July 12, 2006

Karma Hates Me and Makes Me Rant

It�s sad, because I really miss New England, but I just cannot live in the same geographic region as my mother and sister. I will perish. I know this in my heart. I could live near some of my brothers, but the women in my family? They are NOT right. And the men they choose to bring into this family (who are, incidentally, related to each other) are jackholes who make me want to claw my own face off. After spending the weekend in Rhode Island, I really hated to come back to my soulless, cookie-cutter suburb with its developments and strip malls and lack of old trees, but at least my self-esteem is on the mend.

So one of the first things we did upon our arrival in RI was to get ourselves a real iced coffee � one with crushed ice. Now, New Englanders are by nature Dunkin� Donuts aficionados, but I was always a Bess Eaton addict - even though they insisted on printing scripture on their cups and selling mints called "Testamints" in their stores � because of The Tank: 32 ounces of pure coffee goodness. They used crushed ice and sloshed the iced coffee around using another cup to really mix it up. I used to drink about 3 of these a day (that�s 96 ounces of daily coffee intake, people). Then Bess Eaton was taken over by some crappy Canadian joint (sorry, Matty) called Tim Hortons, which, due to popular demand, HAD to keep The Tank. I used my thumb as a point of reference, even though my thumb is admittedly freakishly small:

We had approximately a trillion of these while we were in RI. They kept us sane.

So we arrived at my sister�s house on Friday morning, and she told us that she�d have a BBQ on Sunday so that the whole fam would get to see us and we wouldn�t have to run around the state to see everyone, which was actually pretty nice. So I called my mom, who lives about 10 minutes away from my sister, and she said, "OK, see you Sunday, then." It�s Friday morning, you haven�t seen your youngest child in about 8 months, you�re about a mile away, but sure, see ya Sunday. It turns out my sister had dinner plans that night, too, and she had hired a babysitter. OK.

So we went out with our friend K Mac on Friday night, and she was like, "I was going to ask you if you wanted to do something tonight, but I figured you�d be with your family. Isn�t that funny? Not funny �ha ha,� more like funny sad." Indeed. Well, we had fun with K Mac.

Saturday was the wedding, and it was on some tiny "riverboat" that toured Galilee as CD performed the ceremony. He did a great job, considering he was on a moving boat and he had no idea what he was doing. I thought the wedding would be sort of a disaster since it was kind of a "cruise" theme (ugh), but at least it was casual and fun and the bride was unbelievably happy. So, it was kind of tacky with the leis and the calypso music and the chicken fingers and whatnot, but I�m having the most fun when I can sit back and judge people, so it was win-win, really.

So then Sunday. Bloody, bloody Sunday.

First, we had to get up early to have breakfast with CD�s family, half of whom didn�t show up. Lovely. They were invited to my sister�s, too, but everyone had some excuse for not coming. Can you feel the love?

So then we go back at my sister�s house, and we realize that my grandfather�s truck, the one that my grandmother gave me after my grandfather died, the one that meant the world to me and to the rest of the family, is no longer in my sister�s driveway where we left it.

I drove this little red pickup truck for a couple of years after my pepere died, and when it started to break down a little bit, my sister sold me her Ford Focus, and I gave her the truck with the understanding that her King of the Douchebags husband was going to fix it, and my Good Nephew was going to drive it when he turned 16. Good Nephew, since he is so good, was excited by this instead of being disappointed that he would be inheriting a 1988 Toyota pickup. He was excited because he was incredibly close to his great-grandfather, who was the greatest person I�ve ever met, and the greatest person I�m ever likely to meet. So King of the Douchebag sold the truck for parts.

He didn�t even tell Good Nephew. According to GN, he just woke up one day, and the truck was gone. When he asked about it, he was told that the truck was "no good."

I asked my sister about it, and she said that the truck was rusty and wouldn�t start, and that they "had to" get rid of it. She said that she thought no one would notice. I took this to mean that she was hoping no one would notice. I told her that if I knew she was going to get rid of it, I would have taken it, or SOMEONE in the family would have taken it. She rolled her eyes at me and gave me one of those "Oh, Meta" things that she and my mom do so well � the ones that tell me I�m just being dramatic and that I take everything too seriously - and they always manage to actually make me doubt that I�m right.

I looked over at CD, and he was PISSED. He loved Pep as much as I did. My sister, and people like her, just never seem to get that it�s not about the fucking thing itself - it's not about the truck. It�s about the fact that it�s the last thing I had of Pep�s and they just discarded it without consulting anyone, just hoping no one would notice. They just don�t give a shit about anything.

Douchebag Husband has more money than he can spend, and he built a log house in the woods, but he doesn�t give a shit about trees or nature or ANYTHING. They eat off of plastic plates and drink from plastic cups so that they don�t have to wash dishes. He throws garbage in the woods. They drive a Hummer and an Escalade. They have a dog that they keep tied up outside all day and night (in rain, snow, and sleet), and with which no one ever interacts. All the kids (and some of the adults) who used their stupid pool on Sunday got some kind of rash, because they just throw chlorine in there without even measuring it. They use pressure-treated wood to build bonfires in the backyard. If you try to tell them any of this is wrong, or bad for their kids, they�ll just laugh at you, because you�re the freak.

I can�t watch "My Name is Earl" because the basic premise of the show is wrong, and it always makes me think of Douchebag Husband. I wish karma bit the right people on the ass, but it doesn�t. DH is nothing but a complete asshole who shows no regard for anyone but himself, and he is a multi-millionaire who is about to sell his company and become a gazillionaire. Then he�s going to use the money to plow down the trees on his 80 acres of land and BUILD A SUBDIVISION OF CRAPTASTIC HOUSES AND MAKE MORE MONEY. Explain to me how that�s fair. And don�t tell me he�s actually miserable deep down inside, because he�s not. He doesn�t know he�s a dick; he thinks he�s positively philanthropic.

By the way, my mom didn�t call me fat, but she did make fun of my pants.

|

metanephros at 4:46 pm

previous | next