kill the messenger… March 12, 2008

At least that’s what it feels like. The day Aunt Ginger and Gem left, my mom brought up the event of us rearranging the furniture out of nowhere, a week after the incident and first thing in the morning and started yelling at them. My mom lied to them and said I had said that it was Ginger’s idea to move the furniture around, when I had clearly told her it was mine. When I confronted her about her lying, she said she did it to rile Gem up and get her angry at her mom. That didn’t work, and just ended my with Gem calling my mom “rude.” And she was.

Later that morning, I went to do a load of laundry and noticed the knob to change the water temperature was missing. I asked my mom what happened to it, and she blew up at me: “I TOLD YOU! You are NOT to change the temperature! I KNEW were going to do it, so I took it off!” Whoa….someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

My Aunt and Gem made it back to Virgina safe. Ginger had called the hospital to check up on my dad, just so happened this was before my mom got a chance to call, and when my mom called the hospital they told her they had already let Ginger know what’s up. My mom was pissed that Ginger called before her, and told the woman at the hospital that from now on any news should be told to her first.

Ginger has been bugging my mom that she should take some time off to be with my dad more, that right now, he needs all the support he can get, and that seeing him only in the evenings is not enough and he’ll get depressed. She also says that I should quit my job to be with him as well, but as much as I would love to be there all the time, I don’t think me quitting my job is something my dad would appreciate me doing. Then the killer- Ginger said to my mom, “You love your job more than Bill!” This was rude. And that pissed her off to no end. So, I have become the messenger. Any information about my dad is relayed to Aunt Ginger, and anything she says is then relayed back to my mom.

Why is my family crazy?

truly awful. March 12, 2008

My dad at the hospital has been given at little remote so he can push a button any time he needs something, i.e. number 2, water, etc….He is not strong enough to push the buttons, so he was given this square button thing, that is ultra sensitive, and sometimes goes off, actually it goes off a lot, by accident. The nurses are required to answer to it, in case of an emergency, but most of the time it looks like we’re crying wolf. So, one day, we’re sitting there pushing the button for 5 minutes before someone answered it, and it was an emergency, number 2. The nurses come in and my dad starts screaming, “I need an enema!” The nurses took his word for it, and since enemas are a longer process, and require a doctor, they just started working on cleaning the sheets from under him. My dad kept screaming …and finally we realized he meant, “bed pan.” No mess that time, but there have been occasions where nobody comes to help him and he goes in the bed.

It’s truly awful.

Whoopsie daisey… March 5, 2008

Last night, we all left the hospital around 8pm.  No one had eaten dinner yet, so I thought it’d be nice if we all went out to eat, and we could talk or whatever… Everyone wanted to go but my mom.  So, she went home and went to bed, and Ginger, Gem and I went to get something really quick.  We ended up going to La Salsa.  Yuck.  Really mediocre burrito, but whatever.  We got home, and we were just sitting around talking about the layout of the furniture and how it made no sense, nor was conducive to conversation or practicality.  So, we thought we would do something nice for my mom; that went she woke up everything would be organized and cleaned and rearranged.  I knew she would kind of get upset about this, so I didn’t do anything drastic, just moved a couple chair that we always move around when there is company, and switched a rug from vertical to horizontal.  When it was done, it was a world of a difference. Soo much better, and practical, and warm and inviting, and the way we had it you could actually have a conversation with someone while looking at them.  Before, all the chairs, 4 of them, were in a row. In a line.  It looked like something thrown there that wasnt temporary.   In the morning, I woke up to screaming.  Screaming like you wouldn’t believe.  Like on the verge of tears.  ”This is a slap in the face to us!” “We don’t like the table of there!” I like this here, and that over there!!”  ”How could you be so presumptuous to think this is better than what we had!”  ”If this is what you are going to do, I don’t ever want you over here again!”  ”Was this your idea?”  ”Was it HER idea?”  ”She must have helped you, you couldn’t have done this all yourself!” “Why would you do this?!”   I knew she would freak out, but I didnt think it would be to that degree, nor in front of Ginger.  I was planning on moving everything back the way it was if she didn’t like it, but she beat me to it.  2 hours of moving and planning and thinking things out for the better was eradicated in 10 minutes.  My mom is a machine of routine.   

