Once upon a time, a daughter went to her parents house weekly to help them out with household chores and errands. On such occasions, the mother would occasionally buy said daughter (me), as well as herself and the father an instant lottery ticket.
Enough of that, this is no fairy tale. My mom has picked up right where Grandma left off on the instant lottery bandwagon. Grandma loved gambling of any kind. Generally speaking, I think it's a waste of money but if someone wants to buy me a ticket then sure, I'll do the scratchy scratchy. On one of these occasions, mom decided to splurge and bought three $5 instant tickets... one for her, one for dad and one for me. As is usually the case, I forgot about the ticket right after I threw it in my purse.
Several days later my mom calls me and asks me if I scratched my ticket. She sounds weird, mysterious and kind of shifty. I told her I forgot about it and then I said, "you sound weird, what...are you pulling a Grandma and thinking you won $150,000?" She says, "yes." Oh boy, here we go again. My Grandma was notorious for thinking she won the lottery. I cannot tell you how many times she's called me, convinced she was the next instant millionaire. But in her defense, she wasn't so great with the reading and writing, having only completed school to the third grade. So she often misinterpreted how to play or what the gist of the ticket was. Mom has no such excuse.
She asks me to get my ticket and then proceeds to tell me that on the back is an extra game and it is there that she believes she hit the jackpot. It's set up like a slot machine and you match oranges or cherries, etc. Or if you have a dollar sign, one of these $, you win the amount shown. She says she has a dollar sign and the prize amount shown is $150,000. "Are you sure?" I say several times. She assures me that is what she has. I had a dollar sign on my ticket, with a prize of $3 so I told her I would go cash it in and ask some questions then get back to her. So she waits on pins and needles and I go to the grocery store and chat up the lottery counter lady. She assures me that if mom does indeed have the dollar sign and the $150,000 prize listed, then she is a winner and she tells me how we go about redeeming the ticket.
Leaving the store, I call mom and tell her the good news. It looks like she's a winner! I am working that day so I told her I would finish up my job and then come over and we'll get the redemption process underway. She's excited. I'm excited and start planning my trip to Italy! I go home on Cloud 9 thinking about all my exciting plans that can finally come to fruition. And as I'm just finishing up my job, she calls and says, "I don't think I won." So I say, "What changed? You either have the dollar sign or you don't." Mom informs me that she's looked at it again and again and now it's looking more like an icon of an actual dollar than a dollar sign. Big diff there mom. The plane that was taking off for Sicily in my head just turned back around and landed in Akron and threw me off. So I tell her, hold onto the ticket and when I come for my regular weekly visit, I'll look at it. So that is where we leave it for the next couple days.
Wednesday rolls around, Wednesday traditionally being Mom day, and I head over. When I get there I ask right away to see the ticket. What I saw was not a dollar sign, nor was it a dollar icon. It was an unscratched area. Mom hates to wear her glasses. I don't know why this is, but she does. It's a constant battle every week with me yelling at her to put on her damn glasses so she can actually see what she's buying. It's pretty much a given to me at this point that she did not have her glasses on when she attempted to scratch off this ticket and basically missed the whole area except for one tiny little corner. You could not tell what was under there, it was hardly scratched off at all. So how she thought it was a dollar sign, a dollar icon or anything else for that matter is beyond me. I am trying to keep my cool but my fury is starting to take over. She had me running to stores to find out how to cash this non ticket in, a ticket that wasn't mistaken for a winner, she never scratched the fucking thing! So I scratch it, and it's not a dollar sign. It's not a dollar symbol. It's a fucking orange!!! Not even close to either thing she thought it was.
Do you think this convinced her that she should wear her glasses when she's trying to read something? It hasn't! It's still an on going weekly battle. Oy give me strength.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Anger
My anger at times overwhelms me. And right now it is. My anger at being the one who has to field 5 am phone calls and go to the hospital. Does that sound selfish? Because it feels selfish. Does it sound ungrateful? Because it feels ungrateful. My anger grows as my dad's health, which is poor and will only get worse as his and my mom's need to have me do anything and everything I can for them grows. I feel like shit for being angry. I feel guilty. But the anger grows. I can't stop it. And I shut down because I know if I don't my anger will explode forth and unleash a lot that can never be taken back. Things like, "if you had listened to the doctors and followed their instructions, some of this wouldn't be happening!" Things like, "I can't be everywhere and I can't be everything to everyone." Things like, "Call someone else next time, I'm trying to live a life here too ya know?" And the sheer fact that these things are in my head sends me though massive cycles of guilt.
