Suicidal Snowflakes

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

…But wait, there’s more.

Subtitle: My ovaries were just ripped out by 8-foot tall ninjas!

I’d JUST gotten done with my whole spiel on here about how freaking nuts my family is… right? And I go home, and I’m getting ready to do the good and righteous thing in the eyes of the Lord (homework, not blow things up, but he likes that too)…and the phone rings. Any time the phone rings after 11pm, it’s trouble. It’s never someone asking how your day was, whats up, wanna do something on the weekend? It’s never the call from Publisher’s Clearinghouse. Or even a good prank call. Oh no. It has to be someone being crazy.

Mom asks if my STUPID SISTERS made it over my house in one piece. I say no… I just got home five minutes ago, no one’s here. That’s the only sentence I will be able to get in for apx 20 minutes of her ranting and raving. Just when you think she cant get any crazier… or in some cases, that she’s actually getting saner… she goes and kicks it up a notch.

I can’t even get into the intricasies of this whole spat that ultimately resulted in two of my sisters storming out of the house, and Mary’s glasses being broken. Finally, I managed to excuse myself (and EXCUSE is the right word. Mom’s harder to get off the phone than Great Grandma, and that woman could talk up a storm). When I come upstairs, James has let mary in, and she’s eating a concilatory popcicle (we had a few other flavors too: repugnance, remorse, antagonism and malcontent, but the concilatory popsicles were purple and red). She has NO idea where Jenn went. Mary’s glasses are nowhere in site. Aparently mom whacked them off her face and broke them.

It was a bit upsetting in that “flashbacks to when I was a kid” sort of way. Waa. Whine. Anyways… We bitched about mom for a while (where two or more B—-‘s are gathered, complaining of mom will ensue).

James got sick of the complaining and went upstairs to “do homework.” I was in the middle of telling Mary that I bet mom’d come over, because she doesn’t have anyone at home to fight with, and the phone rang. Thankfully it was just Charlie. He wanted to know where the girls were. He also complained loudly for many minutes on the favorite topic of choice.

He aparently yelled at her about the chicken… I guess that’s how the whole thing started. Mom told Jenn to make the chicken earlier last night, and she didn’t.  Mom should have known she wouldn’t.  I mean… why’re you mad at someone for doing something you KNEW they wouldn’t do? Jenn didn’t do it, she came home from prayer group, she was hungry, it was like 10pm and she flipped out.

can i have a moment? Yeah… subdiatribe moment, here.  Ok.  There’re many things a grownup has to do for him or herself.  One of these things is making sure you eat regularly.  I don’t feel sorry for mom when she whines about how she didn’t have anything to take for lunch, or she didn’t have time to make one, or how she was too busy to eat dinner, bla bla bla. Ok, you’re a grownup.  You’re in charge of making your own schedule.  Quit acting like you’re a victim of your life.  If you need to make dinner before you go to prayer group at 7pm, then you need to do that.  Don’t eat lunch at noon, then not even start thinking about having dinner until you’re ravinous at 10pm.  That’s just childish.  Having the occational crazy day where you don’t have time to eat, or stuff popping up out of the blue and you don’t have time to cook–that’s one thing.  But this is like every day with my mom.  And she expects everyone else to make food for her.  Everyone should just know she’s hungry or that she’ll need to eat, and cook for her.  Because she works so dang hard and her life is so difficult.  Spare me.  I manage to either nuke a frozen dinner or slap a sandwich together three times a day and I work and go to school.  You have time for what you make time for.  And I’m not saying make time to exercise or journal or clean or whatever.  I’m saying… make time to eat.  Don’t put that responsibility onto someone else because you don’t want to think about it.  Everybody has to do it three times a day.  Next youo’ll be bitching because someone else can’t poop for you, or it takes up too much timje out of your day.  I know being a martyr is time consuming… but indulge me.

OK.  What the hell was I saying about chicken? Well, my brother is convinced the catholic church is evil, because mom always goes to prayer group and choir and stuff, instead of staying home and taking  care of the stuff that she complains about all the time. I tried to explain that it’s not like the catholic church makes her nuts or makes her behave the way she does–grandpap’s an athiest and he’s nuts too. It’s not like the presence or absence of religion alone will determine if you’re just freaking out there or not.

Chicken.  I haven’t had my adderol yet, what do you expect? So she did the martyr thing and started making the chicken herself at 10pm.  Because life is so cruel.  She couldn’t just make a sandwich and go to bed, and better luck with the chicken tomorrow.  She gets it in the oven and she’s complaining about how she’s tired, and my brother yells at her that she’d better just stay down there and watch the chicken.  My mother’s pulled this shit too many times.  Then she either wakes you up to watch food that she made because she was hungry, but now won’t eat because she’s sleepy, or she forces you to stay up to begin with.  We come back to that personal responsibility thing.  No her kids arn’t perfect with it, and they’re also not particularly good with listening or contributing, but that’s because that stuff comes from the top down.  They have a really shitty example right now. And she’ll never admit they need a third party to sit down and work all this chaotic home stuff out.  There’s no clear chain of command, no clear list of priorities, no clear list of who is in charge of what, and when, there’s no clear indication of what’s going on with whom, and when.  They do everything, every single day by the seat of their pants.  So and so has to be somewhere at 7.  You never know if mom’ll be done with her last thing in time to take you, you never know WHO istaking you… then if there’s a monkey wrench thrown in there somewhere (like getting stuck in traffic on the way home) your whole day falls apart, and you usually need me or someone else (like dad) to bail you out. Akk.  I overbook myself… but I learned it from watching you.  And I’m at least getting better.

My brother can’t take it any more.  And I kind of wish he’d just move out.  But he’ll just yell at her. I almost laughed when he said he’d ordered her to stay down there with the chicken.  He, of course, went on and on about how she drives him nuts, how they all antagonize each other constantly, and how mom has to be the center of attention all the time.

Hetold me that he couldn’t even have a headache and have it be his own.  He had a migrane one night and she asked why he was making faces, so he told her.  So mom of course said yeah I have a migrane too, it makes me sick to my stomach and I think I’m going to throw up.

Charlie says “God! She always has to outdo me! If I told her I’d been castrated, she’d somehow manage to do me one better.”

And I blurted out “Oh yeah? Well my ovaries were ripped out by ninjas!”

Mary hadn’t heard anything else in the conversation, but she heard that and burst out laughing.  Charlie didn’t laugh–he just said yeah, that’s exactly how it’d be! all angry like.

So anyways… somehow miraculously mom did not show up and get all grrr and yelly and stuff.  Mary slept over our house.  I guess she went back home or ran away or something, cuz she wasn’t here when we got back later in the morning, and I haven’t talked to anyone since.

Can’t we just put a moritorium on acting crazy??? PLEASE???


July 7, 2006 - Posted by | Angst, Family & Friends, Unwashed Masses

1 Comment »

  1. Hahahahaha – I ducked the bullet!

    Comment by Me | July 8, 2006

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