sneaky devils. March 3, 2008

Each night, after my mom goes to bed, and before me, Ginger and Gem want to go to bed, we place the poker stick in the sliding door’s groove, and then set the alarm for 6am to remove it before my mom wakes up.

even about the little things… March 2, 2008

A little while ago, my mom was doing the dishes, and asked Ginger if she uses ‘SOS’ pads. She said, no. Then Gem said, “Oh, like, Brillo pads?” My mom says, “No, SOS pads.” (in a really condescending tone). In stereo, Ginger, Gem and I said, “What’s the difference?” My mom said, “Well, it’s like Kleenex and tissue.”

it’s just getting weird, tense and awkward here.

rehab center- most depressing place on earth. March 2, 2008

Things are tense here. 4 women with different views and outlooks on life, there is the immanent battle between positive energy and the negative. No, this isn’t The View, it’s my home. My Mom is outright, blanently rude. Tells my Aunt her hair looks like a wig, corrects her like one of her third graders and pokes fun of her religious views. My Aunt and I had a discussion about it, and she has noticed that my Mom does the same thing to me; talks down to me treats me like one of her third graders rather than letting me grow up and be a 29 year old. (Well, soon to be). She’s defensive about everything and a ‘control freak.’ There was an incident with the doors last night. My Aunt likes to lock the doors at night- I don’t know, seems like a pretty normal thing to want to do, (especially considering there was a robbery here a while back). My mom argued with her about it, and kept saying, “This is MY house, and I don’t ever do that!” One of the locks happened to be broken, so my Aunt had placed the poker stick in the groove so that the door couldn’t open. In the morning, my Mom hadn’t seen that that was there, tried to open the door, realized what was there, and blew up at Ginger again. There was a big scene at the hospital brought on by her. Me and Aunt Ginger were putitng lotion on my Dad’s hands so that the puddy wouldn’t stick to them. Let me explain- My Dad’s hands need to build up their strength again. The hospital gave him some puddy to play with, but when he squeezes it, he isn’t strong enough to open his hand back up, and the puddy sticks. My Dad had a bandaid on his hand that had been there for quite a while, I looked to see if it was healed underneath it, and it was- completely. So I started to take it off and my Mom blew up and started screaming at me. Loudly, to where everyone kinda shut up and was shocked that such a small thing like me pulling off a bandaid would cause such a fuss. She told me not to, but I just went ahead and ripped it off. She started screaming at me more and said that I “always have to disagree with her” and that I “never listen.” My Aunt had patted her on the head to calm her down, and my Mom says, “Don’t pat me on the head like I’m a dog!!!” My cousin and I looked at each other bewildered.

I have talked about this before, but there are things my mom has said to me in the past that are just awful. I have, as of yesterday, learned to ignore this, realize that I am not the problem and there is nothing wrong with me and nothing wrong with the way I live my life or the way I look or dress and to bite my tongue when I want to say something. Seeing that my Aunt could witness the way she is first hand reinforced my perspective on things.

Bengal, Schmengal…. February 29, 2008

I just ate at one of the many incredibly delicious restaurants within walking distance from my apartment- Aladdin (the Bengalese restaurant). I love this restaurant for its delicious tea, samosas and fried rice with tender chicken curry on top. It’s served on the bone, which I don’t really like, but this is OK because its so tender and delicious it just falls off the bone. Bone.