In one moment I think that I should just suck it up and deal because the alternative is so much worse. And then I think, is it? Is it really worse? I'm not saying I want my dad to die. But he is going to, eventually. One of these times when he is taken to the hospital yet again, it's going to be the last time. Isn't it better to just close your eyes and not wake up than to continue this game of what the hell can go wrong next? Guilt. Selfish. I'm the worst person, the worst daughter in the world because I do think these things. And I don't think them because he was never there for me, ever my whole life. I don't think them because we had no relationship at all until I was in my 30's. I don't think them because he spent my childhood drunk and never spoke to me at all. I think them because I'm angry.
I'm so fucking angry. And I'm tired. I never thought I would be this tired in my life. But sleep doesn't come. Guilt eats away at me and I lie awake and let it consume me. Guilt for these feelings, guilt for other feelings, guilt because I want to leave. I want to run away. Start fresh. Have a new life. I want it. I can taste it. And I'm trapped by my guilt. I'm stuck in place. All I can do is dream and wish. Wish I was anywhere but here. Wish I had the guts to leave it all behind. Wish I had the drive and means to make my own wishes come true. Instead, I'm here. Angry. Tired. Tearful.
In one moment I think that I should just suck it up and deal because the alternative is so much worse. And then I think, is it? Is it really worse? I'm not saying I want my dad to die. But he is going to, eventually. One of these times when he is taken to the hospital yet again, it's going to be the last time. Isn't it better to just close your eyes and not wake up than to continue this game of what the hell can go wrong next? Guilt. Selfish. I'm the worst person, the worst daughter in the world because I do think these things. And I don't think them because he was never there for me, ever my whole life. I don't think them because we had no relationship at all until I was in my 30's. I don't think them because he spent my childhood drunk and never spoke to me at all. I think them because I'm angry.
I'm so fucking angry. And I'm tired. I never thought I would be this tired in my life. But sleep doesn't come. Guilt eats away at me and I lie awake and let it consume me. Guilt for these feelings, guilt for other feelings, guilt because I want to leave. I want to run away. Start fresh. Have a new life. I want it. I can taste it. And I'm trapped by my guilt. I'm stuck in place. All I can do is dream and wish. Wish I was anywhere but here. Wish I had the guts to leave it all behind. Wish I had the drive and means to make my own wishes come true. Instead, I'm here. Angry. Tired. Tearful.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
To Write or Not to Write
How much ego does one have to have to write about themselves? I never thought of myself as necessarily egomaniacal, but on the other hand sometimes I think I'm pretty cool. I'm not sure that means I have a big ego though because just when I start to think "yeah I'm alright," I get a big case of self conscious or someone knocks me back to reality. It could be anyone, it could be on purpose, it could be completely accidental. And whenever it happens, I think of something my dad said to me once. I went to my parents house after work that day. I felt like a million bucks. I loved my outfit, I loved my hair, I felt so good and it showed. When I was leaving work that day and walking to my car a man stopped me and said, "excuse me, but are you a model?" And I thought I already felt good! Validated. It was fantastic. Then I got to my parents house and, still reveling in how good I felt I told them what the man said to me. My dad's response, in complete seriousness was, "Was he blind?" That's all it took to undo the good feeling I had all day.
Three words. That's all it took. It happens fast, that trip from the top of the world to the bottom of the shit pile. Maybe a few words like my dad's do it. Maybe an email complaint I get because someone doesn't agree with my opinion. Maybe a sideways glance in the mirror at the wrong angle. And then I wonder, why would anyone want to read anything I have to say? Who the fuck am I? What makes my stories any more interesting than anyone else's? Well, maybe they aren't. But there is one thing I always am when I write... true to me. If you haven't liked a post or more, that's OK. I can only be true to me. I learned a long time ago that you cannot please everyone so don't even try. And I don't. Instead I keep these words in mind that someone I care about told me, "If you write it, you own it. It's yours." Once I do that, it's out there, no going back, no regrets. I own it, for better or for worse.
And so again I wonder, why am I writing this blog? When I started it I was inspired by several things. One was friends illness that woke me up to the fact that at any time your life can change drastically without warning. If that happened to me, what's my legacy? And now that I think about that again, is a blog with my goofy stories a legacy? I guess it is, in some odd way. My other inspiration was a friend with a writing talent that moves me and evokes feelings in me when I read something he wrote. Moved in a good way, or in a bad way, it doesn't matter. Being moved does. When someone can do that with written word, it's pretty special. I didn't fancy that I could do that, but I wanted to try. And something really amazing happened. I love what I'm doing here. I love my voice. I love what I have to say. I love having a place to say it. I hope you do too. And I thank those two special people for inspiring me in two completely different ways.
