10 fights to break up between my kids.
9 rooms to clean.
8 bills to pay.
7 phone calls to make.
6 days of laundry to do.
5 hours til dinner.
4 pets to feed.
3 beds to make.
2 kids to bathe.
1 husband calling, needing a "favor."
0 time to myself!
1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting "lucky."
5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.
10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
11. Karmageddon: It's like, when, you know, everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes, and it's like, a serious bummer, you know?
12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
13. Glibido: All talk and no action.
14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.
And the pick of the literature:
18. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an a--hole.
You know you've got them. Everybody does. It's just that no one wants to admit it. You don't claim them as part of your family. Those weirdo's. The freaks. The ones that if you see them in Wal-Mart, you turn and high tail it the other way in hopes that they don't see you and try to talk to you. So to save yourself the embarrassment from having to stand in a public place and have a conversation with them, you begin to play this cat and mouse game, going up one isle and down the other, standing behind the feminine hygiene products or hiding in the bathroom, etc.
But what do you do when they show up at your house? You cannot escape them. You are at their mercy until they decide it's time to leave. That's what happened to me today. I am still having cold shivers go down my spine as I relive every excruciating minute.
Don't think of me as cruel or heartless. I just can't help it. There are some people that I just don't want to be related to. And don't tell me that you love every distant cousin you've ever met because you know that's not true.
For me, nearly every member of my family is an embarrassment in some form or another. But for most of them, I deal with it, and don't judge them. But then there are the chosen few, the ones that I will swim an ocean to avoid. They are the reason that I rarely attend a family function or birthday parties.
One of the chosen few showed up at my door earlier today. I put on my fake face (thinking to myself Holy crap, why are they here and why did they pick today when I'm not wearing a bra?) and smile and tell them to come on in. They start looking around and notice my 56" telly and my nice shiny hardwood floors. Nice place, they tell me. It feels like they're casing the joint. I explain to them that I was just trying to get the baby to lay down for a nap, hoping they would take the subtle hint and leave, but no, instead they decide to throw the kid around and get him wound up.
Then it comes out. My uncle (who I do claim) told me that my cousin (the son of another uncle, not his kid, the one that I'm embarrassed to claim as family) needs a job. And that he doesn't just need a job, he needs a job DESPERATELY. The kid is 22 years old, and he needs someone to get a job for him? Crap, why can't he just go to McDonalds and sling some beef around, why are they at MY house? So I tell him that I don't know anyone that needs any help at the moment, but I'll keep him in mind if I hear anything. Which is a lie, because I'm totally not reccommending that loser to anyone I know for fear that they would hate me when he turns out to be the biggest loser they've ever hired.
So then the cousin tells me he needs a job so he can fix up his sisters car that she's not using so he can have some wheels. Hmm, so you don't have a car, I ask him. Nope, he doesn't even have a LICENSE!!!!! Ok, so how is a dude that lives an hour away going to get to work everyday if he has no car and no license? Taxi cabs don't run here. There are no buses he can take. What a waste.
Somehow, the conversation turns into something awkward, I'm not sure how it came to pass, but next thing I know, the kid is telling me his life story, blurting out info that I don't even wanna know. His "stepfather" (he used air quotes) that he lived with for six years who's in a wheelchair and turned himself into a woman........
WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!
See, THAT is why I don't claim them. Why in the world would you go around telling people that you haven't seen in fifteen years that kind of information? They didn't ask for it. They don't wanna know. Ok, so it's not their fault that their cripled stepfather had a sex change operation, but it IS their fault for giving me nightmares about it. I am not their shrink. If they need therapy, look in the yellow pages.
Believe me, that's not the worst thing one of my excommunicated family members has ever told me. In fact, I have this really disgusting story that my cousin's father told me one day when he popped round. (**If you do not wanna be grossed out, please stop reading**) He was here for hours and wouldn't leave. My eyes were beginning to cross as he went through every detail of his life. Then he begins to tell me about his step son, the kid of his second wife's who he doesn't like. Well, that's bad enough, to not like a kid, but nooooo, then he has to go and tell me WHY he doesn't like the kid. Apparently, the 13 year old kid doesn't wipe his ass.
WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!
My eyes uncross and I shake my head trying to figure out WHY he would tell me something like that, but he just continues with his story. Yes, I'm serious, he says. The boys mother has to go to the bathroom with him to wipe his ass.
Just kill me now. Someone please tell me I'm adopted and that I'm not linked by blood to these people for the rest of my life.
