If it sucks, you can eat a sandwich

(First - a question: Am I supposed to capitalize every word of my blog post titles?  Not capitalizing makes it look weird.  Capitalizing makes it look too formal.  This is why I hated English classes!)

(Second - a confession.  I have two or three started-but-not-finished saved drafts of posts.  I'm going to try to rectify that situation)

My parental unit came to visit last weekend.  We hit a local Mardi Gras party, and went to a music show.  And played a lot of cards.  And ate a lot.  The title of this post came from the weekend.  First, I cooked something in the crock pot for dinner Friday night.  I wasn't sure when everyone was going to get here, mom and dad were driving in, Hitter was coming from a business trip, crock pot food can kind of hang out and wait until everyone's ready.  Perfect. 

I titled this picture "Surly Crock Pot"



Problem.  I felt compelled to make a recipe I'd never tried before.  So... I told everyone "if it sucks, you can eat a sandwich!" which then kind of became catch phrase of the weekend.  Saturday night, dad wanted wings from a restaurant where I had no idea how the wings were... so I told him to go ahead and order them, and if they suck he can go home and eat a sandwich.  Sunday we had no idea what we were getting into with the music show, it was something none of us had heard of before.  So... you guessed it!  "Well I guess if the show sucks we can always leave... and come home and eat sandwiches" 

And that explains the title of the post.

New topic: I've been having more fun with cameras.  I've officially become a photography nut.  Not a photographer, not even someone whose hobby is photography.  I'm just nuts.  On a high note, I finally learned how to use the dSLR on manual setting.  On a low note, I've become a little disillusioned with that camera and want a shiny new big fancy one.  Except I don't have a spare $1500 laying around.  And I want a macro lens, but I don't have a spare $500 laying around either.  *sigh* 

Which brings me to my next point.  Money doesn't buy happiness.  Yeah yeah I know, you hear that all the time.  And if you don't have money, you think this is a whole load of crap.  Hear me out.  Actually, don't.  I think everyone should quit reading.  Because I'm about to have the world's biggest pity party.

I really know how to have a good time, huh?  Okay let me start by saying I know I have it pretty good.  And I hate it when I go into a pity party because I know that there are gobs of people that would love to switch places with me.  And I WOULDN'T want to switch places with most of them.  So life is peachy, right?

Wrong.

There's still something missing.  And it's a biggie.  And it's not something I can buy.  Nor is it something Hitter can buy for me.  Sometimes I tell Hitter that my life was easier when I was poor.  Crazy, right?  But it's true. 

I miss independence.  I miss freedom.  I miss privacy.  I miss respect. 

I keep having recurring dreams where I'm back in college.  I dream about the town, I dream about classes and homework and professors, and I dream about the dorms.  (Irony, huh?  Privacy... dorms... yeah right!)  Everyone keeps reminding me "you can't go back, it wouldn't be the same" and 1. yeah I know that 2. I'm not going to go back, am I? 3. even if I did go back I wouldn't want it to be just the same... but mostly I can't go back.  However, it's not that I want to go relive my college days, it's that I miss what college represented.  Friends.  Independence.  Fun.  Making my own decisions.  Making do with what I had.  Doing crazy things because they were fun.  Making new friends everywhere I went.  Teetering on that line between fun and stupid.    Did I mention friends?  And fun?  Yeah.  Not just fun and friends though, I worked.  I went to class and had a job.  I had a job I loved, and I gave up the traditional spring break so I could go get another job.  I spent my summers on internships.  But they were what I wanted to do.  My decisions.  My independence.  MY LIFE. 

I have NONE of that now.  I am stuck in this Hillbilly Hell/Snooty City with no friends.  I can't do anything with my life cuz I'm stuck here where there is nothing for me.  I can't do anything without clearing it with my warden husband first.  And he's a fun-hater.  So I buy myself things to try to get happy... but it doesn't work. 

It sucks, and I eat a sandwich.  I hate pity parties.  They make me feel ashamed of myself.  And all they serve are sandwiches.  Bleh.  Mostly I'm ashamed though, sandwiches are okay.  I kinda hate myself a little bit.  And I don't know what to do about it all. 

Then I vacuumed the dining room table

*Disclaimer: This post is probably going to be a hot mess.  I've already forgotten some of the stories I wanted to write about, and it just happened two days ago.  And I am writing this at 4 a.m. after waking up an hour ago and not being able to get back to sleep, so I can't deal with all those nicknames.  Characters today: Mom, Dad, Bro, SIL (and possibly also niece and nephew.  haven't gotten that far yet)  And Hitter.  That one I'm pretty comfortable with.

Yesterday morning I get a text message from the Boyfriend (okay he's a character in today's tale too)
Him: what are you up to?
Me: I'm at the farm cleaning my mother's house
*long silent pause*
Me: I should explain, she's not dead or anything.  They're just on vacation and we, umm, kinda had a party at their house while they were gone.  And now I'm cleaning.  Long story.