Three words. That's all it took. It happens fast, that trip from the top of the world to the bottom of the shit pile. Maybe a few words like my dad's do it. Maybe an email complaint I get because someone doesn't agree with my opinion. Maybe a sideways glance in the mirror at the wrong angle. And then I wonder, why would anyone want to read anything I have to say? Who the fuck am I? What makes my stories any more interesting than anyone else's? Well, maybe they aren't. But there is one thing I always am when I write... true to me. If you haven't liked a post or more, that's OK. I can only be true to me. I learned a long time ago that you cannot please everyone so don't even try. And I don't. Instead I keep these words in mind that someone I care about told me, "If you write it, you own it. It's yours." Once I do that, it's out there, no going back, no regrets. I own it, for better or for worse.
And so again I wonder, why am I writing this blog? When I started it I was inspired by several things. One was friends illness that woke me up to the fact that at any time your life can change drastically without warning. If that happened to me, what's my legacy? And now that I think about that again, is a blog with my goofy stories a legacy? I guess it is, in some odd way. My other inspiration was a friend with a writing talent that moves me and evokes feelings in me when I read something he wrote. Moved in a good way, or in a bad way, it doesn't matter. Being moved does. When someone can do that with written word, it's pretty special. I didn't fancy that I could do that, but I wanted to try. And something really amazing happened. I love what I'm doing here. I love my voice. I love what I have to say. I love having a place to say it. I hope you do too. And I thank those two special people for inspiring me in two completely different ways.
"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." ~ Dr. Seuss
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Flee
I have had an AMC website since November, 1998. It's a long time and I modestly say it's one of the best AMC sites on the net. You don't keep readership and longevity if your site is crap. But as such, a lot of people tend to think you're their buddy and come to expect things from you. I've had countless people ask me where I get my information or want more than what I post. I've had people who want to work for me, I've had people who want to be partners. None of these people had anything to offer me in return for what I would be giving them. Nothing. They just wanted or thought it would be fun. Well, it is fun most of the time, but I don't do all the work so I can just hand it over to other people. Most people realize this and are very understanding. And then there's Flee.
It started out innocently enough back in 2002. I was on AOL Instant Messenger back then and people would IM me quite often with questions about AMC. It's a role I've always been OK with. Flee was one of these people. But he soon turned bothersome, relentlessly asking me where my information came from, how he could also get it or if he could work for me. But the main question over and over and over again was "where do you get your information?" I gave him my usual two responses, the nicer, "Through the years I worked very hard to cultivate sources. I have several places and people I get information from," and for the ones who keep asking after that answer, "I can tell you but then I'd have to kill you." These answers were never enough for Flee. He just kept asking. And I tried to be kind, telling him that even my closest friends don't know where I get information and they are people I trust. He insisted that I could trust him, begging me to let him prove it to me. How? I don't know. He told me his name, where he lives, what school he went to, etc. Believing that all this information would suddenly make him my AMC confidante. And it didn't stop there. He begged me, daily, for a chance to be the one I could trust with all my secrets. I repeatedly said no, and the more I said no, the more abusive he got and the angrier I got. Whenever I told him to "fuck off" or "leave me the hell alone" or anything he threatened to post everything I said on my message board so my "fans" could see what I was really like. Here's a little clip:
Yeah, I was pissed. He never shut up. He became so bothersome that I blocked him. But a Flee cannot be gotten rid of that easily. He just got a new screen name and started again. The same idiotic behavior, the same threats to tell my message board how mean I am, the same begging to be trusted and given information about AMC. The dude was really really crazy. And it got even worse. He claimed I was so mean to him that he was going to log off and commit suicide. And then, a day later he had three or four of his friends IM me and ask me if I had talked to Flee yet that day and that they had heard something terrible happened to him. I ignored all the messages, but they all eventually told me he was dead, and that he had killed himself the night before after he spoke to me. It was, of course, a big fat lie. Flee thought he was teaching me a lesson.
He and all his friends and all the other names of his that I knew of were permanently blocked. I blocked his email address from my email. I blocked his screen name and email address from my message board. But alas, none of these things are fool proof and Flee certainly was a fool. He would use different screen names and email addresses to sign up on the message board and he'd post really creepy messages like... "Why hello there Lalia, did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?" I'd delete and block everything he signed up with but I could not block his IP, which would make it a done deal. He was on AOL and when you block an AOL IP, you block many many people, not just one. So I had to make due with blocking him each time he came back. And it never worked completely. He kept trying to talk to other members of the message board in an effort to get them to talk to me on his behalf. This went on for two years!
It was clear I needed help here. My pleas to AOL to remove him went on deaf ears. I wasn't an AOL subscriber, I just used their freebie chat app so they didn't give a shit about my complaints. So I went to my friend C. She is my cyber guru and has helped me with countless problems on the internet, with computers and with crazy people. So I asked her how I could get rid of this guy once and for all. I told her everything I knew about him since he told me a lot about himself in an effort to win my trust. And through our research on Flee, we found a picture of him on his college's website and immediately honed in on the fact that the dude had one eyebrow. Not a unibrow, he was actually missing one. Nice look. C had a plan and told me to relax, she'd take care of it. This is a woman I trust and I did relax and waited to hear how things went.
