it ain't as easy as it usta wuz be.

i seem to have so much family that the ones that i do know and haven't seen in years are blendin in with the ones i've never met and just heard stories about. either that er their changin their damn names after 35 years of bein called somethin. now i've got a cousin that i've called missy since my tones were decipherable that wants to be called melissa, but when she answers the phone it sounds like she's sayin martha. when i called my grandmothers (i.e.-family reunion i didn't feel like draggin myself to.) and she answered the phone i said, "who the hell is martha?" my sis informed me that it was merely missy with some sort of identity crisis happenin. i hate stupid shit like that. like this aunt i have named bonnie. (only an aunt through marriage. i didn't even believe she was a relative til i saw the paperwork on it.) bonnie has the tendency to be the poorest fake rich snob of any of my belittling, overly religious, pedestal baptist aunts. she told us a few years back that when you buy something from the department store "roses, (if you don't know it's pert much the same thing as k-mart) you should pronounce it "rosays." she said, "that way, it sounds like you bought it somewhere expensive." " sure bonnie," i said, "but i don't think it matters much fer yer particular situation since you just told the only dinks you ever speak to about yer amazin plan to sound fake rich. MORON.!" their side 'o' the family ain't too much on me. now don't get me wrong, i am by no means better than they are, we're all morons. every last one of us, in some way. i myself am a different breed of cat. MY moronitude has more to do with maniacalibility than plain ignorance of all that is not church. but, family and religion, religion and family, either way you argue it to em somebody just ends up gettin cussed and yellin at their preacher to save my bewildered soul. and i hate cussin preachers. i only did it that once, but that sumbitch had it comin. though it did make fer one helluv an uncomfortable picnic, i remain steadfast in my belief that god is neither here nor there on whether er not both my ears er peirced, and i'm sure he certainly doesn't give a damn if there just so happens to be a cheeseburger tattoed on the back of my leg either. if somebody offered god himself a cheeseburger tattoo fer 99 cents , i don't believe i'd know how to face him with any respect iffin he turned it down. after all, i'm sure god's sense 'o' humor is, at least, half as good as mine. and you wouldn't go judgin the good lord fer havin a jumbo jack with cheese on his damn calf now would you? that's what i thought.