Before you know it, you're the crazy cat lady in the scary house

I Used To Like Mondays

May 19, 2003 ... 5:17 p.m.

I Used To Like Mondays

[overheard]
Grandma: �I�m 78 years old and I have never seen a more obstinate child.�
Grandpa: �Nothing wrong with that--it just means others won�t be able to push the kid around.�
Mom: *sigh* �Guys, she�s 26.�

Charlie Viracola is my new pretend boyfriend.

But Eibisch, you say, you can�t have a pretend boyfriend who doesn�t know you exist, lives a zillion miles away in L.A., at any given moment might be blond and is possibly a paranoid schizophrenic what with all this planet talk.

Can too.

Stayed in the tv room last night. Watched �The Naked Chef�.

What a crock that turned out to be.

When did we stop caring about truth in advertising, people?

I did like how he measured his ingredients. A �pinch� of salt equals a fistful or a �taste� of wine equals a whole glass. My favorite, though, was when his recipe called for a cup or so of wine and he poured the whole bottle in. I also liked his sherbet recipe. But sometimes I watch Emeril or my all time favorite, Nigella, and I think...eh. Hy-Vee is, like, 6 blocks from my house.

Macaroni & cheese from a box and Kool-Aid packets it is! Bacon-wrapped salmon, my butt. You�re getting Spaghettios. And you�ll be happy.

Cousin#3 called today, to let Mom know she was done with my mom�s steam cleaner and we talked. She is about 1� older than me and, growing up, she was my favorite cousin. I always wanted to hang around with her. When I was little, 7 or 8, I wanted to look like her. Because I thought she was so pretty.

Now I see old home videos and I�m like...yeah, yeah--back to the brunette. Which, as we all know, was me. Only me. Lone brunette. Me. And I didn�t just have brown hair, I was the only one with brown eyes. I still am. And I don�t have brown hair--it�s black. I look a little like the chick from the Evanessence video. Except better. And, let me tell you if I were Paul McCoy, not only would I have let her go, I would�ve pushed her. Shut up with your bring me to life crap and walking on hi-rise ledges in your nightgown. And that sleepwalking? Please. If she hadn�t figured out she was in trouble before...well...I think we could�ve done without the building-side pilates. I mean, one time in high school I had a dream where my alarm went off and I went out and fixed myself a bowl a Fruit Loops and got ready for school, but couldn�t find my car keys and that was when I woke up and realized I was late for drumline. But I was still in bed. I like to think I�d know if I was playing Spiderman in my pajamas.

But I digress.

Anyway, we haven�t been real close since her mom (my mom�s sister) died. Almost 9 years. I�m not really clear on what happened, but there were words exchanged between Cousin#3 and Mom. Tempers flared, one thing led to another and the rarely spoke to each other after that. Both are champion grudge holders. And since, I was the daughter of the enemy, all contact with me was ceased. The thaw began a couple of years ago, when Cousin#3 got married. It�s been slow going, though I doubt either of them remembers the root cause.

And she called today and we talked for maybe 20 minutes about this and that. I got the feeling that she wanted to talk more, but she is one of those phone people that wants to stay on the line with you, but really just wants to have you do the talking. And while I can obviously handle that, I had stuff to do. I did so. I had to shower. And stuff.

So I guess that call was a giant step toward familial reconciliation.

Now I wonder if maybe I shouldn�t do the olive branch thing with Chadwell. I don�t hold grudges and I harbor no ill will towards him, but I think two years is a long time. People change so much, I�ve changed so much. I�m much more like I was in high school before I met him. We used to have conversations--which mainly consisted of him talking and me nodding and chugging Dew--for hours about Louis Vuitton baggage. And, yes, I am serious. Deadly. Hours. Suitcases. Duffles. HOURS. And if it wasn�t Louis Vuitton, it was Birkenstocks or Doc Martens. I don�t know how I did it. Now, my mom will buy me jeans and say �They�re Diesel� and I�ll be like...*shrug* . �They�re Route 66 that I bought at K-Mart�....*shrug*. �They�re Versace and I had to mortgage the house�...*shrug*.

Well, not really. I don�t even think Versace makes jeans, do they? And if you think I�m going anywhere in a sheer, sequined, $800,000 slip dress--you have another think coming.

I may have spoken too soon. Mom just got home. I told her Cousin#3 was done with the cleaner and now Mom is huffing around about how Cousin#3 should return it rather than Mom having to go get it. Well. Let�s blow this all out of proportion, shall we? Bitch and bitch about it and let�s see if we can�t go for a decade long family rift. Can you hear me rolling my eyes. Cripes. Is it really that big of a damn deal? You can�t just chalk up this �affront� to a 27-year-old�s simple lack of awareness where steam cleaner etiquette is concerned?

How I managed to turn out so well, I don�t know. I�ll just attribute it to my obstinacy and obliviousness. They have served me in good stead. If I don�t notice, it doesn�t concern me and if it doesn�t concern me, it isn�t going to no matter what, by golly...

Mom got in a fender-bender with some guy. He was speeding and hit her from behind. She called her insurance and they informed the guy that, as he was mainly at fault, they were not paying him. Now, he�s calling all the time and threatening to sue Mom and driving by our house and blah, blah, blah.

The first stalker at daus haus von Eibisch--and he�s my mom�s.

Currently Reading:
85 Days: The Last Campaign of Robert Kennedy by Jules Witcover

Listening To: AM Radio
...Shut up, shut up--you�re killing my high...

~*~

Have a happy day!

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