In honor of Independence Day. I thought I would tell the story of a trip to Chicago with my crazy family to see a play about our founding fathers. Yes, Hamilton. The play was brilliant. We were a mess.
Warning: My sister, Jaime, wields the F-bomb like a samurai swings his mighty sword. To omit them would not do Jaime or this story justice. Let us begin…
A few years ago, my mom (Mari Jo), two younger sisters and Aunt Patti (a.k.a. Sissy) made a pilgrimage to Chicago to see the play Hamilton. We just wanted to be in The Room Where It Happens. I tell this as the first of what I feel will be many family-related stories because it perfectly illustrates how shit goes down—both literally and figuratively—when we are all together.
It started out with Mom, the middle sister, Jaime, and myself in Jaime’s new car headed to pick up Sissy. My youngest sister, Rachael, was meeting us at the airport.
It is about a 30-minute drive to Sissy’s house. Oh! I forgot to mention Buddy, my mom’s 17-year-old dog, was along for the ride because he was spending the weekend with Uncle Stan.
About five minutes from Sissy’s, Buddy started panting very heavily. Here is the conversation that followed:
Jaime: What the fuck is wrong with him?
Mom: I think he may need to go to the bathroom.
Jaime: Oh, fuck me. He better not go in my new car.
A couple more minutes of heavy panting ensued, then silence, followed by a very bad odor.
Mom: Well, he pooped.
Jaime: Are you fucking kidding me!?
Mom: I have it contained in his blanket.
Jaime: This is a hell of a start to the fucking trip!
We got to Sissy’s, gave Stan instructions to wash the blanket and headed to the airport.
Side note: Due to years of eating only food cooked in lard, the main artery to Sissy’s brain in pretty much clogged. This has caused her brain to develop “tributaries” the doc explained several years ago, thus saving her life. It has also affected her short-term memory and apparently given her permission to say any damn thing that comes into her head, which she does on the regular.
Mom threw Sissy into a wheelchair and we met up with Rach and checked in. Then there was security.
At some point recently Sissy decided she needed a knife in her purse. Why, you ask? Who the fuck knows! But the 4’9” lady in a wheelchair is now being interrogated by security.
While Sissy was busy convincing the TSA she had no plans, or was she really able to hijack the plane (she could not brandish a knife while also carrying her oxygen tank, which she would have needed for that level of activity), Jaime and I notice Rach had also been held up by security. Seems that her driver’s license expired more than two years ago and the piece of paper the state of Ohio issued so she could fly looked suspect. Imagine!
Against all odds, we all managed to make it through security. It should be noted that Mari Jo does not embrace the Army’s “no man left behind” policy. She would have left their asses at the Cincinnati airport rather than miss Hamilton. She’s a big fan.
Upon arriving in Chicago, we went straight to a Tiki Bar and caught a buzz. Rach, who is not a seasoned drinker like Jaime and myself, loves something fruity. Jaime hooked her up. I was just happy to take the edge off.
Later in the hotel room Jaime, who is obsessed with popping bones in various parts of other people’s bodies, got Rach into what appeared to be the Camel Clutch (shout out to you 80s wrestling and Iron Sheik fans) while mom rolled video. Gotta capture those memories!
The next day was show day. Jaime and I went next door to get the others for breakfast. Rach looked like hell. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jaime asked.
Poor Rachael had been up all night with major serious intestinal distress. Let it be known Rachael is hardcore AF and insisted on sightseeing. After Jaime nearly threw Sissy and her wheelchair into oncoming traffic, Rach correctly judged me as not having enough upper-body strength to be of any help. She threw us all out of the way and pushed Sissy several blocks to observe the famous Chicago Bean (Cloud Gate. Yes, I know its real name). She then trekked the entire way back to the hotel with Sissy in tow and never complained once.
Rach seemed to be on the mend as we made our way to the show. It was not until about halfway through the first act that I glanced over and saw she was sweating profusely. She was a mess. About five minutes later, in the middle of the Revolutionary War, she stood up and yelled, “Move!” Rachael had her own battle to fight. She needed a bathroom fast. There was only one… in the basement. We were in the balcony. Luck was on her side. She made it.
The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful—by our standards. We all made it home safely and a good time was had by all. I truly love these four women. They make me laugh like you can only laugh with other people who share your same brand of crazy.
Angela Traver
What is this blog about? Well, it's a general blog, but it is also a very specific blog. If you get that reference, you get a gold star! I have been a public relations professional and writer of press releases for more than 20 years—primarily in the booze biz. I decided to do some writing for fun and embrace the humor that gets me through most days. Hopefully it will make you chuckle—or at least smile. I’m a certified crazy magnet, and more than a little nutty myself, so buckle up. Also, I have two vices—profanity and red wine/whiskey. You’ve been warned. It should also be noted, that I’m a HUGE Bob & Sheri fan. I’ve been a listener for more than 20 years. This opportunity is a dream come true and it may have made me cry. That being said, I cry at everything. If you are into booze, dogs, food and/or knitting, hit me up on Instagram, Facebook or Twitter (although I’m terrible at Twitter and it scares me) @kyspiritsgal. You can also find all my previous blog posts at www.kyspiritsgal.com.
