Thursday, November 27, 2008
Over The River and Through the Bullshit
Ah, what would a holiday be without family drama? Is it any wonder the first thing I wanted when I walked back in my front door was a glass of wine?
The day started off fantastically: Rusty decided the car trip would be a perfect time to force me to listen to the new Guns & Roses album. OK, not the whole album, one particular song, which he thinks describes his relationship with his ex perfectly. Let's begin: I hate Guns & Roses. Hate. Instant Migranes kind of hate. Rusty knows this, as we've had at least eight dozen discussions about it. We fight about it constantly because G&R is his favorite band and I dream of a world where children grow up having never heard of anything to do with them, and forcing me to listen to G&R is the one single thing I have ever asked him to never ever ever ever ever ever do. Ever. He seems to think that my lengthy explanations about how the mere sound of his voice puts me in an instant bad, irritable mood are just a joke. So we're not in the car 5 minutes before he turns it on. I try my best to tune it out and just find my Happy Place, but he only turns it up louder so it rattles my brain, too. When the song is over, he starts to ask me questions about it, and I answer quietly and briefly, and now he's mad at me for not liking G&R. Again. Fanfrikkintastic.
He procedes to drive about two and a half feet behind the car in front of him. I blink it off for a couple of miles, thinking he's looking for an opportunity to pass. Ten miles later, he's still hugging the bumper and missed a dozen opportunities to pass. "Why are you tailgating this guy?" I blurt out. Did you know that's a guaranteed instant argument starter? Well, I admit, I did, too, but I can only swallow it for so long. He maturely concedes his point by slamming on the brakes to back off, causing me to spill my soda. Very grown up. "It would be safer for us to pass them and speed than to follow behind him this close at any speed." He claims he's got his cruise control set to 60MPH, and so does the guy in front of us. This makes it safer how?? "I don't want to speed!" he claims (Sea Hag looks for every opportunity to bitch about his Horribly Incompetent Parenting, so he's on guard about speeding). "You're already speeding if you're going 60, what's another 3MPH?" He absolutely loses his shit. How DARE I say that in front of his child, who will surely now go repeat it word for word to Sea Hag who will then call him and bitch.
An aside: Obviously Rusty has not yet mastered the "Fuck You Phone Call", and still feels the inexplicable need to actually listen every time Sea Hag calls to bitch about random bullshit. He even acquiesces to her irrational demands on occassion. It's infuriating to watch, but he still takes the calls, still listens as if she's sane, still feels bad about her squabbling as if there were any sane thought behind it. He can't fathom picking up the phone, hearing "H said you were speeding!!!!" and responding, "So?" waiting for the din of her response to stop and saying, "So?" and so on until she finally hangs up in frustration.
Rusty responds to this in a way that can only be described as fucking batshit insane. He digs out his cell phone, dials Sea Hag, and ASKS HER how fast he should be driving, "Just to see what you would find appropriate. ... No reason, I'm just having an argument. ... No, I'm not being smart with you, just tell me how fast would be appropriate."
I spend the rest of the trip gazing out the window wondering how long it would take me to walk home from here, and how it's possible to have a relationship with someone so obviously intent on self-destruction. It's going to be a long fucking day.
We arrive to the usual housefull of family members who barely tolerate each other. Uncle Jay, for example, entertains himself by making backhand sarcastic comments about whoever is speaking and retreating to his bedroom downstairs. Uncle Jay is over 50, BTW, and lives with his parents under the excuse that he needs to take care of them. Which is to say, he needs to leave his children with them when he needs a babysitter and eat their food. I stray from my point... Dinner will be ready in an hour. The majority of the day procedes predictably--a few sarcastic jabs, twisted revisionist history lessons peppered by sometimes highly tangental memories from Papaw... During a discussion about how it hadn't snowed yet, for example, Papaw told us a story about how when they first built a road up on an embankment in 1934, everyone was sure the horses would just fall right off of it, but it turned out that once it started snowing, that road was the only one that stayed open because the snow blew right off of it.