C started to IM him. He didn't really seem to put together, at first, that C was my friend. She chit chatted with him a little and then when he got comfortable with a random person IMing him, she was able to convince him to show her a picture of himself and found out that he had one eyebrow because the other mysteriously fell out. Yes, it just fell out! We suspected he either had the mange or ringworm.
So it went on for a few days, and C would IM him and say hilarious things like "Hey, how's the brow?" and he would just chat with her. And she'd ask him crazy stuff like, "Hey, have you ever had head cheese?" and inevitably he would have no idea what she's talking about. She went on to explain to him what headcheese is, "well, let me explain it, first you find a small woodland animal in the forest and then you kill them (fox/rabbit preferably), then you dress them (Just like Ed Gein field dressed Bernice Worden) and you scrape out the insides of the head and mold it together to make a block of spongy stuff... which you slather onto melba toast, it's tres delicioso." And most of the time he would just laugh at her or pretend he knew what she was talking about.
It started out innocently enough back in 2002. I was on AOL Instant Messenger back then and people would IM me quite often with questions about AMC. It's a role I've always been OK with. Flee was one of these people. But he soon turned bothersome, relentlessly asking me where my information came from, how he could also get it or if he could work for me. But the main question over and over and over again was "where do you get your information?" I gave him my usual two responses, the nicer, "Through the years I worked very hard to cultivate sources. I have several places and people I get information from," and for the ones who keep asking after that answer, "I can tell you but then I'd have to kill you." These answers were never enough for Flee. He just kept asking. And I tried to be kind, telling him that even my closest friends don't know where I get information and they are people I trust. He insisted that I could trust him, begging me to let him prove it to me. How? I don't know. He told me his name, where he lives, what school he went to, etc. Believing that all this information would suddenly make him my AMC confidante. And it didn't stop there. He begged me, daily, for a chance to be the one I could trust with all my secrets. I repeatedly said no, and the more I said no, the more abusive he got and the angrier I got. Whenever I told him to "fuck off" or "leave me the hell alone" or anything he threatened to post everything I said on my message board so my "fans" could see what I was really like. Here's a little clip:
Flee: lets let the people decide
Me: oh a threat!
Flee: on your message board
Me: go on
Flee: OK give me a sec
Me: do it, watch me ban you. cuz I can. easily
Flee: ban me?
Me: you think I'm going to let you trash me on my own board and not ban your ass?
Flee: you think I shouldn't tell everybody all the nasty things you have said to me???
Me: is it someone else's business?
Flee: well its hurtful
Me: and just what nasty things have I said to you anyway?
Flee: well you have hurt my oh so immature 19 year old self many times
Me: I'm fucking hurt by people every damn day of my life you little shit!!!
Flee: little shit now huh
Me: do you think I go off and blab it all over fucking creation
Flee: well all I ever wanted was to be friends and you act like I am asking you to cut off brad pitts penis
Me: what the hell does that mean?
Yeah, I was pissed. He never shut up. He became so bothersome that I blocked him. But a Flee cannot be gotten rid of that easily. He just got a new screen name and started again. The same idiotic behavior, the same threats to tell my message board how mean I am, the same begging to be trusted and given information about AMC. The dude was really really crazy. And it got even worse. He claimed I was so mean to him that he was going to log off and commit suicide. And then, a day later he had three or four of his friends IM me and ask me if I had talked to Flee yet that day and that they had heard something terrible happened to him. I ignored all the messages, but they all eventually told me he was dead, and that he had killed himself the night before after he spoke to me. It was, of course, a big fat lie. Flee thought he was teaching me a lesson.
He and all his friends and all the other names of his that I knew of were permanently blocked. I blocked his email address from my email. I blocked his screen name and email address from my message board. But alas, none of these things are fool proof and Flee certainly was a fool. He would use different screen names and email addresses to sign up on the message board and he'd post really creepy messages like... "Why hello there Lalia, did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?" I'd delete and block everything he signed up with but I could not block his IP, which would make it a done deal. He was on AOL and when you block an AOL IP, you block many many people, not just one. So I had to make due with blocking him each time he came back. And it never worked completely. He kept trying to talk to other members of the message board in an effort to get them to talk to me on his behalf. This went on for two years!
