I am not happy, hence why shane has given me the floor, so to speak, as I believe he fears my head may actually explode. Normally, my Twitter account is my happy bitch, but 140 characters was not going to do this justice. I already almost squished some poor guy on my way to get the caffeine Wes told me to go get. Normally, I don’t do the blog thing. I’ve said before in my twitter feed that “It’s too damn time consuming, I’d forget about it and walk the hell off without even thinking. I’ve got way too much going on to worry about a damn blog.” Shane’s solution to the problem, instead of me blowing money on a domain I won’t use, is to give me author priveliges. That’s cool, that’s nifty, I can totally live with it. If something breaks, it won’t be mine to worry about. I just squeak, and it gets fixed. Kinda like I just had to do with my keyboard, actually. Whoops?
My keyboard just tried to do that cool thing wherein it tries to fall apart and Shane tells it, “No, sorry, you’re not dying yet.” oh yeah that was fun. Mostly blind me searching for a tiny plastic thinggy on the floor, wondering just how in the hell it was attached to the damn keyboard in the first place… Ah, yes, but that was just the perfect way to top this evening off, as if what I saw 10 minutes before wasn’t enough. You’re probably thinking “Oh for Christ’s sakes, what blew up now?”
Hell, I’ve got chocolate, I’ve got caffeine, I’ve got Pandora, and I got all night, let’s go. We’ll start from the top, as that’s as good a place as any. Shane, you’ll regret this, or kill me, one of the two…
First it has to be understood that my mother has never liked Shane. She took us both out to dinner, once, and was fine with him. Absolutely fine, didn’t even flip out too badly about him staying here with me. And Christ, my dad? My dad was cool with it! You’d think he’d be the one flipping a shit because some strange dude he didn’t know was living with his daughter for 2.5 weeks, but no. That, however, was in November. Shane left here, mid November, inadvertently leaving behind a prescription medication he was taking for his knee, and a bottle, which he was told was unlabeled, but was actually *inappropriately* labeled with someone else’s name, and looked like a prescription. Said bottle actually contained tylenol, but of course MotherZilla immediately labeled him a drug dealer in her head. Now, come on. anyone can make a mistake, and considering who Shane was living with at the time, it’s little wonder that they gave him a weird-looking bottle and lied to him about how it was labeled. I, for one, wasn’t surprised. A touch peeved at Shane at the time for sticking me in that situation, but I got over it. Anyone can screw up like that, it could’ve just as easily been me, leaving my prescription meds at his place if I went up there. This, however, is the princess. And…well… if you know me at all, you’ll know why I call her the princess. She hit a 20 on the flip-a-shit-ometer, lost her shit, and has never thought the same of him since.
We hit fast forward real quick to last week. I didn’t want a birthday party this year, unless shane could come. I wanted him to meet the family, and that, in my mind, was the primary purpose of a birthday party. Last year’s birthday festivities kinda broke my brain, tossed me on the ground, and ran over me with a truck, as they were sort of mandated by a death in the family. So I was kinda done with the whole OMG looky it’s a birthday, thing, and I told the family as much. Their listening skills are apparently that of a 3 year old child, with severe ADHD, after several sugar cubes and some Mountain Dew thrown in for good measure. So MotherZilla’s about to come pick me up last Friday. I ask her, politely, if shane could come, as I wanted him to meet everyone else. She hits a 50 on the flip-a-shit-ometer. During her tantrum, she also accused shane of playing a “game.” Said game, in her head, may or may not include him intercepting my voicemails and emails. We know he’s good, but he ain’t that good.
And then… tonight, the following happens.
I get back from my night class, grab Shane caffeine because he’s in the middle of a test, and sit down to do the last fly-through of student, (and unfortunately personal), email accounts. I know for a fact shane has posted about my mother’s 39 going on 3 attitude of late, because I commented on one of said posts, explaining it further. My mother’s always been somewhat of… well to borrow some words from one of my twitter followers… “a psychotic, neurotic, and unkind individual.” Some people may call her overprotective, but lately I just call it, “Holy fuck, the crazy, it burns.” and oh, does it ever burn. I’m flipping through mail, and I find… this.
> If you need me to complete the FAFSA for next year financial aid, you need to let me know. Usually it is due 2-14 but you didn’t say anything to me and I just remembered, I haven’t even filed my taxes yet. I guess it doesn’t really matter anyhow since you can’t return any emails, texts, or calls from either Nana
My response to the princess’s latest bitchfest was a simple,
I do not make any income. I do not, as of yet, pay taxes, as I, well, don’t make any income. She needs to fill out the FAFSA whether she feels like being a bitch princess or not, as the government needs to determine that neither she, nor I, can pull money out of our ass to pay for my education.
My grandmother also has it in her head that he’s taking advantage of me. I think not. He took me out to lunch the other day, (and made me late for statistics, thanks, dear). He also bought me dinner Friday night after my mother pitched her childish fit, and has either paid for himself, or we’ve used my university meal plan to pay for his food, the entire time he’s been here, even when his wallet up and fucked off. We went to WalMart the other day and it was, ” What do you want to eat? Speak up, because you need to eat, too, not just Rick and myself. And what do you need? And no, nothing is not the answer, because I’m sure you need *something*.” I mean, hell, even after I ran to get him a drink, and 15 minutes later grabbed myself one before I shot someone, he ran to get chocolate, and brought some back for me on his own dime. Does that sound like he’s taking advantage of me? Absolutely not. Shit, even when his wallet fucked off, the two of us actively pursued the means for him to stay here without anally raping my minimal resources with a spork, and we thank those of you who helped.
anyone have any ideas of what to do about defective family members? Unfortunately, they didn’t come with instruction manuals.