This past weekend Hitter and I headed to my family's farm.  He had come up with a brilliant birthday present for my dad.  See, Dad has these model trains.  He has some that were his toys when he was a kid, bought another train when Bro and I were kids, and he's picked up quite a few in the last 5 years or so on ebay.  (I refuse to capitalize the b, deal with it.  even though spell check won't deal with it.  ebay has red squiggly line, eBay doesn't.  dammit!  now I capitalized the b *sigh*)  Anyway he used to get the trains out once in a while when Bro and I were kids and just run them around the floor at the bottom of the pool table, and then packed them away for a long time... until the grandkids came along.  Then he got serious, bought some plywood, made a table, bought a whole bunch more track, made a real layout with a rail yard and a mountain and some buildings and a cattle yard and a whole crapload of lights and signals and stuff (as opposed to just running one loop on the floor)

Spell check doesn't like "crapload" either.  Spell check is an asshole.  

So the top of the table looks really nice with all the fancy stuff he's bought and wired up and tra la la.  However, underneath it was pretty redneck.  He had the plywood sitting on top of an old 1960s dining room table, with one piece of 2x4 at either end to make legs.  

Yeah that's stable.  I forgot to draw the plywood sagging on either end and warping in the middle.  I'm all about encouraging my readers to use their imaginations.  You're welcome!

And his electricity!  Oh my stars!  When he was wiring all the lights and signals and stuff, he just ran all the wires to one place, wrapped the wires around each other, and stuffed them into the holes of a power strip!  Holy crap.  I'm pretty sure that's not up to code.  But it's also not the point of this post.

So Hitter's brilliant idea was to build real legs and supports for the table...  so the grandkids won't accidentally knock it over (I'm honestly surprised the air conditioner vent over the table hadn't blown it over.  or that dad's never bumped into it in a drunken stupor and ruined it all) and the plywood will quit sagging and warping.  Hitter knows how to build train tables, we have a layout too.  He gets a bunch of lumber and mostly created the legs at home, he had to wait and do the framework after we got there, and then we loaded them up and headed to the farm this past weekend.  The biggest reason we chose this weekend even though Dad's birthday isn't for a while yet is cuz of the parental unit being on vacation.  We wanted this to be a surprise.  And now my dad has nice legs!

they're even better in real life

I should have mentioned earlier, my mother is an immaculate housekeeper.  At least the parts that show.  I honestly think she vacuumed the living room carpet the very last thing before leaving home, because there were perfect sweeper lines in the carpet with nary a footprint to be found.

("nary"?)

So Bro and SIL and I were joking about how Mom is totally going to know someone was in her house.  I mean before we left, I vacuumed the carpet, mopped the linoleum, washed our sheets and towels, re-cleaned the fridge, and she's still going to be able to sense our presence.  We even brought home the trash we accumulated this weekend!  She's still gonna know.  So rather than try to hide the fact that we were there (plus, seriously, they're gonna notice the new train table legs) I left a note that was all

Dear Mom and Dad,
  We were in your house.  Please don't be mad!  We tried to leave the house as we found it.  I cleaned as well as I am capable, I hope it's enough.  I'm a pretty terrible housekeeper.  We just came here to give dad a birthday present.
Love,
Hitter, Me, and Muppy!

(Muppy is also a terrible housekeeper.  He didn't help clean at all.  In fact, he barfed on the carpet)

(do you like how I guilted them into not being mad because we had such good intentions... I mean who doesn't like a birthday present?!  I stopped short of mentioning the fact that it's my mom's fault I'm a terrible housekeeper) 

How is it I've typed a small novel and still haven't gotten to the point of the title?  And I thought this was going to be a short story.  Well as I said, the framework for the tables had to be built at Mom and Dad's.  Which led to a whole lot of sawdust going into their basement carpet and all over everywhere.  Of course I had to clean that up, it'd be pretty shitty to show up and make a whole birthday present but then leave the mess for the birthday boy to clean up.  Right?  Anyway, the afore-mentioned dining room table that had been the main support of the train table suddenly found itself free from its train prison, but covered in sawdust.  I searched my mom's house high and low for cleaning supplies, and failed miserably.  More text messages, this time between me and SIL:

Me: do you have a dustpan and broom I could borrow?  Mom's house is so clean I can't find any cleaning supplies
SIL: yeah I do, do you need it now?  I think she just vacuums everything
Me: nah, I can wait till we see each other at lunch.  and she vacuums the linoleum too?
SIL: seriously, you know her.  she's nuts.

Which led me me vacuuming the top of a dining room table.  I also vacuumed my socks, while I was wearing them.  It was a weird weekend. 

And why in the hell does vacuum have two u's?  What a stupid word.

To top off the really weird weekend, Hitter is home today.  Guh.  I wonder if I could just sleep all day.  Maybe drink heavily.

