My granddaughter was here over the holiday weekend. She stopped in the office on friday on her way to my mother’s house. Granddaughter said she was going for the Christmas thing and she said the reason my mother gave for not calling and inviting me is they weren’t having turkey so she knew I wouldn’t come.
Ummmmm, no. In all the years I’ve cooked Christmas dinner I’ve never made a turkey dinner. For years and years we had a snack spread so I didn’t have to spend the holiday in the kitchen. It was all made ahead and just put out on fancy plates and in the crockpot and slo-cooker. We had two cheeseballs with a variety of cracker and celery sticks, meatballs, hot wings, lil smokies, deviled eggs, a couple of dips, olives and pickles, pies and lots of snack stuff like fudge and Chex mix. Not once in over 40 years of Christmas dinner have I ever once made turkey. And not only have I never made turkey for Christmas, my mother has been at my house for numerous Christmases and knows damn good and well we don’t have fucking turkey!!
She just doesn’t want to tell people she pissed me off and then wrote a nasty letter and now I won’t apologize.
I don’t think I’ve ever told about this incident when I was staying at my mother’s in 2013. This was just stupid.
She totally worships The Pioneer Woman and really wanted to make these cookies that were made with refrigerator peanut butter cookie dough and Reese’s popables. The little unwrapped ones in the bag. She insisted that the Reese’s were a specialty product and not available where she lives. I told her she would be a lot less likely to find the cookie dough than the candy.
So, sometime later we were in Wal-Mart in the candy aisle. I looked up on the top shelf and what do ya know? Reese’s popables. All I said was “oh look” and pointed at the the top shelf and it pissed her right off. Still makes me giggle when I think about it.
One of the other things that really pissed her off, was when I told her that the English guy she emailed was right when he told her what she called “bbq” and “chili” weren’t bbq or chili. Made her mad as hell when I told her meat cooked in a crockpot with bbq sauce is not in fact bbq. Then we had a discussion about chili. What she makes is a chili soup, with beans and tomatoes. What the English guy was talking about is meat cooked with a whole lot of chilies. Texas Red. What my mother makes is not that.
I think it pisses her off even more that I could actually be right. Or even worse, that I actually know more than she does.
Let’s just say I’m 60 and I’ve known a whole lot of different people in those years and she is by far one of the most clueless people I’ve ever known.
Because of what has happened with my oldest son, I’ve had to speak to my mother. 4 times. The last time is the last time I’m going to speak to her. She actually had the nerve to call me and ask if I had SfB address or phone number!!!
The conversation went like this,
her, I have a piece of mail for Bill I’d really like to get to him. Do you have his address or phone number?
her, do you know anybody that would?
her, well, I’d really like to get it to him
me, draw a line thru the address and write not at this address and put it back in the mail and let them deal with it.
her, (whiny voice) well if he doesn’t have a forwarding address on file…
me interrupts with,That’s HIS problem!
her, (hateful voice) well okay then.
And she hung up on me!!! I about fell out of the chair!!
I know for a fact she didn’t have phone numbers or addresses for either of her ex-husbands after 4 years. Including my father. Why the fuck does she think I would have it??? And seriously, everybody that I know that was friends with SfB won’t have anything to do with him.
And even laughing out loud. My mother calls my son from time to time. Now she’s complaining SfB is either drunk or hung over. Plus she’s still complaining about him cutting the hose with the mower last summer.
Oh, and she whined she doesn’t think it’s fair I’m making him pay me to get his stuff out of storage.
Seriously, screw her. I have over 20 years worth of stupid shit SfB did that I can bitch about. I still don’t know how he got to be so old and is such an incompetent human being.
Oh, and he doesn’t clean his house and it took him a month to get her car cleaned out.
Ya know, the longer I don’t talk to her the more I realize all she does is complain. I kid you not, my mother is 78 and is still bitching about something that happened when she was 10!!! I really don’t mind not listening to her bitch and moan about every fucking thing in her life.
So, my son called me last night. He said my mother called him and pretty much launched into a bitch fest about SfB. <cackle> Her and my Aunt are sorry they moved him over there and they’re trying to figure out how to get rid of him, he’s worthless, he fucks shit up, blah, blah, blah. I about died laughing while he was telling me all the shit she said. He said she asked why I never told her and my son told her “because mom don’t air her dirty laundry and you wouldn’t have believed her anyway.” He also filled her in on all the big lies he’s told and the internet “girlfriend.”
Serves her right.
I’ll laugh about this for *years*!!!
Oh and the best part is he said he didn’t even giggle or laugh while she was telling him all this stuff.
So my mother can’t contact me any other way so she sent me a letter. It was not a letter of apology. It was hate filled. She said I was just being self-centered and vindictive. Okay. So I let several people read the letter that know what’s going on and so far not a single person thinks she’s right. My first cousin (on my father’s side) was floored. Her daughter-in-law was horrified.
I can’t say that I’m totally surprised by it. She’s always been hateful and when she makes somebody mad she turns it around and makes it the person who is mad’s fault. She’s made my sister mad and it was her fault for being mad. She’s made my Aunt mad and it’s her fault for being mad. So now it’s my fault for being mad. As far as I know she’s never apologized for a damn thing in her whole life.
She made her choice and now she can just live with it. The letter sealed it. I’m done with her, and when I’m done, I’m done.
I do know that for the very first time in my whole fucking life somebody thinks of me first. SfB sure as hell never did. He was about as inconsiderate as a person could be. And of course being a woman, the kids and husband always came first, were always considered first. Now my kids are grown and it’s just me. So now, I’m first. But, just putting yourself first isn’t being self-centered. I lived with Mr self-centered and inconsiderate for 22 years. I definitely know the difference.
He called twice today. Once from my mother’s phone which goes straight to voice mail and then he used somebody else’s phone and I answered it before I realized where the number was from. He wants to know what all is in storage. 2 fucking years later and he thinks I’m going to just drop what I’m doing and run down to Liberal so he can pick thru what’s in storage. No. Then he says he can come by and pick up the key. Hell no. He can just wait until I’m good and goddamn ready to go get it and then he can come get it out of my storage here.
Oh and apparently he has an actual job. First one in two years. All of a sudden he’s playing Mr Wonderful again. Sorry piece of shit. He’s doing his very best to turn my family against me.
I’ve also pretty much had it with my job. The “rules” only apply to certain people for one thing. The woman that’s the supervisor is flat out a bitch. One minute she’s stomping around the office being all hateful to everybody and the next minute she’s trying to be your best friend. I’m going to stop on my lunch hour and check into another job. If it pays enough and she’ll hire me I’ll put in my notice. Fuck them. Oh and they’ll be really fucked, I’m the only one that knows how to do my job. Nobody in the office knows how to write new petitions. Nobody. I’ll give them the standard two week notice and I’ll take my vacation time I have coming too.
At least I get to go see Mr GB friday. That’ll improve the hell out of this week.