Crushed Caramel Cake  

SunneyOne 43F
2146 posts
1/3/2006 1:31 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Crushed Caramel Cake


Crushed Caramel Cake, and other amusing anecdotes regarding my holidays. First of all, I can’t say enough about being able to spend time with my sister, Officer A. She flew down a couple of days early just to drive up to Georgia with me, and most definitely made a 9 hour road trip more bearable. We are not the same; we are very different. But what never ceases to amaze me is the fact that no matter what, she is my sister, and I can’t even express the love I have for her. When we were kids, it was simply done by carrying her around and playing with her, letting her sleep in my bed, taking her places. Now that we’re adults, it’s all I can do to not squeeze the stuffins outta her whenever she’s still enough.

My stepdad is hysterical. He is redneck to the core, crass and funny and outspoken. Eating is referred to as “slopping”. Cooking is “slinging grease”. During Christmas dinner, the table was set with a lace table cloth, antique china, silver and crystal and what had to be the best Southern turkey, giblet gravy, stuffing and all the fixin’s. He announced, with great fervor, that he was “happy as a Sund’y pig in shit to be sloppin’ with [his] two girls.” He requested at one point during my stay that I go somewhere and have a beer to give him time to “knock off a slice.” (Translation, get it on with my mom. Ew.)

My mom boards dogs and has 3 of her own. She keeps the house very clean, so that usually isn’t a problem. However, she may have intentionally booked one of the MOST high maintenance, annoying dogs in north Georgia while I was there. This varmint pissed at the slightest provocation. Ugh. So every entry into the house consisted of, “Shh, shh, Morgan, quiet, come on, be calm…oh God, oh no, damnit. Mooooommm! Morgan pissed again!” Stellar.

One night, we are bussed over to my aunt’s for dinner with her family, mom, stepdad, cousin and their 1st, 2nd and 3rd cousins from one side. My aunt had made caramel cake, as it was greatgrandma’s recipe. However, the caramel icing had hardened to the consistency of brick. While joking around and knocking on it, my cousin proceeded to crush the middle. Horrified that he had ruined the cake, he stood staring at this great smashed icing slab. So, I began to tap it all over with a heavy knife until all of the icing had cracked and crumbled. We called it an antique finish, and our redneck extended family bought it.

During this visit, one of my 3rd cousins was there, Grant. However, he had MUCH more interesting names by the end of the night. Grant is 25ish, decent looking and quite openly gay. Well, at least to his immediate family and anyone who happens to be observant in the slightest, which rules out extended family as they are quite sure that being Southern and gay are mutually exclusive. Anyway, he had on a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and what appeared to be cats coming out of the sleeves. They were only his arms, but were the hairiest that I have ever seen, much like he had stuck toupees to both the front and back of his forearms. So, thus he was called Sasquatch.

At some point, my mom asks him how the family history / tree genealogy research is going. He says, in a very effeminate Southern accent, “Oh! I stawped. I was finding stuff we just didn’t need to be knowing about.”

Of course I’m interested at this point. I spur him on. “Way-ull. You know that way back when, way back when our family owned lots and lots of tobacco and dairy farm land, we had to have hay-ulp. Some people said they was slaves, but you know, they was just hay-ulp. Anyway, at some point, those slaves began taking our family name so that they could vote and the like. Things started getting a little confusing there, but then, they got worse.”

Oh do tell, don’t stop now. “Hmm, way-ull, I don’t like to say in pohlight compny, but let’s just say that the branches of our family tree got all twisted like with the branches of their tree. It looks like there was some breedin with the hay-ulp!” This last sentence was whispered as it was very nearly like saying we at the heads off of live goats to some of our relatives.

So you mean to tell me, Grant, that we are all part… “Right, I know it. I don’t know what to say, and my daddy said I should just stop before we all had proof of the family bein part colored. So that’s what I did.”

Explains a lot as far as I’m concerned. In so many ways. In my extreme amusement, I really wanted to celebrate, but the rest of the family seemed a bit shocked. We tried to digest this information in a properly redneck, banjo playing, Deliverance sort of way. I told my mom that I wanted to change my name to Oprah.

rm_Ptalk1155 34M
3450 posts
1/3/2006 4:32 pm

*chuckles* My mother is into genealogy as well. I wonder what she'll find out...


magnum9000
166 posts
1/4/2006 1:25 am

Ha Ha ,,,Thanks for the story ,,,Liked reading it very much...Sounds like my family sometimes..


gardinaire 54M

1/4/2006 7:28 am

How awesome! I wish I could spend the holiday with your family.

You know, with your great writing ability and fodder from the family, you may have a pretty funny sitcom on your hands!

Geneaology is great: I'm a polish, scottish, american indian, french canadian, and african american New Yorker!!!


NatchuralGuy 63M

1/4/2006 11:22 am

Oprah, dear -- you are a raconteuse non pareil . . . and sexily brilliant at the same time. What a prize you are!


SunneyOne 43F

1/4/2006 12:26 pm

Good Lord what a hot bunch of men, I do declare. Ptalk, honey, your pics get hotter and hotter. Gardinaire - welcome. And thanks for the compliments. Magnum and Natchural - jesus, what lovely packages you've brought.


Luv2Lick0466 50M

1/7/2006 1:44 pm

Sunney right with ya on the sis\sis thing same with my lil' bro need to choke the far outta him.Great fat man day story I needed a good laugh.Know what ya mean on Deliverance thang I work with a fellar here in N Ga hot dang believe he starred in the picture....oh mercy say it isn't so......LMAO ) As Always.. See Ya'


Become a member to create a blog