Oh and speaking of Hey Fuck Off, there were more revelations of how incredibly stupid and hypocritical my parents are.  For instance: they have a toilet that sometimes sticks in continuous flow mode... I mean wide freaking open, sounds like there's a broken water main.  And it's been like this for YEARS.  I know this because one time three years ago I went up to house-sit for them when they were on vacation and when I showed up after they'd already left, the toilet was running.  It doesn't happen all the time, but some.  Dad is too lazy to bother putting a new flapper on the toilet, but he yells at Mom for using too much water when she's washing dishes.  And he lectures Bro and me about not taking good enough care of our houses and stuff.  This is the same guy who had so much siding missing from the outside of his house that you could see the framing and some of the insulation was missing.  Plus there's that whole electricity thing I mentioned above.  And their garage door is screwed up.  There's no tension spring.  I've asked him two or three times if maybe the thing would work better if he got it fixed.  He tells me it's not broken.  I quit arguing.  Not worth it.  Have I ever told the story about the carbon monoxide leak?!?!?  Fucktards.  I told Hitter on the way home that sometimes I kinda wish I was an orphan.  Dad isn't the only idiot either, as I mentioned above, my mom is an immaculate housekeeper... in the parts that show!  Don't open a closet though...

this was supposed to be an overloaded closet exploding... but I got tired of drawing crap.  See?  I don't even like clutter in my artwork!

 

And even funnier was when Hitter was in the kitchen and busted out laughing... see, my mom is pretty short.  I mean I'm kind of on the short side of normal, and she's shorter than I am.  Dad's no amazon either.  I think he's under 6 feet.  Neither of them can see over the top of the fridge.  So neither of them think twice about how it looks to someone who is 6'4" and can see the top of the fridge and the half dozen mousetraps all in a row up there.  No, they aren't being stored.  They're baited and set.  Because there are mice.  All over the damned house.  But instead of plugging up the holes in the siding and walls and floors and roof and trying to keep the mice out, let's just leave around a couple hundred mousetraps.  

I told Hitter if we ever inherit that house and actually want to move back to the farm, we're leveling the damned thing and starting over.  It'll be cheaper than trying to fix everything that's wrong with it.

You know what?  Now that I think about it, I'm a better housekeeper than she is.  I mean my house may not be quite up to the same immaculate standards in the parts-that-show, but first of all we do a much better job of maintaining stuff, and secondly my storage room is WAY cleaner than hers is.  I think housekeeping skills should be judged by the parts that don't show, not the parts that do.  

I hate people who only care about appearances.  Hey Fuck Off.  

This post is out of control.  I should stop now.  I should have stopped about an hour ago.

Cake Battery

Remember this?

Apparently the gender roles have continued to the next generation.  Buffalo and the Prom Queen have two kids, a 5 year old girl and a 3 year old boy.  A few stories:

• for the niece's third birthday, I made her a Dora the Explorer cake.  It was a 3D cake of my own carving.  Bran Flake asked me "will it be good enough that she will know what you're trying to make?"  Seriously.  WTF?  
• this past year for her fifth birthday, she wanted Hannah Montanna Montanah Montannah seriously, my fingers will not type that.  Anyway, long story but the moral is at one point Flake goes "well if you can't make a good cake for everybody, I suppose I can stop at the store and get something better" and then when we got to the party, she kept rearranging the presents and freaking out on people because everything had to be PERFECT
• I'm wasting a bullet point to say that the last one was a REALLY FUCKING LONG PARAGRAPH TO PUT IN BULLET POINT
• and now, just had the nephew's birthday.  No awkward questions about whether or not the train cake I was making would be recognizable as a train, no accusations that I wasn't putting enough effort into it, no rude yelling at other family members because the party wasn't perfect enough.  

So on one hand it was nice to not have to deal with psychotic grandma behavior, but I kinda feel sorry for my poor punkin nephew.  Niece is obviously the favorite.  When she misbehaves, it's "oh honey please don't do that, okay?" and then nobody notices that she turns right around and keeps doing whatever she was doing.  Nephew misbehaves and it's "NO!" and a spanking.  And while I realize that it's actually better to be a disciplinarian than to spoil a child and so in a perfect world nephew would grow up to be a much better person, I'm afraid the obvious favoritism is going to work against him and make him bitter.  It's already showing when the two kids are playing together. 

There are more stories.  It goes on and on.  She gets to travel with my folks, they never take him along and even said once that they're afraid they'd hurt her feelings if they took him... but they never think about if they're hurting his feelings by leaving him home! 

Anyway, my cake turned out well and I really wish I could have gotten a picture of the way my sweet little nephew's face lit up when he saw what I'd made.  That was pure joy.  But I had both hands holding the cake so no pictures.  Oh well, I remember what it was like and that made it all worthwhile to me!

It's Beginning To Look a Lot Like Hell

(You were supposed to sing that title.  I know "Hell" and "Christmas" don't have the same number of syllables, but I have faith in you.  You can make it work)

Okay, the whole whopping two of you that occasionally read my blog already know most of the bullshit that surrounds my Christmas world.  I won't bore you with repetition.  Again.  Over and over again.

