Meh.

Oh, it's so fun being at work the day before a holiday. Especially since very few others bothered to come in. But, just waiting for a more reasonable time to leave early. (Strangely taking off at 11 am just seems like a less than good idea). Luckily, the VP who's taken it upon himself to do a "roll call" walk through every day is on vacation. Yeah, this guy is clearly so busy and important, he takes the time to walk through every department to see who is at their desk, and who is not. Then he brings it up in leadership meetings. Just fantastic.

And there are further updates on the crazy coworker. Yes, the same one who complained about my boss "being in the building" with her. She's gotten herself a little hard on for another friend of mine, whom we'll call Char. Char is a male, who works in the same office section as crazy lady. There are two doors leading out from this section, one that leads a person past my boss' office, and one that leads out into a hallway. Both doors are about equidistant to anywhere you'd want to go (lunchroom, bathroom etc). My friend, Char, usually uses the one that passes by my boss' office. Crazy lady refuses to use that same door, even though her desk is right next to it. (See, she's going to show my boss!).
Yesterday Crazy Lady sent Char an email telling him he's not supposed to be using the door by her (the one that leads a person by my boss' office). When he replied asking her, uh, why not? She said that most people in his department use the other door, so he probably should too.
This is just weird. Is she now the gate keeper? I can't imagine how fucked up in the head she is that she actually sat down and formulated words, put them into an email and hit "send" about which door she thinks someone ought to be using. Dear god.
This is a few weeks following Crazy Lady complaining to Char's boss that Char "yawns too loudly," and once used the word "naked" in a conversation she was not part of. (And no, it was not in reference to anything explicit, more like mentioning the brand name juice).

Again, the really bizarre part is not that she makes these complaints, it's that when she does, no one from my company (like the managers or HR folks) ever question it. Instead they fully investigate the claim, and give those she's harassing warnings. Sometimes, the world doesn't make sense.

Ok, that's all I've got. New Warren videos up for your viewing...pleasure? Yeah, I know. No one besides me and Xtian actually care, but my parents need the Warren videos. So Warren videos they'll get. Huzzah!

Action Warren!

Yeah, can you tell what my folks gave us for a Mother's Day and early Father's Day gift?
The camera kicks so much ass, it's ridiculous. HOwever, the software that comes with it, not so much. Hence every night for this entire week has seen me hunched over my computer for hours at a time, intermittently beating my fists against the desk, screaming at the computer and cursing technology in general. I still can't load the videos from the camera to my computer (oh, and did I mention that I'll never be able to do anything on my home computer? Turns out, my geriatric laptop is finally completely incompatible with any software you can buy. Luckily, I have this big ol' work computer just sitting here, so I'll be using that. Yeah, thanks work computer!) but at least I found enough work arounds, and it only took killing one of my unrewritable dvds to do it.

That right there is the reason we had a GREAT mother's day, but a "meh" anniversary. Hard to be sweetie pie when you're too busy screaming profanity at a computer. So, that's that.

Yesterday, it was 101 degrees in Oakland. No joke there. Now, I've lived in Chico, where it can get up to 118 no problem for most of the summer. But this is Oakland. Before this week, the hottest temp I've ever seen in Oakland was maybe 88. I know, that makes me spoiled, but it also means that most of Oakland does not have air conditioning. And did I mention that my house has metal siding, and most of our windows either don't open, or don't have screens so we can't open them without having cats throwing themselves out the window? So yesterday we just baked. It was miserable. How do you cook a meal when your house is officially 103 degrees (yes, it was hotter inside than out. Spectacular)? I decided we needed to order pizza instead. If you have a Mountain Mike's pizza near you, do yourself a favor and order the BBQ Chicken Luau. I know it sounds weird to have chicken, pineapple and BBQ sauce on a pizza, but it is quite honestly the tastiest pizza in the world. I might even prefer it to ... Zachary's. I know, strong words. But seriously...awesome.

Right, so sometime over the weekend, I need to buy a dress to wear to an evening wedding. Damned formal attire! All the dresses I own are either black (and therefore completely inappropriate for a Summer Time Wedding) or way to casual for an evening affair. Did I mention that I hate shopping? Because I HATE SHOPPING.

In the meantime, visit my flickr page to see more LIVE! ACTION! WARREN! If'n you're into that sort of thing.

Wherein I admit to vulnerability.

