Just finished the most delightful weekend. I only had a couple of things I needed to get done, so most of the weekend was spent hunkered down, relaxing. I never did get out of pajamas on Sunday. I sent Xtian and Cory to a movie on Sunday (they've had a long stretch of extra mile child care lately, and totally deserved a treat), and Warren and I got to spend some unstructured time playing. It was so fun to actually enjoy his company, rather than being frustrated that he isn't doing what I need him to be doing. Such a neat little human.
The entire weekend was really all about just being together as a family and having a good time. We did a little housework, did some baking together, but mostly just chatted and played games. I'm feeling pretty domestically satisfied lately.
Mrs. Sparkles is doing well after her surgery. She was so lonely being locked up alone all weekend. We finally let her out for a few hours of play on Sunday evening. I'm so pleased that even when she is hurting and tired, she still indulges Warren's cuddling.
It was a good few days and it was about time I expressed a little gratitude for my sweet little family.
Showing posts with label family hilarity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family hilarity. Show all posts
Monday, May 4, 2009
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Gooooooood Morning Vietnam!
Ok, so here we are. All family stuff has been dealt with and I think we're all ok.
The gist: I have one rule about my writing here, I will not write anything that I wouldn't say to someone's face. Maybe not in the same way I'd say it to their face, but still. When I found out my mom had read the previous posts, I freaked out. I felt angry at first, because how dare my family members invade! And then I realized some things: I'm the ass putting things on the internet for all to see; also if I'm upset that my mom read that, then I didn't follow my own rules. And for that I'm truly sorry.
So, we're in some new digs, and maybe with some new family readers (Hi Mom!) who I hope will read everything with a grain of salt and maybe just skim over the awkward stuff, like my penchant for profanity. But is there really anything for fun than shouting ala Bart Simpson, "DAMN ASS HELL!"? I thought not.
On to the good stuff. Or the mediocre stuff. Whatever.
Quick recap of the weekend:
1. Cioppino = awesome. Make some immediately.
2. Dress Shopping = Brutal. I hate shopping, and mostly I hate finding dresses that don't highlight my lingering baby-belly-skin.
3. Fried Chicken in enormous quantities = oh lord. Just glorious.
4. Farmer's Market = Fun.
4. a. Farmer's Market with a 20+ pound baby strapped to your chest = tiring.
5. Pineapple Express = I LOVE SETH ROGEN. There is no joke there, he's just adorable, with his little rabbity teeth.
6. Sisters and their girlfriends are fun. And they buy you burritos. Also awesome.
Warren is so close to crawling I'm a little frightened. It's mostly three appendage scootching at this point, with his left leg flailing around in the air behind him. It really is amusing to watch. But, between that move and his weird little boat-skimmer routine, the kid gets everywhere. I have videos of each, but haven't edited or dealt with them. Soon. Maybe.
I try to avoid most politics on here because, frankly, you aren't going to change my feelings and I won't change yours so let's leave it alone, mmkay? But this whole Republican VP candidate's knocked up 17-year old daughter? I have one question for Sarah Palin.
How's that abstinence only sex education working out for you?
That's just one of those really stupid ideas that I can't believe people can get behind. Because, clearly, teenagers won't even THINK about sex if you don't bring it up, right? HA.
Ok, enough. I'm done with that. Happy Tuesday, it's like Monday, only crappier.
The gist: I have one rule about my writing here, I will not write anything that I wouldn't say to someone's face. Maybe not in the same way I'd say it to their face, but still. When I found out my mom had read the previous posts, I freaked out. I felt angry at first, because how dare my family members invade! And then I realized some things: I'm the ass putting things on the internet for all to see; also if I'm upset that my mom read that, then I didn't follow my own rules. And for that I'm truly sorry.
So, we're in some new digs, and maybe with some new family readers (Hi Mom!) who I hope will read everything with a grain of salt and maybe just skim over the awkward stuff, like my penchant for profanity. But is there really anything for fun than shouting ala Bart Simpson, "DAMN ASS HELL!"? I thought not.
On to the good stuff. Or the mediocre stuff. Whatever.
Quick recap of the weekend:
1. Cioppino = awesome. Make some immediately.
2. Dress Shopping = Brutal. I hate shopping, and mostly I hate finding dresses that don't highlight my lingering baby-belly-skin.
3. Fried Chicken in enormous quantities = oh lord. Just glorious.
4. Farmer's Market = Fun.
4. a. Farmer's Market with a 20+ pound baby strapped to your chest = tiring.
5. Pineapple Express = I LOVE SETH ROGEN. There is no joke there, he's just adorable, with his little rabbity teeth.
6. Sisters and their girlfriends are fun. And they buy you burritos. Also awesome.
Warren is so close to crawling I'm a little frightened. It's mostly three appendage scootching at this point, with his left leg flailing around in the air behind him. It really is amusing to watch. But, between that move and his weird little boat-skimmer routine, the kid gets everywhere. I have videos of each, but haven't edited or dealt with them. Soon. Maybe.
I try to avoid most politics on here because, frankly, you aren't going to change my feelings and I won't change yours so let's leave it alone, mmkay? But this whole Republican VP candidate's knocked up 17-year old daughter? I have one question for Sarah Palin.
How's that abstinence only sex education working out for you?
That's just one of those really stupid ideas that I can't believe people can get behind. Because, clearly, teenagers won't even THINK about sex if you don't bring it up, right? HA.
Ok, enough. I'm done with that. Happy Tuesday, it's like Monday, only crappier.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Huzzah!
Over the weekend we had a family party to attend for some cousins' birthdays. I was excited to go because my aunt and her kiddo would be there. I was dreading it because my gross uncle and irritating step grandmother would be there. But, I refused to let the former be outweighed by the latter.
As soon as we got there, I was irritated at my gross uncle. To be fair, he didn't really say anything to me, or do anything icky, I just don't really like him. So everything he does bothers me. And I'm a little horrified that my aunt and uncle are drinking again. (This is the aunt and uncle who only two/three years ago were in jail for having a meth lab in their home, and for abusing/neglecting their four children due to said meth lab). Yeah, you know what drug addicts need? A gateway drug like alcohol to allow them to exercise addictive behaviors. Whatever. At least the kids are old enough to tell folks when things get bad...I hope. But they kept it together while at the event, and really if anything gross uncle was trying to be less annoying. In fact, he never mentioned the whole "Yay boys! Booo girls!" bullshit he's been repeating for a year. So, that's a plus.
And Step Grandma has found something else to keep her worries occupied. The new worry is that my aunt will have another baby before she loses weight. This from a woman who could stand to drop 100 pounds, easily. But I guess it's easier to pick on your daughter than deal with your own problems. Sheesh, the more time I spend with her, the more I really appreciate my own mom. How do you deal with a mother who can't shut up and be happy for you? How do you not strangle the woman for constantly putting you down and doubting every decision you make?
How the hell is it any of her business if/when my aunt has another kid? Where do you even get off feeling the right to an opinion on someone else's reproductive plans?
Gah!
Anyhow. When my aunt and her kiddo, Evan (who's 6 weeks older than Warren and about 10 pounds heavier), arrived, we put both babies on the floor to check eachother out. Both babies had pacifiers in their respective mouths. So they sat for a minute, staring at each other. Then Warren reached over, pulled Evan's pacifier out, and tried to put it into his own mouth. When Warren failed that, since he still had his own pacifier, he reached over and handed Evan's paci to Xtian. Meanwhile, Evan just sat there like, "hey... that's mine. What the hell?" Too funny. It made me even more certain that Evan will be the Lenny to Warren's George. ("We're gonna have rabbits, right George? And live off the fat of the land!") But hopefully without mental handicaps and mercy killings.
And in a final note of great news, My sister and Kate (her girlfriend) will arrive in Oakland today! They're finally going to be here, permanently, and I'm so excited I can hardly sit still.
As soon as we got there, I was irritated at my gross uncle. To be fair, he didn't really say anything to me, or do anything icky, I just don't really like him. So everything he does bothers me. And I'm a little horrified that my aunt and uncle are drinking again. (This is the aunt and uncle who only two/three years ago were in jail for having a meth lab in their home, and for abusing/neglecting their four children due to said meth lab). Yeah, you know what drug addicts need? A gateway drug like alcohol to allow them to exercise addictive behaviors. Whatever. At least the kids are old enough to tell folks when things get bad...I hope. But they kept it together while at the event, and really if anything gross uncle was trying to be less annoying. In fact, he never mentioned the whole "Yay boys! Booo girls!" bullshit he's been repeating for a year. So, that's a plus.
And Step Grandma has found something else to keep her worries occupied. The new worry is that my aunt will have another baby before she loses weight. This from a woman who could stand to drop 100 pounds, easily. But I guess it's easier to pick on your daughter than deal with your own problems. Sheesh, the more time I spend with her, the more I really appreciate my own mom. How do you deal with a mother who can't shut up and be happy for you? How do you not strangle the woman for constantly putting you down and doubting every decision you make?
How the hell is it any of her business if/when my aunt has another kid? Where do you even get off feeling the right to an opinion on someone else's reproductive plans?
Gah!
Anyhow. When my aunt and her kiddo, Evan (who's 6 weeks older than Warren and about 10 pounds heavier), arrived, we put both babies on the floor to check eachother out. Both babies had pacifiers in their respective mouths. So they sat for a minute, staring at each other. Then Warren reached over, pulled Evan's pacifier out, and tried to put it into his own mouth. When Warren failed that, since he still had his own pacifier, he reached over and handed Evan's paci to Xtian. Meanwhile, Evan just sat there like, "hey... that's mine. What the hell?" Too funny. It made me even more certain that Evan will be the Lenny to Warren's George. ("We're gonna have rabbits, right George? And live off the fat of the land!") But hopefully without mental handicaps and mercy killings.
And in a final note of great news, My sister and Kate (her girlfriend) will arrive in Oakland today! They're finally going to be here, permanently, and I'm so excited I can hardly sit still.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Now that we all have diabetes...
Or at least want to puke from all the saccharine around here, let's talk Family Party, shall we?
So, Uncle Mark, the birthday boy, showed up. And avoided me mostly. Which makes me, lucky. I only overheard a few really fucked up things being drunkenly shouted with dozens of kids present, so we'll call that "success." I'll share one choice selection, so if you have sensitive sensibilities, skip a few lines, mmmkay? While discussing a neighbor who'd been arrested for molesting a 10 year old girl, "I'd a thought he's a complete queer, 'cept for that little girl he was fucking."
Oh joy. Just awesome. My other awful uncle (at least this one isn't actually blood related in any way), Joe, made himself a complete ass, as per usual. His big thing lately has been celebrating that TWO boys were born. Yeah, we have mostly girls in all the families, the joke being that you get one boy. If you have 2 kids, if you have 12, you get one boy per family unit. And both my aunt and I had boys. And Joe has taken that as a personal achievement. What HE had to do with it, I'll never know, but he's quite pleased with himself. My favorite quote from him, regarding his three daughters, followed by a son, "I made three mistakes before I got one right." Yes, he said it in front of his young daughters. Classy.
He's been on this kick for a while, so I usually avoid him at all costs. Look, it's annoying, and offensive, and if I thought he was joking, I'd be able to overlook it. But he started in again on Saturday, he grabbed my shoulders from behind and kind of shook them back and forth while shouting, "GOOD JOB! GOOD JOB! Now just make a few more of those boys and we'll be all set!" Fucking asshole. I finally responded with, "Keep it to yourself, Joe." But he didn't get it. Because he's stupid.
The other fun thing he does, is tell me all the ways I'm doing it wrong. Specifically in how I'm raising Warren. Yes, because so much really can be done wrong at 4 months old. Good thing I don't take parenting advice from the guy who just spent 3 years in San Quentin for having a Meth lab in his home, with his children. That doesn't stop him from offering his advice however. God, I hate that guy. Why is it, half the men in my family are just the most worthless pieces of shit imaginable? And yet, Joe thinks we need MORE boys? Yeah, because they turn out so well, right? (No offense to the actually decent men in our family, of which there are a few.)
Ok, that's all the energy I have for today. I'll tell you all about my sweety mother's day and our "meh" anniversary.
So, Uncle Mark, the birthday boy, showed up. And avoided me mostly. Which makes me, lucky. I only overheard a few really fucked up things being drunkenly shouted with dozens of kids present, so we'll call that "success." I'll share one choice selection, so if you have sensitive sensibilities, skip a few lines, mmmkay? While discussing a neighbor who'd been arrested for molesting a 10 year old girl, "I'd a thought he's a complete queer, 'cept for that little girl he was fucking."
