There Are Snakes on My Motherfucking Vacations

I have to admit something...I am one of the few people who initially thought that Snakes on a Plane was the most retarded idea since Gigli. I'm here to say now, and I hope you are all listening because this is a rare thing for me to admit, but here goes: I WAS WRONG. I can't wait to see those snakes and Samuel L. Jackson and Juliana Margulies on the motherfucking plane. I admit, clever marketing and peer pressure did aid in changing my position...and then there was the riot at Comic-Con for T-shirts and such. Now, I'm waiting with baited breath to see what I now think will be an enormous, kicking Pirates 2's box office numbers in the ass, insanly quotable hit.

I was recently on vacation with most of my family at our cabin in Bass Lake. Early in the week, my mom and I hung out at the cabin while my Dad, brother and his girlfriend, my sister and her boyfriend, and my youngest sister went to Yosemite to kayak and hike for the day. They came back hungry and tired, but by God had they entertained themselves. The exchange went like this:

Brother: We were floating down the river in the raft...it was really cool.
Me: Did you see any wildlife?
Girlfriend: We saw a bear!
Brother: There was a bear in the motherfucking trees!
Younger Sister: You should have seen the fat squirrels...there were fat squirrels in this motherfucking park!
Brother: There are fish in this motherfucking river!

This went on for ten minutes and got extremely creative and witty...way more so than the above exchange, but I can't recall all of their genius. I was cracking up and thought, if they are quoting the movie before it even comes out, can you imagine the schtick factor after it's been seen opening weekend? I sudder to think.

This whole Snakes on a Plane phenomenon got me thinking about where the snakes are in my life. I didn't have to look far.

I'm sure most of you have been on the universally torturous "family vacation." Does anything else strike as much fear in the hearts of the young? I still have visions of long, hot and cramped minivan drives through windy mountain roads, or God forbid, the 5 highway from L.A to S.F. We used to have a ratty beat up trailer that my parents would haul all over the state. We'd go to lakes, camp grounds, and even braved circa 1980's smog-filled Disneyland. The whole trailer could fit in half of my bedroom, and we managed to sleep 7 comfortably...sorta. But I did love it...the musty smell, the holey fabric and foam cushions, a bunk bed that would make a clausterphobic beg for mercy, the fact that our table converted into a bed, and of course, the chemical toilet (there was no shower). Ah, the family vacation. You know what I'm talking about, don't you. THE HORROR.

Now that I'm older and married, the parentals tried to mix it up in January by taking us all on a Cruise to the Caribbean. The cruise had its own drama: My older black sheep brother decided to act like a 15 year old getting wasted for the first time. He kicked my younger brother out of their cabin at 4:30 AM so he could bang a total stranger the second night in on the cruise...and then there was the karaoke incident. Need I say more. My younger sister acted like a 15 year old in love for the first time...mooning over her new boyfriend constantly, and running to the ship's computer center every five minutes to have (guessing here) cybersex to tide her over until her return. My dad was getting more and more toasty every night...AWKWARD to say the least, while my mom, desperate for my attention and love prattled on about the community theater show she was in (Nunsense...DEAR GOD...no pun intended), and begged me at every turn to teach her how to do a time step tap dance. If this wasn't enought to deal with, I was trying to keep my head above water just having been given my first opportunity to pitch at Disney on "Kim Possible." My hubby came down with a nasty cold the second day in and snored so loudly, that I had to drug myself nightly with Xanax to get any sleep. Basically, it was the fucking Titanic without the sinking and death. So, you could say I was looking forward to the more subdued and predictable comforts of the Bass Lake vacation.
When will I friggin' learn.

Bass Lake...it's a eutopia of pine trees, ridiculously phalic speed boats, a famous burger shack, and the blue-green lake itself. It's only an hour from Yosemite, but feels a million years away as I watch the over-sized, florescent tank topped fathers heard their mulleted sons toward the family's pride and joy...their ski boat named Bikini Tini. Not being pretentious or class-conscious here...it's just the way laid back Bass Lake is these days. The good thing about going the same place every year for vacation is the inherent comfort of going to the same old places. Every year is identical: We ride out to a cove with a large rock and jump off of it to prove our strength and bravery...we ride out to the mouth of the lake, where the water has created a natural water slide...we walk down for Shaved ice cones sold by a Evangelical Christian (my sister complained about not gettin enough syrup in her cone...I told her to tell the lady that Jesus would never have jipped us on syrup)...we go once or twice to the movie theater in Oakhurst that plays first run movies for only $5.75...we have drinks at the hotel on the lake and eat really naughty fried appetizers...we walk down at night for ice cream cones...and my favorite thing, which is riding across the lake to eat the famous Forks burgers... masterpieces of grilled sourdough, thousand island, cheese, etc. Nirvana every time.
So with my mind filled with 17 years of Bass Lake summer's past, I just assumed it would be the same old same old. And to the outsider it was.

But then I realized...the snakes aren't just in the motherfucking plane...they had invaded my family. To the outsider a snake may look docile, quiet, even peaceful...most move slowly and deliberately, seeming harmless and benign. My mother's behavior slithered along like this the first few days, and then quietly, she shed her skin revealing her more cunning, manipulative side...coiling herself tightly and waiting to strike. Coil 1 - First came the few mentions that my husband failed to make it on the trip (Read: He obviously hates us and can't stand to be with us for more than five minutes). Coil 2 - Her comments about coming to visit me, unless I was not feeling up to it (Read: I want to visit but guilting you about not wanting me to visit could actually be more fun). And then the actual strike - She told me that a pain I have in my side could be a tumor, and that I should get a can scan as soon as possible (Read: I'm so desperate to have you dependant upon me, I hope you have a tumor). Add those incidents and a full day alone of her yacking on about her never-ending fascination with obituaries and my favorite game, "Who's dead now?" gave me the worst spasm in my neck that I've EVER had. I knew it was time to get out of the path of the snake before the venom took me down for good.

The saying usually goes, "You can't go home again." However, they need to add a few locations to sentiment...You can't go home, or on a cruise, or to your family's cabin again. I just can't go fucking anywhere without coming across some motherfucking snakes. However snakey they can be, they are still my family, and watching them navigate relationships can be like being trapped with snakes on a plane. ENTERTAINING AS FUCK!!!