It was clear I needed help here. My pleas to AOL to remove him went on deaf ears. I wasn't an AOL subscriber, I just used their freebie chat app so they didn't give a shit about my complaints. So I went to my friend C. She is my cyber guru and has helped me with countless problems on the internet, with computers and with crazy people. So I asked her how I could get rid of this guy once and for all. I told her everything I knew about him since he told me a lot about himself in an effort to win my trust. And through our research on Flee, we found a picture of him on his college's website and immediately honed in on the fact that the dude had one eyebrow. Not a unibrow, he was actually missing one. Nice look. C had a plan and told me to relax, she'd take care of it. This is a woman I trust and I did relax and waited to hear how things went.
C started to IM him. He didn't really seem to put together, at first, that C was my friend. She chit chatted with him a little and then when he got comfortable with a random person IMing him, she was able to convince him to show her a picture of himself and found out that he had one eyebrow because the other mysteriously fell out. Yes, it just fell out! We suspected he either had the mange or ringworm.
So it went on for a few days, and C would IM him and say hilarious things like "Hey, how's the brow?" and he would just chat with her. And she'd ask him crazy stuff like, "Hey, have you ever had head cheese?" and inevitably he would have no idea what she's talking about. She went on to explain to him what headcheese is, "well, let me explain it, first you find a small woodland animal in the forest and then you kill them (fox/rabbit preferably), then you dress them (Just like Ed Gein field dressed Bernice Worden) and you scrape out the insides of the head and mold it together to make a block of spongy stuff... which you slather onto melba toast, it's tres delicioso." And most of the time he would just laugh at her or pretend he knew what she was talking about.
And then she went in for the kill, here's a little bit of what C did to him:
C: I was thinking, do you like to sew? Do you have a dog named precious?He took off after that but she wasn't through with him, oh no, she wasn't! But he was actually getting scared. She continued to IM him with Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs references and he got more and more freaked out. She told him to rub the lotion on his skin. She told him to "put the lotion in the fucking basket!" She was as relentless with him as he was with me and finally he was so freaked out that he was afraid that she was going to try and kill him. To which she replied with her absolute best line ever and complete tour de force, "I never said I wanted to kill you, I said you'd make a great purse."
Flee: no
C: I do. I have a poodle named Precious.
Flee: cool
C: I love to get naked, tuck my peepee between my legs and dance around naked in front of a video camera. you'd make a great coat, darling, such white smooth skin think we can meet up?
Flee: your peepee?
C: yes, I have a penis. I'm pre op. didn't I tell you this?
Flee: nah
C: oh yes. i love skinny little white boys. taste like keebler club crackers
Flee: OK you are crazy. later
C: me crazy? hahahahahah. roflicious. WWF ROFLMANIA
C: goodbye my friend. I will dream of you in a well
Flee: who the fuck are you
C: Jamie Gumb, Private Investigator
Flee: LOL how did you get my screename
C: I grow special Death Moths
Flee: you are obsessed with silence of the lambs
C: I told you that already, can't you remember things? Do you do drugs? Drugs are bad...mmmkay. Kittens everywhere have appealing eyes. TURKEY WOMBAT!
And after that, I was never ever again bothered by Flee and I am forever in C's debt for ridding me of that insect! There's never a dull moment in the land of soaps or it's fans!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Stupidest. Question. Ever.
I get asked a lot of dumb questions as a webmistress for a soap opera site. Seriously dumb questions. But this one, this one was so incredibly stupid that I kept it because I knew someday I would have to relay it. It's the absolute truth, this truly happened back in April of 2003.
A new poster came to my message board and this was the first and last post they made. It was so serious. The poster was truly troubled by this dilemma (typos are hers, I kept them intact)
I'll wait until you're done laughing before I point out how many things are wrong with this post.
We can start with the crappy spelling. In addition to that is the horrible grammar. Besides that, I don't have any idea what "berating the fact" means. Was the fact misbehaving? Did it need a time out? And then First sixth? Next sixth? What the fuck is that?
Do I even have to go to the crux of this question? She wanted to know why we miss out on parts of fictional characters conversations when they aren't on camera. It's so ridiculously absurd that I wonder how this poor woman ever makes it through a day on her own. She could clearly see them talking in the background. What are they saying!?
But I'm nice, far too nice sometimes, and because she was so serious and so bothered by all this, I answered her in as nice a way as I possibly could.
The whole thing reminds me of this:
A new poster came to my message board and this was the first and last post they made. It was so serious. The poster was truly troubled by this dilemma (typos are hers, I kept them intact)
One question about last night's episode.
The scenes at BJ's Laurie and Joni were at the bar and Jack and Opal were having a chat at his table.
First sixth: scene starts with Laurie and Joni berating the fact that Jamie brought home a hooker and Holly was right in back of them interupting there little talk to them, freeze then cut to Jack and Opal's talk. You can clearly see the back of Holly when the camera was on Jack.
The next sixth came up and first of all, I think Opal and Jack switched seats then they switched over to Laurie and Joni getting all weird as they realize that Holly heard them and their little argument ensued.
