Holiday Grumps

Aunt Kim, if you're reading this, I'm NOT talking about you. Well, unless I mention whistling. Then I'm probably talking about you. But I don't think it's going to come up.

(My Aunt Kim and Uncle Howard and a couple of my aunts on my dad's side are pretty normal and fun and don't talk about Jesus all the time.)

While chatting with Gofahne on Monday morning (I know, I wish she would blog more too! But we have to let her go at her own pace, folks. Be nice.) about our respective Thanksgiving weekends, I went on a little rant about holidays.

You see, my sister (we all remember my sister, right?) started a campaign a couple of months ago to get everyone together in Tennessee for Christmas this year. She asked me about it and I said that I probably couldn't go because I can't really afford a ticket and I don't want to take more time off work. The campaign continued to the rest of the family.

Most of my family still lives in Tennessee. This includes my dad's family. My mom's parents and my mom's youngest sister (Aunt Dana, who also made an appearance in both posts about my sister) live here in Dallas (well, the 'burbs), along with my mom and step-dad. My sister lives in New York with her boyfriend.

I mentioned all of that so you could see that this will involve a lot of plane tickets. I guess I probably could have just told you that and saved a paragraph.

Now, I had already told my sister that I probably couldn't make and I thought my mother had said the same thing. Then my sister's boyfriend passed the bar in New York (YAY! CONGRATULATIONS!) and started his first job as a lawyer with a really good law firm and he can't really leave to go visit Tennessee for Christmas. So now my sister, who started all this mess, can't actually go to Tennessee either.

In the meantime, my mom jumped on board with the "everyone in Tennessee for Christmas plan." She asked me about it and I said the same things about a plane ticket and not taking time off work. I said I would think about it, but that I wasn't really all that interested.

She heard, "Yes."

Now we return to Thanksgiving evening. After Princess and I finished dinner with my friends, we had to haul our cookies all the out to the 'burbs for "dessert" with my family. My mom had been quite distressed that I wasn't spending Thanksgiving with the family (despite the fact that I hadn't done so for the last two of them) and had been trying to convince me to just invite my friends (who had their own plans, yo) up to her house for Thanksgiving.

You can imagine my surprise (except I wasn't really, because this is pretty typically the case) when Princess and I showed up at 7:00 pm and they had just sat down to eat. Mom had been working all day, as usual, so no one even cooked anything. Imagine if I had invited my friends up to my parents house for a dinner of Luby's that was supposed to take place at 6:00 and didn't actually happen until 7:00 pm.

This is one of those things that I just don't understand about my mother, but that's a topic for another day.

Quickly the topic turned to Tennessee for the holidays. I said, "Yeah, I don't think I'll be there (blah blah plane ticket time off work blah)."

My mom said, "What?!? I thought you said you were going?"

Crap.

Now, I'm facing off with my mom AND my Nana. No excuse is really working. What I really want to say is, "I DON'T WANT TO SPEND THE HOLIDAYS FEELING UNCOMFORTABLE AND EXHAUSTED BECAUSE I HAVE TO TRY TO SEE EVERY RELATIVE I HAVE IN TENNESSEE IN 48 HOURS. Also, I don't really like Christmas or Christmas carols or spending endless hours with my family." You see, I was trying to AVOID saying all that.

Me: I can't really afford a plane ticket right now.

Mom: That's okay. I can help you out with that.

Me: I don't really want to take more time off work and I don't have any vacations days left.

Mom: Well, you can wait to leave on Christmas Eve after work.

Me: So really, it doesn't matter what I want?

Everyone: Geez! Don't get all upset! If you don't want to go, just say so! We don't want you to spend time with us if you don't want to!

CRAP.

Me: Yeah, I don't really want to go. I just want to have a nice, relaxing, quiet Christmas and if I go to Tennessee, I will be exhausted.

And I thought it was over.

WRONG.

About an hour later, my mom brought it up again. I think I left it at, "FINE. You buy the plane ticket and tell me where to be, since I clearly have no say in the matter.

She said, "Okay."

So it looks like I'm going to Tennessee for Christmas. Or maybe I'm not. I'm at the mercy of my mother now. When we had dinner on Monday night, she said, "Sarah can't come? This was all her idea...maybe we should just scratch the whole plan and go to New York to visit her."