Oh joy. Just awesome. My other awful uncle (at least this one isn't actually blood related in any way), Joe, made himself a complete ass, as per usual. His big thing lately has been celebrating that TWO boys were born. Yeah, we have mostly girls in all the families, the joke being that you get one boy. If you have 2 kids, if you have 12, you get one boy per family unit. And both my aunt and I had boys. And Joe has taken that as a personal achievement. What HE had to do with it, I'll never know, but he's quite pleased with himself. My favorite quote from him, regarding his three daughters, followed by a son, "I made three mistakes before I got one right." Yes, he said it in front of his young daughters. Classy.
He's been on this kick for a while, so I usually avoid him at all costs. Look, it's annoying, and offensive, and if I thought he was joking, I'd be able to overlook it. But he started in again on Saturday, he grabbed my shoulders from behind and kind of shook them back and forth while shouting, "GOOD JOB! GOOD JOB! Now just make a few more of those boys and we'll be all set!" Fucking asshole. I finally responded with, "Keep it to yourself, Joe." But he didn't get it. Because he's stupid.
The other fun thing he does, is tell me all the ways I'm doing it wrong. Specifically in how I'm raising Warren. Yes, because so much really can be done wrong at 4 months old. Good thing I don't take parenting advice from the guy who just spent 3 years in San Quentin for having a Meth lab in his home, with his children. That doesn't stop him from offering his advice however. God, I hate that guy. Why is it, half the men in my family are just the most worthless pieces of shit imaginable? And yet, Joe thinks we need MORE boys? Yeah, because they turn out so well, right? (No offense to the actually decent men in our family, of which there are a few.)
Ok, that's all the energy I have for today. I'll tell you all about my sweety mother's day and our "meh" anniversary.
Friday, May 9, 2008
So, if you're nice to them, they bring you things?
So, this weekend we'll be attending my gross uncle's 50th birthday party. Why we are celebrating the fact that this man has managed to exist for 50 years is beyond me. This may sound harsh, but let me give you a small glimpse into this man's awesomeness.
At Thanksgiving last year I was, as you may recall, hugely pregnant. My uncle showed up for about 20 minutes (he's usually too busy being high to come to family events, which is really what I'd call a "blessing.") and at one point when he saw me, in my fatty fat glory, he pointed to my belly and said, "Heh heh, it's not MINE is it?"
Is that about the grossest thing you could think of? Because it's about as nasty as I can imagine. Yeah, let's make some awesome incest references! FUN!
I suppose I can always hope that he won't show up and we'll be left with mostly good family at the barbecue.
~~
I was talking with a woman at work about relationships with in-laws. I usually bow out of most conversations about mothers in law, since my issue is long, involved and really pretty unbelievable. So, I just leave it at, "I don't have a relationship with my MIL." Another woman joined in, and to give some background I can't imagine this woman every saying anything negative to anyone ever. But she was talking about this horrible relationship she had with her MIL, and how her husband finally just asked her to try to be gentle with the MIL. She said that the relationship had much improved after that.
It kind of got me thinking. I don't have to like people all the time, and I don't even have to be nice all the time. But, when it comes to the people I love, shouldn't I at least try to treat them gently? So, that's the word I'm using as my relationship mantra for now. So, even when Xtian's doing something that drives me nuts, my aim is not to avoid the issue, but to gently raise the issue. Which is hard for me, because my knee-jerk reaction is to respond, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, YOU KNOW I HATE THAT! STOP IT, ASS!!" But, you know what I'm finding? The nicer I treat my family, the more I actually FEEL nice toward them. Damn, but that's so not in my nature.
At Thanksgiving last year I was, as you may recall, hugely pregnant. My uncle showed up for about 20 minutes (he's usually too busy being high to come to family events, which is really what I'd call a "blessing.") and at one point when he saw me, in my fatty fat glory, he pointed to my belly and said, "Heh heh, it's not MINE is it?"
Is that about the grossest thing you could think of? Because it's about as nasty as I can imagine. Yeah, let's make some awesome incest references! FUN!
I suppose I can always hope that he won't show up and we'll be left with mostly good family at the barbecue.
~~
I was talking with a woman at work about relationships with in-laws. I usually bow out of most conversations about mothers in law, since my issue is long, involved and really pretty unbelievable. So, I just leave it at, "I don't have a relationship with my MIL." Another woman joined in, and to give some background I can't imagine this woman every saying anything negative to anyone ever. But she was talking about this horrible relationship she had with her MIL, and how her husband finally just asked her to try to be gentle with the MIL. She said that the relationship had much improved after that.
It kind of got me thinking. I don't have to like people all the time, and I don't even have to be nice all the time. But, when it comes to the people I love, shouldn't I at least try to treat them gently? So, that's the word I'm using as my relationship mantra for now. So, even when Xtian's doing something that drives me nuts, my aim is not to avoid the issue, but to gently raise the issue. Which is hard for me, because my knee-jerk reaction is to respond, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, YOU KNOW I HATE THAT! STOP IT, ASS!!" But, you know what I'm finding? The nicer I treat my family, the more I actually FEEL nice toward them. Damn, but that's so not in my nature.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Fooling myself into thinking I post more than once a week.
In classic form, I just received a notification from my Vice President that they've approved my maternity leave. Yes, the maternity leave that started November 26. Nicely done. Glad to hear she's ok with my having not shown up to work for the last 6 weeks. Of course, now I'm going to have to call them to let them know I'll be taking two more weeks of leave, per California law. (One good thing about a C-Section, two more weeks of "Pregnancy Disability Leave").
How much of a nerd am I? I'm REALLY looking forward to doing my taxes this year. Especially since Warren was so kind as to join us before the new year, and I get to claim him for all of 2007, even though he was only breathing air for 11 days of it. Hurray! God, how sad is that?
My brother is finally in a treatment program. I say "Finally" because he was supposed to have checked in on the 3rd of January, but somewhere something went awry and he didn't. How much was misunderstanding and how much is straight dishonesty is not clear. It's been a really tough month with him. The whole family kind of came together and made a stand, we couldn't give him any more money, and my parents took back their car and their house keys.
My brother had been planning on coming to Oakland for Christmas with everyone else, and I had to call and tell him that while I love him, I can't have him staying in my house. That happened while I was in labor. (I didn't know that I was officially in labor at that point, for the record). A couple weeks ago, after his first treatment placement fell through and he'd already moved out of his apartment, he discovered he had nowhere to sleep. My parents had already told him he couldn't stay with them, but he apparently didn't take it seriously. So, one stormy Friday night, my dad had to take him to a homeless shelter.
It took two weeks before my sister was able to make a few phone calls using her "Nurse Voice" and get him a place in a program in Sacramento. He checked in last Friday. He's in the midst of a "blackout" period where he's not allowed communication with anyone. I'm almost relieved about that. It was so hard to talk to him for the last several weeks, and I'm ashamed to admit that it kept me from calling him as often as I should have.
I think I've officially reached my limit of "shit I can handle." Between having a baby, all this shit with my brother, and my MIL going batshit insane, I'm done. Nothing, not good or bad, nothing is allowed to happen for the next month at least. If it's more involved than going out to dinner, I'm out. Not for me.
How much of a nerd am I? I'm REALLY looking forward to doing my taxes this year. Especially since Warren was so kind as to join us before the new year, and I get to claim him for all of 2007, even though he was only breathing air for 11 days of it. Hurray! God, how sad is that?
My brother is finally in a treatment program. I say "Finally" because he was supposed to have checked in on the 3rd of January, but somewhere something went awry and he didn't. How much was misunderstanding and how much is straight dishonesty is not clear. It's been a really tough month with him. The whole family kind of came together and made a stand, we couldn't give him any more money, and my parents took back their car and their house keys.
My brother had been planning on coming to Oakland for Christmas with everyone else, and I had to call and tell him that while I love him, I can't have him staying in my house. That happened while I was in labor. (I didn't know that I was officially in labor at that point, for the record). A couple weeks ago, after his first treatment placement fell through and he'd already moved out of his apartment, he discovered he had nowhere to sleep. My parents had already told him he couldn't stay with them, but he apparently didn't take it seriously. So, one stormy Friday night, my dad had to take him to a homeless shelter.
It took two weeks before my sister was able to make a few phone calls using her "Nurse Voice" and get him a place in a program in Sacramento. He checked in last Friday. He's in the midst of a "blackout" period where he's not allowed communication with anyone. I'm almost relieved about that. It was so hard to talk to him for the last several weeks, and I'm ashamed to admit that it kept me from calling him as often as I should have.
I think I've officially reached my limit of "shit I can handle." Between having a baby, all this shit with my brother, and my MIL going batshit insane, I'm done. Nothing, not good or bad, nothing is allowed to happen for the next month at least. If it's more involved than going out to dinner, I'm out. Not for me.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Let the Couch Surfing Begin!
I am officially on Maternity Leave! Hurray. Except, now what the hell do I do with myself? And of course, after dodging every illness to beset my coworkers so far this year, I've finally come down with the chest cold of doom. Thanks guys! There's nothing I love more than being sick during my time off of work. Load of ass.
Being that yesterday was Thanksgiving, I really ought to tediously list all the things for which I am grateful. But you know what? I'm going to skip it for a while just because it seems so hackneyed and cliche, and I already worked myself into tears recounting it all yesterday.
So rather than bore everyone with the details, I'll get right into Ridiculous Times With Coley's Family. I love my family, even family members who daily make me grateful I don't actually share any DNA with. But some people in my family need to shut the hell up.
First there's Step Grandma. I had hoped since her "real" grandson was finally here she'd become less annoying somehow. Instead, she repeatedly asked me if I'm ready for my "Christmas baby." At first I didn't quite get it and kept saying, "Well, if it gets to be Christmas, and this kid still hasn't been born, it'd be pretty dangerous." Only that's not what she's concerned with, she's still trying to tell me that I need to have my baby late. This is so old, and so annoying even my mother, she of the saintliness, wanted to smack SG.
Just why does this broad think she has a say in when my kid is born? And why does she care? If she were so concerned about the awkwardness of having a great-grandchild only a few weeks younger than her grandchild? She maybe should have thought about that before getting knocked up by a married man with grown children. Just a thought. A bitchy thought but a thought nonetheless.
Also in the category of People Who Need to Shut The Fuck Up: Uncle Joe. Luckily, again, this guy married into the family, so no shared gene pool. But dude, if this guy made one more shitty comment about the number of girls in our family (it's easily a 3 to 1 ratio girls to boys), I was going to kick him in the crotch. My favorite comment on his own children? (Three daughters before his son). "Three foul balls before we finally hit one fair." Yeah. Asswad.
Furthermore, this guy is The Greatest Expert On Everything! Except he's a freaking idiot. I liked when he tried to give everyone there, my parents included, parenting advice. It makes me pissy and I had to bite my tongue to keep from shouting, "Umm, I think I'll take my parenting advice from someone who DIDN'T have a meth lab in their home with their 4 children. And even more so? I'll go ahead and ignore anything said by the guy who just spent 3 years in prison for drug and child endangerment/abuse charges. Thanks!" But that wouldn't be the christian thing to do, now would it?
Luckily, as a non-christian, I think I probably could have gotten away with it. Damn my sense of etiquette and decorum!
Ok, blogging from home is strange. I don't think I've ever blogged from home. In fact, usually once I'm home, I forget that computers exist at all. I don't check email, I rarely even turn my computer on. So, someone kick me in the ass periodically to remind me to post, eh?
Being that yesterday was Thanksgiving, I really ought to tediously list all the things for which I am grateful. But you know what? I'm going to skip it for a while just because it seems so hackneyed and cliche, and I already worked myself into tears recounting it all yesterday.
So rather than bore everyone with the details, I'll get right into Ridiculous Times With Coley's Family. I love my family, even family members who daily make me grateful I don't actually share any DNA with. But some people in my family need to shut the hell up.
First there's Step Grandma. I had hoped since her "real" grandson was finally here she'd become less annoying somehow. Instead, she repeatedly asked me if I'm ready for my "Christmas baby." At first I didn't quite get it and kept saying, "Well, if it gets to be Christmas, and this kid still hasn't been born, it'd be pretty dangerous." Only that's not what she's concerned with, she's still trying to tell me that I need to have my baby late. This is so old, and so annoying even my mother, she of the saintliness, wanted to smack SG.