Apparently, I’m a raw nerve today. When Xtian and I left the house this morning, he was teasing me because I couldn’t seem to find the right words for things (you know, like, “car” and “keys.” Pregnancy brain is no joke, folks). Normal, good-natured teasing that characterizes our relationship. Except then I managed to set off the car alarm and couldn’t get it to turn off (Public apology to all my neighbors who had to hear that at 4:30 this morning!), then when I finally started my car, I forgot it was in gear and stalled the fuck out of it.
Xtian kept being silly and teasing, and I lost it, jammed the car into gear and sped the fuck out of there. Then I started crying. Because I’m crazy.

I went to the gym and beat the hell out of myself for being such a pansy assed bitch. Xtian called me as I was just getting on the road to go to work, and I apologized for being insane, and started crying again. I suck ass. He felt horrible, and had no reason to. So, now I feel horrible because he shouldn’t have to deal with my bullshit.

I think I’m having a hard day, for no reason. It’s Friday. I have a three-day weekend (thanks banking industry for deciding that a European dude who never set foot on this continent and thought he was in India, necessitates a day off work!), and I have permission to take off work early as hell. So, why can I not handle even the slightest of mishaps without bursting into wracking sobs?

I am not this person. I rarely cry, let alone let loose pitiful, hiccupping sobs. And I hate being that girl. But jebus, I just feel so unwieldy and out of control of my own body. I can’t even roll over in bed without strategizing the proper tactical maneuvers. I’m not usually very clumsy but these days I feel like I can’t do anything. I’ve cut my hands on every remotely sharp object I’ve come into contact with for the last week, I’ve slammed doors on my own feet, belly, hands and in one AWESOME occurrence I slammed my own head into the doorframe of my car. This shit feels alien, and I’m not very good at being out of control of my body (hence recreational drug use was never my bag).

Even now, after my Friday morning mocha, I can’t seem to keep it together. Everything is making me teary eyed and choking-breathed. What the fuck is going on here folks? Have I finally turned the last corner into certifiably nuts?

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.

You think my Love of Charmed is bad?

My compulsive need to see every episode of Charmed has been well documented. Probably one of my less charming traits. (Charming, get it? Sorry, that was awful.)
But it’s time to rat out Xtian.
Xtian has developed a love of Bridezillas. Yes, that terrible, train wreck of a show about women who lose their damn minds planning a wedding. And I wholly encourage Xtian’s newfound obsession, you want to know why?

With each episode I look steadily less crazy. Close friends will remember the Parmesan cheese fiasco the day before my own wedding. But that is not even comparable to the level of horridness displayed on this show. Xtian is amazed at the shrieking, bitching, freaking out wenches portrayed on this program (but I seriously see how some of them can get that way. Your dressmaker ripped the bodice of your $4000 dress and didn’t mention it or fix it? So you’re now being stitched into the dress 45 minutes before the ceremony? Proceed with the complete mental breakdown.).

I’ve decided all television shows viewed by Xtian should serve to make me look better by comparison. For every lunatic spewing animosity on her betrothed, I look like more like Mother Theresa.