I'm guessing I'll know the plan on Christmas Eve.

I recounted this story to Gofahne and she said, "The holidays are meant to torment single people that would rather just chill, relax, and be alone. I swear that is their purpose."

I kind of agree.

Look, I don't hate my family. I'm just tired of everything always being on someone else's terms. What about what I want? I suppose the difference between my dad's family and my mom's family is that I actually feel like my dad's family wants to see me and isn't just pursuing some bizarre "Our family loves to be together, see everyone? We're PERFECT!" ritual. However, my dad's mom only talks about calories and Jesus any more and my dad's dad goes on about socially conservative politics all the time and I just can't take that crap. You can see the dilemma, right?

Oh, they'll pick you up all right. But then they'll bend you right over that counter without even buying you coffee first.

"Call Enterprise! We'll pick you up!"

Yeah, no. They won't. Well, they might, but it will take three hours.

This weekend, I had a little car trouble. And by little, I mean a lot of car trouble. Like, my car is in the shop and I can't get it out without paying them more money that I have car trouble. Good times.

I was in my car Friday night, driving to girls' night sushi, when I realized that my car didn't really want to accelerate. I mean, it would accelerate, but it clearly didn't want to do it. Which is weird, since acceleration is most of its purpose.

I made it to the sushi place, had a rockin' time with my girls, then we went for some karaoke and I had a date. (Brave soul came out and met me with all of my girlfriends...)

I made it home, but the car still felt really weird. It was 4am, though, so I went to bed and didn't think about it until the next day.

As I was driving to my rock climbing gym, I found that my car wouldn't really go over about 45 MPH. Huh.

Then when I left the climbing gym, it wouldn't go over about 30 MPH. Oh dear.

I knew I was due for an oil change and I was hoping that would solve the problem. No, I'm not stupid enough to think it actually would solve the problem, but a girl can hope, right? Plus, it wasn't making any weird noises, so I couldn't do my usual turn-up-the-radio-and-drown-it-out plan, hoping it would spontaneously go away. Silent but deadly; it has a whole new meaning.

I sat at the oil changin' place for quite some time while they changed the oil, topped of the fluids (TWSS) and inspected my vehicle. I had mentioned my little acceleration problem, hoping they would locate the issue and tell me all about it. My car passed inspection with flying colors and I drove off the lot...once again realizing that I couldn't accelerate. But this time, it wouldn't go over 15 MPH. It seems that passing inspection has nothing to do with the car actually...going. Interesting.

The Move Trading Company parking lot was looming, so I pulled in there and had my car towed to the dealership. Which meant I was without car for the rest of the weekend.

It was too late to rent a car that day, and I was in a hurry because I was supposed to have a date, which I had to move to the bar across the street from my apartment (so I could walk), rather than going to Oktoberfest.

Rental car places are closed on Sundays. Who knew? So I made a reservation and asked that Enterprise pick me up the next morning. The guy on the phone said I had to call them an hour before I wanted to be picked up.

The next morning, Monday, I talked to the people at the dealership and talked to my boss to remind him I would be late. I called Enterprise for a ride and was told that the driver was out picking someone up, but that as soon as he got back, he would be on his way to my place.

Thinking I had a limited amount of time, I hopped in the shower and got ready quickly. Then I settled in to wait. And wait. And wait.

Two hours later, I called the office. No answer. GREAT.

Another hour later I called back. No answer.

Ten minutes later I called again and got the same song and dance about how the driver was out picking someone up and would be on his way as soon as he got back.

"That's what you told me at 8am. I'm really late for work now..."

FINALLY, an hour after that they called to tell me that the driver was on his way. Twenty minutes later they called to tell me he was lost. The office is three miles from my apartment. (I should have walked.)

When the dude finally arrived, I was beyond annoyed and he was trying to tell me what I should have done about my car. I almost killed him.

He walks me into the Enterprise office and asks for my ID and my insurance and all that jazz. (JAZZ HANDS!) I hand him my debit card (I don't like credit cards, so I don't have any) and he said, "Oh, do you have a major credit card?"

I said, "No, I have my debit card."