Just why does this broad think she has a say in when my kid is born? And why does she care? If she were so concerned about the awkwardness of having a great-grandchild only a few weeks younger than her grandchild? She maybe should have thought about that before getting knocked up by a married man with grown children. Just a thought. A bitchy thought but a thought nonetheless.
Also in the category of People Who Need to Shut The Fuck Up: Uncle Joe. Luckily, again, this guy married into the family, so no shared gene pool. But dude, if this guy made one more shitty comment about the number of girls in our family (it's easily a 3 to 1 ratio girls to boys), I was going to kick him in the crotch. My favorite comment on his own children? (Three daughters before his son). "Three foul balls before we finally hit one fair." Yeah. Asswad.
Furthermore, this guy is The Greatest Expert On Everything! Except he's a freaking idiot. I liked when he tried to give everyone there, my parents included, parenting advice. It makes me pissy and I had to bite my tongue to keep from shouting, "Umm, I think I'll take my parenting advice from someone who DIDN'T have a meth lab in their home with their 4 children. And even more so? I'll go ahead and ignore anything said by the guy who just spent 3 years in prison for drug and child endangerment/abuse charges. Thanks!" But that wouldn't be the christian thing to do, now would it?
Luckily, as a non-christian, I think I probably could have gotten away with it. Damn my sense of etiquette and decorum!
Ok, blogging from home is strange. I don't think I've ever blogged from home. In fact, usually once I'm home, I forget that computers exist at all. I don't check email, I rarely even turn my computer on. So, someone kick me in the ass periodically to remind me to post, eh?
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Weekend recap, only a few days after the fact.
So, let’s see…my aunt had her baby on Saturday. She called me at 10 am to let me know that she was sorry, but she wouldn’t be able to make it to the baby shower, as she’d just been admitted to the hospital. Gee, you think? So, I squealed, told her to get that baby born already and to have her husband keep us all posted. It’s a boy, he’s very cute and I already tried to steal him as my “practice baby.” No dice.
The baby shower was just delightful. The house was stuffed to the gills with people and food, which is my favorite way to do things. Food was fabulous, I made a massive quantity of guacamole, there were many nibbly Mexican food things, a DELICIOUS salad and a tasty ice cream cake. Jen took some wonderful pictures of everyone, which if she feels like sharing, I’ll let her post the link in a comment.
Everyone was amazingly generous and we now have more baby stuff than I can wrap my brain around. Then I got to spend the rest of the weekend hanging out with my mama. Now, if only every weekend could be so nice.
Of course Xtian’s friends proved, once again, that they suck. After telling Xtian that they’d be carpooling and caravaning down for the party, they called Friday night to offer half-assed excuses as to why they wouldn’t make it. (For further evidence see: the complete lack of a bachelor party for Xtian when we got married, and the threat of not coming to our wedding since it was inconveniently dated what with their “Community theater” obligations. Fucking asswads.) I don’t know why I ever expect them to show any amount of concern or caring for Xtian, but I do know that it hurts Xtian every time, and it makes me want to choke them all.
But in spite of his friends’ being fucktards, Xtian had a nice time mingling with my family and friends. I just wish SOMEONE from Xtian’s life would be supportive of him. I feel badly that he’s always surrounded by my folks, and is left hanging by his own. He’s just too wonderful and deserves better than he gets.
OH! And while we’re on the topic of people hurting and letting Xtian down, let’s add another installment of Xtian’s Batshit Insane Mother Does Weird Stuff!
I got home from work on Friday and found one envelope addressed to Xtian, our unborn kid and me. A large manila envelope was addressed solely to Xtian. Both had a return address from a law office in Beverly Hills. One look and I knew they were from my MIL. (Remember the last we heard from her was a three-page letter telling Xtian what a disappointment of a son he was and urging him to break up with me. Complete silence since then).
Now, I had decided previously to return all mail and packages to her unopened, as I’d like to discourage her from contacting us at all. But, it was from a law office, and part of me hoped she was disowning us, legally. And I’m not the least bit ashamed to say that the thought warmed my soul. So, I thought we should probably open them.
Xtian asked that I wait for him to come home before I opened them and so I did. And I’ll be damned if after all that buildup, it was standard MIL material. The first envelope (addressed to Xtian, myself, and an unborn fetus) contained about 30 pages of photocopied text, most of it a bio for the lawyer that she apparently now works for (although, that's just an assumption. No explanation was actually included). The other envelope contained a press kit for the same lawyer. And one handwritten note telling Xtian that there was no need to make arrangements for Xtian’s brother to come and visit, as, and here I will directly quote, “our van will be arriving soon and we’ll both come for a visit.”
What?
So, apparently she got word that Xtian’s been talking to his brother about school schedules so that the brother can come meet his new niece or nephew on a school break. Apparently MIL forgot that she hereby decreed that Xtian would not be able to see his brother until Xtian got rid of the “negative influence” in his life. (That would be me.)
Now, I don’t actually think she’ll ever make it up to visit as it took a lot of financial assistance and negotiation to get her up for her son’s wedding, and this time, no one’s offering anything of the sort.
But part of me almost wants her to just so I can have the petty satisfaction of telling her she’s not welcomed in my home, and that the police will be called if she doesn’t remove herself from the premises before slamming the door in her face.
That, or beating her over the head with a crow bar until I’m no longer angry. You know, whatever strikes my fancy at the moment.
Now I regret opening the damned mail in the first place and should have just stuck with my plan to return everything to her unopened. Damn my morbid curiosity!
So, yeah. That’s where it all stands now. Good weekend, love my mama, hate Xtian’s friends, MIL: Still fucking nuts. Huzzah.
The baby shower was just delightful. The house was stuffed to the gills with people and food, which is my favorite way to do things. Food was fabulous, I made a massive quantity of guacamole, there were many nibbly Mexican food things, a DELICIOUS salad and a tasty ice cream cake. Jen took some wonderful pictures of everyone, which if she feels like sharing, I’ll let her post the link in a comment.
Everyone was amazingly generous and we now have more baby stuff than I can wrap my brain around. Then I got to spend the rest of the weekend hanging out with my mama. Now, if only every weekend could be so nice.
Of course Xtian’s friends proved, once again, that they suck. After telling Xtian that they’d be carpooling and caravaning down for the party, they called Friday night to offer half-assed excuses as to why they wouldn’t make it. (For further evidence see: the complete lack of a bachelor party for Xtian when we got married, and the threat of not coming to our wedding since it was inconveniently dated what with their “Community theater” obligations. Fucking asswads.) I don’t know why I ever expect them to show any amount of concern or caring for Xtian, but I do know that it hurts Xtian every time, and it makes me want to choke them all.
But in spite of his friends’ being fucktards, Xtian had a nice time mingling with my family and friends. I just wish SOMEONE from Xtian’s life would be supportive of him. I feel badly that he’s always surrounded by my folks, and is left hanging by his own. He’s just too wonderful and deserves better than he gets.
OH! And while we’re on the topic of people hurting and letting Xtian down, let’s add another installment of Xtian’s Batshit Insane Mother Does Weird Stuff!
I got home from work on Friday and found one envelope addressed to Xtian, our unborn kid and me. A large manila envelope was addressed solely to Xtian. Both had a return address from a law office in Beverly Hills. One look and I knew they were from my MIL. (Remember the last we heard from her was a three-page letter telling Xtian what a disappointment of a son he was and urging him to break up with me. Complete silence since then).
Now, I had decided previously to return all mail and packages to her unopened, as I’d like to discourage her from contacting us at all. But, it was from a law office, and part of me hoped she was disowning us, legally. And I’m not the least bit ashamed to say that the thought warmed my soul. So, I thought we should probably open them.
Xtian asked that I wait for him to come home before I opened them and so I did. And I’ll be damned if after all that buildup, it was standard MIL material. The first envelope (addressed to Xtian, myself, and an unborn fetus) contained about 30 pages of photocopied text, most of it a bio for the lawyer that she apparently now works for (although, that's just an assumption. No explanation was actually included). The other envelope contained a press kit for the same lawyer. And one handwritten note telling Xtian that there was no need to make arrangements for Xtian’s brother to come and visit, as, and here I will directly quote, “our van will be arriving soon and we’ll both come for a visit.”
What?
So, apparently she got word that Xtian’s been talking to his brother about school schedules so that the brother can come meet his new niece or nephew on a school break. Apparently MIL forgot that she hereby decreed that Xtian would not be able to see his brother until Xtian got rid of the “negative influence” in his life. (That would be me.)
Now, I don’t actually think she’ll ever make it up to visit as it took a lot of financial assistance and negotiation to get her up for her son’s wedding, and this time, no one’s offering anything of the sort.
But part of me almost wants her to just so I can have the petty satisfaction of telling her she’s not welcomed in my home, and that the police will be called if she doesn’t remove herself from the premises before slamming the door in her face.
That, or beating her over the head with a crow bar until I’m no longer angry. You know, whatever strikes my fancy at the moment.
Now I regret opening the damned mail in the first place and should have just stuck with my plan to return everything to her unopened. Damn my morbid curiosity!
So, yeah. That’s where it all stands now. Good weekend, love my mama, hate Xtian’s friends, MIL: Still fucking nuts. Huzzah.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.
Back in the saddle again.
So, a week up with my parents, helping out while mom recovers from surgery. My mother is a rock star it turns out. A week after having one organ removed and about six others repaired (hello prolapsed organs! Get back where you belong!) and she’s already back at work. Dear lord do I hope I have more of her genetic makeup than any one else’s!
My dad is still iffy. After his stroke a few weeks ago, he’s lucky in that there’s no paralysis or brain damage. But, they’ve yet to figure out what is causing his skyrocketing blood pressure, constant headaches and a litany of other things. This all landed him back in the emergency room last Friday, and no one could give us any information or help. I’m so glad my older sister was there for the ER visit. Having her go and understand a little better about what’s going on was such help. I stayed home with mom and tried to keep her distracted, but didn’t do so great of a job. It’s the first time my mom broke down in front of anyone about dad’s health. And it scared the hell out of me. I can’t imagine how scared she must be.
When I left to come back to Oakland, I cried the entire drive down. I don’t feel very good about leaving. I don’t know what else I can actually do, but I hate being far away, and I hate feeling helpless. Not that there’s much I could be doing if I were still up there either. But shit, this sucks. I can’t even talk about it out loud because I just cry. So instead I write about it.
But yeah. Had to come back to town for another round of ultrasounds on Mocha Cub. MC is proving to be the silliest little fetus there ever was. You may recall at the last ultrasound, MC would not allow a number of measurements to be done. Shaking his/her head “no” throwing hands in front of the wand every chance he/she had, etc. This time, we got the last few measurements, but just for fun, this kid had both feet above its head, peaking between the knees. Apparently, even though I’ve dropped the ball on prenatal yoga, MC is really into in utero yoga.
But apparently this kid is going to be a chunk. We’re still measuring almost two weeks ahead of what the doctor says (which makes perfect sense based on my cycle dates), and is weighing in at about 1 pound and 15 ounces (give or take 4 ounces). So, with about three and a half months left, this kid is set to be the hugest monster ever born. Why am I still aiming for a natural, drug-free delivery? Oh yeah, because I am retarded.
So, I’m sitting at work, and even after being gone for a week…still nothing to do. I have a month to write a newsletter, and 10 days to put together some artwork. Frankly, this could all be done in a couple of days. But then what would I do? Instead, I’m trying to read all the blogs I didn’t read over the last week. Hope y’all are doing well. Maybe I’ll have some less boring/depressing stuff to write later. But that doesn’t seem very likely these days does it?
So, a week up with my parents, helping out while mom recovers from surgery. My mother is a rock star it turns out. A week after having one organ removed and about six others repaired (hello prolapsed organs! Get back where you belong!) and she’s already back at work. Dear lord do I hope I have more of her genetic makeup than any one else’s!
My dad is still iffy. After his stroke a few weeks ago, he’s lucky in that there’s no paralysis or brain damage. But, they’ve yet to figure out what is causing his skyrocketing blood pressure, constant headaches and a litany of other things. This all landed him back in the emergency room last Friday, and no one could give us any information or help. I’m so glad my older sister was there for the ER visit. Having her go and understand a little better about what’s going on was such help. I stayed home with mom and tried to keep her distracted, but didn’t do so great of a job. It’s the first time my mom broke down in front of anyone about dad’s health. And it scared the hell out of me. I can’t imagine how scared she must be.
