The Short, Short Version #9

Week Ending 4/27/2014

Fear:  That if my sister-in-law gets full custody of my niece, she will move away to another state (far, far away) and we will never see my niece again.  She has told us that is her plan.  Her grown children have told us that is her plan, and that she has asked them to move with her, and they have said no.  Do you think my brother could understand that the way to get joint custody is to prove why he is a fit parent and not to try to prove why she isn't?  NO!  Instead, both parties post nasty messages about each other on Facebook (EVIL), text nasty messages to each other, and say nasty things to each other.  And due to an argument that ensued last week, my SIL is no longer cooperating with my brother's lawyers.  There is a giant "S/He started it!" war going on right now.  I just can't get anyone in this family to see that being a grown-up is about ignoring the childish messages and focusing on the child in the middle.  But, again, NO!  What SHE said was just plain wrong!  We must retaliate!  I'm afraid the battle has already been lost and we might as well pack my niece's bags.

Disgust:  People who make fun of something someone else enjoys.  For instance, this week I read a quote from Stephen King about the difference between Harry Potter and Twilight.  I've never read Twilight, so I don't know if it really is as vapid as some say.  I'm sure it's not that bad.  But here's a crazy idea:  encourage fans of Twilight to read something else they might enjoy, too.  Make the suggestion similar to Twilight but maybe a little more 'respectable.'  If all these fans ever hear is how stupid their choice of reading is, they will come to hate reading, or sharing what they've read, for fear of being made fun of again.  To me, it is this mindset, the one that can't just accept someone else's happiness, that is killing literature (and the world).

Sadness:  How much people don't feel like doing something for me.  On my birthday, no one felt like making me a cake/pie/dessert, even though they told me days before they were planning a blackberry pie (my favorite).  When it came to dinner, instead of asking me where I would like to order food from because they didn't feel like cooking, my mother came home with crappy fast food and said she thought I loved the food she brought me.  No.  I hate that food.  It has onions and peppers in it and everyone in this family should know I hate onions, particularly.  She also had crappy TV dinners and told me I could just pick one of those.  Then she complained behind my back (but loud enough for me to hear) about how I'm never pleased with anything she does.  Because she never really considers what I would like.  The same thing happened last year, by the way, where my favorite dinner was dangled in front of me all day, then when the time came my mother said, "You can just make yourself a sandwich.  I'm not in the mood to cook."  This year, for the past week, my niece has agreed to cut my really shaggy hair as a birthday present.  Every day that I've seen her she isn't in the mood, or she barks at me about being busy (looking on the computer for three hours), or that she feels sick (but fine to eat cheesecake and run around outside smoking cigarettes).  If I express FEELINGS, though, I'm a crybaby.

Anger:  I have one coffee cup that I love.  I love it.  It is the perfect size and shape.  It has the logo of a bookstore that is no longer in business on it.  I cannot replace it.  I have asked everyone in this stupid family to use one of the five million other coffee cups we have, particularly if they are taking the cup into the basement.  It is a cement floor!  Do you think they can do so?  I search through the cupboards for it every morning.  When it is not there nor in the dishwasher, I KNOW one of them has taken it.  I ask them, "Do you know where my bee cup is?" (The logo is a 'bee' for 'Beehive Books.')  At first, every freaking time, they pretend not to know the cup to which I am referring.  Fuck you.  Inevitably, they continue their denial of knowledge of said cup, I choose another cup, and move on, angrily.  An hour later, miraculously, the cup appears out of nowhere, dirty, disgusting, and I have to clean it AND put it through the dishwasher before my lips can touch it again.

Happiness:  Well, frankly, that we are moving and there is a chance we will be out of this mess of a household soon.  The new apartment is about half the size of this one, but who cares?  I will be able to do my laundry in my own home!  I will be able to buy food and put it in the big refrigerator without fear it will be gone by the next day!  I will be able to wash my face at night without having to wait for whomever and their girlfriend to be done showering for over an hour!  My bedroom is a mess right now, as you can imagine, as I sort/pack/trash it all.  All of our bills will go down.  We don't even have a water bill; it is in with the rent.  Now, as long as none of them end up on our doorstep a month down the line, life will be a little happier.

Surprise:  The amount of trash one human being can produce.  As I go through my bedroom packing, I cannot believe the amount of useless crap I have acquired.  The university magazine I receive monthly that I never read.  A box of crackers that has a handful left in the bottom that I forgot about on the bookshelf.  At least five simple tank tops that have stretched out but I've just cycled them to the bottom of the drawer.  I need a cleaning routine.  But, as we all know, let's be honest, I am a procrastinator.  I am messy and disorganized.  I am a clutterbug.  I am counting SIX random fast food condiment packs on my desk right now.  Wow, I'm a pig.  (What if I'm not any different than those people downstairs?)

Randomness:  The best celebrity baby name I've heard is Moxie Crimefighter Jillette, daughter of Penn Jillette from the Penn & Teller magical duo.  I've actually wanted to name a daughter Moxie since I was very young, and I don't mind Crimefighter because it's her middle name.  I do, however, hope she goes to school with Jermajesty Jackson, son of Jermaine Jackson, and protects him from the bullies who NO DOUBT spend every day tripping him and saying, "Excuse me, Jermajesty."