He said, "Oh, if you're going to use a debit card, we have to charge you a $250 deposit AND we'll need to see two recent utility bills."

Um...what?

I said, "Don't you think it might have been wise to tell me this before I left my apartment? Do you really think I just carry two utility bills around with me at all times in case someone wants to look at them before letting me use my own ACTUAL money from my own ACTUAL bank to pay for something?"

He said, "Adam? Did you not tell her about this on the phone?"

Adam said, "I didn't know she was going to pay with a debit card."

I said, "So this is my fault? You don't think if you had mentioned any of this on the phone, I might have mentioned I was paying with a debit card? You know what? This is fucking ridiculous. Give me my card back, I'm leaving. And if you charge me even ONE CENT, I will be back in here with some words for your manager."

With that, I walked out the door and realized I was stuck, three miles from home, with no car and no way to get to work. Of course, it was noon anyway, so I'd already missed half the day.

Sometime in the middle of all that, the dealership called to tell me that my car needed new coils and spark plugs and the pistons were misfiring so much that they couldn't even tell if this would fix the problem, but that these things had to be replaced for them to even look any farther.

"How much?"

"Ma'am, with labor and everything, that will be $878."

"Fuck."

Here's my thinking at this point. I've already spent money having my car towed there (For which they, of course, accidentally charged me twice, so I have $200 sitting on hold at my bank for three business days. Goody.). They charge $100 to even look at it, which they'd already done. This money comes out of the repair cost, if they repair it. I can't drive the damn thing as it won't accelerate, so I'd have to have it towed somewhere else anyway. Just to likely find out exactly what they just told me and have someone charge me almost the same amount, which, when you add in towing fees and $100 would possibly even be more. So I said, "I don't really see what choice I have. Go ahead and do it."

And please, please, one more person tell me that they're doing too much to my 7-year-old car which has 140,000 miles on it. PLEASE. Guess what? It's a piece of crap, but I have no payment and I don't want one. And sometimes cars need work. Especially when you know nothing about cars and haven't bothered to do anything you're supposed to except change the oil. SHIT HAPPENS.

Every single time someone not at the dealership has tried to work on my car, from individuals to other auto shops and such, it has been a SHITSTORM OF FAIL. I don't know why. Also, the dealership people work fast and I know where they are and they're unlikely to be gone next time I need something.

Ahem. Can you tell I've been dealing with this for three days straight now?

I had a little bit of a breakdown when I walked out of the Enterprise place. So I called my mother. Which I was trying damn hard not to have to do. I'm almost 30, for cryin' out loud. However, at this point, I was stuck and trapped and they have an extra car.

I walked home and my Aunt Dana (who's been working on cars since she was old enough to walk) came to pick me up. We went to the dealership and evaluated the situation. As it turned out, the car needed several other things, including a new timing belt (which should have been replaced at 100,000 miles) and a coolant flush because the asshats at the oil changin' place had put the wrong coolant in and now they were all mixed in there and my car is old, yo. Dana said that the car gods had clearly been smiling on me and she thought that the work they suggested was warranted if I wanted to continue to drive the car.

SEE? I didn't just go with whatever they said. I'm not a complete idiot. (Even if someone did happen to call me one for being an atheist...on our first date. Wanna guess if we had a second one?)

At this point, making it to work was out of the question, so I went up to my mom's to work there and pick up my sweet ride. For the next two days, I am the proud driver of this:







Oh baby. HOT. It has the same size steering wheel as a racecar bed, I think. Maybe smaller. And it's ELECTRIC blue; inside and out. And doesn't the exhaust pipe look a little...phallic? Oh yeah.

Aunt Dana and I also saw this gem on our way to my parents house from the dealership:





The first thing Dana said? "That's a Pops move, right there."

My Pops (her dad, my granddad) is the master of all things bungee cord or rubber band or duct tape or...bubble gum. He tried to fix a gas leak in my mom's car with bubble gum when I was a baby. Bubble gum. Just in case you're thinking maybe that's pretty clever...it's not. Gasoline takes all the sticky out of gum in about five seconds flat. But he's cute. And he's the only person I've ever known who actually drives just as well asleep as awake.

