My dad, God rest his soul, use to do one of the strangest things. Whenever I would get upset with him, he would buy me something or give me money. No, seriously. It would drive me crazy. Most of the time, all I really wanted to do was talk out whatever the issue was between us. That drove him crazy. So, with every problem that arose between us, he would try to hand me money or go out and buy me jewelry and I would get even more disgusted. It was a weird arraignment.
Speaking of weird arraignments, I spent the last two weeks with my sisters. To say we had a volatile time together would be putting it mildly. Think of Hawaii. The Big Island. Mount Kilauea. Beautiful to watch from a distance but you definitely do not want to be near the actual center of eruption. So one day, my sisters decide to do an intervention on my behalf. You know, point out all the things that are wrong with me but only because they love me. I would surely hate to see what they would do to me if they hated me. After listening to all their blah blah blahing, I went silent for a few days, for a few reasons. One, I didn’t want to say the things I wanted to say because I was pretty sure it would have meant a one way ticket to hell for me. Not that hell would have felt much different from their interference…I mean, intervention. Two, I did not want to allow them to see me cry. Eventually, they did wear me down and I did cry. Then I cried some more and I could not seem to stop crying. I finally told them I was going to go home early because I missed Bob too much and I was at my legal limit for fun with my sisters. What happened next is simply shocking. Shocking, I tell you!
The next morning, after my announced early departure, I woke up, got dressed and went to my purse for my cell phone. In my purse, was one hundred dollars that had not been there the night before. Not only that, but my sisters informed me they were taking me to Universal Studios since I had not been there in thirty years. I am almost positive if I could have stayed an additional month, I would have left there with a Rolex and a new car. Dad would be proud of those girls. The legacy lives on!
I ran into Norman Bates at Universal. I asked him if he would consider taking two more for $100 cash.
I have just finished spending an entire week with my sisters with one more week ahead of me. One more week of sisterly togetherness.
My little sister Kelly holding court from her throne. That Baileys and coffee will need to be in a much bigger mug if she truly hopes to hide behind it every time she sees me and my camera. I'm just saying....
My sister Char smiling semi-sweetly after telling me
she will kill me if I take one more photo of her in her robe. I took three more.
Anyway....
According to some people:
I am a very unhappy person especially when I don’t get my own way or people disagree with me.
I am a harsh task-master of a mother
I need medication and therapy
I don’t take care of myself
I lie and twist everything to suit myself
I judge people
I am selfish and do not keep my word
My behavior is disturbing
People are afraid of me
According to me:
I am only unhappy when I don’t get my own way or people disagree with me. Now that we have that settled, you may all bow down, do as I say and agree with everything that slips from my lips. I’m so glad that is finally out in the open...peasants.
I am a harsh task-master of a mother therefore I seriously feel it would be in the best interest of my child for someone else to raise her. Free shipping included.
I need medication and therapy… and a gun.
I don’t take care of myself because I am always taking care of everyone else. This makes me a martyr … I mean, a saint. Speak to your local priest, rabbi or snake-handling preacher for further illumination.
I lie and twist everything to suit myself but I don’t realize I am doing it so it isn’t my fault. I also have a very bad memory so I will not remember being told what a twisted liar I am therefore, again, no accountability. It’s a win-win.
I judge people because I can. I’m a saint, remember. Plus, I am better than everyone else (or so I’ve been told) so it’s hard not to judge. It may be why I was put here on earth anyway, so get over it … peasants.
I am selfish and do not keep my word because having seven kids makes you a selfish, twisted liar. Just ask my seven kids.
My behavior is disturbing because I am disturbed. Duh!
People are afraid of me which works well for me since I like feeling I have power and control…peasants!
To all my family and friends back home...
Having a great time. Wish you were here!
*Disclaimer (see twisted liar explanation above)
** Second disclaimer ~ I have been informed by someone that all blog material should be credited to her since she is the one that brutalizes me …I mean, gives me blog fodder. However, she wishes to remain anonymous so ….
Thank you to one of my sisters for all your constant drug-induced attacks on my person. Without you, I would be normal.