I went there for lunch today and the food was, as usual, delicious. But the service was like a room full of retards trying to figure out what to do with themselves. First, I order my food and the woman asks me if I want the tea now, or later when my food comes. I told her later. I go to sit down in the next room, and there are 2 TVs BLASTING on full volume some old black and white bengalese/Indian movie. The movie looked really cool, but with the volume so high you can’t hear it, and to the point that it might cause injury to your ear drums, it wasn’t too enjoyable. I turned down the TVs and sat back down. My food came, and I didn’t realize until 5 minutes later, ‘ Hey, where’s my tea?’ The woman there walked past my table and I asked her for the tea, and it was as if, she didn’t even realize she had forgotten it. Like, I was ordering it for the first time right there. No apology or concern. When the tea came I realized I actually wanted a glass of water as well. But, since I knew that asking for a cup would probably be too big of a task for her to handle, I let it go. I sit back, enjoy my food, and enjoy looking at the movie playing, even though I don’t understand it- it was visually indulging. Then I see the volume meter suddenly go down even further! What? I just moved it down to a comfortable volume, and now, someone is moving it down even further…? I know it shouldn’t matter; hearing a movie that you don’t understand the language, but I still like being able to hear it. Now, it’s at an uncomfortable volume. I decide, I’m full and want to take the rest home. I walk into the other room to ask for a box, but no one is in there. I yell, “Hello!” A man walked into the room and I asked him for a box. He stared at me, didn’t say anything and then walked away. HUm. Ok. Umm…… Then the woman came to help me, I asked her, and she gave me a box. I go to pay with my debit card and she says, ” You don’t have cash?” I said, “You don’t take debit?” She then takes debit and then swipes my card. Huh? What does it matter to you what form I pay in?

Anyway- I know I am just being a baby, and these things are not that bad that I should complain. But isn’t it just so much fun to do so? I didn’t go to work today because I was planning on picking up my Aunt Ginger and cousin Gem from the airport. Just as I was about to leave at 11:30, I get a call from them saying they are delayed in Chicago due to snow. So, now instead of arriving at 2, they will be here at 5:30. I probably could’ve gone into work today if I had known that. But I got other things done today: went to the DMV (for the last time) to officially change my address so I can finally have a California ID in my hands and not look like either a tourist or a minor with an illegal ID. Also, I got my car washed and vacuumed. It’s beautiful and smells delicious!

a bum February 29, 2008

As I was crossing the street just now, a bum pulled up next to me with his shopping cart. He asked me if I knew the story of Bonnie and Clyde, I just ignored him and looked straight ahead, and he says, “Well you look just like Bonnie!”

Isn’t she a blonde?

sweet jesus! February 28, 2008

I think I’ve got a good one!

You should really come. It’s a cozy, gather-round-your-living-room-and-drink-all-you-can-drink-for-$10 kinda place. They forgot to mention that on the flyer. Also they spelled my name wrong. Whoopsy Daisy!

Freedom From the Known. February 27, 2008

I’ve been reading this:

He says this isn’t a ‘philosophy on life’ book, but if it’s not that, I don’t know what else to call it. Life is a continual process of learning about the world and society and yourself and it’s interesting to read his thoughts on it; looking at it from outside yourself. He says that if you look at something that gives you pleasure in life, be it quesadillas, sex, a beautiful sunny day, etc, and be able to enjoy whatever that was for the moment, and not desire it to be repeated in the future, you essentially will be able to avoid pain, fear and sorrow. He mentions that when we try to acheive this enjoyable thing again and again, but fail or are denied it, we because anxious, envious and hateful. So, I guess he’s saying live for the moment and never have any expectations. I don’t know if I can do that. Humans enjoy planning for the future, and thrive off knowing something good is going to come; hopes and dreams.

One thing he talks about that I do think is true, is that our fundamental, lasting interest in life is us. It is. Even if we try to be altruistic, and genuinely wanting to help others without benefiting yourself, is impossible. For example, say you find a ring. And you want to help the person whom it belongs to, so you make a poster and post signs everywhere, “Lost ring,” because you have no interest in benefiting from this new found thing; selling it or keeping it. But even if you do find the owner and are pleased to know they have their rightful belongings and you are the savior, the one who seemed to be doing something good only to benefit others than yourself, you in some way, are still gratifying yourself. You’re satisfied in knowing you did a good deed.

So, the fundamental interest in life is yourself. Hands down.

What about mothers though. I havent read all the way through yet, so maybe he talks about that later…but I would think that once you become a mother, the fundamental interest in life is your child.

Ok, enough of that.