I had forgotten that my sister was also a little OCD at Christmas, too!

You may remember reading about my sister's move. She reminded me in the comments section (In which both she and her boyfriend commented. They are hilarious.) that she had also gone off the deep end a little bit for Christmas.

Now I love a schedule and a plan as much as the next girl. I'm just well aware that they rarely work out. My sister, Sarah, and my aunt, Dana, continue to live their lives as though every plan they make will work perfectly. And if not, don't worry, there's a backup plan. Or twelve.

I love them both dearly, but neither are really living in the same reality as the rest of us.

You'll notice that I'm not actually on the schedule at all (because of course I can't really be counted upon for much and I was busy with my head up my ass about the guy I was dating anyway). Though, as it turned out, I had a hand in quite a lot of the cooking. Because trying to plan my mother is like trying to cage an enraged bull in an aquarium. Futile at best. Disastrous at worst. But she does try really hard. (Hi Mom! Love you!)

(Did I mention that my mom actually started read my blog yesterday. Yeah...)

Sarah's list is wonderfully color coded already. Anything I add, I'll add in orange and bold and these [] thingies..

And now I give you...my family's Christmas schedule!

On 12/22/08, Sarah wrote:

Please review this schedule....

Christmas Eve

12:15-1: Travel to Lake Village
1-2:30: Christmas Caroling at Lake Village (Expected Attendance: Pops, Nana, Ginger, Gary, Sarah, Dana, Osiris, Omar, Carlos and Fernando) [I HATE CAROLING. I HATE CHRISTMAS MUSIC. Though I have a soft spot for Amy Grant Christmas music. Shut up, she used to go to our church and she rarely gets blasted at me EVERYWHERE I GO for two months before Christmas.]
2:30-3:00: Travel to Prairie Estate
3:00-4:30: Christmas Caroling at Prairie Estate [See above.]
4:30-5: Travel Home
5:00-7: Final Christmas Dinner Preparations
7: Christmas Eve Dinner (Expected Attendance: Nana, Pops, Ginger, Gary, Dana, Rachel and Sarah)

Christmas

1:30: Travel to The Forum (7827Park Lane, off of 75 on Park Lane)
2-5: Volunteer at The Forum (activities include playing bingo with residence and serving snacks to residence at the nursing home) (Expected Attendance: Pops, Ginger, Gary, Sarah and Dana) [What?!? I would have attended, but I was going to a Christmas day thing with some friends. It was white elephant. I got a plastic dead grandmother in a rocking chair. You can't buy memories like these.]
5-7: Christmas Dinner Preparations
7: Christmas Dinner (Expected Attendance: Nana, Pops, Ginger, Gary, Dana and Sarah)


Some Notes

1. I hope everyone enjoys this volunteering activity-- surprisingly, it took me quite a bit of time to find a facility that would allow a group our size to volunteer together. (Other organization required training, background checks, or had to split us up). [It seems odd to me that there's this much of a pain in the assness associated with volunteering. I'm not surprised more people just choose to stay home.]

2. Christmas Eve Dinner Menu: Turkey, Ham, Broccoli and Cheese Casserole, Cheese Spaghetti, Creamed Corn, Deviled Eggs, Banana Pudding, Banana-less pudding, Dressing, Sweet Potato Casserole, Garlic Mashed Potatoes, Rolls, Sparkle Punch and Sweet Tea

3. Christmas Dinner Menu: Pork Tenderloin, Pesto Pasta, Twiced Baked Potatoes, Mixed Vegetables and Cheesy Garlic Bread


Any additional menu requests must be submitted tonight (12/22) [Yes, there's a deadline.]


Sarah

Later that day on 12/22/2008, Sarah wrote:

Here are details for the Christmas Eve Dinner Preparations-- they are color coded so its easy to see what each of us is responsible for....Dana is blue, Sarah is Purple [I'm sorry, this looks more like pink, but I'm not going through and changing it now. Just pretend it's purple.], Ginger is Red, and Nana is Green.

Turkey- Dana

Ham- Dana [Dana is the meat preparer and griller of the family. She has more grill tools than any one single human could ever need and she is HILARIOUS out there.]