When I left to come back to Oakland, I cried the entire drive down. I don’t feel very good about leaving. I don’t know what else I can actually do, but I hate being far away, and I hate feeling helpless. Not that there’s much I could be doing if I were still up there either. But shit, this sucks. I can’t even talk about it out loud because I just cry. So instead I write about it.
But yeah. Had to come back to town for another round of ultrasounds on Mocha Cub. MC is proving to be the silliest little fetus there ever was. You may recall at the last ultrasound, MC would not allow a number of measurements to be done. Shaking his/her head “no” throwing hands in front of the wand every chance he/she had, etc. This time, we got the last few measurements, but just for fun, this kid had both feet above its head, peaking between the knees. Apparently, even though I’ve dropped the ball on prenatal yoga, MC is really into in utero yoga.
But apparently this kid is going to be a chunk. We’re still measuring almost two weeks ahead of what the doctor says (which makes perfect sense based on my cycle dates), and is weighing in at about 1 pound and 15 ounces (give or take 4 ounces). So, with about three and a half months left, this kid is set to be the hugest monster ever born. Why am I still aiming for a natural, drug-free delivery? Oh yeah, because I am retarded.
So, I’m sitting at work, and even after being gone for a week…still nothing to do. I have a month to write a newsletter, and 10 days to put together some artwork. Frankly, this could all be done in a couple of days. But then what would I do? Instead, I’m trying to read all the blogs I didn’t read over the last week. Hope y’all are doing well. Maybe I’ll have some less boring/depressing stuff to write later. But that doesn’t seem very likely these days does it?
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Might be better off just skipping this...
Right now I should be writing several pages of content for our quarterly newsletter. But really, how many different ways can you write about the same 5 products before you gouge your own eyes out?
And I’m preoccupied. So, lucky internet, you get some bullshit stream of consciousness babbling from your resident crazy pregnant lady.
I woke up feeling mean yesterday. I realized I was feeling mean when my boy kitty followed me into the bathroom for our daily snuggle while I brush my teeth. As he rubbed all over my shins, all I wanted to do was kick that cat across the room. Yeah, not my normal reaction to a lovey kitten. So, I spent as much of the day hiding from people as best I could. No one was mean to me, but someone asking how I’m feeling was more than enough to evoke violent rage. All I could think about was punching them in the face. And those were the people I usually like. So, it was going to be an awesome Tuesday.
Then I talked to my family.
My mom is having some pretty ridiculous surgery next week. I’m going to take a week off work and go be another adult to help while she recovers. In making these plans, I figured I should coordinate with my dad so as to be there when I’m most useful. Dad and I figured out a good schedule, and that was fine.
Then dad mentions that he visited the Neurologist, who looked at all his lab work and test results, ran a few tests of his own, then said, “um, yeah, you DID have a stroke last week.” So, we’re all thrown right into the panic from last week. My 51-year-old father has had a stroke and has a 50/50 shot of having a massive stroke in the near future. So, that’s pleasant.
After that news, the family was all making phone calls to each other making sure we’d all received the news, and had all the information. My older sister was shocked and needed time to process. My mom is already covering her emotions by making jokes about dad either fixing all the house stuff, or at least upping his life insurance so she can pay someone to fix all the stuff. (This may seem cold and uncaring, but since Mom is expected to be in charge, and never show weakness, it’s just the way we do things, right or wrong.)
I can’t decide if it’s easier or harder for my little sister who gets to see dad everyday. Is it easier because she can see that he’s still dad, and nothing really changed? Or is it harder because she was there when the really scary stuff was happening, and the possibility of losing dad is more concrete? Or if she’s just like the rest of us, and doesn’t deal well with emotions like: scared, weak and unsure. We deal fine with “angry” “sad” “happy” but these less concrete emotions; these powerless emotions are not our forte.
After that news was covered I started some conversations with my family about my brother. After I wrote about him here, I needed to say it out loud. So, I talked to my dad. Strangely enough, my dad was probably the most helpful person to talk to. I keep forgetting that he’s been through this battle before with his own brother. He knows about family members’ addictions. He actually was really helpful and had some comforting words for me. I’m looking forward to talking with my dad some more about this as I get more used to the idea that my brother doesn’t exist anymore. In his place is a drug addict. And it’s hard to know what to do with him. Do I talk to my brother? Or do I just do what I can to protect my family and myself by cutting off the ties?
Speaking with him is futile. He does nothing but lie, and worse, he believes his own lies. When people have confronted him about stealing money from his baby sister, his only reply is, “I didn’t do that! How can I make you believe me?” He has completely managed to disassociate with his own actions. Shit is scary, and really the only thing we can do is stop supporting him. Which feels like the worst thing we can do. Doesn’t he need the support of his family? But if our support is enabling him, we aren’t really helping are we?
Damn it, this is reading like a bad after-school movie. Sorry, but I warned you.
So, yeah. Another day, another doctor’s appointment. This is another one where I will be asked to pee into a container the opening of which is less than a half-inch wide. Lovely. Nothing says loving like pissing on your hand. Sorry, that was grosser than it was meant to be. But I’m leaving it there because I can.
This shit ain’t fair. I’m so not in a place where I can deal with normal emotional hurdles. Let alone being a crazy pregnant woman who is moved to demented sobbing at the drop of a cheesy commercial, who gets to deal with her father’s stroke, mom’s surgery and a drug addicted brother. Can everyone just take it easy for a few weeks here? I need some time to recover my emotional health.
In other news, PEOPLE GET TO WRITING! This once a week or less posting schedule? Not doing it for me. I know some people are on summer break, but that shit doesn’t fly with me. I need content! Help a bitch out, would you?
And thus ends our Lifetime Movie of the Week. For now.
And I’m preoccupied. So, lucky internet, you get some bullshit stream of consciousness babbling from your resident crazy pregnant lady.
I woke up feeling mean yesterday. I realized I was feeling mean when my boy kitty followed me into the bathroom for our daily snuggle while I brush my teeth. As he rubbed all over my shins, all I wanted to do was kick that cat across the room. Yeah, not my normal reaction to a lovey kitten. So, I spent as much of the day hiding from people as best I could. No one was mean to me, but someone asking how I’m feeling was more than enough to evoke violent rage. All I could think about was punching them in the face. And those were the people I usually like. So, it was going to be an awesome Tuesday.
Then I talked to my family.
My mom is having some pretty ridiculous surgery next week. I’m going to take a week off work and go be another adult to help while she recovers. In making these plans, I figured I should coordinate with my dad so as to be there when I’m most useful. Dad and I figured out a good schedule, and that was fine.
Then dad mentions that he visited the Neurologist, who looked at all his lab work and test results, ran a few tests of his own, then said, “um, yeah, you DID have a stroke last week.” So, we’re all thrown right into the panic from last week. My 51-year-old father has had a stroke and has a 50/50 shot of having a massive stroke in the near future. So, that’s pleasant.
After that news, the family was all making phone calls to each other making sure we’d all received the news, and had all the information. My older sister was shocked and needed time to process. My mom is already covering her emotions by making jokes about dad either fixing all the house stuff, or at least upping his life insurance so she can pay someone to fix all the stuff. (This may seem cold and uncaring, but since Mom is expected to be in charge, and never show weakness, it’s just the way we do things, right or wrong.)
I can’t decide if it’s easier or harder for my little sister who gets to see dad everyday. Is it easier because she can see that he’s still dad, and nothing really changed? Or is it harder because she was there when the really scary stuff was happening, and the possibility of losing dad is more concrete? Or if she’s just like the rest of us, and doesn’t deal well with emotions like: scared, weak and unsure. We deal fine with “angry” “sad” “happy” but these less concrete emotions; these powerless emotions are not our forte.
After that news was covered I started some conversations with my family about my brother. After I wrote about him here, I needed to say it out loud. So, I talked to my dad. Strangely enough, my dad was probably the most helpful person to talk to. I keep forgetting that he’s been through this battle before with his own brother. He knows about family members’ addictions. He actually was really helpful and had some comforting words for me. I’m looking forward to talking with my dad some more about this as I get more used to the idea that my brother doesn’t exist anymore. In his place is a drug addict. And it’s hard to know what to do with him. Do I talk to my brother? Or do I just do what I can to protect my family and myself by cutting off the ties?
Speaking with him is futile. He does nothing but lie, and worse, he believes his own lies. When people have confronted him about stealing money from his baby sister, his only reply is, “I didn’t do that! How can I make you believe me?” He has completely managed to disassociate with his own actions. Shit is scary, and really the only thing we can do is stop supporting him. Which feels like the worst thing we can do. Doesn’t he need the support of his family? But if our support is enabling him, we aren’t really helping are we?
Damn it, this is reading like a bad after-school movie. Sorry, but I warned you.
So, yeah. Another day, another doctor’s appointment. This is another one where I will be asked to pee into a container the opening of which is less than a half-inch wide. Lovely. Nothing says loving like pissing on your hand. Sorry, that was grosser than it was meant to be. But I’m leaving it there because I can.
This shit ain’t fair. I’m so not in a place where I can deal with normal emotional hurdles. Let alone being a crazy pregnant woman who is moved to demented sobbing at the drop of a cheesy commercial, who gets to deal with her father’s stroke, mom’s surgery and a drug addicted brother. Can everyone just take it easy for a few weeks here? I need some time to recover my emotional health.
In other news, PEOPLE GET TO WRITING! This once a week or less posting schedule? Not doing it for me. I know some people are on summer break, but that shit doesn’t fly with me. I need content! Help a bitch out, would you?
And thus ends our Lifetime Movie of the Week. For now.
Monday, July 30, 2007
He Ain't Heavy...
So, I’ve just figured something out, and I thought I’d share it with everyone here. Because…well, because I can.
I’m angry with my brother. That took a while to admit. My brother has his problems, and has been on the substance abuse carousel for a long time now. Which is saying a lot for a kid who just turned 21. I’ve never really allowed myself to be angry with him. I’ve allowed myself to feel upset at his words or actions, but have always couched it in, “but he’s really the sweetest kid!” But, really, how sweet is someone who says mean things to you, steals money from your wallet, and lies to everyone? I know, I know. Addiction is what makes people do these things. And that’s the same shit I’ve been telling myself for years.
Here’s the thing. I am allowed to be angry with him. Even if all his actions are driven by his addictions, they are still his actions. And it’s ok to be angry with an addict. Yes, I know, I sound an awful lot like I’m trying to convince myself of this fact. And I am.
I know my brother and I love him. And I love how funny, silly, kind he can be. But I don’t love how mean, cold, angry, manipulative, dishonest and violent he can be. And the latter has increasingly been his mode. And it makes me angry. And let’s see if I can start another sentence with “and.”
Holy crap, this entry is like watching an episode of Intervention. Damn it. I hate when I fall so cleanly into a category. Like “family member who enables addict by making excuses for them.”
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. At least ¼ of all my family members have some kind of addiction/mental health issue or another. Complete with at least one member of each side and generation having been in prison for drug-related issues. But I was really hoping my branch of our family would be spared the whole Prison/rehab thing. And it’s looking more and more like only a jail term will make my brother seriously believe he’s an addict.
Goddamnit. I really hate feeling like this. And I hate even more how long it took me to figure this out.
I’m angry with my brother. That took a while to admit. My brother has his problems, and has been on the substance abuse carousel for a long time now. Which is saying a lot for a kid who just turned 21. I’ve never really allowed myself to be angry with him. I’ve allowed myself to feel upset at his words or actions, but have always couched it in, “but he’s really the sweetest kid!” But, really, how sweet is someone who says mean things to you, steals money from your wallet, and lies to everyone? I know, I know. Addiction is what makes people do these things. And that’s the same shit I’ve been telling myself for years.
Here’s the thing. I am allowed to be angry with him. Even if all his actions are driven by his addictions, they are still his actions. And it’s ok to be angry with an addict. Yes, I know, I sound an awful lot like I’m trying to convince myself of this fact. And I am.
I know my brother and I love him. And I love how funny, silly, kind he can be. But I don’t love how mean, cold, angry, manipulative, dishonest and violent he can be. And the latter has increasingly been his mode. And it makes me angry. And let’s see if I can start another sentence with “and.”
Holy crap, this entry is like watching an episode of Intervention. Damn it. I hate when I fall so cleanly into a category. Like “family member who enables addict by making excuses for them.”
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. At least ¼ of all my family members have some kind of addiction/mental health issue or another. Complete with at least one member of each side and generation having been in prison for drug-related issues. But I was really hoping my branch of our family would be spared the whole Prison/rehab thing. And it’s looking more and more like only a jail term will make my brother seriously believe he’s an addict.
