I mean, if you're going to come over once a month for a "check-up" or "roto-rooter" or whatever you want to call it, you need to keep the standing appointment, right? Otherwise, we get a little crabby up in here. Dammit.
Oh, whatEVER.

The first thing they're going to notice, and pick at, is the weight I've gained. Last time I saw them for any length of time, I was about 50 pounds lighter, and they're the type of people who will be thrilled by the fact that I'm not at fighting weight, so to speak (even though no matter how much I weigh, BFKAS and my sister outweigh me by at least 50 more pounds at any given time. Oh yeah, and my sister is 5' even. That's why the one guy calls her "Butterball"). But worse than that is that they'll do the best they can to make me not feel like family. (To get caught up on the history, see the short version.) I mean, these are people who think nothing of doing what they want, but then ask them to take responsibility for their actions, and oh NO! Nothing is EVER their fault. EVER. Is that abundantly clear? So basically, they went and interupted MY life, but now that they've decided they can't handle my presence, begone with me. So why go then, if it's going to be such a headache? To stick it up their ass, of course.
Oh, whatEVER.

Happy Mother's Day, yo.
Oh, whatEVER.

One of the things they like to think they're sticking up my ass is that I'm almost in my mid-30's, and I'm not married, or even close to it, yet. As I think I've mentioned before, my sister married her high school sweetheart and now has the 2 kids -- a boy and girl, with the boy older -- the husband who brings in enough cash that she doesn't have to work and the house. And I'm sure it is the epitome of life for her: The BFKAS and my sibs' father divorced rather nastily, and because their dad didn't pay child support, the three of them made the progression from house to trailer park to crappy apartment to rented house again, and life was awfully tough a lot of the time. So you better believe my sister is hanging on to "the dream," and I can appreciate that ... to a point.

See, I've seen how my brother-in-law has treated my sister in the past when we were speaking to each other. One example? My sister wanted the big church wedding, while her husband wanted to elope in Hawaii. She got the wedding. My brother-in-law didn't really want to have kids, and sure as hell not right away, but within six months of marriage? My sister was knocked up. (Yeah, she told him she didn't want to be on the Pill anymore, so she paid for classes on the Rhythm Method. And he bought into it. Dumbass.) So after they were married and just newly pregnant, her husband had the chance for a big job promotion, but they would have to transfer to Michigan, away from the families. My sister was having none of that, so my brother-in-law tells her, "You got your wedding, and you got your kid. When do I get what I want!?"

What a doll, right? I mean, sure, he has a point, but to level the woman you love like that?

And there are many other stories, like the one where he ended up chucking her Coach bag onto the L tracks after a Cubs game, and the time the Committee went to a Bears game and decided to go strip clubbing afterward, and my brother-in-law got so wasted he passed out in the can, and then upon waking up left the bar and just walked, ending up in a motel 15 miles from the titty bar for the night, leaving my sister to have to drive herself and her year-old baby two hours home not knowing where he was. (We assume he was alone.) And THEN she had to drive the two hours back to pick his sorry ass up. And there is many a story of how my sister, who's two years younger than me, has gone chasing after my brother-in-law when he's out with his friends and made HUUUUUUGE scenes in public places. You get the picture.

If that's what marriage is to them, they can fuckin' have it and my portion, too, because that's not a marriage to me. That's two people who've been together for too long and who took their bullshit to the next level because they didn't know any better, and I want no part of that, thanks. Of course, they don't believe me when I say that, but then I suppose it's easier for them not to since they're so miserable.
Oh, whatEVER.

I was 19 or 20, and my best friend at the time and I were at the mall, doing some shopping at the Limited, when it was just starting to pick up momentum as a cool clothing store. There was a super-long line at the check-out, so she and I were standing there kibbitzing with a couple of the sales clerks, who were still in high school. It turns out these girls went to the high school that the mother of this dude I went out on a date with was a counselor.