This is the city my mother was born in, grew up in and is buried in. It is where her heart always was even after she married my father and moved to Los Angeles in 1940. It's where I spent every summer on my aunt's ranch and every weekend I possibly could during the school year. It's where I ran the streets day and night as a kid never fearing a thing because I was related to just about every resident. It's where I moved as soon as I was married because, like my mother, it's where my heart was then and where my heart will always remain.
I haven’t written in almost a week. I hate not writing. It’s my stress reliever, my free therapy, my revenge on the world and all those that love me. Anyway, I am here in California with my sisters. That should explain everything, right? Anyway…
I arrived in California on Wednesday. Today is Saturday. Why does it feel like I have been gone forever? Let’s see if I can answer that question in four words. Miranda and my sisters. I have no idea what possessed me to bring my twelve year old on this “vacation”. So far, it has been anything but. I have finally figured out what Miranda’s problem is in regards to me as her mother. I’m breathing. Yep, my very existence is enough to piss her off. She can be laughing and happy, helping my sisters and teasing back and forth, then I walk into the room. A black cloud descends on her immediately, contorting her face into a scowl. She goes silent and broody. I am pretty sure I have even seen fangs slightly protruding from her lips at these times. No, I am not describing a Twilight character. This is my reality with our last child. Is it too late to decide against having children?
Yeah, she's smiling because the plane hadn't left the ground yet.
Once we were in the air, it was all fangs, baby!
Then there are my sisters. How in the hell can it go from laughing until we cry to wanting to throat punch each other…all in the same day…sometimes in the same hour? I am sure it has nothing to do with being told I am fat and dress poorly, both of which left me in utter shock. I had no idea I was morbidly obese and dressed like a bag lady with no street fashion. Why didn’t somebody mention these things to me sooner?
This is how I am seen by certain people in my family. One question. What's so wrong with this look? Her hair is done and her girl bits are all covered. Plus, she has obviously done the family shopping for the day. Sounds like a decent woman to me. I'm just saying...
Then there is the talking issue. Every time one of my sisters speaks, I have the urge to put a pillow over her head. Then sit on the pillow. And being the poorly dressed, morbidly obese piece of inhumanity that I now understand I am, I fear the police would have too easy of a time catching me. I mean, how many other morbidly obese, fashionless woman could there possibly be here?This is, after all, California. I stand out like a gangrene thumb amongst all these manicured chicks. I would be caught faster than a catfish in our pond.
Anyway, this entire thing is my fault. God tried to warn me but I wouldn't listen. No seriously. Wednesday as I sat in the airport waiting for my next connection, I saw this.
I live in the Southwest. I am pretty sure it was a warning to turn around and go home.
So I chose to ignore the warning. I boarded the plane and what is the first thing I notice? This sign and there are more of them...everywhere...front, back and middle of the plane.
Clearly, a wiser woman would have understood God was clearly speaking at this point. "GET OUT NOW! BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE! RUN YOU IDIOT!!" I am pretty sure that is how God speaks to me. It seems to be the only language I understand. Did I listen? Of course not! No, I would rather continue on knowing full well how this trip is going to go once I set foot on terra firma in California. Then I see this...
and the thought screams through my mind, "This is the number of times you will wish you had stayed home and your sisters will wish they could throat punch you without fear of their skinny little fists getting stuck in one of your neck rolls." Did I listen? Oh, no!! That would have been what a smart woman would have done but I believe I have proven repeatedly through this blog, if I am anything it is not smart.
So, here I am, sitting in a hotel room waiting for one of my sisters to finish her daily two hour bathroom beauty routine while the other sister sits with red hair dye on her head for the next forty-five minutes. Miranda sits with the soon-to-be redhead. I am sitting on the other side of the room typing. Lines have been drawn. Lines have been crossed. It's gonna be a long day...
Have you ever done something and then later thought, “What the heck was I thinking?” Yeah, me neither. I carefully think out ever moment of my day, planning exactly what I should do and how it will positively affect my life and the lives of those around me. Is that laughter I hear? Ok, fine! My sisters are right. I am a big, fat, liar.
The truth is, I fly by the seat of my pants and feel as if I am in an episode of I Love Lucy on a fairly regular basis. I don’t know why. I have read every book, listened to every tape, gone to every seminar on living an organized, balanced life. Part of the problem may lie in the fact that I have no idea where I put half that crap I bought at those things. Maybe if I knew, I could refresh my memory and be balanced, calm, serene, peaceful, normal.