My problem is that it should have been jack, opal - then laurie joni holly after then the opposite in the next chunk. Both groups were in the same place? Did L-J-H just freeze when Jack Opal had their little argument, what did Holly say to them while the camera was on Jack?
This is something that bothers me about soaps.
I'll wait until you're done laughing before I point out how many things are wrong with this post.
We can start with the crappy spelling. In addition to that is the horrible grammar. Besides that, I don't have any idea what "berating the fact" means. Was the fact misbehaving? Did it need a time out? And then First sixth? Next sixth? What the fuck is that?
Do I even have to go to the crux of this question? She wanted to know why we miss out on parts of fictional characters conversations when they aren't on camera. It's so ridiculously absurd that I wonder how this poor woman ever makes it through a day on her own. She could clearly see them talking in the background. What are they saying!?
But I'm nice, far too nice sometimes, and because she was so serious and so bothered by all this, I answered her in as nice a way as I possibly could.
What happens is, because the scenes take place at the same place, they are actually going on at the same time. We cannot watch two scenes at the same time, so in essence they are frozen until we get back to them. We don't miss anything, as "what is being said while the camera isn't on them," because since they aren't real, in real time, having a real conversation, the conversation waits for the camera to come back to the them so we can see everything that is being said.
The whole thing reminds me of this:
Brooke Shields in Friends...Very Funny !!. Watch more top selected videos about: Brooke Shields, Courtney Cox
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Can I Have Dinner First?
There's a little thing that my in laws do that is known by me, as 6 o'Fucking Clock Cake. I don't know the origins of this annoying as hell phenomenon but I do know there are far too many of them throughout the year for my liking. Basically my mother in law gathers all the family together to celebrate a birthday and she plans this gathering at 6 pm. There is no food involved, just cake and ice cream. Cake and ice cream at 6 pm. Sometimes it's 5:30 pm... and then it's known as 5 Fucking 30 Cake. Either way, I hate it. I hate this whole stupid event. And here's why....
Before we lived in Akron, we very easily got out of participating in this nonsense. But we've been here for close to 9 years now and my in laws house is literally right around the corner. Unless we have other plans, plans we have made prior to being told that 5 fucking 30 cake is coming up, we end up trapped. At least we no longer have to buy gifts for everyone. Sometime last year we made the general announcement that only parents and children under 18 will be receiving gifts from now on. Brother in law followed suit with that and he no longer gifts either.
And so on the occasion of January 22 it was, yet again, time for my 6 O'Fucking Clock Cake. I'd be more than happy to tell them not to have it for me. I've already told them not to buy me gifts. But there was no way out this time. It's not just my birthday, it's the niece's birthday and now it's also the other niece's baby's birthday. And it was the baby's first birthday. So 6 o'fucking clock cake was a done deal for us this year. No outs.
I know what you're asking yourself right now... do you bake the 6 o'fucking clock cake? The answer to that is oh hell no, fuck no, absolutely not and there is no way in hell I'd ever make it! Why? Because they don't appreciate it. I have offered many times to make 6 o'fucking clock cake. You'd think having someone who does this for a living in your family would be a no brainer. But one time when I did, I set the cake down in the kitchen only to find a box of Pepperidge Farm layer cake sitting there. When I asked the mother in law what that was for the answer I got was, "that's in case someone doesn't like your cake." Seriously?? When you make your shitty boxed cake do you have a fucking homemade pie sitting there waiting in case I don't like it? No? Then what the fuck!? I can happily report that no one ate the Pepperidge Farm cake that day. But that's besides the point.
On another occasion I asked mother in law if she would like me to make a cake. I had a new recipe for a chocolate cake that was out of this world. She didn't respond. So I didn't make it. When we arrived for that particular 6 o'fucking clock cake function there was no cake and very soon, mother in law was putting on her coat. I asked sister in law, who's birthday it was, what was going on and she told me mother in law was going out to buy a cake. I asked why and from the kitchen I hear mother in law slamming things and screaming, "SHE said she was going to make the cake. SHE said it would be the chocolate cake." Being the SHE in question here I was done, out, screw you guys I'm going home. I told the Man there was no way I was staying and going to be treated that way and he said he'd walk me home. On the way, we discussed how we were both in the room when I asked her if she wanted me to make it and we both knew she did not respond. And in fact, she had called that very morning and never once said one word about the cake. No "looking forward to the cake," "is it baking yet?" Nothing, not a word. So it will be a cold day in hell before I ever bake a 6 o'fucking clock cake again.