Broccoli and Rice Casserole- Sarah will prepare on Tuesday (cracker topping will be placed on Wednesday by Sarah)[This is not a joke, folks. This cracker topping will not place itself!]



Cheese Spaghetti: Sarah will prepare on Tuesday



Creamed Corn: Sarah will commence prep work on Tuesday by taking the ear and juices off the cob [This just sounds really gross to me, even though I know we're talking about corn. I don't really ever want to hear "ear" and "juices" in the same action again.], Ginger will do the final cooking on Wednesday after we get back from Caroling [NOPE.]



Deviled Eggs: Sarah will boil eggs on Wednesday morning before Caroling, Sarah will make the deviled eggs on Wednesday after returning from Caroling [You'd think since Sarah is the one doing all the preparing AND Sarah is the one making the schedule, she wouldn't necessarily feel the need to be so detailed. But you'd be wrong.] [And I think I made these.]


Banana Pudding/Banana-less Pudding: Nana will bring on Wednesday [Neither Dana nor I actually like the bananas in the banana pudding. They get all slimy. NO THANK YOU.]



Dressing- Nana prepare and bring on Wednesday



Sweet Potato Casserole- Dana making on Tuesday [This meant it had brown sugar and pecans instead of marshmallows, I think. I don't like sweet potatoes, but I LOVE marshmallows.]



Mashed Potatoes- Sarah will shave [What the hell kind of hairy potatoes are we eating?!?], cut, and boil the potatoes on Wednesday morning before Caroling, Nana will mash and prepare the potatoes on Wednesday evening [I would like to add that this is NOT what happened. Somehow, Mom decided to mash the cooked potatoes the night before without any of the appropriate ingredients. This was a HORRIBLE IDEA. In case you were wondering. This is why we have an agenda, people, let's respect it.]



Rolls- Sarah will place in the oven on Wednesday night after the Turkey is done



Sparkle Punch- Ginger will make on Wednesday Evening [I made this.]

Sarah


I should add here that Mom (Ginger) didn't make it home from seeing patients until about a half hour before we ate dinner. There were many moments of confusion before Nana (Mom's mom) showed up to guide us through the "making creamed corn" process. Also, I made a huge mess of the deviled eggs, but I really only like the filling anyway. Sarah did place the rolls in the oven on Wednesday night after the Turkey was done. I think Turkey is capitalized because it is Very Important on holidays. I pretty much hate turkey all the time, though, so I refuse to capitalize. Leave me alone, turkey. I want a new holiday meat (TWSS?).

In which I make fun of my sister a little bit and hope she can take it. Love you sis!

My family ties are really complicated. No, not that show with Michael J. Fox and Elizabeth Baxter-Burney (or whatever her name is...), although did anyone else have the odd crush on Skippy? Just me, then? Okay.

What I'm really trying to say is that I have a complicated family. I'll give you the short-hand version (if I can).

My mom and my dad had sex. My mom got pregnant. They were then forced by their conservative Baptist families to get married and nine months or so later, I arrived on the scene. I just want to point out here that my mom got married at SIX MONTHS PREGNANT and she had a 22-inch waist. Chew on that for a second. I don't even think I was born with a 22-inch waist. As you can imagine, that marriage didn't last long. They were children and all.

When I was four, my mom remarried. A year and a half later, my sister was born. She cried all the time and I wanted to put her back because I liked being the center of attention and she was sooooo taking that away from me. I still remember standing over her crib at night (while she screamed...endlessly) telling her to "shut up shut up shut up" because I had a rough day ahead of me in first grade the next day. First grade was tough, y'all. Also, in our house (at that point) "shut up" was akin to "fuck off."

Meanwhile, my father got remarried and presently has seven other children. I'm getting twitchy just thinking about it.

Mom and Dad #2 got divorced when I was 12 and Mom married her current husband about a year later. Dad #2 remarried and now sports his own seven children in Montana, though two of them are adopted (it's still seven mouths to feed, yo). Dad #3 already had one son, who is older than me. He's married and has three children.

If you were keeping up, you can see why the question "How many brothers and sisters do you have?" is kind of complicated in my life.

However, I really only grew up with one sister. She's about six years younger than me and we are complete polar opposites. In most ways.