Goddamnit. I really hate feeling like this. And I hate even more how long it took me to figure this out.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Oy.
So. Rough week, eh? Wednesday morning I got a call from my mom telling me my dad was in the hospital. They thought he’d had a stroke. All day Wednesday they ran tests, scans etc and finally around 7 pm ruled out stroke and decided that his migraines are exhibiting stroke-like symptoms.
I spent most of Wednesday either crying or completely numb. My dad’s only 51, and I’m completely terrified of the thought of losing him, or of his being incapacitated in any way. And the thought of him never getting to meet his grandkid is more than I can deal with. So, I’ve been a bit of a mess.
I woke up after a miserable night of sleep on Thursday feeling like a truck had hit me. I opted to stay home and slept until almost 11 am.
I still feel like shit.
My dad’s fine, I’ve talked to him a few times since then, and he’s good, scared, but fine. But I’m more than a little freaked out by the idea of my dad’s mortality. I think everyone in my family is too.
So, that’s all that’s on my mind these days. I’m a barrel full of laughs, as you can see.
But I will share this: Mocha Cub figured out punching this week. Tiny little fists of fury pummeling me. It’s cute right now. But remember, MC has at least 4 more months to get bigger and stronger. Methinks the cuteness will wear off pretty quickly here.
Hope everyone else is doing well, we should be back to our regularly scheduled vagina jokes and profanity shortly.
I spent most of Wednesday either crying or completely numb. My dad’s only 51, and I’m completely terrified of the thought of losing him, or of his being incapacitated in any way. And the thought of him never getting to meet his grandkid is more than I can deal with. So, I’ve been a bit of a mess.
I woke up after a miserable night of sleep on Thursday feeling like a truck had hit me. I opted to stay home and slept until almost 11 am.
I still feel like shit.
My dad’s fine, I’ve talked to him a few times since then, and he’s good, scared, but fine. But I’m more than a little freaked out by the idea of my dad’s mortality. I think everyone in my family is too.
So, that’s all that’s on my mind these days. I’m a barrel full of laughs, as you can see.
But I will share this: Mocha Cub figured out punching this week. Tiny little fists of fury pummeling me. It’s cute right now. But remember, MC has at least 4 more months to get bigger and stronger. Methinks the cuteness will wear off pretty quickly here.
Hope everyone else is doing well, we should be back to our regularly scheduled vagina jokes and profanity shortly.
Monday, June 11, 2007
My Girl got a girlfriend
Yes, the graduation. Look, I’ve got to be honest here. I hate graduation ceremonies. I hated my older sister’s graduation ceremony, I hated my high school and college graduation ceremonies, and now I hated my little sister’s graduation ceremony. I just hate the self-serving administration speeches; the over-the-top/badly amplified musical numbers; the trite, cliché and completely generic student speeches; this whole belief that THIS is the greatest moment of these kids’ lives. Dear lord, I hope that graduating high school isn’t the only good thing these kids ever do. Since, these days, you basically show up 2/3 of the time and get to graduate.
And for schools with more than 300 kids graduating, it’s just an assembly line. You barely have time to register the kids’ names before three more kids have walked across the stage. Not a single person on that stage knows the names of more than a handful of students. There’s absolutely no character or personality to it at all.
This class had the added built-in emotional manipulation of having had a student die earlier that year. He was a great kid, a friend of my sister’s and everyone else. It was sad and tragic and needed to be addressed. And I’m glad they presented the parents with an honorary diploma and let them speak for a bit. But I really took offense to the principal (who is an unrivaled douche bag) giving a “tearful” talk about this kid, whose name he’d never have known without his death. Discussing this kid took up more than ½ the ceremony. Which, I felt, kind of screwed over the other kids who were deserving of some recognition.
(I will put a caveat in here though; my brother went to an alternative high school for all the “fucked up kids/criminals.” THAT was the best ceremony ever. Only about 30 kids graduated, and every kid had been given up on by everyone else in the world, so when these teachers, who teach the fucked up kids for a living, are moved to tears by the kids’ accomplishments, how does that not rock your socks off? I still get weepy thinking about those kids and those amazing teachers and principals, who knew every single kid personally.)
So, yeah, as a rule graduation ceremonies are pretty weak. But, it was great to be there for my sister, see the family, and have a few stress free days to enjoy. My family got to experience some full-on Step Grandma Bull Shit in action, so that was kind of funny for me. She, evidently, has panic attacks in the car when anyone EXCEPT for HER drives. Now, this issue could be easily remedied by just having her drive as often as possible. But she insists that other people drive. Her doctor has tried to put her on Valium for this issue, but she “doesn’t want to take a *gasp* drug.” (I’ve tried explaining that sometimes, the medication isn’t for you, so much as the people around you. No dice.) I guess my family didn’t know about that, so were completely puzzled by the moaning, crying, whimpering and eventual shrieking. The weird thing though, is that when her freak outs were at their worst, we were traveling at a moderate speed, and the closest car was about a quarter mile away. Just classic. Fuck, dude, if I had to live with this woman, I’d have poisoned her food YEARS ago.
Have I mentioned that I like cupcakes? Because I really like cupcakes.
Our satellite dish was installed yesterday, and I think I may have a problem. I don’t ever want to leave the house again. The dish, she is glorious. I’m embarrassed at how excited I am at this. I mean, especially since we only got it so we could watch the new season of Big Love without giving Comcast one more chance to screw me out of watching one of the few shows I give a shit about. (Funny how every time I call to complain about the shitty reception and the fact that half the channels I pay for are dead, shortly thereafter, my cable would go out completely. Coincidence? I think not.) So, yes. That’s it, I’ve bought into the consumerism and materialism of it all. *sigh*
But, screw it. I’m going to enjoy my several hundred channels of fabulousness.
And for schools with more than 300 kids graduating, it’s just an assembly line. You barely have time to register the kids’ names before three more kids have walked across the stage. Not a single person on that stage knows the names of more than a handful of students. There’s absolutely no character or personality to it at all.
This class had the added built-in emotional manipulation of having had a student die earlier that year. He was a great kid, a friend of my sister’s and everyone else. It was sad and tragic and needed to be addressed. And I’m glad they presented the parents with an honorary diploma and let them speak for a bit. But I really took offense to the principal (who is an unrivaled douche bag) giving a “tearful” talk about this kid, whose name he’d never have known without his death. Discussing this kid took up more than ½ the ceremony. Which, I felt, kind of screwed over the other kids who were deserving of some recognition.
(I will put a caveat in here though; my brother went to an alternative high school for all the “fucked up kids/criminals.” THAT was the best ceremony ever. Only about 30 kids graduated, and every kid had been given up on by everyone else in the world, so when these teachers, who teach the fucked up kids for a living, are moved to tears by the kids’ accomplishments, how does that not rock your socks off? I still get weepy thinking about those kids and those amazing teachers and principals, who knew every single kid personally.)
So, yeah, as a rule graduation ceremonies are pretty weak. But, it was great to be there for my sister, see the family, and have a few stress free days to enjoy. My family got to experience some full-on Step Grandma Bull Shit in action, so that was kind of funny for me. She, evidently, has panic attacks in the car when anyone EXCEPT for HER drives. Now, this issue could be easily remedied by just having her drive as often as possible. But she insists that other people drive. Her doctor has tried to put her on Valium for this issue, but she “doesn’t want to take a *gasp* drug.” (I’ve tried explaining that sometimes, the medication isn’t for you, so much as the people around you. No dice.) I guess my family didn’t know about that, so were completely puzzled by the moaning, crying, whimpering and eventual shrieking. The weird thing though, is that when her freak outs were at their worst, we were traveling at a moderate speed, and the closest car was about a quarter mile away. Just classic. Fuck, dude, if I had to live with this woman, I’d have poisoned her food YEARS ago.
Have I mentioned that I like cupcakes? Because I really like cupcakes.
Our satellite dish was installed yesterday, and I think I may have a problem. I don’t ever want to leave the house again. The dish, she is glorious. I’m embarrassed at how excited I am at this. I mean, especially since we only got it so we could watch the new season of Big Love without giving Comcast one more chance to screw me out of watching one of the few shows I give a shit about. (Funny how every time I call to complain about the shitty reception and the fact that half the channels I pay for are dead, shortly thereafter, my cable would go out completely. Coincidence? I think not.) So, yes. That’s it, I’ve bought into the consumerism and materialism of it all. *sigh*
But, screw it. I’m going to enjoy my several hundred channels of fabulousness.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
I may need to lie down for a moment.
ACK! I'm supposed to be leaving for Chico in an hour, and I've yet to get anything done. This baby is really making breathing difficult. Even as a smoker, I've never really gotten winded. I mean, after about 45 of running, I'll be breathing heavily, but today, I stood up and had that same level of "Whoa! I need to catch my breath!" Not very cool. Also, not very useful when I have shit to do.
Right, so my baby sister graduates high school tonight. It's kind of sickening. I think I'll call the school and see if they can hold her back another year.
OH! But I'd be remiss if I didn't tell this story. Last weekend at my cousin's birthday party, my Step Grandma and Grandpa asked me if a lot of people were going to be staying with my parents for Kat's graduation. I told them I didn't know for sure I mean, I'm staying with them, but I haven't heard if anyone else is. But they have the big ass house, and only one kid lives there, so I'm sure there's space.
To which my SG replies, "Oh. Maybe we should call to let them know we're coming."
*blink*
Yeah, so apparently, they hadn't even told my folks that they were coming to the graduation, let alone that they were hoping to crash at my parents' house. They were just planning on showing up with luggage.
This is the level of social skill we're talking about. So, it's no wonder they have no idea how normal humans operate.
Luckily, since I had this conversation with them, I was able to give my mom a heads up. And my mom, being the classy lady she is, called them a few days ago to see if they'd be able to make it, and if she could be so kind as to offer them a place to stay. Sheesh. Good thing my mom has a lick of sense, since god knows SG doesn't.
So, I'm off to run around, breathing heavily and creeping out my coworkers for the next...YIKES 45 minutes.
Have a fabulous weekend y'all, I'll be back on Monday, hopefully chock full of tales.
Right, so my baby sister graduates high school tonight. It's kind of sickening. I think I'll call the school and see if they can hold her back another year.
OH! But I'd be remiss if I didn't tell this story. Last weekend at my cousin's birthday party, my Step Grandma and Grandpa asked me if a lot of people were going to be staying with my parents for Kat's graduation. I told them I didn't know for sure I mean, I'm staying with them, but I haven't heard if anyone else is. But they have the big ass house, and only one kid lives there, so I'm sure there's space.
To which my SG replies, "Oh. Maybe we should call to let them know we're coming."
*blink*
Yeah, so apparently, they hadn't even told my folks that they were coming to the graduation, let alone that they were hoping to crash at my parents' house. They were just planning on showing up with luggage.
This is the level of social skill we're talking about. So, it's no wonder they have no idea how normal humans operate.
Luckily, since I had this conversation with them, I was able to give my mom a heads up. And my mom, being the classy lady she is, called them a few days ago to see if they'd be able to make it, and if she could be so kind as to offer them a place to stay. Sheesh. Good thing my mom has a lick of sense, since god knows SG doesn't.
So, I'm off to run around, breathing heavily and creeping out my coworkers for the next...YIKES 45 minutes.
Have a fabulous weekend y'all, I'll be back on Monday, hopefully chock full of tales.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Wedding Recap
Executive Summary:
Overall the wedding was just fine. I spent too much time having to beg people to do what they were supposed to do. (You know like, “Ok, time to walk down the aisle. First bridesmaid, go. Now. GO NOW! NOW! Yes, right now.”) And by the end of the day I was feeling really taken advantage of, and not very nice. But the bride and groom had a good time, Step Grandma only had to be talked to a couple of times, and overall no one really noticed all the places where all hell broke loose. So, I did my job. Unfortunately, now everyone in the family has asked that I help with upcoming events/future weddings. I think my fees need to be in the $200/hr range to make it worthwhile.
I was definitely reminded why I did not go into the Event Planning business. Bitches is crazy.
Assorted Highlights:
In Depth Analysis:
I awoke on Saturday morning at 5:30 am, running through my to-do list in my sleep. My parents and sister all stayed with us the night before, so we all got up, dressed and to the wedding site at 9:30 am. My aunt (not the one getting married) was the only other person who showed up when they said they would. By 11:20, we had all tables and chairs set up, and a good sense of how the event would flow. The centerpieces, linens, favors etc arrived way late in the trunk of my grandfather’s car (only an hour late!)