Moving on!

However, my sister in law the Prom Queen just inspired a new picture and I couldn't resist drawing and posting.  I don't know how everyone works a gift list, but in our family you make a big-ass list of a whole bunch of suggestions and let everyone kind of pick and choose what they want to give.  And if you don't get everything on your list, either you live your life without it or you go buy it for yourself after Christmas.  And life goes on.  Well, Prom Queen hasn't quite figured out that a wish list is just that, wishes and suggestions.  It is not a DEMAND LIST.  So she will get pissed off because she has to spend so much money on Christmas gifts because there are like 50 things on my mom's list that nobody else has gotten for her yet and they just HAVE to be purchased.  And apparently she has to do it because the rest of us are too selfish and dumb to get what mom wants.  There's a huge long story that goes with this which is full of boring details... ask me if you want to know.  But the moral of the story is, nobody can explain to her that wish lists are just suggestions, not demands.  I know my brother has tried to explain this to her before, and it just led to them having a big fight.  And I got this vision in my head:

(If you're confused by the head wound, see this.  I just had to leave it in)

Merry Christmas Everyone!  *sigh*

Get out of my head! Leave my brain alone!

After the last post, I did some real soul searching

imagine my surprise when I found I do have a soul!

and I came up with a plan for my life.  A happy plan.  Am I ditching my idiot family?  No *sigh*  Am I running away to a far-away land?  Also no *double sigh*  Am I taking control of my life and figuring out a way to do something I enjoy?  

 I'm not going into the boring details right now, but the short version is that the plan includes getting a job or going to school or both.  Or something entirely different.  But regardless of how stupid this paragraph is, I do have a plan.

Big props to Best Friend - Mountain Time and Best Friend - Eastern Time for all their love and support through this struggle I've been dealing with!  MT has endured countless pout/whine/cry emails and has helped me sort through the jumble, and just this past weekend I was visiting ET and she also listened to the story (although I'd already mostly organized it by the time I saw her) and she helped me put a little polish on it.  You two are freaking awesome.  And you need better nicknames.  Kudos to Designated Hitter too, regardless of how he really feels about it he has been saying all the right things and appears to be genuinely supportive.  Even if he's lying and a big fight comes later, those who know him know that even pretending to want what's best for me is a big deal coming from him.  And who knows, he might even be truly supportive.  I kinda think he is but I'm afraid to get my hopes too high.

I headed for home yesterday, and even though I was in Marvin the Paranoid Car I was still flying high.  (To the authorities: I was high on life.  Not meth)  I was so happy I almost didn't mind that it took me around 1.5 hours to go 12 miles at one point.  I was feeling good about myself and my life plan.  Got to the hotel last night, caught up with Hitter for a while, and went to bed.

And then the "fun" started.

I had this horrid dream... I am not entirely sure of the setting, there were a lot of weird bits and pieces that I can't figure out, that's pretty normal for me.  But the part that caused me to wake up in a cold sweat was a scene where my parents were yelling at me because I want to go back to school and they don't want me to.  Okay I don't even know how they truly feel about it, because I haven't discussed this with them and I'm not going to until after the plan is not only decided upon but is already set in motion.  If I go back to school, I may not even tell them until after classes have started.  If I get a job, HR will have already filed my paperwork before they know anything about it.  But that apparently doesn't stop them from yelling at me in my dreams.  

Okay in case that isn't abundantly clear, it's my brain, Designated Drinker poking it with a cattle prod, and Bran Flake doing Riverdance on it.  

In my dream, they were telling me I was stupid for thinking about going back to school and that I'd always said I was just perfectly happy being the dumb lab rat so why do I think giving that up and going to grad school is a good idea.  And lots of other things.  I woke up so mad at them for never being supportive of me.  Everything I ever want to do, try to do, dream about doing... they tell me my ideas are stupid and I should do what they want me to do.  And then they take things I've said in the past and use them against me.  

Can you divorce your parents?  

Of course, once I got my bearings (including remembering I was in a hotel) I realized how illogical that was... first and foremost I'm not giving up being a lab rat because I'm currently not a lab rat!  (sidebar: I use the term "lab rat" to mean me as an employee who is conducting the experiments in question, not actually being the test subject)  And secondly, to hell with them.  They never understand anything I want to do, so why should I expect them to now?  Hence my plan to not even mention The Plan until after it is already in progress and there's nothing they can do about it. 

And before anyone says "maybe that was just your subconscious trying to make sure your big plan is realistic" well I actually think I've been fairly realistic about the pros and cons of The Plan.  In fact, I'm kind of a pessimist these days.  But that really is the way my parents have treated me in the past.  The best approach I can take to that dream is that maybe it was my subconscious trying to prepare me for the insanity and make sure I'm determined to not say anything to those idiots until it's too late for them to voice their opinion.