We had a tumultuous (look at me, using big words!) relationship growing up, but we're friends now and I can't even tell you how happy that makes me.

Of course there are times when I just look at her and shake my head in confusion. Her move from one apartment to another a couple of years ago was one of those times. I actually didn't help out with this one, so I wasn't there for the move itself, but my mom sent me the schedule my sister wrote up for the move because she thought it was "too hilarious." I don't think that even begins to do it justice.

See, here's the thing. My sister is incredibly organized. It's possible she also has some control issues, but that's neither here nor there (I love you, sis, don't kill me). I could only wish to be this organized...except, well, I don't.

If you haven't read LiLu's post this morning about pooping diamonds, go read it. I mean it, go. Just don't forget to come back!

I can totally relate, because I always think I'm organized. But really? I'm not. My clothes are often found strewn all over my bedroom or closet (or both, let's face it). I'm forever losing my jewelry or my hair thingies or my left eyeball (okay, that never happened. But only because it's attached in there really well). But that's part of what makes me fun and interesting. Yes, I just called myself fun and interesting. Deal with it.

My sister reads my blog, so I'm kind of taking a chance here. But I just couldn't resist sharing her moving checklist with you guys. All pertinent information has been blacked out and I've omitted the pages that had train schedules and room layouts on them (because the room layouts didn't show up on my copy). So these are just five of the twelve pages...yes, I said twelve pages.

It begins with a note and a table of contents:



Isn't she adorable? And organized? Personally, I take the "how much of my crap can I shove into my car every trip" approach to moving.



That's possibly my favorite page. I love how she stated everyone's role as though someone might get confused and start trying to pay for things and a fight would break out and all her stuff would end up in Harlem or something. Just for reference, David is my sister's boyfriend (who I suspect had no clue just what this move was going to be like...), Ginger is our mom, and Dana is our aunt (Mom's younger sister) and also The Queen of all Things to do with Moving. Do not question the Dana.

Next we have the actual schedule. You'll notice that my sister has more faith in movers than anyone on the planet. Also, I have no doubt that she sent them this schedule and threatened their first born children if they were more than thirty seconds late (not really, she used to be a social worker and stuff. She would never threaten children. Testicles maybe...). Aunt Dana, on the other hand, will cancel your movers three hours before they're even supposed to be there because she just knows they'll be late and it would be easier to just do it ourselves. What? Your family's not neurotic?



Now, for the cherry on the cake. The "unpacking checklist." There was even a plan for David's underwear. Totally cracked me up.





I should also point out that this entire schedule was made by a 22-year-old. Not a 45-year-old, as you might suspect. At 29, I'm nowhere near this responsible and organized. The move, as you can imagine, did not go off without a hitch. But I think it was far better than her previous move, in which, after driving her stuff halfway across the country, they realized that not only would her stuff not fit through the doors or in the elevators to get it up to her apartment, it also wouldn't fit in her apartment. So she had to get all new stuff to replace the new stuff she'd already gotten. And her old stuff had to be driving back halfway across the country. Good times.

Well, we think he might be gay...

So I already told you about my first morning in Tennessee. Now let me finish up the day.

After my little chat with Granddaddy, Grandmother and I went to the grocery store. This would be the first of about six trips. On the way there, I mentioned that Granddaddy kind of cornered me to talk about politics that morning. She rolled her eyes and said that she wished he wouldn't do that.

"But I am really scared because I think we're heading towards socialism. And that scares me."

The thing is, though, I suspect that she doesn't really know anything about socialism or what it is. And we're really soooo not headed there. We are capitalists. Plain and simple. But a pure capitalist system is just not realistic. So we have lots of programs in place that are more socialist in nature. And that's okay.

Otherwise, please return your social security check. Thanks.

Feel free to not use the post office. And your roads? Yeah, we can stop fixing those.

Just putting it out there.

Anyway, I think she pretty much just believes whatever Granddaddy tells her. Oh, and that God will take care of it.

After the grocery store, we went to have lunch at O'Charley's. She told me about how all my aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters and cousins were doing. I hadn't seen anyone in three years or so.