Anyway, this is the sadly true story of one of my bright ideas. I seriously could have used Fred and Ethel that day.
We have a pond. Two years ago, it was basically fish-less. See where this is going? Being the resourceful woman that I am, I decided that we should stock the fish-less pond with fish. This way, when Y3K or Armageddon happened, we would have fish to eat. Being the generous person I am known to be, I thought it only right that we stock the fish-less pond with enough fish to also feed our neighbors. You know, in case of Y3K or Armageddon. So I spent weeks researching the best way to stock a 2.5 acre almost fish-less pond. I called local fisheries, spoke with other pond owners and pulled out my survivalist, I mean, self-sufficient farming books. I was armed and ready to order my fish.
So, I ordered my one thousand fish. Yep. Eight hundred catfish and two hundred bass. That’s one thousand fish. But wait! What about crappie? Every well stocked pond has to have crappie in it. So I ordered two hundred crappie, too.
Finally, the day came to pick up my twelve hundred fishies. I jumped into our old, beat up Suburban at six in the morning and headed to the Bethany feed store where the fish truck would be waiting with all my lovely fish. By the time I arrived thirty minutes later, there was already a line of other fish-less pond owners waiting in line at the truck. When my turn came, I told the fish man my name and he looked at me with a strange, twisted grin. “Ya know, when ya order such a large amount a fish, we deliver em to your pond for free.” Um, it would have been nice had someone mentioned this to me earlier in the ordering process.
Anyway, they began the long process of counting and bagging up my twelve hundred fish. They would grab a large, clear, plastic bag, pour my fish and their stinky water into the bottom third of the bag, stick an air hose in the bag, fill the other two-thirds of the bag with air, twist the top of the bag shut, wrap a rubber band around the top of the bag and then drop the wet, flippy, floppy bag of fish off the deck of the ginormous truck into the fish-less pond owners waiting arms. That means they dropped eighty wet, flippy, floppy bags of fish off the deck of the ginormous truck into my arms. Eighty times I screamed and ran to the Suburban where I threw the bag in and then jumped up and down whimpering while flapping my arms up and down like a wounded chicken trying to escape. Eighty times I listened to the truck full of fishy men bagging my twelve hundred fish laughing hysterically at my misery, not once offering to take care of the whole mess for me so I could go get a Starbucks and compose myself. Eighty. Times.
The beginning of the nightmare
After an eternity of this nightmare, the car was finally full and I was ready to go home. Home. Where I could escape this horrible ordeal. Only wait, how was I going to get home? Every square inch of the car was filled to overflowing with bags of disgusting fish. There was only one empty spot, the drivers seat and I was expected to sit in it and drive myself home. As I stood staring at the open drivers door of my car, feeling tears welling up in my eyes, from the smell, from terror, from the thought of never seeing my family again, the biggest of the fishy men yelled over to me. “Hey, ya know ya gotta get them fish in yer pond within an hour or they’re dead.” Someone might have mentioned this earlier in the ordering process, also.
These bags would end up piled floor to ceiling on every row
Not wanting to lose the hundreds of dollars I had wasted, I mean, invested in these fish, I got behind the wheel of the car, said a quick prayer as in, “JESUS HELP ME!!”, closed the car door, turned the key in the ignition and headed towards home. All the way home, those fish flipped and flopped and bags tightly squished together in the car found ways to move and make noise. It was a scene straight out of a Stephen King novel. I screamed and cried with each mile moving along in slow motion. People at stop lights were watching me white knuckling my steering wheel then suddenly screaming and jumping all around in my seat every time those fish would jump. I was so hoping someone would call the police and report me so I would be arrested and taken to jail where it was safe from fish.
Marlaaaaa....Marlaaaaaa.....We see you, Marlaaaaaaa!
Oh, they were thinking it. Don't think I didn't hear them.
Anyway, I did make it home. We did get the fish in the pond and we only lost two. I think I scared them to death.
Yes, that is sweat and stress you see all over my face and....
Yeah, your hair would look the same way if you drove 1200 fish around in your car.
This Sunday in My City, I am celebrating the Fourth by feeding my fish. How many firecrackers do you think twelve hundred fish can eat? I jest! I jest! Sort of....
