mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- give you the gun Easter dinner with my family. The usual fleeting thoughts of genocide, horrible, oppressive woe, and, hey, honey-baked ham! Seriously, though, it has been one long day. Some of my relatives have flown out to spend the week-- my Mom's sister, and her son, my cousin. He is currently on probation and required to go to rehab three times a week because of his drinking addiction and the large amounts of pot he decided to take to school one day. His Mom, my aunt, seems to think her son's shitty behavior has nothing to do with her or her parenting. She's just had bad luck like that, raising two unambitious drug-addicts. Sigh. Grandma, poor, depressed Grandma, has been a weepy, angry mess all week. She told me to fuck off last week because I asked her a question she didn't like. Yes, she actually said that. From the lips of my seventy year old granny. So imagine how fun today was. Just imagine. Here's a breakdown: 2pm: Grandma calls Mom and asks what time we're coming over. Somehow, this leads to a screaming match over who was supposed to bring the carrot cake. I shit you not. Mom cries. 5pm: We arrive. Grandma and Mom get into an argument over heaven knows what. Grandma storms off muttering obscenities. Cousin Tiara throws a temper tantrum because nobody will play cards with her and locks herself in the liquor closet. Aunt sits on the couch and rubs her temples for a good half hour. 6pm: We decide we all need a shot. Seventeen year old alcoholic cousin is offered one. My Mother makes a comment on underage drinking, which causes cousin Nicole to make a remark along the lines of "Miss Perfect over there was drinking at seventeen!" (Yeah, that's me. I graduated highschool, and I've never had a debilitating addiction to drugs. That equates perfection in my family.) I told everybody that they should mind their own fucking business and keep me out of their bullshit petty arguments. Grandma cries. 7pm: Grandma confesses something very, very heavy to me. She cries. After she walks away, I cry, too. 8pm: Forty-year old, cradle robbing Jimmy-- who has been making snide comments about me walking on water all night-- gives rehab-attending cousin a half-ounce baggie of pot. ... And that is my family. That was our holiday. Fuck. 12:04 a.m. - 2004-04-12 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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