Now, the dude in question and I have been friends for years since that first date and, you know, we were freakin' kids, so what did we know about being cool, right? But lemme tell you, that first date? Eeeyeah, not pretty. Not the WORST date I've ever had, but still. I mean, the guy made a big production about how much the bill was, fer Chrissakes. Never mind that I spent much of the evening yammering on about how crazy I was about my college boyfriend, because THAT was perfectly acceptable, but ... I digress. S'anyway, not a good date, and upon hearing that these girls went to school where his mom was the counselor, I launched in to how much of a dork I thought he was and how his fascination and sympathy toward anyone who was into genoicide was ultimately what turned me off -- oh yeah, and the incessant calling me every. single. night. didn't work in his favor, either.

Well, I went on and on and on and on, thinking I was quite the comedian, when my friend and I got up to the cashier, and the cashier proceeded to tell me that the woman standing a couple people up front? Yeah, that was HIS MOM.

What especially kills me about Saturday and that chick was that if I'd have gone up to her and told her," Hey, shut your gob, because you look like an ass," there's no doubt in my mind that she wouldn't have cared. Hell, I'm sure if/when her manager said something about it, the point was totally lost on her. But I know that that day in the Limited, I'd never been so put-in-my-place in my LIFE.

Now, wanna hear about the time that I started talking about my former roommate, not realizing my cell phone had redialed to her, and she heard the whole thing!?!?
Oh, whatEVER.

So, Mother and I are sitting in Red Robin for dinner yesterday (a Colorado burger chain known for big burgers and unlimited fries that made its way into NWI; horribly overpriced, but all right for a change, although their 5-alarm Burger will NEVER touch Ed Debevic's Atomic Burger, EVER). If you've never been, the restaurant is constructed so that there's no privacy between booths, and if you play it right, you can hear what's going on next to you. The place is also staffed by kids who can't be more than 19 years-old, I'm quite sure, which kinda makes me wonder how any of them serve booze. Anyway, next to our table were three waitresses, either waiting for shift change or taking a break.

I first focus in on our young waifs when I hear the blonde of the group talk about how she's supposed to be at work no less than 15 minutes before shift change, because she's going to be fired. Know the feeling, of course, but whatever. But then, she launches in to how when she was dating this one dude and they got drunk? All they did was fight. This ought to be good, I thought to myself.

Before I launch into what happened next, I need to describe this girl: She was tall, thin but not emaciated (I'm guessing she's a jock, most likely of the basket- and volleyball persuasions) and she had that obnoxiously long blonde hair that all high school juniors have, scrunched up five ways from Sunday in a monster clippy. But her most striking feature? A hawk beak with a bend so severe, extreme ski jumpers would fall to their deaths if they attempted launching off her nose. And so severe that when she started talking -- remember, loudly enough in a crowded restaurant that I could hear her -- about how this same ex was all "pump, pump, squirt" and that he was TOTALLY not "dating material," my first reaction was, "Well, you don't REALLY think he's with you because of your looks, do you!?!? Oh ... well, bless your heart, then."

Now, while it squicks me out to think of my 17 year-old girl cousin being sexually active, I lost mine at 15, so it's not like I'm some sort of blue-haired harpy trapped in a 34 year-old misanthrope with her panties in a wad over the youth of America. That being said, I don't know how many times in my youth I suffered through my dad chastising me over talking loudly in public places, because you never know who's listening and who might take offense to what you're yammering on about. And I KNOW that MOTHER, had SHE heard what this girl was talking about, would've piped in with something blue-haired and harpylike so that they would've heard her and been all "whatEVER." So, what did I do?

I went to the manager and said, "Listen, the food was fine, waitstaff was great. But I have to tell you, you might want to tell your waitstaff that they REALLY need to watch their conversation while they're near customers, because a waitress who was sitting near us started going on about some pretty foul stuff, and while I wasn't necessarily offended, someone else might be, and I would hate to see anyone get fired for being inappropriate." She agreed with me and thanked me.

Later? The time I got the inappropriate conversation in public lesson stuck up my ass.
Oh, whatEVER.