The groom and his groomsmen got to the site just in time to unload the beverages. Then drink the beverages. Then decided that they needed to go get food. And drove 30 miles of busy-ass freeway away. So, while they originally arrived between 11 and 11:30, they still all almost missed the wedding.
Step Grandma in her infinite wisdom decided NOT to hold a rehearsal, because she didn’t want to do a rehearsal dinner. I thought this was RETARDED but not my call to make. I scheduled a quick run-through of the wedding for noon. The bride got there at 12:45. Excellent. The groom and his groomsmen did not arrive back until 1:35. Even better.
So, no rehearsal, no pictures before the ceremony. The caterer was told that I was the wedding planner; so all questions should go my way. Fine, but sometimes it would be helpful if ANYONE HAD COMMUNICATED ANYTHING TO ME! I was unaware of several factors: the time food was to be served, what was being served, when/if the toast would happen, who was in charge of distributing glasses and champagne, and several more things I’ve blocked out. I was already annoyed.
While trying to bullshit together the flow of the ceremony, and figure out why NO ONE thought to bring matches or candle holders to a ceremony that revolved around unity candles, I also got to wrangle the 30 or so guests who arrived at 12:30, and expected to be entertained and refreshed. This is highly fucked up. People, I know it’s hard to time everything out perfectly. And I’m glad people thought ahead and allowed extra time in case traffic sucked. However, you are never, and I mean no exceptions, never allowed to show up and hour and a half before the event. Drive around, find a bookstore, hang out in the parking lot, whatever. Just don’t get in the way and start DRINKING before the event has begun. It’s low class, and rude.
So, we had a flower girl who was very shy and no one had told her what she would be doing, so that took a lot of convincing. I quite literally had to shove the bridesmaids and groomsmen out of the house to get them walking down the aisle. Then, I had to yell at the bride and her father to GET THEIR ASSES WALKING! (There was almost a two-minute gap between the last bridesmaid and the bride. Awkward). I mean, have these people never seen a wedding? Even on tv? I thought this was all pretty basic. First you go, then she goes, then she goes. Then the bride goes. No, don’t stop walking until you reach the altar. No, you can’t sit down after that.
So, I missed half the ceremony while sorting out the caterers, and organizing the wedding party, Sheesh. I think most people there assumed I was a paid wedding planner, NOT a family member, and kept looking at me funny every time I tried to sit during the ceremony, or eat the meal. It was kind of strange. I’m sure everyone thought I was the worst wedding planner ever.
About halfway through the reception, I caught Step Grandma lecturing the groom about him drinking. So, I grabbed the groom, shoved him the other direction, and promptly told SG, “Leave him alone. Let him enjoy his day. Aunt can drive, since she’s not drinking. Get off his back, now.” And that seemed to do the trick.
I did get several apologies from SG over the course of the day, but by that point, I didn’t want to hear it anymore. If you knew you were saying mean hateful things, why didn’t you just stop? Saying you’re sorry now doesn’t mean shit. You still walked all over me for two months.
I kept asking the bridesmaids and groomsmen to help with things, they would all nod and say, “ok” then ignore me for the rest of the day. They did not do one fucking thing to help. They showed up, ate the food, drank the beer, smoked EVERYWHERE and never raised a finger to help anyone. And on top of everything else, they complained about things. Little things, but with a group as useless as they were, who couldn’t do anything to help while their “dearest friends” got married, it was more than I could take. I didn’t yell at them, that would have really hurt the bride and groom, but I think my eyerolling got the point across just as well.
I was ready to leave by 4 pm, but couldn’t since the music had to leave with me. So, I toughed it out until about 6, then I just couldn’t deal anymore, and most everything had been torn down and put away. (Speaking of which, what is with people my age watching everyone else helping to move chairs, and not helping? Like, we were employees and their job was to just stand there and drink? I kind of hate people my age right now.) So, I was home, fed and passed out cold by 7 pm. I woke up at 8 am. It was glorious. I spent the last two days sitting on my ass, letting Xtian take care of me. Of course, now he needs a vacation, but that’s what he gets for marrying me.
So, that’s the long-winded retelling of the wedding day. Enjoy. I’m still tired.
Overall the wedding was just fine. I spent too much time having to beg people to do what they were supposed to do. (You know like, “Ok, time to walk down the aisle. First bridesmaid, go. Now. GO NOW! NOW! Yes, right now.”) And by the end of the day I was feeling really taken advantage of, and not very nice. But the bride and groom had a good time, Step Grandma only had to be talked to a couple of times, and overall no one really noticed all the places where all hell broke loose. So, I did my job. Unfortunately, now everyone in the family has asked that I help with upcoming events/future weddings. I think my fees need to be in the $200/hr range to make it worthwhile.
I was definitely reminded why I did not go into the Event Planning business. Bitches is crazy.
Assorted Highlights:
- I threatened to punch a 10-year old. (He totally had it coming)
- The groom’s sister went into labor, complete with her water breaking during the reception, as the cake was being cut. (This would be her 6th child by three different men. All children were there; none of them knew how to behave.)
- Only one person who said they would, showed up to set up. That’s of the 10 who volunteered. If not for my other aunt, and my mom and dad, this wedding would not have happened. Or at the very least, we would have all had to stand while it happened.
- Guests started arriving at 12:30. The wedding started at 2. This is far more rude than showing up late.
- The groomsmen’s respective girlfriends (who were not in the wedding) threatened to kick the bridesmaids’ collective asses because they “linked arms while walking down the aisle.” This apparently necessitated a large parking lot scene wherein cops were nearly called.
In Depth Analysis:
I awoke on Saturday morning at 5:30 am, running through my to-do list in my sleep. My parents and sister all stayed with us the night before, so we all got up, dressed and to the wedding site at 9:30 am. My aunt (not the one getting married) was the only other person who showed up when they said they would. By 11:20, we had all tables and chairs set up, and a good sense of how the event would flow. The centerpieces, linens, favors etc arrived way late in the trunk of my grandfather’s car (only an hour late!)
The groom and his groomsmen got to the site just in time to unload the beverages. Then drink the beverages. Then decided that they needed to go get food. And drove 30 miles of busy-ass freeway away. So, while they originally arrived between 11 and 11:30, they still all almost missed the wedding.
Step Grandma in her infinite wisdom decided NOT to hold a rehearsal, because she didn’t want to do a rehearsal dinner. I thought this was RETARDED but not my call to make. I scheduled a quick run-through of the wedding for noon. The bride got there at 12:45. Excellent. The groom and his groomsmen did not arrive back until 1:35. Even better.
So, no rehearsal, no pictures before the ceremony. The caterer was told that I was the wedding planner; so all questions should go my way. Fine, but sometimes it would be helpful if ANYONE HAD COMMUNICATED ANYTHING TO ME! I was unaware of several factors: the time food was to be served, what was being served, when/if the toast would happen, who was in charge of distributing glasses and champagne, and several more things I’ve blocked out. I was already annoyed.
While trying to bullshit together the flow of the ceremony, and figure out why NO ONE thought to bring matches or candle holders to a ceremony that revolved around unity candles, I also got to wrangle the 30 or so guests who arrived at 12:30, and expected to be entertained and refreshed. This is highly fucked up. People, I know it’s hard to time everything out perfectly. And I’m glad people thought ahead and allowed extra time in case traffic sucked. However, you are never, and I mean no exceptions, never allowed to show up and hour and a half before the event. Drive around, find a bookstore, hang out in the parking lot, whatever. Just don’t get in the way and start DRINKING before the event has begun. It’s low class, and rude.
So, we had a flower girl who was very shy and no one had told her what she would be doing, so that took a lot of convincing. I quite literally had to shove the bridesmaids and groomsmen out of the house to get them walking down the aisle. Then, I had to yell at the bride and her father to GET THEIR ASSES WALKING! (There was almost a two-minute gap between the last bridesmaid and the bride. Awkward). I mean, have these people never seen a wedding? Even on tv? I thought this was all pretty basic. First you go, then she goes, then she goes. Then the bride goes. No, don’t stop walking until you reach the altar. No, you can’t sit down after that.
So, I missed half the ceremony while sorting out the caterers, and organizing the wedding party, Sheesh. I think most people there assumed I was a paid wedding planner, NOT a family member, and kept looking at me funny every time I tried to sit during the ceremony, or eat the meal. It was kind of strange. I’m sure everyone thought I was the worst wedding planner ever.
About halfway through the reception, I caught Step Grandma lecturing the groom about him drinking. So, I grabbed the groom, shoved him the other direction, and promptly told SG, “Leave him alone. Let him enjoy his day. Aunt can drive, since she’s not drinking. Get off his back, now.” And that seemed to do the trick.
I did get several apologies from SG over the course of the day, but by that point, I didn’t want to hear it anymore. If you knew you were saying mean hateful things, why didn’t you just stop? Saying you’re sorry now doesn’t mean shit. You still walked all over me for two months.
I kept asking the bridesmaids and groomsmen to help with things, they would all nod and say, “ok” then ignore me for the rest of the day. They did not do one fucking thing to help. They showed up, ate the food, drank the beer, smoked EVERYWHERE and never raised a finger to help anyone. And on top of everything else, they complained about things. Little things, but with a group as useless as they were, who couldn’t do anything to help while their “dearest friends” got married, it was more than I could take. I didn’t yell at them, that would have really hurt the bride and groom, but I think my eyerolling got the point across just as well.
I was ready to leave by 4 pm, but couldn’t since the music had to leave with me. So, I toughed it out until about 6, then I just couldn’t deal anymore, and most everything had been torn down and put away. (Speaking of which, what is with people my age watching everyone else helping to move chairs, and not helping? Like, we were employees and their job was to just stand there and drink? I kind of hate people my age right now.) So, I was home, fed and passed out cold by 7 pm. I woke up at 8 am. It was glorious. I spent the last two days sitting on my ass, letting Xtian take care of me. Of course, now he needs a vacation, but that’s what he gets for marrying me.
So, that’s the long-winded retelling of the wedding day. Enjoy. I’m still tired.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Why do all the Crazies marry into my family?
Ah, nutty Step Grandma is back at it. Apparently, my aunt changed her mind for the 20th time about the wedding ceremony, and decided to not bring religion into it at all. All I know is I offered to give my aunt a copy of my ceremony to give her some ideas. She didn’t take me up on it and said she had found something that worked for her.
Then, yesterday, SG called and demanded that I remove all the music she requested from the reception play list. (Oh yeah, did I mention that I also volunteered to do music? Because I’m not very smart.) “Even though I am paying for every last thing, every single part of this wedding, I’m not allowed to have ANY input on the ceremony. So I don’t want anything that reflects ME involved.” Yeah, because she’s going to show them.
This is the lecture I then gave her, you know, but in nicer words. “Look, old bag: you are allowed to feel hurt that they don’t want your input on the ceremony. But they are writing it, and it is THEIR WEDDING. You got to have your own goddamn ceremony 20 years ago. Since you are paying for it, you are allowed to veto things because they cost too much money. You are allowed to offer ideas. You are allowed to have feelings. But you are not allowed to make this about YOU. I’m sorry you’re feeling hurt. But she doesn’t have to have religion involved in her ceremony if it’s not meaningful to her.”
My theory when it comes to weddings is that if all else fails, the actual ceremony is the only part that matters. If the bride and groom get to choose nothing else, they should get to choose their ceremony. Hence, Xtian and I did a completely non-religious ceremony, because it wouldn’t have meant anything to either of us to pledge our love before god. If you do religion, by all means, reflect that in your ceremony. But if the ceremony doesn’t mean anything to you personally, why are you having that ceremony? THAT’S the part that makes your marriage legitimate.
SG got all hurt because she believes that my aunt is using the same ceremony I did. Not that SG would know that, since she and my grandfather couldn’t be bothered to come. (In their defense, they lived in Florida at the time, and were only given 2.5 months of notice. But they also tried to get us to move the date. After invitations had been sent out and a venue paid for. Nice touch, old people. Oh and my only grandparent who was physically able to attend, left immediately after the ceremony to try and bag his ex-wife. Just glorious, I have awesome grandparents.) But clearly, this was MY fault, and I should be made to pay. When I explained that my aunt doesn’t have a copy of the ceremony, so how could she be using the same one, SG declared, “well, clearly she remembers enough of it.”