Of course, that won't stop them.  A couple years ago Hitter and I bought a new house.  It may not be the perfect place, but it's pretty close to my dream house.  The first time the parental unit came to visit (long after we'd already closed, signed the mortgage, moved in, etc) and Flake is all "well how are you going to feel if the neighbors tear down all their trees and build a bunch of houses back here?"  Umm... what possible point does this comment serve?!  

1. you are already fully aware that it would piss me off

2. there isn't anything anyone can do about it now because we've already bought the house

3. fuck off!

So I must be prepared for the negativity and the control-freakiness and all the other crap that will come from those idiots. 

Wow. Just Wow.

A couple weeks ago I was back home, just for the weekend.  Friday night I went out to dinner with the parental unit.  They go out to dinner every Friday to the same place with the same group of friends (well, however many of them are available on the Friday in question)

This place is a local restaurant and has had a lot of issues and changes over the years.  It hit another massive low about a month ago, and was starting the upswing when I was there.  This story isn't about anything massive or disastrous.  It's about ranch dressing.

The ranch dressing they've served for years now was pretty awful.  We're talking the flavor of generic dressing 3 weeks past it's expiration date.  But if you dump a bunch of black pepper into it, it's at least edible.  Well, as we're sitting there eating, Bran Flake's friend sitting next to her had ordered a salad with ranch dressing... and Flake stopped mid-story and spun around and goes "wow, that dressing actually smells good!"  So she gets to talking to the lady that has taken over kitchen managerial duties, and asks if it's a new ranch dressing.  Manager lady goes "yep, I started making it myself" and Flake goes "I didn't know you could make ranch dressing"

W.
T.
F.

Where the hell does she think ranch dressing comes from?  Does she think it grows wild?  And they built a ranch in the Hidden Valley, where migrant workers harvest it for 4 cents a month?

not shown: migrant workers, reality

Seriously.  I really want to know where she thought it comes from.  

And to top it off, I was telling her about a friend's dad who had Alzheimer's really bad.  Really really bad.  And Flake's all "I need to figure out how to ward off Alzheimer's" and I said "use your brain.  No, seriously, exercise the gray matter.  Think, reason, learn, keep those synapses firing.  Best way to ward off Alzheimer's" and Flake, in all seriousness, goes "oh well then I'll be good because I'm learning all the time!"  Somehow that wasn't what I meant.  I should have emphasized the "reason" part.  And added "logic".  Flake has zero capabilities for logic.  And even if she does "learn" something (i.e., that you can make ranch dressing) she doesn't retain it.  I bet if I emailed her a recipe right now for making your own ranch dressing, she wouldn't have a clue why I was doing it because she's already forgotten the above event ever happened.  

P.S. I don't want anyone to be insulted by this post, if you hadn't previously considered the making of ranch dressing, don't take it personally.  Unless of course you would have, when presented with a recipe for ranch dressing, still not believed that it could be made.  Because it grows on trees in the Hidden Valley.   

Let's go Trap Shooting

That's me, as a mime, in a box.  I feel trapped.

I'm trapped in a somewhat miserable marriage.  Although right now I'm feeling a little less trapped because I've decided that Designated Hitter is less annoying than my idiot family, and he was really sweet to me last night.  History tells me that the sweetness won't last though, much like the sugary crystals on the outside of a sour gummy worm.  He keeps telling me he's turning over a new leaf.  I'm not holding my breath.

I'm trapped by my idiot family too.  But what can I do?  I can't just quit seeing them, and I definitely can't tell them they're all a bunch of fucktards.  So I'm trapped.

Everyone I know puts me down, and tells me they love me.  They insult me, and tell me they love me.  They humiliate me in public, and tell me they love me.

That was a lie, only the people that tell me they love me treat me like that.  My friends (who might say "love ya" but not in the husband or family kind of way) do not put me down or insult me or humiliate me or ridicule me or make me feel ashamed of myself.

I don't know what love is anymore.  And I am trapped by people who guilt me into saying that I love them.

I wish I could go into the Witness Protection Program.  When I say I want to disappear, I don't mean I just want to move away.  I mean I want to leave no trace.  There was a time, just a couple years ago, when I literally had over $600 in cash hiding in my closet, just in case I ever got to the point where I really had to get out and didn't want anyone to be able to find me for a while.  No paper trail, yanno.  Then Hitter got all nice, and I didn't see my family for a while, and I blew all $600 on myself.  I wish I had the money back.

I can't just move away but still have people know where I am.  Mostly I can't let my idiot family know where I am.  They'll hunt me down, and make life even worse for me if I try to get away.  And even though I'm currently feeling a little more friendly towards Hitter, I'm still trapped with the family because of him.  As long as I'm married to this man, I have to continue to see my family.  Dammit. 

I'm trapped.  And I wish I could start shooting people.  Don't worry, I won't really.  I just kinda wish I could.

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans

I'll be the first one to admit I have very little going on in my life.  I don't have a real job, I don't have kids, I'm not caring for an elderly relative or doing a crapload of volunteer work or anything.  And yet somehow I manage to always be saying "I didn't have time to get everything done I wanted to"  I'm not sure if that's because I really am busy or if it's because I do a lot of stuff that is stupid and pointless while I procrastinate the important things or if I just over-schedule myself. 

