Your Weekends Probably Don't Involve A Taken Swimming Pool

As I was casually awakening from a mid-day nap (hey, I've got that kind of flexibility), my mom asked me if I wanted to go to dinner at my aunt's boyfriend's house. Seeing as I really didn't have much else going for me, I decided to go. Frankly, this was one of the best decisions that I've ever made...ever. To begin on how crazy this day was, I have to start from the very beginning and I do mean the very beginning.

We roll up to the house, and there are people hanging around on the porch doing whatever. This is pretty normal. It was slightly strange because people were yelling from the porch down at us. But, the absurdity begins when I walk through the door and first experienced a hurricane named Bob. The real Hurricane Bob hit land at a Category 3: pretty strong, but you might still have your house if it wasn't built out of wood. The Bob that I encountered on Friday was far more damaging to one's environment than his natural counterpart.

First things first, I believe Bob said to me when I walked up, and I quote, "who the hell are you?" After introducing myself, my aunt explains that I'm her nephew. This term "nephew" was one that did not have a lot of resonance for Bob, as he spent about five minutes trying to figure out what exactly a nephew is. I didn't think it was that difficult, but this also might have been subtle foreshadowing for what was about to happen over the course of the night.

As I asked where the drinks were, I learned that Bob made the first set of margaritas. At a later point in time, I could tell this to be true because they were not nearly strong enough to withstand what I was seeing. Seeing as I've used all of this conjecture, let me actually begin with my story. After getting a margarita in my own generic red cup, I sit out on the porch and find that special angle on cast iron furniture that we all wish for: the one that is comfortable. Anyway, as I'm looking for this, Bob starts talking about how he only wear boots and that he wears his boots everywhere at all times. The only time he takes his boots off is in bed.

This works as a not-so-subtle lead-in into Bob hitting on my mom. No bullshit. And, he was going hard at it no less. Seeing as she is more than capable of defending herself (believe me, I have proof), I drowned my embarrassment in booze. Among other things that I remember from this discussion was him actively making attempts to bed my mom, talking about how awesome he is in bed. At some point during this conversation, the topic stayed on hitting on my mom but switched to how much Bob hates living in Lancaster County, PA. For those unfamiliar with American geography, Lancaster County, PA has one of the highest concentrations of the god-fearing luddites more commonly known as the Amish. Anyway, he went on a riff about how he hates going to the club there and blah blah blah.

The next thing I know, I have a loud redhead running across the porch, turning off the classic rock playing inside, and replacing said rock with The Pussycat Dolls. This did, in fact, lead to her singing along with the songs, and me being generally, and genuinely, confused. I felt like I had left out of my regular life and entered an alternate universe where everyone was just wasted. I had to go take a smoke and come back. The smoke did help out. I started hanging out with the sane people, and the day became considerably more tolerable. Although, from hanging out with them, I did learn that a divorce settlement led to one party taking a pool. Not the house, just the pool. Yea, that's West Virginia for you.

Anyway, as the night progressed on and I got drunker (I think I was about 3 margaritas and 2 beers in at this point. In the in-between time, I was asked why I don't have a girlfriend and found a connection with another due to the fact that shoes are never worn in the house if at all possible), Bob became a lot more amusing as his intended goal had passed out from being way too drunk early in the day, as she forgot that oh-so-important skill in drinking: pacing.

Instead of trying to pick her up, he tried to pick up everything else in the room with a pair of boobs that wasn't already taken of which there were many. My family, real and assimilated, can all handle itself very well, so the outcome of this situation was very amusing to watch, especially while drinking. As I watched him, I quickly began to realize that if this was not a sign of desperation and/or over-intoxication, I'm not really sure what is anymore. Bob was completely out of control, bringing up inappropriate conversation topics in public, being belligerent, and making a generally uncomfortable atmosphere. And, I'm a guy saying this. I create uncomfortable situations all of the time, and I'm uncomfortable. That's how bad it was. Luckily for me, Bob started to fade back into the sea of noise as I continued on with my drinking and went down the hill. Honestly, if I hadn't gotten so wasted to cope or take notes, I would have put up a verbatim list of discussion topics.

After Bob decided that it was time to put it down, we all decided to wrap it up. I left still able to walk but definitely under the influence. Anyway, I definitely will not forget the time that I spent with Bob on this Friday night because, most likely, I will encounter Bob again. Well, that and the thing about the swimming pool. Seriously, who takes a swimming pool instead of the house?