My brothers came, they ate, they drank all the good beer, they left. Truly, we had such a lovely weekend together. Wednesday was my grandmother’s birthday, as well as the first night of Hanukkah, so I had my dad, his girlfriend and brothers over for dinner–meatloaf, caesar salad and baked potatoes. Not a particularly traditional meal, but I had my stomach set on meatloaf before I remembered the Jewish holiday. My grandma often used to say that one day she was going to walk into a restaurant and order dessert first– so we had ice cream and her favorite cookies, mallomars, as an appetizer.
No one can make me cry quicker than my younger brother Timmy. Like 30 seconds flat. We rounded out Thanksgiving last year with a whisper screaming match in my living room with Roommate B sleeping in the next room hopped up on painkillers after getting tonsils out a couple days before. We both got angry, I cried and then stomped to our respective corners to cool off.
After we did the standard “you’re dead to me” text messages from different rooms of the house, I relented, demanded he put his coat on and yanked him out the front door. We walked to the corner store for a 6-pack. We make up in 30 seconds too. That’s how things are between us.
As we walked through Eastern Market Sunday afternoon, my father remarked about what a wonderful weekend it had been. “And Tim didn’t even make me cry!” I said, triumphantly.
“There’s still time,” he said, smiling and putting his arm around me.
I met someone from OCK for drinks right before Thanksgiving– nicknamed GTR/HON for reasons I can’t fully explain. We discovered over High Lifes that we actually had a friend in common, which always reduces the stranger danger-ness of online dates. I told him I’d be checking in with mutual friend F to make sure he was an upstanding member of society.