My crowning glory right now is that I was in my pool 7 days in a row.  No, not 24-7.  That would have made pruny fingers

the least of my worries.  But I did dip at least once each day for 7 days.  That streak came to an end today.  I opted for a 3 hour nap instead. 

Company was fun, especially the non-pedophile high school girls weekend.  The time with Bran Flake wasn't even all that bad.  She's a little more active than I am, and we didn't do a whole lot of entertainment stuff, but it wasn't bad.  Oh, except for one thing.  One of the high school friends is pregnant... she announced it here... so I emailed Flake (who earned her flaky nickname) and she got all excited and emailed a congratulations note TO THE WRONG GRANDMOTHER-TO-BE.  *sigh*  And not even like she accidentally just put in the wrong email address.  I had written the email saying who was knocked up, and mom read the email but her brain didn't read the name I had typed.  Guh.  I need to quit talking to that woman.  She's so airheaded about everything unrelated to her own grandchildren (and even then, one of them is by far the favorite.  I haven't figured out yet if it's cuz she was the first grandchild or if it's because she's a girl or some other stupid reason, but definitely favorite grandchild.  I'm so glad I don't have children who would need to compete for grandma's love)

The rest of our summer is going to be insane.  I'm going to be out of town almost more than I'm going to be home.  *sigh*  Not really looking forward to this at all.  This is about the time I start to consider getting a real job just so I have something to force me to stay home.  Someone just shoot me now and take me out of my misery. 

Guano in my Belfry

Yep, I'm bat-shit crazy.  But so is everyone else, so it evens out. 

I apparently got a good night's sleep last night... for all of 5.5 hours.  Seriously, I'm less hypochondriac now than I have been in at least two weeks.  I need a massage though, my shoulders and the back of my head are pretty much twitching.

A brief rundown of all the insanity I am exposed to:

1. My family.  Same Shit Different Day.  Buffalo and the Prom Queen are still dating, and are apparently going on a vacation together.  Drinker and Flake still think this is all about them.  And Prima Donna and the Corporal still think they rule the roost.  To add insult to injury, they were given an honor in our little podunky town by other non-related people so they have even had a GROWTH in ego.  Just what they need.  (the insult and injury are to the rest of us, it really is an honor for them that I would have been excited about if it had been before now)

2. The wildlife.  Apparently the skunk moved out the day we set the traps, so we have caught no skunks.  Then my crazy trailer neighbor shot the groundhog, so I paid for traps to catch a non-existent animal.  Although something has dug out the groundhog hole again.  I'm thinking Quikrete down the hole.  And poison. Probably poison first, then Quikrete.

3. Fuck, there was supposed to be something else here but I forgot.  I'll get back to you. 

 4. Company.  Actually they aren't so insane.  Well, the first half of them anyway.  This weekend is high school girls weekend which isn't nearly as pedophile as it sounds.  Friends of mine who I went to high school with.  Not girls who are currently in high school!  We're going to drink a lot.  It will be fun.  I hope I don't die.  But as soon as they leave, Bran Flake is showing up.  Possibly meeting them in the driveway...  She and I usually have fun on our Mother-Daughter vacations, but that was before my family turned into a complete clusterfuck.  So.... yay? 

I should be cleaning the house to get ready for girls weekend.  Scratch that, I should be painting!  But so far in the last two days, I have a) picked blueberries, b) gone shopping (to Home Depot, but that counts, right?), c) taken a nap, d) gone out to supper with my ex-husband* and then went to his house for a couple hours, e) watched two movies, f) made slushie drinks (okay those are for girls weekend.  I'm making margarita slushes, bourbon slushes, and sloe gin slushes.  and possibly fruity margarita slushes too, the first batch was lime), and g) I am now heading out to the pool.  Umm, maybe I should mow first.  Although it's damned hot out (check local listings) so maybe I should procrastinate that just a little longer... till like 8:00 tonight.

I put the PRO in procrastinate.

If you are fully aware of the fact that you're crazy, does that mean you aren't really crazy?

*I don't really have an ex-husband.  I'm sure I'll explain that whole story another time.  

You're a better man than I

Back from the fun.  Err... funeral.  Whatever.  I actually enjoyed getting to meet a whole bunch of relatives that I didn't even know existed.  Lots of weird coincidences were uncovered this weekend but I'm saving them for another post.  (I make that promise a lot, don't I?)

In case you haven't picked up on this yet, Designated Drinker and Bran Flake are... hypocritical? conceited? nuts?  Example: Drinker used to have this best friend... they were such good friends that we all joked that they were boyfriends.  Even Drinker and friend would joke about it.  But then one day that friend went and filed for divorce.  There's a super long story to it, but it does not include him being actually gay.  Anyway Drinker has treated this guy like shit ever since.  Avoids him, never invites him to go tailgating or golfing or anything with their big circle of friends.  Seriously, it's not even just the one-on-one stuff, Drinker has done his best to alienate him from the whole crowd.

