Butts and Ashes: How Am I Even Related To These People?

My family seemed to have this weird addiction to everything Vegas. It was nothing for my parents and/or Kelly and her gang to head to Vegas for the weekend. I mean, a lot. I've been there three times and all I can say about going back is, thanks but I'm good. I just don't get it. Sure, I had fun when I went. Great food, fun things to see, lights and live music, hookers, street people, drunk street people, a week's worth of grocery money down the drain, shall I go on. But not my family. They loved the place.

To prove my point and answer the question, why is there a slot machine in my living room, I have selected some photographic evidence to go along with my ranting.

Exhibit One: This is my parent's living room. They emptied the joint and brought in a bunch of casino games because my sister wanted to host her company Christmas party at mommy and daddy's house. Weirdo.

Exhibit Two: My parents obviously thought hosting Kelly's company Christmas party Vegas style was such a good idea that they threw Kel a suprise Vegas birthday party. Yeah, her yearly surprise birthday parties always surprised me. I mean, come on!

Only this time, they didn't clear out the entire downstairs, only the dining room for the craps table and the den had I don't know what other Vegas shenanigans happening.

Oh sure, my parent's even had a sign made so everyone would know it was Kelly's Casino. I mean, did they ever make a sign for my birthday? Ok, maybe they did but it had a big old donkey on it saying something about an old gray mare. Come on! Kelly gets gaming tables? I didn't even get a cow.

Exhibit Three: So, of course, not to be outdone with all those surprise birthday parties, Kelly decides we girls are going to throw a big shindig for our mother for her 80th birthday. Which means, we have to write checks made out to Kelly and she decides everything that's going to happen at this blowout. Which also means all ideas coming from Char, Debi and I will not only be completely ignored, they will be mocked and ridiculed. See why I miss her so much?

So, this cake which was nothing like the chicken shaped cake I suggested, cost as much as one mortgage payment for me. Not even kidding. Who does that? I mean, did Kelly think we might actually win big with this sucker? Did she assume those were real gold doubloons pouring out the front of this thing? The girl lost her mind. At least she hired a personal chef to cook for the bazillion people she invited. And the coat check/cigarette girl she time-warped in from the 1940's was helpful when it was time to serve the cake. Yeah, totally my kind of shindig. But wait! That's not all!

That is exactly who you think it is. He's not dead. He came to my sisters house for Bernie's 80th.

This is at the end of his completely inappropriate performance where he gyrated those infamous hips at my mother, the woman who birthed me. The woman who hid around every corner ready to pistol whip any boy she caught us with. The woman who lost her mind and had to put her oxygen back on over this guy. I blame all her trips to Vegas for this senior lapse of Catholic decency.

Then, finally, once Elvis had left the building, my sisters informed me I was to give a speech honoring the old bat we all loved and adored. Not one to miss an opportunity, I called upon all those Dean Martin Vegas-style Roasts I watched as a kid. Oh, I roasted her. I roasted her well-done. Did I have the last laugh? Not even. For every zinger I produced, Bernie had a comeback that would have ensured her top billing in Vegas. Dammit!

Closing Argument: So, how did I end up with a slot machine in my temporary hoarders living room? After so many Vegas parties at my parents house, my sister Kelly's boss thought it would be a great idea to buy my parents a slot machine for Christmas one year. So he did. When my parents passed away, the slot machine went to Kelly's house because as I have proven, she started this whole ridiculous Viva Las Casas trend. Then, Kelly died and somehow, recently I ended up with the thing. Me. The farm girl living on a farm. With pet pigs. Sometimes life just doesn't make sense.