Ass-bastard cousins

Actually, it's not the cousins -- they're just inconsequential bores -- it's the uncle and aunt. My mom's brother and his wife. They storm into town and cause me and Taissa to have to pack up our stuff and move out of the bedrooms and into the loft, so that our esteemed family guests can have the bedrooms. Fuck that and fuck them. All of my stuff is now in two piles in two places and I have no idea where to find anything. Get a fucking motel, you fucking freeloaders.

My own revenge is to be passive aggressive. Clever, I know! I spend all of my time in the basement, coming up only for food and bathroom breaks. And last night I almost bypassed the latter. I had to "do my business" but didn't want to go upstairs, so I looked around for a container into which I could urinate. The only suitable vessels I found were still-sealed beer bottles, so I considered drinking a beer and then immediately urinating into the empty bottle. That was a bit extreme, I thought, so instead I ducked upstairs and went outside and relieved myself near a tree.

(I, uh, appear to have gotten into the practice of urinating outside if I'm alone at the house and/or it's dark out. We're secluded and I don't need to waste the water that flushing requires. It's really quite enjoyable -- last night the stars were out and there was no moon ... it was lovely.)

As sad as it sounds, the "drink beer / piss into bottle" was the thing I forgot last night. I might still do that tonight, though. My cousins (read: uncle and aunt) aren't leaving until we are, on Thursday for pre-wedding stuff, so I'll be spending lots o' time in the basement. I'll be in their vicinity until Sunday, so the chances of me blurting, "Why don't you get a motel?" are pretty good.

(The "you" is italicized because this sentence will obviously be in response to something Cousin A, Cousin B, Uncle Marine, or Aunt Racist will say. Duh. You thought I didn't have this planned out? Oh it's planned, baby.)

(Come to think of it, I doubt it will be in response to something Cousin B says. That boy's a goddamned mute. See, I think that's the reason I like my Bushnell-side cousins: not a mute among 'em. Lives of their respective parties, it's like the Fourth of July when you get a few in a room together.)