Believe it or not, the guy actually drove 2 hours one-way to come to the funeral this weekend.  And even then Drinker didn't say much to him.  I was floored that
1. he even bothered to come, and
2. my stupid ass father couldn't pull his head out of his ass long enough to carry on a conversation

If it was me, I wouldn't have shown up.  If anyone treated me the way he's been treated, I woulda been all

*I created a "Use Frequently" folder for this picture

And I really would have been like that considering Drinker's own kid has also filed for divorce from his wife (although it's on hold.  I think.  I can't keep up) Holy hypocrite Batman!  You'd think he'd be able to bury the hatchet and make friendly again, all things considered.  

Apparently my parents still think they're superior, even though they're just the same as everyone else.  

Edit from WAAAAAAAAAY into the future: apparently they've at least somewhat made up.  Last time I was back home Drinker and the former "boyfriend" were at least talking and being nice.  Still not nearly as close as they used to be, but no longer being an asshole at least!  It's a start.

Wherein I am gilded

Buffalo Bill and I have both come up with this theory without any input from the other, and then compared notes later and were amazed at how similar our ideas are.  I was inspired to share the story because of yesterday's story about Mother's Day brunch.  Prima Donna couldn't care less about actually conversing with any of the family while at brunch, she just wants to make sure everyone else in Podunkville sees her and the fact that she raised a child who will take her out to brunch.  My parents have also cultivated this attitude regarding the net worth of children.

Designated Drinker and Bran Flake do not view Buffalo and me as individuals.  We aren't supposed to have our own beliefs and ideas and likes and dislikes.  Well, I guess it wouldn't matter if we did, as long as they were compatible with what Drinker and Flake wants us to have.  I will admit that growing up I was probably the "favorite" because I was the school-smart one, I was the musician, and I took orders pretty well.  Buffalo, on the other hand, does have the benefit of being a boy and therefore is the prodigal son.  The family farms, and they have to be nice to him so he'll stay on the farm too.  I wasn't even given that option, I had to pack up and move away and become an off-the-farm success.

The folks view us as trophies.  They didn't have children, they had prizes.  They didn't give us names to identify us as individual human beings, they just named their mantle-pieces. 

They just like to spit-shine us and show us off to their friends.  Heaven forbid we do anything to tarnish the gold.

Tomorrow, the story of what we do with such pressure.  It's anything but inspirational.

P.S. The question was posed as to the significance of "#1 Kid and #1 Son".  I gotta confess that the biggest reason is... well... do you have any idea how hard it is to write "Daughter" on a trophy in MS Paint?  But it also has a little to do with that me-being-the-favorite and him-being-the-prodigal-son thing I mentioned above.  Mostly I'm lazy though.

Insanity is a state of mind

It's time to introduce my grandparents.  Only one set of grandparents will be featured here.  The grandparents from the other side of the family are a combination of not-blog-worthy and dead.

Warning: Potentially Not Funny

They need good nicknames because "Grandma" and "Grandpa" are just too banal and quite frankly too nice for them.  "Satan" is perhaps a bit harsh, and last I checked he didn't have a wife anyway.  Okay here's the first contest on my blog: whoever comes up with a good nickname for them wins.  (I have a feeling I know who will win since I currently only have one reader)  Characteristics of the nutjobs: they have more money than brains.  They use their money to gain corrupt power and to force others to do their bidding.  They only care about appearances.  The best I could come up with so far is that they're a still-married version of Donald and Ivana Trump... rich socialites with very little concern for others.  But the money comes from Grandma's side and she definitely rules the roost.  One thing's for sure, they aren't Bill and Melinda Gates because there's nothing philanthropic about them. 

Wait, I got it.  Contest over.  Grandma is Prima Donna.  Technically Prima Ballerina, because in her younger days she could rock the toe shoes, but that just doesn't roll off the tongue fingers.  She's definitely the stereotypical prima donna type.  And grandpa is The Corporal.  I didn't have the heart to make him a private, especially since I think he was a sergeant in real life.  He was demoted by marriage though. 

Yes, they're socialites.  My podunky hometown has a brunch at the community center every Mother's Day... it's just a buffet line of podunk town catered food, and then you go sit on metal folding chairs around cafeteria tables.  Welcome to podunk town.  I haven't been able to attend this high-class affair since I live far far away, but I've heard stories from the less crazy parts of the family that Prima Donna insists in sitting smack-ass in the middle so that everyone has to walk by her on the way to either the door or the buffet, and her neck is practically on a swivel making sure she keeps an eye on EVERYONE in the room.  Afterwards, she will badmouth anyone who was there but didn't stop to visit with her.  Of course she couldn't be bothered to get up and go initiate a conversation with anyone, they must come to her.  How she views Mother's Day brunch:

Yes that's The Corporal as the court jester.  There's a running joke among the younger members of the family where a wife will make a ridiculous statement, then haul off and whack her husband on the arm and go "Isn't that right, Corporal?" and then the husband will meekly, with glazed over eyes, go "yep yep yep" because we've seen this happen so many times at the grandparents' house.