In this same vein, Xtian watched a documentary on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Again, I think my compulsive neuroses and obsessive traits have been discussed at length on this site. But watching this documentary made Xtian remark, “After seeing these people, it makes your OCD look CUTE.” And that, ladies and gentleman, is precisely what I’ve been trying to convince him. Mission accomplished.

~~~~

In the restroom at work, there are three stalls. Two of them have doors that automatically sit slightly open, unless you lock them. The third stall has a door that automatically falls closed. The one that falls closed is a touch roomier than the other two so when possible, I use that stall. (Umm, what’s with making bathroom stall so cramped you have to step around the toilet to close the door behind you? This is just awkward and gross.)
Knowing that the one stall is always closed, whether someone is in there or not, I usually listen when I walk into the bathroom to hear if someone else is in there. If I don’t hear anything, I’ll gently nudge the door to see if it’s locked. If so, I move on to another stall.

Apparently, this is not a thought process anyone else has experienced. Every time I’ve been in the preferred stall, someone will burst into the bathroom, and SLAM their full body force against my stall’s door. It’s disconcerting. (and being the pregnant lady who pees 4 times an hour these days, I’m in and out of the bathroom a LOT.)

But that’s nothing compared to the other day. I was in the preferred stall when Mean Russian Lady and someone else walk into the bathroom. They are having a loud conversation as they walk in, and MRL SLAMS into my stall’s door. While continuing the conversation, she moves on to another stall, does her thing and steps out of the stall. Then she proceeds to SLAM into my stall’s door again, and again while loudly saying, “This door is locked but no one’s in here!” My response was to clear my throat, cough, make some other sound to alert the person that, indeed, someone IS in there. But she didn’t hear anything because she’s loudly banging on the door and shouting about NO ONE BEING IN THERE!

Finally, I had to shout, “MEAN RUSSIAN LADY! SOMEONE IS IN HERE!” It was beyond uncomfortable.

Apparently, I have to somehow announce my presence in the bathroom in order to not have someone beating the door down. F’ing A.

But then again, why do expect anything better from the people I work with? Picture your rank and file trailer park in back woods Arkansas. Now, imagine the people who were chased OUT of that trailer park for being too stupid and low class. Now think if all those people were brothers and sisters who procreated together. THIS is the level of people we’re talking about.

I'm gonna show you how to ball, middle finger to the law.

So the weekend exploded into far more activity than I was hoping for. What with birthdays and graduations coming up, we had a lot of errands to run.

Then, Saturday evening was my cousin’s 17th birthday party. That was just delightful, and I’m so glad I have the luxury of being so close to my extended family. I’ve been fortunate in that I get to watch my cousins turn into real people, and neat people as well. There were some awkward moments there, so I’ll share. (Because that’s what I do.)

Awkward Moment number 1:
The two preggos (me and my newlywed aunt) were chatting when a family friend wandered by and joined in the conversation. I’ve known this woman for years and years, but only casually. She started putting both hands on the bellies and kind of palpating, like trying to see where the baby was at that moment. For a few minutes she was kind of groping my abdomen, alternating between my belly and my aunt’s. It was really kind of odd. I mean, I don’t mind people close to me, who ask, touching the belly. But this was not just touching; this was two steps from a pap smear. Weird. (And to stem the questions, no this women is not a medical professional.)

Awkward Moment number 2:
The adult women were all kind of clustered together chatting about the wedding, specifically about the groom’s sister. (you know, the one who went into labor with what I found out was her SEVENTH child during the wedding). This woman is in her late twenties, has SEVEN children and doesn’t seem to really give a shit about parenting any of them. One of the women (not related to me) engaged me in a one on one conversation wherein she regaled me of tales of the so-called Welfare Queens in her town. According to her, 90% of all people receiving welfare or food stamps are all churning out new kids each year to get more money.
First off, like any stereotype/urban legend, I know there’s a nugget of truth. Yes, some people do take advantage of the systems meant to take care of those who need help. But I do not believe that this is the majority of those receiving help. Secondly, how the fuck would she know? She does not work for social services; she works for a grocery store. Her only experience is the people she comes into contact with, I daresay, NOT every single person on welfare in her county.

So, this kind of ruffled my feathers, but she’s a friend of one of my family members and clearly this upsets her, so I just kind of made noncommittal sounds while she complained about old neighbors of hers who were “paid to come to this country, NONE of them work, they party all night long, and drive brand new cars that I can’t afford. That must be nice.” This is when we get to the heart of it. She is upset that other people have things that she does not. She does NOT know these people’s situation, because she’s never spoken with them. She is angry that she does not have more. This is a person who will never be happy with what she has, but does a nice song and dance about how “I don’t let it bother me. I’m happy with my life.” But clearly, since this is the conversation I’m stuck in, it does bother her. Enough that she’s proselytizing to someone who was trying desperately to get out of this conversation. I was openly looking around trying to find someone to get me out of there. She wouldn’t let me walk away. Sheesh. Finally my cousin rescued me, and I spent hours avoiding this woman. If I may use a quote brought to my attention by the glorious Sarah, “A fanatic is someone who can not change their mind, and WILL NOT change the subject.” I think we hit the nail on the head with that one.

Awkward Moment number 3:
I was walking out of the bathroom (you know because peeing is my new favorite hobby these days), and I was corner by my Step Grandmother. I’d chatted with her a little earlier in the evening, did a little post mortem on the wedding etc. So, I was confused when after finding me walking out of the bathroom, she immediately whined, “So you didn’t like the wedding?”

*sigh*
I had said nothing but positive things about the wedding in every conversation I’d had with her and everyone else. Hell, how could I not like the wedding, I MADE THE WEDDING. I can stand back and realize that this is her sick way of asking for affirmation and reassurance. Anyone else with any level of social skills would fish for compliments by saying, “So, how’d you like the wedding?” But it’s SG, so it must be couched negatively. Just fantastic.
