As I sat in the dentist’s chair this morning I was lucky enough to hear a radio station discussing that today is Brothers Day.  There’s a reason why learning about this holiday created such a sensation in our family today.

On Mothers Day, Ethan was a bit taken aback that so many people were getting presents.  So many people other than himself.  Then he realized they were all women, and felt bad that his sister didn’t get anything.  That’s when he asked why there wasn’t a Sisters Day.  And that’s when I explained that “there just isn’t.” 

Well, I’m wrong.  Sisters Day is August 5.  But that’s not my point today.  My point is that my son has turned Brothers Day into Ethan Day.  He has gone up to every male he’s seen today and asked them if they are a brother.  This follows with a huge “Happy Brothers Day” if the answer is yes, and if the person doesn’t reciprocate he explains that “the polite thing to do is to say Happy Brothers Day back because I’m a brother.”

We have also called his brother today, and a Brothers Day present from him will be arriving in the mail shortly.  His sister was over today for their weekly “Date Night” and luckily she brought a surprise over for him today just because. Before she arrived I called her and warned her about Brothers Day and how she should explain that the Spiderman she had for him was indeed a Brothers Day gift.

But it gets better.  I was just told that today is his special day, and that means he gets to do whatever he wants, and that includes not listening to anything his parents say. 

Yes, he’s a gem.

My neighbors, people I don’t know, have gotten a new car.  A new black sports car. A Pontiac Solstice.  Normally, I’d be fine with this.  I’d say something like that’s nice, they can  enjoy warm summer days with the top down.”  But not this time.  This time I just want to punch these people as hard as I can in the stomach, and watch the color drain from their faces, as they drop to their knees begging me to list that damn car in the Auto Trader.

There are several reasons about why this particular family bugs the shit out of me.  First, they aren’t your typical sports car drivers, which should make me like them a little more.  They are not the typical “look at me, look at me” people. 

I don’t know these people, but I’ve been watching them.  They moved in last summer, and the first thing that caught my eyes is that the husband wears shorts with huge cargo pockets.  I HATE shorts with cargo pockets.  They bug me almost as much as the Black Car People do.  I have gone to huge, huge extremes finding shorts for Ethan with no cargo pockets, or at a minimum, very thin, minimalist cargo pockets.  So, you’re thinking “What’s the big deal?  The guy has some freakin’ pockets on his shorts.”  I know you’re thinking that.  But it’s the shoes this loser wears with his cargo pocketed shorts.  He wears a big huge pair of Timberland boots on his feet, and they flop when he walks.  But it gets better.  With the magnificient outfit that attires his bottom half, he pairs a surf shirt. What the hell?  This isn’t just some random outfit, it’s the every single day attire for this dude.  Unless, it’s cold.  If it’s cold he adds one of those arctic chill coats with the fake fur trim on the hood.  Nice, huh?  My point of this description?  My point is that he’s not some typical guy with highlighted blonde hair, a fake tan, aviator shades and a polo shirt.  He’s some weird dude from Michigan. 

Now, his wife, the one in the family who works, isn’t the typical Virginia Beach convertible bitch.  She’s short, dumpy, has mousey brown hair and matches Timberland guy perfectly.  No bleach in the hair, no botox, no fake boobs.  They have three kids.  A teenager, a 9 or 10 year old, and a toddler.  They also have another car.  Another car with very similar personalized license plates.  10Q GZUS and 10Q JZUS.  Yes, Jesus bought them these two cars.   But even the stupid personalized plates aren’t enough.

It’s the WASHING. The constant, all hours of the day and night, washing.  Washing, drying, touching, rubbing, staring that they do with this stupid car.  Like Adam says, “It’s not like it’s a fucking Lamborghini, it’s a damned Pontiac.”  One day I watched them start the proces before 10:30 a.m., and I kept tabs on them throughout the day as they continued the process into the night.  These dumb fucks were out there washing and wiping for over 10 hours.  What the hell?  And they do this type of thing several days a week.  The entire family is out there with the dumb car, and then the mother or father gets in the driver seat, and one of the three children gets in the passenger seat and they crank the stereo up and ride around the circle with the top down.  Fun times.  Fun, fun times.

I know it shouldn’t bother me.  I know I should just ignore it, but I can’t. They have become the loathed Black Car People, and I want them out of here.  They are going to ruin my summer.

It sounds weird, but you’ll be suprised.  This is true dog sauce, not some stupid chili recipe that you throw on and pretend to be eating a chili dog.

2 Lbs. Ground Beef
2 Packages Onion Soup Mix (1 Box)
2 Cups Black Coffee
1 – 6 oz can Tomato Paste
1 Tablespoon Chili Powder
1 Teaspoon Cumin Powder
1 Teaspoon AllSpice
1/4 cup Vinegar
1 Tablespoon Worcestershire Sauce
3 Tablespoons Sugar

Brown Ground Beef in a skillet and chop up real fine into individual granules. In a separate large saucepan – mix 2 cups of black coffee with all the other ingredients and cook over medium heat until boiling. Reduce to simmer and cook about 2 hours but you can do it just long enough to saturate the dehydrated onions in the soup mix if you wish. Add the Ground beef when it has finished browning.