffeine and alcohol will allow you to keep making the kind of stupid decisions that land you in hospital, including the continued drinking of enough 4LOKO to give you immediate circulatory system issues.
Things Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy did not appear to have been, ever, at any point in her life: a transgender health specialist, or any kind of doctor with experience dealing sensitively with gender issues well enough to know the current accepted community phrases and standards of care.
Did Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy in fact approve of transgender people getting the healthcare they needed and deserved, or even existing at all? Well, the fact that her first reaction to some white(?)cis(?)dude(?) using the phrase "gender confirmation surgery" was to peevishly rules-lawyer snipe at the phrase, told me that she wasn't super familiar, and that her first reaction to hearing what was pretty clearly a term of art out of a marginalized community was to start picking at the phrase, told me all I really cared to know.
There's a particular tone of voice that occurs when I'm really mad but I'm not actually ready to throw a wobbly. It's a little too even, a little too high, said with a very tight smile, carrying the general impression that the next step might be a knife or two joining the party. "Happily, it's not up to you," I said, then padded back off to the cave to get back to work.
Eventually the work was through for the evening, and I came out and made social once more. I had cooled off by that time, and was willing to not stab anyone. However, despite me being generally vaguely chatty, Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy didn't seem to be up for any sort of conversation or acknowledgment that I'd said anything at all. When she in fact had lost her phone and I pointed it out to her and she didn't respond to me at all, I reckoned she'd been giving me the silent treatment.
When I told this to Eldest Aunt, she congratulated me. Apparently when Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy (Retired) is willing to talk to you at length, she bombards you with variously dissatisfied and mean snipey fat-shamey and otherwise horrible things. So getting her to not talk to you at all is an ending devoutly to be wished.
Guide Dog Aunt and I decided that whatever we could pack up that night we would, and so we did. Mama helped me deflate the air mattress.
I had a nice chat with my dad as well, and then before he and Mama went back down to Introvert Uncle's RV for the night, we all three hugged. I meowed: no cats in family hugs!
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