Monday, August 2, 2004

Fab's House!
Our mom had left us at home again, after having to go see my dad to pick up files and junk. We’d have gone, but dad is scary, so we chose the easy way out. Instead, we had chosen to go spend the week at Fab’s house, since we weren’t allowed to be alone after our mom found Alex’s ferret in the cabinets, and the rest of us were fast asleep on the floor. I guess trying to stay awake by force wasn’t a good idea, since once Mike closed his eyes, we all knocked out. He’s got the power to make us sleep, oddly enough. Fab, who stood behind my mom on the other hand shook his head vigorously, giving us the, “WARNING!” signal. But, we ignored him, and ran upstairs to pack our things.

Fab followed me into my room. Fab pretty much begged we save ourselves and stay over at Jimmy’s. To be honest, I thought he was hiding something, making me want to go more. But, I was wrong… We were all wrong. We arrived at the house no later than six, and set our eyes upon a house bigger than ours. Several Borzoi dogs, slim and shaggy stood behind the black gates, growling like our dogs at home, making it a bit homier for us. Fab had hissed something and the dogs scurried off. The door to his home swung open, as his three older brothers; Aleksandr (Russian form for Alexander), Jules (French form for Julias and Italian for Julian I think.), and Fabrice (the original version of Fabrizio… or Fab). I loved their names very much, heh. Behind the three brothers, came a woman no bigger than my mom reaching 5’2” with a big smile. She welcomed us in, with a slight Russian accent (Hence the Russian name Aleksandr) and her father being Italian (As to Jules, and Fabrice).

Their house was massive inside, too. Pictures upon pictures, paintings… we were enjoying it for a while, till our mom took off, and Fab’s mom turned around, and yelled something in Russian, which shocked us, and we straightened out… natural reflex I guess. Then, she stared at us, smiled, and said, “Your mother is nice. She gives nice names, but in my house, your names will undergo by Russian or Italian sounding names, not that we’re changing them much. Just the sounds.” It didn’t seem so bad. Most of us had Italian names, or ones that could be converted… she began with Mike, who was scared to look at her, cause she carried a broom… one smack can hurt pretty badly… he knows. I’ve hit him.

She smiled and said, “In Italian, Michael is said, ‘Michele’ but I dub it in Russian which is ‘Mikhail’ ” I found it a little funny how she talked, but I didn’t laugh, cause Aran and Alex talk like that sometimes, anyway. She went on with the changing of names, as Alex became Aleksandr 2. And Aran’s second middle name, Nikolai being Russian, and my name being Gianna with is Italian; Gavin, Cameron and Jason weren’t there they went with mom. We were set.

Aleksandr showed us to the guest room, where we threw our backpacks. Next thing we knew, our heads were smacked together, and we’d been roughly tugged around by our ears, as Fab’s brothers stood watching, shaking their heads, and their mom started talking fast in a language I barely understood, unlike my brothers, who went to boarding school growing up. It didn’t do them any good here, though. Hearing Fab’s mom talk, was like… a Furby you just couldn’t shut up, less you threw it against a wall… even if we did that, it’d probably still be talking. She was like the mom version of Terminator, armed and ready with her broom of “misunderstood by my son’s guests” righteousness, anyone who opposed would be jabbed in the ribs, or smacked with the horrible bristles of pain, as your comrades screamed out, “Billy! Don’t Be A HERO!” Then you fall, and DIE! … Okay, so… you won’t… die exactly, but it’ll hurt to some degree. Her mouth was like a wind up toy, where if you wind it too long, it never stops… like that damn Energizer bunny—her mouth just kept going, and going, and going, and going, and going, and going, and going. Dare open your mouth, and you’re whacked forcefully, giving rights to the broom-carrier’s little people (her kids I mean), whom were already so whipped, you could walk up to them casually, and they’d surrender their money to you… that is, unless the righteous broom-lady whacked their piggy banks, and took that with her as well… along with their dignity; Horrible to witness indeed.

… And what was I going to do?! I wasn’t going to take it anymore! To hell with that! … So, I said I had to go to the bathroom, she let me go, I ran in, rubbed my red ear, and hid until the yelling stopped… hey, who said I was the hero in this whole scenario? It’s every man and girl for him or herself!

Later, I crawled out, checked to see if it was clear, and snuck downstairs, where Mike grabbed me, and glared, wanting to kill me. Alex was happy, cause Fab’s momma was stuffing him with these homemade pizza roll thingies-- courtesy of the Italians themselves! Those brilliant people! ^_^ Alex of course though, wouldn’t share, so, we ventured into the kitchen, where Fabrice helped Alex in devouring the wonderful smelling bastard rolls of doom. To get one, you had to earn it… I didn’t earn one yet, so, I decided to try it. Minutes later, I found myself cooking. I can cook, but I’ve never made food like this, and with the way Fab’s mother gave instructions, I thought I’d never be able to get it done. She’d been shouting about oregano, and I thought she was telling me to stir the sauce faster. In the end, she moved me aside, and taught me word for word… alls I remember, is the part when she sat me on the counter, grabbed the spoon and… then you put that stuff in a plate, and it’s ready to eat! … But I can’t help, but think… aren’t I missing the whole cooking part? … Eventually, I said, “Nah!” and I smiled, she was happy; I got my pizza thing, took off, and was happy.

Dinner is no different than many others. Like some families do, we sat at a table, and ate… oh, only, if you slouched, you were whacked with a ruler after. But other than that, nothing else was weird… least, not yet. >_>;

Day two will commence once I’m through with today, heh.
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