They also used to go through mom and dad's trash, looking for ammunition (figuratively, not literally) to use against them...

 "Yay now we can blackmail them into doing things we want!"  I should mention that at the time we were living in an "apartment" in the second story of Prima and Corporal's house... Designated Drinker and Bran Flake were fresh out of college and poor farmers.  We did have our own kitchen and bathroom up there, and had our own entrance to the house... but it was still just way too close for comfort.  And it was a way for them to control us... "you will do what we say or else you won't have a place to live anymore!  Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"  I say "we" and "us" because Drinker and Flake moved in right after college and stayed for almost 5 years, during which time I was conceived and born, and Buffalo Bill was also conceived, although the parental unit finally managed to scrape together enough money to get a house of our own built 2 months before he was born.  So I got to live in that crazy situation for 3 years.  Thankfully I have virtually no memories of it. 

On a much more personal note, here's how they have controlled me over the years.  When I was old enough to drive, my heart was set on having a Chevy Blazer.  This was back before SUVs were for soccer moms.  I have no desire to have one now.  Our friendly small town car dealer hunted around and found one in a very unappealing shade and at least 10 years old, but it was cheap enough that my parents agreed to let me have it... I paid for part of it and they paid for part of it.  Prima Donna was livid... "that's not a ladylike vehicle!  I can't believe my granddaughter is being seen in public in something like that!"  (in an odd twist of fate, she actually has a Trailblazer now.  I don't have the balls to point out the irony to her)  Fast-forward to my senior year of high school.  I'm checking out colleges.  She tells me if I go to the school she went to then she'll buy me a car.  Well, it became increasingly obvious even to her that I was not going to be attending her alma mater, so she "compromised" by saying if I went to the other state school in our home state, she'd put a down payment on a car.  I went out of state.  She bought me a blanket.

A year later (I spent my freshman year having to mooch off other friends with cars, thanks to my bestest friend who had a car!) I was ready to get myself some wheels.  When Prima realized I would probably be looking at something equally unladylike as my Blazer had been, and she also had resigned herself that I would not be transferring back to the alma mater any time soon, she opened up the checkbook and imposed her will upon me.  She paid for half of my car, on the condition that it was cute and red and 2-door and was the exact same car as she was driving at the time.  No kidding, we had matching cars for a couple years.  Thank god I lived across a state line. 

Three years later I landed a high-paying internship, and promptly traded the little red thing off on a baby pickup truck.  I loved my baby pickup truck!  Prima contributed nothing to the purchase of the baby pickup truck, which was fine by me.  Another three years went by, and I was no longer working for high-paying company and was driving a 7 hour round trip to visit a boyfriend at least twice a month, and couldn't afford the baby pickup truck anymore.  So I traded it off on a boring sedan.  Grandma whipped out the checkbook again that time.  And I let her.  Apparently I am a whore.

Anyway, what finally brought this all to a head, is that Buffalo Bill and the Prom Queen have separated.  I'm not sure how it's going to end, but I do know that I love them both and support them both (emotionally, not financially) and I will continue to love and support both of them no matter how it all works out (unless of course she bleeds him dry and runs off with the kids in a divorce settlement, then I may not have quite such warm-fuzzy feelings about her)  I am also trying to stay out of it, it's their issue to work out, and they need to do whatever's best for both of them.  I got a phone call last week from Corporal... he called me to bitch and whine about how Buffalo is just being selfish and only thinking of himself and not giving a thought to how this will affect anyone else.  Now to an outsider, it may sound like he was concerned about the Queen and semi-homeless kids.  But let me translate for you:  "He isn't giving any thought as to how this will appear to the informed members of society gossip-mongers in our podunk town, and how it will affect us when we go to coffee and socialize with people who we have deemed to be worthy of being called "friend" and it will lessen our power over those we view as beneath us"  No, I am not overreacting.  I guarantee you that's how they view it.  Some other things he said to me confirmed this, but I don't remember enough details now to be able to appropriately convey it.

Stay tuned for further adventures of insane grandparents.

Meet the Fockers

I wish my family was the Fockers, we're way more messed up.

Real quick intro to the characters who will appear frequently:

1. My li'l bro, Buffalo Bill.  He's a cowboy at heart, and a wild man all over.
2. My dad, Designated Drinker.  One more internet acronym gone awry.  DD=Dear Dad, Designated Driver, or in this case... drinker.
3. My mom, Bran Flake.  It's a long story, and special thanks to Best Friend (seriously, you want a name too?) for getting me 3/4 of the way to this nickname.
4. Grandma and Grandpa are Prima Donna and The Corporal.  These are explained in the post immediately following this one.
5. Buffalo Bill's wife is the Prom Queen.  She's eternally stuck in high school.