And so we're back, and it's time to open gifts. Of course we all watch the baby open her stuff, or try to. I am given several cards and ugh, two gift bags. One I expect since the in laws will always buy something. But everyone else, please... stop!!!! And especially after this year. After all this time, these people do not know me at all. Really. Up first, sister in law. I open the bag and inside is a little box that says Willow Tree on it. And inside the box is a small figurine of a child holding a cat. Yes, that picture is exactly what I received. Wow. That might just be the most ridiculous thing I ever received. Even the 11 year old daughter of sister in law declared, "I told mom, Aunt Lalia is going to hate that!" And hate it I do. She should have listened to the kid!
But wait, it actually gets worse. After opening sister in laws gift and feigning joy, I got to open mother in laws gift. In what universe would anyone who knows me think I would want something like this is beyond my comprehension but here it is. It's a banner with a big wooden key at the top and a big heart on the banner itself. It says, "The Heart of a Home is Love." "How lovely," I say, while my mind races with absolute horror. Who are these people? Have they met me? I'm not trying to be all gift horsey, but I think if you knew me for five minutes you would know that I would not want either of these things. These people have known me for 23 years! I don't even know what else to say about it other than they must all hate me more than I ever thought.
And now it's time for cake. Mother in law has made her patented ginormous cake... two boxed cake mixes made in 9 x 13 pans and then sandwiched together with instant pudding in the middle and Cool Whip on top. No, there wasn't a homemade pie sitting there in case me or someone else didn't want that piece of crap. But there was a homemade pie waiting for me at home. So as soon as the singing was over, the baby dug her hands in her personal little cake, and everyone was served, we made our escape to go home and have dinner and then partake of the pie. Happily there isn't another 6 o'fucking clock cake party to attend for a few months. Maybe I'll get lucky and need a root canal that day.
- 5:30 pm is a stupid time to have cake and ice cream.
- Gifts are expected
- 6:00 pm is a stupid time to have cake and ice cream.
- It's always on a Saturday.
- Saturday at 5:30 pm or 6:00 pm is a STUPID FUCKING TIME TO HAVE CAKE!!!!!
Before we lived in Akron, we very easily got out of participating in this nonsense. But we've been here for close to 9 years now and my in laws house is literally right around the corner. Unless we have other plans, plans we have made prior to being told that 5 fucking 30 cake is coming up, we end up trapped. At least we no longer have to buy gifts for everyone. Sometime last year we made the general announcement that only parents and children under 18 will be receiving gifts from now on. Brother in law followed suit with that and he no longer gifts either.
And so on the occasion of January 22 it was, yet again, time for my 6 O'Fucking Clock Cake. I'd be more than happy to tell them not to have it for me. I've already told them not to buy me gifts. But there was no way out this time. It's not just my birthday, it's the niece's birthday and now it's also the other niece's baby's birthday. And it was the baby's first birthday. So 6 o'fucking clock cake was a done deal for us this year. No outs.
I know what you're asking yourself right now... do you bake the 6 o'fucking clock cake? The answer to that is oh hell no, fuck no, absolutely not and there is no way in hell I'd ever make it! Why? Because they don't appreciate it. I have offered many times to make 6 o'fucking clock cake. You'd think having someone who does this for a living in your family would be a no brainer. But one time when I did, I set the cake down in the kitchen only to find a box of Pepperidge Farm layer cake sitting there. When I asked the mother in law what that was for the answer I got was, "that's in case someone doesn't like your cake." Seriously?? When you make your shitty boxed cake do you have a fucking homemade pie sitting there waiting in case I don't like it? No? Then what the fuck!? I can happily report that no one ate the Pepperidge Farm cake that day. But that's besides the point.
On another occasion I asked mother in law if she would like me to make a cake. I had a new recipe for a chocolate cake that was out of this world. She didn't respond. So I didn't make it. When we arrived for that particular 6 o'fucking clock cake function there was no cake and very soon, mother in law was putting on her coat. I asked sister in law, who's birthday it was, what was going on and she told me mother in law was going out to buy a cake. I asked why and from the kitchen I hear mother in law slamming things and screaming, "SHE said she was going to make the cake. SHE said it would be the chocolate cake." Being the SHE in question here I was done, out, screw you guys I'm going home. I told the Man there was no way I was staying and going to be treated that way and he said he'd walk me home. On the way, we discussed how we were both in the room when I asked her if she wanted me to make it and we both knew she did not respond. And in fact, she had called that very morning and never once said one word about the cake. No "looking forward to the cake," "is it baking yet?" Nothing, not a word. So it will be a cold day in hell before I ever bake a 6 o'fucking clock cake again.