Once again, I will thank my mother for reminding me that this is a person who is bound and determined to be unhappy. So, I mumbled about how the ceremony was great the wedding went well etc and ran the hell out of there.

Why is it all the wackos decide to vent their Crazy on me? I mean, I know that I’m often described as easy to talk to and I try to be kind and open-minded with everyone I meet. But this is just taking advantage of someone who is too polite to say, “YOU ARE FUCKING NUTS. PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE, I DON’T WANT WHAT YOU ARE OFFERING.” For serious.
Anyone, got anything they use to defuse situations with nutbags like those illustrated above? (Aside from the aforementioned, “FUCK OFF!”?)

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!

In which much disdain is rained down upon those mentioned:

First things first: People. Update your blogs! I need more reading material. And there’s only so much time I can read through the descriptions of Personality Disorders, in an attempt to figure out exactly what is wrong with my MIL.
(Note: I think I’ve settled on this guy right here: Narcissistic Personality Disorder.)

AND speaking of which, I don’t think I ever mentioned this story, so I’ll tell it now, since I don’t give a shit.

Last year, I was trying to get friendly with my then-MIL-to-be. She mentioned offhand that she doesn’t speak with her siblings or their children. In fact, she doesn’t keep contact with any of her family. I thought this was strange, but hadn’t yet realized that this woman isn’t a little crazy. She’s clinically insane. She went on to explain that her family came from a lot of money and that she was raised with maids, chauffeurs, nannies etc. She reasoned that she didn’t want her kids being brought up like that, so she broke contact with her family.
This seemed a little extreme to me (Ummm, just raise your kids with some values. You clearly didn’t have much money, so I don’t think the whole “rich entitled” thing would have actually happened) but whatever, I’m playing the role of understanding future daughter-in-law.

Then when we got engaged, and asked her which family members she wanted to invite the wedding, she sent me a 4 page rambling email, telling me in no uncertain terms that I was welcome to invite her family, but then she would absolutely not be attending. Ok, this was just getting plain weird. I responded that of course her feelings were important to us, but that it was equally as important for Xtian to have as much family as he wanted there, and I hoped she could make arrangements to come.

The response was a little horrifying. Several pages of email telling me that her family was all a bunch of perverts and drug dealers. That’s a direct quote. Her sister’s kids were all in jail; her siblings were all perverted individuals who belonged in prison for their crimes. Without saying so outright, she was trying to give the impression that these people were all child molesters who shot up. I showed the email to Xtian who had actually spent a few weeks with these people when he was 17, and none of those things were true.

So, at some point I finally figured out that it’s not that SHE won’t have a relationship with her family. It’s that THEY won’t have a relationship with HER. That’s only two of the different stories she’s told me about her family and not one of them were compatible with the others.

Then a week before the wedding, she decided that she couldn’t afford to come to the wedding since the hotels were just “unreasonable.” Yeah, it’s the bay area and some hotels are really expensive. But there are also Motel 6’s for under $50 a day, and she was only there for a couple of days. She had months of notice, but decided to wait until the week before the wedding to pull some more manipulation. So, some of my family chipped in to help her get a room. Just another way to make sure she was getting the VIP treatment she feels she deserves.

So, yeah, yet another chapter in the Coley’s MIL is Fucking Mentally Ill diaries.

~~


So apparently, I quit the softball a few weeks too soon. They have still YET to win a game, and I missed the brawl last night.

That’s right, BitchFace got into an actual fist fight with a woman on the other team. This is what I call, “Classy.” The story goes like this: BitchFace and her friend Jennie (both women well over 30) got a little sloshed before the game. During the game, there was some intense shit talking between BitchFace and a woman on the other team. After the game, both teams were engaging in the customary handshake and “good game” exchanges. The woman on the other team apparently jumped on BitchFace’s back and started whooping on her. Now, from here I can see defending yourself. But then Jennie started hitting the other woman. Two on one does not a clean/defensive fight make. The rest of the teams pulled the three women apart, the three women were all straining to get back to the fight. It was a this point BitchFace screamed into the other woman’s face, “You FUCKING BITCH!” So, rather than fighting back to get herself out of the situation, she’s upgraded her participation to "fight inciter". Following this, the rest of the players managed to get the three women into their respective cars. Unfortunately, this just started a dangerous chase through the rural suburb. Several folk on our team took off after them just to make sure no one died, and that they didn't just continue the fight on the side of the road.

Just the classiest thing I’ve ever heard. But I guess when you get enough white trash and booze together; these things are bound to happen.

~~

Only 4 more days until the weekend!

Friday at work was probably one of the most exhausting days I’ve ever had, without getting ANY work done. The reason: I was wrangling 5 teenagers all day. Aaron has been slacking off lately, regardless of my attempts to motivate him, and as a result, was so far behind on his work we had to bribe employees’ children to come in on Friday to help out.

Mostly these were nice kids who only complained hourly about WORKING, and “when are we getting paid anyway? How much are we getting paid? Are we done yet?” And I didn’t have to break up any fights, which was good. But kids are just tiresome. Especially 5 of them at once all within a year or two of age.

They were working in the lunchroom most of the day, so I had the two doors between us open so I could keep an ear out for them. One girl in particular NEVER STOPPED TALKING. The whole day, I don’t think she took a breath. About par for course on a 15-year-old, I know. But I almost lost my shit entirely when I heard this same girl whining to her mom later, “The other kids just kept TALKING! I couldn’t get them to shut up all day. I’m so tired of hearing other people’s voices.” I actually snorted from trying to hold in my laughter. Ah, teenagers. It’s always someone else’s shortcoming.

And at least I didn’t come out of the day wanting to be sterilized. And I think that makes it a rousing success.