Yeah, because you know what I make it a point of doing? Memorizing other people’s wedding ceremonies, from over a year ago. All the time. Sheesh.
So, later that evening, my other aunts, cousins and SG got together to make wedding favors and centerpieces. SG has now decided to FREAK about the weather, and stressing about it being too hot. Despite the 6 conversations I have had with her about the weather in the last two weeks. “We hope it’ll be nice, but we have contingency plans. There is enough room inside or outside for whatever we need. We can not control the weather, so why waste energy worrying?” Clearly, this wasn’t enough for her. So I told her I’d looked up weather forecasts and everyone is showing this weekend is supposed to be a perfect 74 degrees, and isn’t that good news?
All SG can muster is, “Don’t count on it.”
*sigh* I officially throw my hands up and say enough. If she’s that bound and determined to be negative, I’m out. I’m done holding her hand, and listening to her whine, and convincing her that the best course of action is to SHUT UP and think about what she is saying.
I mean, I knew this was coming. I knew we couldn’t get all the way up to the wedding day without someone completely melting down. But I really hoped we just might squeak by. The bride and I have talked. I know how she wants things to be. So, I will be avoiding SG’s calls until the wedding, then assigning her the job of “shutting the hell up” during all W-Day preparations.
And if anyone is wondering, I will NOT be answering my phone, emailing or talking to anyone aside from Xtian and the cats for the remainder of the holiday weekend. Seclusion and booze are the only ways to deal with family sometimes, and since I can’t down a liter of Maker’s Mark these days, ignoring everyone else in the world is my only alternative.
I’m sure I’ll have a fabulous recap of the Wedding Day Shit Show Extravaganz-Crappa next week. Oh dear lord, I hope of get pictures of the inevitable bitchslap fight!
Then, yesterday, SG called and demanded that I remove all the music she requested from the reception play list. (Oh yeah, did I mention that I also volunteered to do music? Because I’m not very smart.) “Even though I am paying for every last thing, every single part of this wedding, I’m not allowed to have ANY input on the ceremony. So I don’t want anything that reflects ME involved.” Yeah, because she’s going to show them.
This is the lecture I then gave her, you know, but in nicer words. “Look, old bag: you are allowed to feel hurt that they don’t want your input on the ceremony. But they are writing it, and it is THEIR WEDDING. You got to have your own goddamn ceremony 20 years ago. Since you are paying for it, you are allowed to veto things because they cost too much money. You are allowed to offer ideas. You are allowed to have feelings. But you are not allowed to make this about YOU. I’m sorry you’re feeling hurt. But she doesn’t have to have religion involved in her ceremony if it’s not meaningful to her.”
My theory when it comes to weddings is that if all else fails, the actual ceremony is the only part that matters. If the bride and groom get to choose nothing else, they should get to choose their ceremony. Hence, Xtian and I did a completely non-religious ceremony, because it wouldn’t have meant anything to either of us to pledge our love before god. If you do religion, by all means, reflect that in your ceremony. But if the ceremony doesn’t mean anything to you personally, why are you having that ceremony? THAT’S the part that makes your marriage legitimate.
SG got all hurt because she believes that my aunt is using the same ceremony I did. Not that SG would know that, since she and my grandfather couldn’t be bothered to come. (In their defense, they lived in Florida at the time, and were only given 2.5 months of notice. But they also tried to get us to move the date. After invitations had been sent out and a venue paid for. Nice touch, old people. Oh and my only grandparent who was physically able to attend, left immediately after the ceremony to try and bag his ex-wife. Just glorious, I have awesome grandparents.) But clearly, this was MY fault, and I should be made to pay. When I explained that my aunt doesn’t have a copy of the ceremony, so how could she be using the same one, SG declared, “well, clearly she remembers enough of it.”
Yeah, because you know what I make it a point of doing? Memorizing other people’s wedding ceremonies, from over a year ago. All the time. Sheesh.
So, later that evening, my other aunts, cousins and SG got together to make wedding favors and centerpieces. SG has now decided to FREAK about the weather, and stressing about it being too hot. Despite the 6 conversations I have had with her about the weather in the last two weeks. “We hope it’ll be nice, but we have contingency plans. There is enough room inside or outside for whatever we need. We can not control the weather, so why waste energy worrying?” Clearly, this wasn’t enough for her. So I told her I’d looked up weather forecasts and everyone is showing this weekend is supposed to be a perfect 74 degrees, and isn’t that good news?
All SG can muster is, “Don’t count on it.”
*sigh* I officially throw my hands up and say enough. If she’s that bound and determined to be negative, I’m out. I’m done holding her hand, and listening to her whine, and convincing her that the best course of action is to SHUT UP and think about what she is saying.
I mean, I knew this was coming. I knew we couldn’t get all the way up to the wedding day without someone completely melting down. But I really hoped we just might squeak by. The bride and I have talked. I know how she wants things to be. So, I will be avoiding SG’s calls until the wedding, then assigning her the job of “shutting the hell up” during all W-Day preparations.
And if anyone is wondering, I will NOT be answering my phone, emailing or talking to anyone aside from Xtian and the cats for the remainder of the holiday weekend. Seclusion and booze are the only ways to deal with family sometimes, and since I can’t down a liter of Maker’s Mark these days, ignoring everyone else in the world is my only alternative.
I’m sure I’ll have a fabulous recap of the Wedding Day Shit Show Extravaganz-Crappa next week. Oh dear lord, I hope of get pictures of the inevitable bitchslap fight!
Monday, May 21, 2007
I'm In Charge.
In a turn of events mostly unforeseeable, Step Grandma was NOT the most obnoxious person at the shower! Mostly the day was fine, and the bride-to-be had a good time. And since I was game-master and therefore running the shower, I got to tell a few people who were causing awkwardness, “This isn’t all about you.” And that is always fun. Well, for me it is anyway. With less than 5 days until W-Day, I’ve taken over all wedding tasks. Bride and Groom have one job this week: demand their attendants get to the site WHEN I TELL THEM TO! Hi, my name is Coley, and I’m a little controlling. But for god sake, with all the wishy-washy people involved in this wedding, someone needs to take charge.
So, I’m already begun my drill sergeant routine, complete with listing all tactical details verbally to Xtian minimum 6 times a day. Again, he’s a lucky man that one. But seriously, anyone who has planned a wedding knows that military maneuvers take less planning. So, rather than assigning duties, I am in charge. My timelines are absolute. The tasks I assign will be complete in the way I decide in the time I allow.
In related news, someone mentioned that they thought I was a Type A personality, and I started arguing with them. Because I have never put together my need for perfection, control and productivity with the rigid Type A personality. Once again, yes, I am a college graduate. And no, I’m NOT mentally handicapped. Just mostly ridiculous.
~~
Last weekend was Xtian and my first wedding anniversary. It was marked with a delightful meal, and a lot of alone time. Perfect.
I know that I’m often really hard on other people, and I’m even harder on myself. So, I just wanted to take this opportunity to say how absolutely, unbelievably fortunate I am to have in Xtian a partner who can handle everything I throw at him. Even when I’m rolling my eyes and scoffing at him for *scoff* actually sweeping the floor BEFORE he cleans the shower, he just rolls his eyes back at me. (And yes, I haven’t cleaned my house in MONTHS, because 99% of the time, Xtian takes care of it before I get home from work even though he’s been working since 5 am. That alone makes Xtian Best Husband in the Universe). Xtian takes care of me because he knows I’m too stubborn to take care of myself. And no matter how mean and nasty I can be, he continues to bring me countless glasses of much-coveted ice water, and no matter how much I make him help me with dinner, he still does the dishes without being asked.
So, yeah. I’m kind of a gushing pile of goo about the man. Which, I suppose, is as it should be. Who’d have thought that after living together for a couple of years, we’d actually still like each other. And if he can deal with me throughout the duration of this 9-month insanity, followed by newborn baby living, I think he’ll be promoted to sainthood, or at least graduate on to a better wife. Which sucks for me, but really he deserves it.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Sordid Details, my favorite kind!
So being the mildly OCD person that I am, I’ve been reading every article I can get my hands on regarding pregnancy and babies. I found an article called “10 Questions About the First Week: Caring for your Newborn”. So, there were definitely 10 questions in the article, but every single answer is “Ask your doctor.” How is that helpful? I’m reading this article because I’m not looking at my doctor right now. Fucking ridiculous. Sheesh, at this rate I could be writing for Parenting Magazine if this is the kind of content we generally accept as helpful.
~~
Ever since we started talking about having kids, Xtian has been mildly obsessed with the stereotypical pregnant lady cravings. Not sure why. Lately, he’s focused his energy on trying to convince me that I’m craving specific things. Usually things Xtian has an unhealthy love for. Example: Slurpees. That man drinks about 3 Slurpees a week and is desperately hoping he can convince me to crave them too, I guess to give him license to drink even more Slurpees. Chicken wings are another thing he wants me to crave. But, dude! I hate chicken wings. And the fact that anything with much flavor makes me want to die lately is not helping his cause.
Now I should point out that I don’t attempt to limit HIS Slurpee or chicken wing intake. Hell, there’s a bag of wings in my freezer right now. So, why he feels like I need to crave these things is well beyond me.
The only major craving I’ve been nursing: White Trash Sundaes from McDonalds. You know, the crappy almost-ice-cream covered with plastic chocolate and mushy peanuts? Yeah, I want that all the time. I know, it’s gross, but for real I can’t help it at all.
~~
This one’s for Faith:
I’ve mentioned that I have a 21-year old aunt. Those of you playing along will note that I am 25 years old. This makes for awkwardness. But here’s the deal:
My dad’s father, Dennis, had a lovely affair with my now-Step Grandma, Rita. Dennis just turned 80 last month, I assume Rita is more like late 50’s. (Although, now that we’re talking about it, I have no idea how old she is…Hmmmmm). Here’s the craziest part: my Nanny (Dennis’ original wife, my dad’s mom) KNEW ABOUT RITA AND THE KID! She used to have my aunt come over to visit Dennis. Now, that’s a stronger woman than I’d be. She had her husband’s lovechild, the proof of his cheating on her, come over to see Dennis, because it was the right thing to do for that little girl.
My Dad is the oldest in his family. There were 4 original kids, followed by my aunt, Joanna, about 20 years later. When my Nanny died, Dennis waited a little while, then married Rita and we were all just supposed to get on with it. Of course, the original children were beyond pissed. But, it seems that Rita gets the brunt of everyone’s anger, and Dennis is left alone about it. Yeah, because he had nothing to do with his affair, right?
So, this on top of the fact that Step Grandma is just batshit insane? Just spectacular.
Ok, so that’s enough dirty laundry for me today. I hope that made sense, it barely makes sense in real life, let alone trying to write it down. Hurray for fucked up dysfunctional families!
~~
Ever since we started talking about having kids, Xtian has been mildly obsessed with the stereotypical pregnant lady cravings. Not sure why. Lately, he’s focused his energy on trying to convince me that I’m craving specific things. Usually things Xtian has an unhealthy love for. Example: Slurpees. That man drinks about 3 Slurpees a week and is desperately hoping he can convince me to crave them too, I guess to give him license to drink even more Slurpees. Chicken wings are another thing he wants me to crave. But, dude! I hate chicken wings. And the fact that anything with much flavor makes me want to die lately is not helping his cause.
Now I should point out that I don’t attempt to limit HIS Slurpee or chicken wing intake. Hell, there’s a bag of wings in my freezer right now. So, why he feels like I need to crave these things is well beyond me.
The only major craving I’ve been nursing: White Trash Sundaes from McDonalds. You know, the crappy almost-ice-cream covered with plastic chocolate and mushy peanuts? Yeah, I want that all the time. I know, it’s gross, but for real I can’t help it at all.
~~
This one’s for Faith:
I’ve mentioned that I have a 21-year old aunt. Those of you playing along will note that I am 25 years old. This makes for awkwardness. But here’s the deal:
My dad’s father, Dennis, had a lovely affair with my now-Step Grandma, Rita. Dennis just turned 80 last month, I assume Rita is more like late 50’s. (Although, now that we’re talking about it, I have no idea how old she is…Hmmmmm). Here’s the craziest part: my Nanny (Dennis’ original wife, my dad’s mom) KNEW ABOUT RITA AND THE KID! She used to have my aunt come over to visit Dennis. Now, that’s a stronger woman than I’d be. She had her husband’s lovechild, the proof of his cheating on her, come over to see Dennis, because it was the right thing to do for that little girl.
