03.08.03-11:25 p.m.>

There are things in life that we cannot change. Things we have absolutely no control over.

For instance our family.

My family is this hideously beautiful Loud Irish Catholic Drunken Guilt Ridden New York Accent Having Overeating Jewish Beast of a Bitch Goddess.

Really.

There are no other words to describe the dysfunction that are the combination of the two sides.

Today I saw my dads side, The Loud Irish Drunks. Every get together, every gathering plays out like a movie with an overly predictable ending. Hellos, and Hugs. Maybe every family is this way, but the weight of the connections between us slips as the years pass, and still we come together and play our parts.

My mother makes sarcastic comments, forcing guilt upon us all, as a defense to her own emotions.

My father...talks out of his ass, THE ENTIRE DURATION of his stay.

My brother,rarely if ever shows.

I dont know why I cant just play that route. These people are my blood,my history, and I feel obligated to that tie. Im so childish.

My aunt drinks too much, entirely, starts to pull various children aside and confess her bitterness towards HER fucked up childhood, and give us HER advice about life. Yea, this is just fucking PEACHY when you're 8, I tell ya.

Her boyfriend checks sport scores, and falls asleep on the couch.

My OTHER aunt also, drinks entirely too much, in front of her children, and starts to slur things like..."Can I be honest ???" Which is usually followed by some outrageous obversation someone who minds their own business would never say.

Her husband, just shakes his head and says things like "Yes Dear "

My Uncle, gives me the cold shoulder. Doesnt say hi, doesnt ask me how I am, doesnt anything.

His wife runs around like Martha Stewart baking and cooking and helping and organizing.

And the kids, they're so big.

And the old days.

And conversation somehow always makes it way to my dead Uncle, and I mean no disrespect here, but it kills me.

That part of my family exists in these frozen moments. They live for these stories, and these memories, and nothing changes for them. Nothing can change for them, and it gives me alot of perspective.

It explains alot about why I am the way I am.

People in my family completely lack the ability to see things from any other point of view but their own.

Its a sickness.

I swear.

I dont know, it just gets tiresome.

But its familiar.

Its also, all I really know.