So if you haven’t given up on me and decided to venture back to my little blogosphere you’re thinking 1 of 2 things:
1. Welcome Back, TCD! I never doubted for one single second that you’d ever leave me. Hanging. Without explanation. I mean, I know it couldn’t have been something I did. I always provided you with thoughtful, creative comments and made sure my posts were equally intriguing. No, it has to be some thing with you. Your problem. Those damn impulse control and intimacy issues rearing their ugly heads. Again. But that’s your problem. I can’t carry this entire relationship on my own shoulders. Alone. You have to participate, too. It’s not like I don’t have other blogs that want to be read by me. I have plenty. Plenty. You don’t even know how many.
2. WTF? How the hell are you going to make any sort of correlation between meatloaf and your damn laziness. I’d like to see you try. Bitch.
Either way, you’re a bit of a hostile bunch and I need to tread lightly.
I wish I had more exciting stuff to tell you. To make the fact that you’ve stuck with me after an abstinent month payoff. You know, the blog equivalent to a handjob. Alas, no. The last month has been work, working out, work, Real Housewives of Atlanta, work drama, working out, work, family, Twitter, family drama, working out, work drama, family, family drama, working out, work drama, work. Oh, and family drama. Only this time it was with my mother-in-law. I try really hard to not to post about family because being related to me was no one’s first choice. BUT there is just some stuff that has to get out so you will understand why I sneak children’s sippy cups full of tequila into work or spend 3 hours looking at shoes I can’t afford only to spend the same amount on massages and Ed’ Smooth Red.
I think it’s kind to say me and my stepmother have a carefully choreographed avoidance dance. The moniker Stepmonster is harsh… if by monsteryou are referring to a creature of an odd hue that slowly oozes from hidden oriface. But if your monster is more like a dubby, then it’s pretty effing appropriate. From what I’ve come to understand, she is a very positive, sweet, and helpful woman. To everyone else but me. She’s the woman who came to my wedding wearing white. Excuse me, my father says it was cream. My bad. When I made her a card for her birthday, she said “I know you only did it because your dad told you to.” Um, awesome. So keep a careful distance and maintain an ‘only talk when absolutely necessary’ conversational rule. For me, “absolutely necessary” would include my father’s trip to the emergency room with a subsequent 3-day hospital stay where the doctor used phrases like ‘if you had waited any longer, you’d be dead’. But that’s just me. My “absolutely necessary” would also extend to my sister, who upon calling the house was given a ‘You’re dad’s not here’ instead of the ‘Oh, holy fuck he was THISCLOSE to dying! Here’s the number to his hospital room!!’.
THEN my mother-in-law (did I mention I have TWO of these nutjobs?) asked The Hubster to wire her $12. No, that’s not a mistype. TWELVE dollars. It would be interesting if this was the first time, but she has a history of request odd, two-digit sums from him. The Hubster mentioned that she does have a grown man in her home and it may, possibly be a good idea for him to, let’s say, WORK. Her response was “He’s a 50-year-old man! What do you want him to do, get a full-time job??”. When The Hubster responded “Sure”, that was her opportunity to tell us how he has always looked down on her, I put him up to this, and she hopes my eggs shrivel up and fall off. I assume she wasn’t referring to my breakfast, so The Hubster chose to be offended and then really did tell her what he thinks of her. (See, I told you…DRAMA!).
AND THEN, last weekend we went to my other in-laws house for Labor Day. The ones whose house I spotted the minute we turned down the block. I have never lived in a house, but I assume there is THAT house on every block. The one whose lawn is overgrown or have 19 inoperable cars in the oil-stained driveway or uses pot in their landscaping. Yeah, their house has all 3. Let me be the first to say that I loves my in-laws. They are a salt of the earth, hardworking, hardloving, hardfighting family…that also happens to steal each other’s prescription medication, have friends with names like Albino Ryan, and considers Super High Me a fine family film in the manner of It’s A Wonderful Life. But I think they think I am a snob. because, for the first time in 8 years, we overnighted at their home. My mother-in-law bought all new pillows and towels for us to use and put flowers in our room. She apologized profusely for the “state” of her place, but I assured her I was just happy to see them (because they are the vertiable holy grail of blog material!). I have plenty o’ stories to tell, but I came away from the weekend 3 pounds heavier and a confirmation that I am hot stuff to old men AND albinos.
Work is a whole ’nother life story, so consider this your teaser. Your reason to come back. While I am off to stew in own my professional hypocrisy of begging to work with students of color and then missing their event to workout the 3 pounds I gained last weekend.