My Dad is the oldest in his family. There were 4 original kids, followed by my aunt, Joanna, about 20 years later. When my Nanny died, Dennis waited a little while, then married Rita and we were all just supposed to get on with it. Of course, the original children were beyond pissed. But, it seems that Rita gets the brunt of everyone’s anger, and Dennis is left alone about it. Yeah, because he had nothing to do with his affair, right?
So, this on top of the fact that Step Grandma is just batshit insane? Just spectacular.
Ok, so that’s enough dirty laundry for me today. I hope that made sense, it barely makes sense in real life, let alone trying to write it down. Hurray for fucked up dysfunctional families!
Monday, April 30, 2007
Holy Crap! I'm really hungry. (How's that for a non sequitur?)
So the weekend was mostly delightful. We had a superfun Game Night on Saturday with friends, Sarah took us out for breakfast on Sunday, and I got to watch about 6 hours of Charmed. Just phenomenal. (Although, seriously? When does Shannen Doherty die? I’m really tired of looking at that bitch. I was sure it was during Season three, but I’m almost finished and SHE’S STILL ALIVE!)
Step Grandma is just as crazy as ever, and has decided that I’m her confidant when things are bothering her. So, I’m now fielding an average of 6 phone calls a week wherein she whines and complains and stresses out about things that DO NOT MATTER! She brought her daughter, (the bride and mother to be) to tears by ragging on her eating habits in front of the entire family. Yeah, because you know what’s good for pregnant ladies? A lot of stress and anxiety needlessly brought on by your own mother. Good stuff.
I think I may have finally gotten across to SG that while she’s allowed to worry, she’s NOT allowed to bother my aunt with that shit. The pregnant lady’s stress is far more detrimental to the baby than is the moderate amount of salt she’s eating. But, we’ll see if my lecture actually made an impact. On the plus side, she listened to my tactful lecture without hanging up on me, as she’s been known to do. So, maybe this wedding won’t be quite the shitstorm I’m fearing.
Who am I kidding? Every event our family touches involves someone getting lit on fire, someone cooking the main course without removing the plastic wrap, or someone getting blitzed and telling people some REALLY inappropriate things over the toast.
~~
Over game night I told my oldest friend, Mel (er, the friend I’ve known the longest, rather) about Mocha Cub, and so it was all fun and delightful. Until her friend, whom I’ve also known for several years, started talking. Her friend, we’ll call her C, is not exactly couth, and has not lost that 20-year-old-I-know-everything arrogance.
So here’s how the conversation goes.
Coley: We’re having a baby!
Mel: YAY! Congratulations, I can’t believe it that’s awesome!
C: Congratulations…there’re so many pregnant women at my work, and man! Pregnant ladies are bitches.
Really? That’s what you thought it would be ok to say right now? Really?
Later in the evening C was giving us a dissertation on how “No Parents Have Any Idea What They Are Doing and Only I Know the Right Way to Raise Kids.”
Now I know that everyone is guilty of judging parents and saying some ignorant shit about, “My kids will NEVER be allowed to watch tv!” But, really this was too much. Any time someone says something that applies to “all” parents or babies, I call bullshit. When I attempted to say something to the effect of, “Well that may be true for some, but there’s a reason there are so many books written on the subject, kids react differently,” I was met with absolutism, “No. If something is tired, it will sleep. Parents are just stupid by running to their kid when they cry.” I’d like to watch her tell that to the parents of a 3 month old. I don’t think she’d make it out alive.
Not every child is the same, and so why would the exact same behavior training work on every kid? It won’t. I just love the arrogance, as though millions of people have been having children for millions of years, but ONLY C knows how to do it right. Especially since C does not have children of her own. And for those of us who have babysat, or teach children, that does NOT mean you know how to raise children.
It was just too much for Coley, and I had to leave the room.
This is not to say that C is a bad person. She’s generally lovely. But that whole arrogant naiveté is more than a little irritating.
~~~
Oh man, I know turnover is just a part of work, but it’s getting comical around here. In an office of about 70 people, I can think of 4 people who’ve left in the last 5 days. That’s a lot of people. I wonder when management figures out that reducing turnover, saves them money?
~~
So, last week I mentioned Crazy MIL sending us bible workbooks. But what I forgot to mention (and Sarah pointed out to me) was that the other things she sent us, were photocopies of flyers that would be passed out on busy street corners. Like, she got a flyer, photocopied it and mailed it to her son. And these weren’t things that were useful. They were like, coupons for Los Angeles based businesses, or somebody’s bullshit political flyer.
I think Faith said it best: What does that MEEEAAN?
Step Grandma is just as crazy as ever, and has decided that I’m her confidant when things are bothering her. So, I’m now fielding an average of 6 phone calls a week wherein she whines and complains and stresses out about things that DO NOT MATTER! She brought her daughter, (the bride and mother to be) to tears by ragging on her eating habits in front of the entire family. Yeah, because you know what’s good for pregnant ladies? A lot of stress and anxiety needlessly brought on by your own mother. Good stuff.
I think I may have finally gotten across to SG that while she’s allowed to worry, she’s NOT allowed to bother my aunt with that shit. The pregnant lady’s stress is far more detrimental to the baby than is the moderate amount of salt she’s eating. But, we’ll see if my lecture actually made an impact. On the plus side, she listened to my tactful lecture without hanging up on me, as she’s been known to do. So, maybe this wedding won’t be quite the shitstorm I’m fearing.
Who am I kidding? Every event our family touches involves someone getting lit on fire, someone cooking the main course without removing the plastic wrap, or someone getting blitzed and telling people some REALLY inappropriate things over the toast.
~~
Over game night I told my oldest friend, Mel (er, the friend I’ve known the longest, rather) about Mocha Cub, and so it was all fun and delightful. Until her friend, whom I’ve also known for several years, started talking. Her friend, we’ll call her C, is not exactly couth, and has not lost that 20-year-old-I-know-everything arrogance.
So here’s how the conversation goes.
Coley: We’re having a baby!
Mel: YAY! Congratulations, I can’t believe it that’s awesome!
C: Congratulations…there’re so many pregnant women at my work, and man! Pregnant ladies are bitches.
Really? That’s what you thought it would be ok to say right now? Really?
Later in the evening C was giving us a dissertation on how “No Parents Have Any Idea What They Are Doing and Only I Know the Right Way to Raise Kids.”
Now I know that everyone is guilty of judging parents and saying some ignorant shit about, “My kids will NEVER be allowed to watch tv!” But, really this was too much. Any time someone says something that applies to “all” parents or babies, I call bullshit. When I attempted to say something to the effect of, “Well that may be true for some, but there’s a reason there are so many books written on the subject, kids react differently,” I was met with absolutism, “No. If something is tired, it will sleep. Parents are just stupid by running to their kid when they cry.” I’d like to watch her tell that to the parents of a 3 month old. I don’t think she’d make it out alive.
Not every child is the same, and so why would the exact same behavior training work on every kid? It won’t. I just love the arrogance, as though millions of people have been having children for millions of years, but ONLY C knows how to do it right. Especially since C does not have children of her own. And for those of us who have babysat, or teach children, that does NOT mean you know how to raise children.
It was just too much for Coley, and I had to leave the room.
This is not to say that C is a bad person. She’s generally lovely. But that whole arrogant naiveté is more than a little irritating.
~~~
Oh man, I know turnover is just a part of work, but it’s getting comical around here. In an office of about 70 people, I can think of 4 people who’ve left in the last 5 days. That’s a lot of people. I wonder when management figures out that reducing turnover, saves them money?
~~
So, last week I mentioned Crazy MIL sending us bible workbooks. But what I forgot to mention (and Sarah pointed out to me) was that the other things she sent us, were photocopies of flyers that would be passed out on busy street corners. Like, she got a flyer, photocopied it and mailed it to her son. And these weren’t things that were useful. They were like, coupons for Los Angeles based businesses, or somebody’s bullshit political flyer.
I think Faith said it best: What does that MEEEAAN?
Friday, April 27, 2007
Crazy Old Bags.
Saturday will hold some challenges. Namely my step-grandma. As designated wedding organizer (really involves making lists, assigning tasks and some handholding), I’m supposed to go with my 21-year old aunt and my step-grandma to start getting flower ideas. There have already been two anxiety attacks just in planning the outing. One because my step-grandma’s (SG) house was designated for the meeting place. That’s it. Her apartment is the most central location, so my aunt decided it would be easiest to meet there. When I relayed this to SG, there was a full minute of silence. Followed by defensive questions, followed by a brief sobbing jag. Jesus. Tomorrow is going to kill me. She only let it go when I finally said, we won’t go inside, we’ll just meet out front. (Yeah, because you know what two pregnant ladies should be doing? Oh yeah, waiting around in 90 degree heat. Fucking awesome).
The next anxiety attack occurred over the length of the bridesmaid dresses in relation to the formality of the wedding dress. I’m a strong believer in “Who gives a shit if everything matches. It’s a wedding, let the couple do what they want and everyone will have fun!” But apparently, because the bridesmaid dresses are NOT floor length, SG thinks they are too casual to jive with the formal wedding dress. It took five minutes of me explaining that shorter bridesmaid dresses are more fashionable now. And that no one equates length with relative formality anymore.
So, if THESE are the big issues that have my SG freaking out, four weeks before the wedding, how are we going to get her through the week before? My answer: tranquilizer darts. It may be the only way.
Too bad I’m involved in all this while gestating. Because a big, tall, frosty Captain and Coke sounds like it would really hit the spot right now. And every day I deal with crazy people and weddings. Everyone remember the drinking binge I went on prior to the Coley-Xtian Wedding Extravagantastica last year? Because I do. And that was my own wedding where pretty much everyone involved was bending over backwards to be accommodating, supportive and helpful. I can’t imagine how my poor aunt deals with the ball of nutjob that is her mother.
So, this wedding may be the greatest shitshow ever, or it might just turn out nicely in spite of the old bag.
~~~
Oh, and for those loving on my crazy MIL stories, the avalanche of mail has begun anew. I think impending Mocha Cub has her fearing for our souls. In the mail, we got photocopied church-type flyers AND the monthly 7th Day Adventist Bible workbook. I've never seen anything like it. I don't even know how to describe it. Xtian wouldn't let me take pictures of it, so I'm sorry that would have been fun. (Luckily, I doubt that's the last time we'll be seeing that!) I tried to compromise by shredding the 150 page booklet into ribbons and sending it back to her, but Xtian lost his nerve on that one too. I even offered him $5 to mail it back like that, which he considered. But in the end, he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Damn. That would have made for some AMAZING stories, I'm sure.
The next anxiety attack occurred over the length of the bridesmaid dresses in relation to the formality of the wedding dress. I’m a strong believer in “Who gives a shit if everything matches. It’s a wedding, let the couple do what they want and everyone will have fun!” But apparently, because the bridesmaid dresses are NOT floor length, SG thinks they are too casual to jive with the formal wedding dress. It took five minutes of me explaining that shorter bridesmaid dresses are more fashionable now. And that no one equates length with relative formality anymore.
So, if THESE are the big issues that have my SG freaking out, four weeks before the wedding, how are we going to get her through the week before? My answer: tranquilizer darts. It may be the only way.
Too bad I’m involved in all this while gestating. Because a big, tall, frosty Captain and Coke sounds like it would really hit the spot right now. And every day I deal with crazy people and weddings. Everyone remember the drinking binge I went on prior to the Coley-Xtian Wedding Extravagantastica last year? Because I do. And that was my own wedding where pretty much everyone involved was bending over backwards to be accommodating, supportive and helpful. I can’t imagine how my poor aunt deals with the ball of nutjob that is her mother.
So, this wedding may be the greatest shitshow ever, or it might just turn out nicely in spite of the old bag.
~~~
Oh, and for those loving on my crazy MIL stories, the avalanche of mail has begun anew. I think impending Mocha Cub has her fearing for our souls. In the mail, we got photocopied church-type flyers AND the monthly 7th Day Adventist Bible workbook. I've never seen anything like it. I don't even know how to describe it. Xtian wouldn't let me take pictures of it, so I'm sorry that would have been fun. (Luckily, I doubt that's the last time we'll be seeing that!) I tried to compromise by shredding the 150 page booklet into ribbons and sending it back to her, but Xtian lost his nerve on that one too. I even offered him $5 to mail it back like that, which he considered. But in the end, he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Damn. That would have made for some AMAZING stories, I'm sure.
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