Suicidal Snowflakes

Just because I have a short attention span doesn\’t mean I…

Totally not getting my homework done.

I’ve decided to lie to myself and tell myself that I’m just waiting for the Adderol to kick in. Better living through pharmicology.  Actually, booze helps me abstract, and thats what’s been missing from this whole long, drawn out and tortured process of writing six lousy abstracts for four lousy articles.  SWEAR. Getting it done tonight (Aww, who the hell am I kidding).

Anyways… what inspired this avoidance?? Well, trying to explain to Full-Bodied Joel just what fun he missed by not coming to my house.  It’s such a long tale.

Lets begin this little event here with a sub-diatribe.  Yes, my rants have mini rants imbedded in them.  And then rants in the footnotes of my rants as well.  It’s like trying to divide something in half until there’s nothing left. It can’t be done.

Anyhow. The sub-diatribe.

We celebrate the founding of our country, the sacrifice of our forefathers and the sacrifice of our military (I’m thinkin’ Independance Day, Memorial Day, kinda-sorta Labor Day) by killing animals and roasting them over an open flame whilst we drink beer, wear  shorts that look unnatural on us and server to do nothing other than accentuate the pastiness of our seldom-bared legs.  We get together with friends and family, watch some fireworks, maybe a parade, but mostly it’s beer and bbq sauce and animal flesh.  Not a whole lot of talk about the foundation of our country, the sacrifices that have been made or the nature of freedom.  We’ve kind of gotten away from using the holiday as a time to reflect on why the bank’s freaking closed today.

Why’s the bank closed today? Because today we eat animals and blow things up (which is good and righteous in the eyes of the Lord–the blowing up thing…eating animals is too, but God likes to watch stuff explode.  Like that one time on Myth Busters, with the cement truck which would have only been more awesome if they’d have shot it with high speed film instead of their crappy tv cameras.  God likes to watch stuff blow up. For real), in celebration of our independance from the only country we still like (to quote whichever one of Glenn’s producers that came up with that clever little CG).   It’s completely true.

So while I was poking the coals in my habachi (I can’t wait to get out of grad school and get a house and get a real freaking grill), I contemplated our freedom to watch Brittan’s way better TV, like the original version of Coupling and Dr Who (whom I [heart] in a special way, oodles of noodles), I got an instant message from my sister.

See, we’re getting back into my real diatribe, which is my crazy freaking family, which I’m going to write a book about.  For real. And make money off of.  Dear God… I DESERVE to make money off of this kind of insanity. If nothing else to pay the therapy bills.

So. She says that my grandfather called from MD just to “let us know” that Nana fell on the floor and Ralph was at a party, so she was going to stay on the floor until Ralph came home.  OK.  Where do we start?

1) They’ve been there for three days, and he’s already in trouble. Betcha he wishes he’d have stayed close, where he had two kids that’d come at his beck and call and another annoying kid whom I blessidly am no longer obligated to speak to, now that I’m not seeing her over my grandparents’ house all the time.

2) You’re so senile and nuts.  I mean, he was always nuts, but the senility is a new twist. Instead of calling Ralph’s cell phone (and I knows he’s gots one, working where he works), which he MUST have been given the phone number to, he calls US.  I’m so glad you’re  thinking clearly in this time of crisis.

3) I betcha he expects one of us to hop in the car and drive 4 hrs down there to help him lift Nana off the floor.  He’s nuts like that, and he’s got all this weird obligation type behavior he attaches to things.

4) Call a freaking ambulance.  Don’t just let her lay on the floor for God knows how many hours until Ralph and Hilde get home.

5) Betcha part of the reason why he called is because he’s been down there THREE FREAKING DAYS and mom hasn’t called him.

a) sub diatribe time:  sincerest apologies to my husband who complains when I say “someone” needs to do something, then I yell at him for not doing it. I suddenly realized what was wrong with this picture when, on Sunday night, mom got a bit nasty and said “SOMEBODY” needs to call your grandfather and make sure they got settled in OK.  Someone meaning me, since I’m the only one that has long distance.   Of course, I’m just expected to magically do this, even though I don’t have their number, or the time, and it’s 1:30 in the morning and I have to be at work at 8am.

Ok, back to the main rant:

I’m talking to Mary over AIM some more.  Pipes in the kitchen burst, dad’s over the house fixing the sink.  My parents haven’t mastered this whole being divorced thing. If the other person makes you angry and pisses you off so much you’re divorcing them, just don’t spend time with them.  It’s that simple.  It saves us having to listen to all of your bloviating.

Bloviation… we have a few quiet moments, then Mary informs me that mom’s psycho.  Like I didn’t know.  She says she just found out that my grandmother fell and my grandfather is leaving her on the floor (doesn’t this just have the bitter tang of insanity/SweetTarts?).  So she flips out and panics.  Mary says yes, yes, we all knew this.  I don’t know who called whom, but she ended up on the phone with my grandfather, screaming at him and saying she hoped he died over and over.  She gets off the phone with my grandfather and is throwing things at my dad screaming about how she’s going to poison him and all this stuff.

…So, no idea what happened after that, but an hour or so later, Mary and Jenn show up.  I guess they were fleeing the insanity.

Betcha my brother’s really freaking happy that he worked open/close yesterday for the holiday.


Can’t we just put a freaking moritorium on acting crazy?? You can BE crazy without ACTING crazy.  I’m sure of it. I’ve managed it for YEARS.   Which is tough with all the complexes these people have given me.

And what the hell is with being ESPECIALLY crazy on holidays?? My mom has ALWAYS done this.  She gets angry and screams constantly and throws things on holidays.  It’s like clockwork… the day before she gets panicy and yells and screams at everyone to clean up.  Then the day of, when you have things under control, she starts interfering and messing things up, and picking fights with people intentionally.  Or if things’re under control, but the house isn’t perfect, she starts screaming about THAT all over again, and making everyone a nervous wreck.  She’s always so angry and shook up that she can’t even HELP, all she does is scream at everyone else to get it done.  I’ve tried liquering her up first, to no effect.  I’m thinking of braking open a few benadryl and slipping ’em into her coffee first thing in the morning or something.

Doesn’t it ever get boring, being an angry violent screamer? Doesn’t the paranoia laced with martyrdom ever get old?


July 5, 2006 - Posted by | Family & Friends, School, Unwashed Masses

1 Comment »

  1. No offense to your family, but the voices in my head get really annoyed when people start screaming like that.


    Comment by Sean | July 6, 2006

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