We put the "fun" in dysfunctional

As it turns out, a “fun family reunion” is not an oxymoron, even if you are all crammed into the Courtyard Marriot in Beckley, West Virginia. (Never heard of it? Not surprised. ) Here, a few requirements to keep things running smoothly:

• A good response to “How’s the job search going?”. Mine consisted of “Well, my parents had to pay for this plane ticket to get me here soo…” The conversation ended rather quickly after that.

• Scattegories. Makes the hours between meals fly by! (Though I don’t need Google to tell me “wooie wooie” disease doesn’t exist. Nice try.)

• Tequila. One aunt brought hers in an earth friendly stainless steel thermos, but a water bottle shoved in your tote bag works just as well.

• A handy sweater. As in “good thing I have this handy sweater!” when your grandparents insist you are freezing cold. Which they will. Every. single. time. they reach over to sweetly pat your hand.

• An outing to Jimmie’s Place. One of about four bars in Beckley, it has no windows and a bartender with teased bangs named Charla (pronounced CH-arla. She’s named after her dad, Charlie. Go figure.) The price of seven people drinking Bud Light for three hours? $25.00. Wonderful West Virginia, indeed!

• Teaching seven year olds the Art of the Prank Phone Call. (Even if their prank calls merely involved them shouting “hola amigos!” before dramatically hanging up. Apparently this was intended to “confuse” the caller. I have a feeling they were already pretty confused.)

• A DUI checkpoint, just to keep things exciting. We didn’t get stopped, but only because the po-po were breaking it down. At 11pm. Luckily the driver had been nursing one Corona over a three hour period, but it got everyone’s heart rate up a little.

Note to self: while peach cobbler is delicious, eating half the pan is a bad idea and may induce vomiting. Also, thinking you can keep up with your fratty nineteen year old cousin while drinking Jack and Cokes may result in you getting a little toasted and calling him a “d-bag”. Sorry Reilly.