My dad has seven kids, aside from me. He's never really been much a part of my life. He and my mom were married for about an hour (okay, it might have been a year), 29 years ago. He remarried when I was six or seven, I think. And then the baby making began. My youngest sibling is 24 years younger than me. And I have had apartments that were larger and had more bathrooms (2) than the house where these nine people live.

But they are all well behaved and smart. And very talented musically. Except maybe the youngest one. They invented the recorder as a torture device for grown-ups, right? Cause that thing is terrible. To be fair, she's only five and I'm sure she will be amazing should she ever take up a real instrument.

Anyway, one of my brothers decided he wanted to play the oboe. And since they're all home-schooled (yes, all seven...though the oldest is now in college), my step-mom had to find an oboe teacher.

Grandmother said: Well, she finally found someone, but...we think he might be gay.
Me: So?
Grandmother: Well, she went ahead with it. She never leaves him alone with [my brother] and always monitors their lessons.
Me: Um...why?
Grandmother: Well, she doesn't want him to do anything to [my brother]. I told her that it would probably be okay as long as she kept a good eye on them.
Me: Because he's gay? Grandmother, you do realize that just because someone is gay doesn't mean that person molests children, right?
Grandmother: Well, I know that...
Me: Do you? Because it doesn't really sound like it. Straight people are perfectly capable of molesting children, and probably far more likely. Being gay has nothing to do with it.

I can only hope that my step-mom keeps as close an eye on her children who have straight music teachers.

I'm not naive, okay. I realize that my grandparents are social conservatives. Hell, they're about the only people I know who are still Baptists. But to sit and say this crap out loud was just too much for me. It's so unfair. I hate it when people just stand by and let others say hateful things, so I said something.

But she didn't stop talking about it. So I just sat there, with my teeth clenched, trying to keep my mouth shut. Because it's not okay to tell your Grandmother to shut up either, right?

Then she told me about how one of my cousins "got in with the black boys at school," and how they were such a bad influence on him. Ugh.

Me: You realize that bad comes in all colors, right?
Grandmother: Of course I do.
Me: But you felt the need to point out that they were black boys. If they had been white, would you have said "white boys"? Or just "boys"?

She didn't have much to say to that. I spent the rest of the day shaking because I was so angry that my family could be so hateful. Then I had to go to church to watch my 7-year-old cousin sing for 30 minutes in the first grade choir. I don't do church. Or kids.

My Granddaddy spent the rest of my trip getting little Republican barbs in whenever he could. My Grandmother spent the rest of my trip talking about nothing but calories and Jesus.

It might be another three years before I go back.

All Liberals are Pro-Abortion

AKA what my Granddaddy said to me at 8:30 AM on the first full day of my visit to Tennessee.

I haven’t been to Tennessee to visit my family in about three years. I know, I know. I’m a horrible person. I’ve been busy, okay?

In the car, on the way home from the airport, I accidentally let it slip that I voted for Obama. I didn’t realize it should be a huge secret, mind you. I thought we were still free to vote for whomever we wanted in this country, even Paris Hilton (I’m still surprised she didn’t win after those awesome campaign commercials).

I thought my Granddaddy was going to pull the car over and make me pick my own switch. For those of you not from The South, it’s a version of psychological warfare that parents and grandparents used to torture children.

My grandparents have always lived in The South. And it shows. The next morning, Granddaddy was on a mission to convert me. I guess he thought we would have a mature conversation in which he would tell me all the reasons why voting for Obama was “Un-American” and I would say, “Golly gee, you’re so right! I’m going to call and see if I can change my vote!” Which, by the way, didn’t even really matter, since I live in Texas. Every vote counts, my ass. But that’s neither here nor there.

So Granddaddy starts in about how Obama wants gas to get above five dollars a gallon. How he’s going to take our guns away and then all the criminals will kill us in our beds, but they won’t even get punished because Obama won’t want anyone to be in prison. Okay, he didn’t say that business about prison, but it seems like something he should think.

He spouts off about how he just can’t stand to see our rights taken away like this. Even though he was totally fine with W. stripping away his rights for eight years.

Do you know what caused the mortgage crisis? Clinton gave mortgages to all those black people who couldn’t afford houses. Apparently the white people who couldn’t afford houses don’t count.