And now it's time for cake. Mother in law has made her patented ginormous cake... two boxed cake mixes made in 9 x 13 pans and then sandwiched together with instant pudding in the middle and Cool Whip on top. No, there wasn't a homemade pie sitting there in case me or someone else didn't want that piece of crap. But there was a homemade pie waiting for me at home. So as soon as the singing was over, the baby dug her hands in her personal little cake, and everyone was served, we made our escape to go home and have dinner and then partake of the pie. Happily there isn't another 6 o'fucking clock cake party to attend for a few months. Maybe I'll get lucky and need a root canal that day.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Stop It Right Now, I'm Becoming Mom!
I realized something this week. I am becoming my mom. It's frightening and disturbing. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother. We're very close. I talk to her every day. But she is the quintessential people pleaser, especially when it comes to my dad or any other member of the family. She wouldn't force my dad to get off his ass and move around more because she didn't want to make him mad. She doesn't make food she likes if it's something he doesn't like because he won't eat it. I never understood that. She will eat it, so??? Whenever we have a big family function inevitably I hear the words, "just go with it, don't make waves" as in if someone pisses me off, suck it up and deal. Well I'm sick of sucking it up.
Becoming like my mom was partially explained in my blog a few days ago, that I should have called a birthday bitch. I tend to try to accommodate others at my own inconvenience, mainly to save myself the aggravation of being bitched at. As the youngest in the family, my needs, my wants, my opinions never matter. It doesn't matter that I'm now 45 years old. It only matters that I'm the youngest and therefore know nothing. At least in the eyes of the rest of the family. It doesn't matter that I took care of my parents for the better part of a year. It doesn't matter that I still do everything for them. It doesn't matter that I run my own business. All that matters is that when I was three I put a stone up my nose because it was pretty and I wanted to save it. That is who my family sees when they see me. Family functions are an exercise in humiliation as my sister tries her hardest to come up with the most embarrassing memory she can and relay to all.
I suddenly realized that I was letting them rule me. I was letting them dictate how I react, how I behave, and how I do things. And this stops NOW. I got a new tattoo this week and I actually went through the trouble of blocking everyone in my family and friends of family from the posting about it on Facebook. My plan was to keep it a secret until summer when I could no longer hide it and then just deal with the reactions. It took a few well meaning albeit blunt friends to point out how ridiculous that is and that I'm a grown woman and can do whatever I want. Dammit, it's true. So one day after trying so hard to hide the new tattoo I called my mom and told her I got it. Was she mad? Kind of. But not really. There was that air of disapproval that I'm used to every time I dye my hair a new color or get a new tattoo. But it's short lived. She was over it all within a minute or so.
So why the drama? Why tiptoe around it? I don't know. It's Mom Syndrome. I keep telling her not to get so bogged down with making Dad mad and just do what she has to do. If he gets mad, so what, what's going to happen? Nothing. So why couldn't I follow my own advice? When I called to tell her about the tattoo I told her straight out, this is the only life I have and I'm going to do what I want. She didn't get upset that I said that, she just said OK. Is it possible that even if my siblings don't see an adult that maybe my parents do?
Becoming like my mom was partially explained in my blog a few days ago, that I should have called a birthday bitch. I tend to try to accommodate others at my own inconvenience, mainly to save myself the aggravation of being bitched at. As the youngest in the family, my needs, my wants, my opinions never matter. It doesn't matter that I'm now 45 years old. It only matters that I'm the youngest and therefore know nothing. At least in the eyes of the rest of the family. It doesn't matter that I took care of my parents for the better part of a year. It doesn't matter that I still do everything for them. It doesn't matter that I run my own business. All that matters is that when I was three I put a stone up my nose because it was pretty and I wanted to save it. That is who my family sees when they see me. Family functions are an exercise in humiliation as my sister tries her hardest to come up with the most embarrassing memory she can and relay to all.
I suddenly realized that I was letting them rule me. I was letting them dictate how I react, how I behave, and how I do things. And this stops NOW. I got a new tattoo this week and I actually went through the trouble of blocking everyone in my family and friends of family from the posting about it on Facebook. My plan was to keep it a secret until summer when I could no longer hide it and then just deal with the reactions. It took a few well meaning albeit blunt friends to point out how ridiculous that is and that I'm a grown woman and can do whatever I want. Dammit, it's true. So one day after trying so hard to hide the new tattoo I called my mom and told her I got it. Was she mad? Kind of. But not really. There was that air of disapproval that I'm used to every time I dye my hair a new color or get a new tattoo. But it's short lived. She was over it all within a minute or so.
So why the drama? Why tiptoe around it? I don't know. It's Mom Syndrome. I keep telling her not to get so bogged down with making Dad mad and just do what she has to do. If he gets mad, so what, what's going to happen? Nothing. So why couldn't I follow my own advice? When I called to tell her about the tattoo I told her straight out, this is the only life I have and I'm going to do what I want. She didn't get upset that I said that, she just said OK. Is it possible that even if my siblings don't see an adult that maybe my parents do?
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