Odds are, if you are reading this, you have heard some of the fantastic tales that star My Retarded Aunt Joanie. There is also a 97% chance you have asked me to recount one of these tales to someone I don't know. I am going to start this post out the same way I start out all the My Retarded Aunt Joanie stories...
REFRAIN FROM BEING OFFENDED. This is how I grew up. We used the word retarded openly because she is, in fact, SO retarded that she has no idea how retarded she actually is. I truly feel for those people in the world that suffer from retardation and I appreciate advocates that like to bitch about how offensive this may be. Good thing we live in America and if Lady Gaga can exist then I can talk openly about retards.
Now that the politics are out of the way, I'll start with a little background. Aunt Joanie was born in like 1950-something and is retarded do to some kind of birth complications. I'm not a doctor but I'm fairly sure they used some kind of pliers to pull her out...I don't know nor is it relevant. She has cerebral palsy (very different from our friends with downs syndrome). I haven't looked into the medical aspects but I can brake down her symptoms:
- She has no idea what's going on...none. For real. She only understands tones. For instance, you could say "Joanie! Look at how retarded you are!!!" in the same tone that you would tell some one "Sam! Look at how pretty you are!!!" and she would clap her hands and love it.
- She can walk and occassionally enjoys getting down to Beatles records.
- She has retard strength like you would not believe.
- Her speech range consists of various animal noises.
- She fake cries a lot.
- She is ALWAYS trying to steal glasses. For as retarded as she is, she is equally as sneaky.
- She loves beer...or anything in glass bottles that she thinks is beer.
I'm not sure if all the points above would be in a medical dictionary under "What people with Cerebral Palsy do"...but that's my Aunt Joanie in a nut shell.
The doctor apparently told my Nana (RIP Nanny, Pour out that PIMMS) that she would have the mental capacity of a 2 year old for the rest of her life. To be honest, if I ever had to be retarded, I would want to be like my Aunt Joanie. Blissfully unaware and forever stuck at age 2. Joanie gets away with everything. If I had a dollar for ever time she punched out the living room window I would be loaded. It would be a wonderful world if the only thing it took to make me happy was a little "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" on the radio and a package of frozen hot dogs to eat. Yes, Joanie once took down an entire package of frozen hot dogs. In one sitting.
The other great thing about being at Joanie's level of retardation is the toys. Soooooo many awesome toys. Every year for Christmas Joanie gets the coolest stuff. Mini-keyboards, puzzles, fake cash registers...everything. She cleans up at Christmas.
Everyone always says "it's the little things that make life so great". I kind of disagree. I truly think I would be happier if I had a bigger apartment...a bigger pay check...a C-cup...but maybe I'm being too literal. Joanie was the personification of this saying. I would come home from playing in the summer sometimes to see my dad sitting on the stoop in the back yard, drinking a Bud, and spraying Joanie with the hose. She LOVES that sh*t. My dad also has a song entitled "Joanie Bologna" during which he just repeats that phrase over and over and plays drums on the kitchen table. She loves that even more.
Alas, there are some things that she did not love. For example, if you were bold enough to say the words "lightening" or "foot doctor" around her...you better be vert fast or at least wearing some sort of protective gear. Joan also hates any kind of yelling. During one of me and my sister's epic screaming battles, my sis was stupid enough to turn her back to Joanie. Faster than the speed of lightening (ah!) Joanie snatched a couch cushion and cracked my sister across the back so hard with it I seriously thought her head fell off. Fight over. 10 points Joanie.
Another thing she really didn't like was people using the bathroom. This was really difficult quirk to handle. My Nana (Joanie's and my mom's mother) lived in a big old house with no working locks. All of the doors had these old glass doorknobs and if you wanted to lock anything, you needed a key...which I heard we lost around 1972. Anyways, let me describe the bathroom scenario as I remember it from my youth...
My sister and I are in Nana's back yard. I had spent all day coming up with some scheme to make apple sauce using nothing but a crab apple tree and a fertilizer spreader when the urge to pee hit. I tell my sister I will be right back. As I run up the stairs to the back door, I pause for a moment to check my surroundings. Nana is in the den watching some weird English soap opera and Joanie is occupied in the kitchen shoveling Cool Whip into her mouth. Perfect. I sneak up the stairs as quietly as the old house would allow. I turn to the left to head to the bathroom, but on my way walk into the first bedroom as a diversion. Thinking I had gone about this as stealthly as possible, I walk into the bathroom, carefree and confident. As I am finishing up (I had been holding it for a while) I hear a creak outside the door. My instincts tell my body to freeze. Don't make any noise and she will go away. Deep down, I know this isn't true. The door is shut. She knows someone is in here. I stare hard at the old glass door knob. I know that I can't get to it quick enough to hold it shut and it would be no use if I could. My 60 pound body is no match for her retard strength. Slowly the glass knob starts to turn. Then, faster than you can imagine, Joanie flings the door open and lets out a scream that anyone in a 5 mile radius could hear. She slams the door. Quickly, I try to recover by scrambling off the toilet. She flings the door again and lets out another screech. It was like a terrifying, over-sized, jack in the box. Luckily, I have my bearings now and am able to jump past her and hit the stairs running. When I get to the back yard my sister doesn't look surprised or worried. All she offers is a simple "You shouldn't have flushed while you were still on the toilet," and continues loading crab apples into the fertilizer spreader.
And that is a sample of life with My Retarded Aunt Joanie. I plan to share a lot about her in the future, as she is a very prominent figure in my life. These days all I'm worried about is how much money I'm making...if I'm exercising enough...if I'm getting fat...if I'm ever going to pay off my freaking student loans. I long for the day that the most upsetting occurence of the week was that I caught Wangsta (one of my awesome roommates) in the bathroom. In fact, I think I might disable the lock on the bathroom just to try it out and see how it feels to scream at someone on the toilet. Perhaps we all should. People let out stress in different ways...clearly yoga doesn't do sh*t. I ask that you all take a lesson from My Retarded Aunt Joanie. Next time you feel like life's a little too much, scream at someone on a toilet. You never know.
First and foremost, Aunt Joanie is my HERO! Second, she moos like no other ("Joanie - come close to the phone, what do cows say? Tell Wang. Moooooo, MOOOOOO!!!"). And third, if you barge in unannounced and scream at me while I'm using the bathroom Sirb - I would probably scream AAHHHHH in my awkwardly low voice and then resume peeing.
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