~~~

My 21-year-old aunt (the one getting married) and her mother asked for my help in organizing the wedding planning. So on Saturday I drove with my step-grandmother in blinding rain to the wedding site. A mere 50 miles from my house. Oh, and to top it all off, as I was pulling onto the freeway, my step grandma (SG) mentioned, “I get panic attacks on freeways.” Oh, this is going to be AWESOME! Mostly she was fine and I could ignore her sobbing and whimpering, but then she begged me to slow down from the scorching speed of 45 MPH on the freeway, while other cars sped past us at 80 MPH. Of course this only served to terrify her more, so there were several tense minutes.

The wedding site is gorgeous and pretty neat. I was pleased with what I had to work with, and the visit was really successful in helping me plan better. On the way there and back I attempted to keep up some conversation with SG, mostly about the wedding. It was during this that she mentioned, “I don’t know anything about the groom’s family and I want to keep it that way.”

Oh, excellent! That’s the right attitude, absolutely. I turned to her and said, “Well you better get over that, because they are about to be YOUR family too.”

My best guess here is that SG blames the groom for my aunt getting knocked up. Yeah, because my aunt wasn’t party to the activities at all, right? She’s the innocent bystander in all this? Of course she is, and SG is perfectly sane. *ahem*

So, it’s kind of refreshing to see in-law issues from the other side and know that sometimes, MIL’s are just fucking nuts and there isn’t much you can do but ignore their crazy asses.

Alone.

Today is unnervingly quiet. Boss is gone. My work husband is gone. My employee is gone. Only the HR lady is in my section of the office. Q. U. I. E. T.

For this coming weekend, I am aiming to do…nothing. We’re out of money, again, so grocery shopping will just have to wait. (And, you know, we have enough food in the house to feed…most of Oakland at least. As long as we all like chicken and ground beef, that is). We have a ton of movies sitting around, waiting to be watched. And I think my goal will be to only leave the house twice all weekend. Once to take Jen to the airport (lucky devil gets to go visit family! Should be some good picture taking in the desert, and mommy/daddy time to boot!), and then maybe once if I feel the need eat something junk-food-esque.

I’ve been unbelievably tired lately, and just kind of rundown. I blame lack of sleep, and that’s probably part of it. What’s really wearing me down though, I fear may be a lack of alone time. I am a creature who LOVED living alone. I loved that when I left something on the table, it was still there when I got back. I loved cleaning the house and no one coming through with dusty shoes.

Don’t get me wrong, I also really enjoy living with people. Hell, left to my own devices, I’m pretty happy being a complete hermit. Having other people around at least keeps me from being the weird anti-social lady the kids all tell horror stories about. And I do enjoy the built in socialization, and the shared context of living in the same house with someone.

But I still thrive on downtime. Due to schedules, I’m the first one out of the house, and the last one home. Everyday. I haven’t had the house to myself for more than 30 minutes since last year. Everyone needs some alone time in their house, and it’s not to say that Xtian/Sarah are always in my space. Hell, Sarah usually hangs out in her room with the door shut. But, just being alone in the house, without anyone around really is healing.

I can watch TERRIBLE TV shows, I can lay in bed and read for 3 hours without interruption. I can eat horrible things for breakfast without any commentary. And I’m not responsible for paying attention to anyone other than myself. And it’s THAT that I’m needing the most. Time to do nothing.

At least I hope so.