And the economy? Why is it in the toilet? The fear of Obama getting elected put everyone in a panic and the entire economy collapsed because of it. Then they all went out and voted for him. Odd.

Obama’s a Muslim. Obama isn’t a citizen of the US. Obama probably wasn’t even born on this planet. I think he’s from Saturn or something. Maybe Pluto.

And for all this, I just sort of smiled and nodded and kept my mouth shut. There’s no sense in arguing. Plus, this is my Granddaddy. I can’t tell him to shut up, right?

Then he told me that “all liberals are pro-abortion,” and that they’re going to take away a doctor’s right to refuse to do an abortion, so then no doctors will want to even perform births and hospitals will get rid of their OBGYN programs and people will be having their babies on the streets. Now, I’m not sure how you follow that train from the beginning to the end, but that was where he crossed the line for me.

“Granddaddy. No one is pro-abortion. No one. Okay, there might be a few people who are actually pro-abortion, but they’re weird. It’s about choices. It’s about women’s rights, which you clearly don’t understand. But no one is ‘pushing abortion’ on people who don’t want it.”

He just looked at me. Can he really think that people are yanking pregnant women off the street and forcing them to have abortions against their will?

Then he reminded me that Obama voted to kill new borns after they’d already been born. Uh…no. He didn’t. Good grief. He voted against something because it was redundant. There are already laws that protect babies from murder.

Granddaddy does think that the laws about hate crimes are redundant, though. I mean, there are already laws about murdering people. Why should it matter that it was because of hate? Just though homosexuals pushing their crazy “have the same rights as everyone else” agenda on us again.

So I got him off track by talking about football. So, how ‘bout those Titans, eh? Whew.

You know those emails that circulate around with all the crazy stuff about Obama and liberals and crap (I’ve never gotten any about Republicans, really)? The ones most of us just delete? Yeah, my Granddaddy believes all of them. He probably sent them to you. I’m sorry.

Stay tuned for the next installment, “My Grandmother thinks all gay men want to rape little boys.”

The Good Mother Story

I’ve been having a little financial trouble lately. I know it’s a sad story, but I’m going to tell it anyway. See, what happened was – well, it’s complicated. I was engaged to this guy. We shared an apartment. Which means we shared the rent and the bills. Now, we’re not engaged. As you can imagine, he doesn’t live here anymore. Nor does he pay his half of the rent or bills. Makes sense, right? But now I’m stuck with this apartment I can’t afford. Before you shed any tears for me, it’s only for a few more months. I’ll make it.

Last week was a particularly hard week. I had no money. None. Like the kind of no money where you don’t get to eat for a few days. I lived on cinnamon Certs and Hershey Kisses for four straight days. Okay, now you can go get a tissue. Cry all you want. I have two jobs. You’d think that would cover the bills.

One of my jobs is to work for my mother. My mom is not your typical mom. But she means well. I told her about my money situation, thinking maybe she would buy me some groceries or take me out to dinner or put some gas in my car. You know, something helpful. I underestimated her.

I was at her house working. I won’t bore you with the details of my job. Basically, I spend my Sundays sorting mail and making copies of things. I get to watch football while I do it, so it’s really not so bad. Well, I had been there for a few hours when she called me (she was out working, we don’t do the whole day of rest thing in my family). She said she had something for me, and asked me what time I would be done so I could meet her to get it. Blah blah blah. An hour or so later, I went to the hospital to meet her and pick up what I hoped would be groceries – or Christian Bale. Who needs to eat when you have Christian Bale in your bedroom, right?

Well, it wasn’t groceries. Or Christian Bale. I would make you guess, but you never would. So I’ll just tell you. Face wash (five different kinds). And moisturizer. And toner. And makeup. And things I’ve never heard of, much less know how to use. What the fuck is pre-moisturizer? Can I eat any of this crap? I don’t want to sound ungrateful here, but really. What the fuck is up with that? She spent like hundreds of dollars on face wash. Hundreds. Of. Dollars. On. Face wash. Well, I can tell you that I probably have the cleanest face in all of Texas. I washed my face and washed my face and moisturized it and masked it and pre-fucking-moisturized it and made it up. Now I’m pretty. Maybe I even lost a few pounds.