Tulsa Chicken-Fried Redneck Christmas Blizzard of 2009

Tulsa, Indian Territory, 1893.

Me mum insisted that we all fly to Tulsa and be home for Christmas—that would be great but we’ve no money this year. But my mom paid for a ticket for me as Little Egypt and Rico went by car—her not held down by employment, and Rico not yet starting University until Deux-mille-dix, hence they arrive by auto.

My Brother and all his offspring would drive as well; because work called—this left me to have to fly in and then out. My mom paid for half the ticket.

In Dallas, Texas I waited for my short 50 minute flight to Tulsa. Ice came and all the airstrips were closing except one. It took two hours of waiting—in the plane—for our turn to dee-ice. They sprayed this green slime on the wings.

This green color was the shade of mine and my fellow passengers’ faces as we endured some Dumb Okie parents trying to entertain their no-neck heathen spawn. I could tell I was near my Oklahomeland as those of the population of that Fair State, whom have DNA issues, stick out like sore-fucking –thumbs. Obese rednecks speaking hog-tied English.

At first my fellow travelers were polite—but after an hour of momma’s incessant baby blabbing with her youngins, it came down to, “Lady. Shut the fuck up!”

I landed at Tulsa International Airport, Christmas Eve, in a balls-to-the-walls raging blizzard. Little Egypt was there in a four-wheel drive jeep she borrowed from my Brother-in-law—and drove to the airport at risk of life and limb.

I told my dear wife that I was looking forward to a cold one when we arrived over the river and through the woods—but I was told that alcohol was strictly verboten this Christmas!

Say What?

Turns out that somebody—a distant relative—who would not be at the Christmas Dinner because he lives 500 miles from Tulsa, Oklahoma—has entered rehab. This was all whispery and hush-hush, and I still don’t quite get what’s going on—but when my un-knowing Brother-in-law showed up the next morning at Christmas Dinner with a case of beer, he was soon considered Brother- out-law—and the beer was not allowed inside but made to stay on the front porch in the snow.

Anyway, sneaking beer into the house was no problem. Only thing is that my Brother-in-law is a connoisseur of cheap beer. This particular swill he brought was called Pig’s Eye—and it was pretty awful.

Dinner was fun

All the family stuff was fun

We were snowed in

Going crazy

Dug out mom’s car

Marched two miles to the Mall in 14 inches of snow to go see Avatar

It was a long movie—I had to get up to go pee twice

I finally got home

God Bless Tucson, Arizona! Happy New Year!

Cheers! Bruce