I had hoped to leave within an hour or so of eating, but H was having a ball playing with her cousins, and Grandma got a call from Cousin June, asking if Rusty was there, and telling him she'd be there around 4, so please stay if he could. Grandma and Papaw nod off in their chairs. A while later, the phone rings, and Grandma is roused from her nap. I look over at her, and she has something dark running out of her mouth and down her chin, a stain about 3 inches long on her shirt. "Oh my God! Grandma's dead!" I thought. No, grandma's moving, she was just drooling in her sleep. Why was it brown? I thought she must've been eating something chocolate... no, Rusty informs me, that would be chew. Grandma has a tobacco habit. Seriously, can you get anymore hillbilly than that?
Cousin June finally arrives with son in tow--at 5pm. Poor H and I are bored out of our minds as all the other cousins and aunts and uncles have left. Rusty and June are a bit estranged. They were super-highly tight as kids, drifted apart as they aged, and then reconnected when Rusty divorced. Then after a couple of months of palling around, they suddenly lost contact. For the past two years, he's been trying to reach her and couldn't track her down for the life of him. She wasn't in the house 5 minutes before they were yelling at each other. He announced we were leaving in a huff, and H and I gratefully gathered our coats and got ready. Before we could get out the door, he'd dragged her outside to talk it out.
*sigh* ... Uncomfortable foot tapping. ... "No, H, Daddy's trying to make up with June."
They returned after about 5 minutes, pals again.
DRAMA, anyone??
Ah, what would a holiday be without family drama? Is it any wonder the first thing I wanted when I walked back in my front door was a glass of wine?
The day started off fantastically: Rusty decided the car trip would be a perfect time to force me to listen to the new Guns & Roses album. OK, not the whole album, one particular song, which he thinks describes his relationship with his ex perfectly. Let's begin: I hate Guns & Roses. Hate. Instant Migranes kind of hate. Rusty knows this, as we've had at least eight dozen discussions about it. We fight about it constantly because G&R is his favorite band and I dream of a world where children grow up having never heard of anything to do with them, and forcing me to listen to G&R is the one single thing I have ever asked him to never ever ever ever ever ever do. Ever. He seems to think that my lengthy explanations about how the mere sound of his voice puts me in an instant bad, irritable mood are just a joke. So we're not in the car 5 minutes before he turns it on. I try my best to tune it out and just find my Happy Place, but he only turns it up louder so it rattles my brain, too. When the song is over, he starts to ask me questions about it, and I answer quietly and briefly, and now he's mad at me for not liking G&R. Again. Fanfrikkintastic.
He procedes to drive about two and a half feet behind the car in front of him. I blink it off for a couple of miles, thinking he's looking for an opportunity to pass. Ten miles later, he's still hugging the bumper and missed a dozen opportunities to pass. "Why are you tailgating this guy?" I blurt out. Did you know that's a guaranteed instant argument starter? Well, I admit, I did, too, but I can only swallow it for so long. He maturely concedes his point by slamming on the brakes to back off, causing me to spill my soda. Very grown up. "It would be safer for us to pass them and speed than to follow behind him this close at any speed." He claims he's got his cruise control set to 60MPH, and so does the guy in front of us. This makes it safer how?? "I don't want to speed!" he claims (Sea Hag looks for every opportunity to bitch about his Horribly Incompetent Parenting, so he's on guard about speeding). "You're already speeding if you're going 60, what's another 3MPH?" He absolutely loses his shit. How DARE I say that in front of his child, who will surely now go repeat it word for word to Sea Hag who will then call him and bitch.
An aside: Obviously Rusty has not yet mastered the "Fuck You Phone Call", and still feels the inexplicable need to actually listen every time Sea Hag calls to bitch about random bullshit. He even acquiesces to her irrational demands on occassion. It's infuriating to watch, but he still takes the calls, still listens as if she's sane, still feels bad about her squabbling as if there were any sane thought behind it. He can't fathom picking up the phone, hearing "H said you were speeding!!!!" and responding, "So?" waiting for the din of her response to stop and saying, "So?" and so on until she finally hangs up in frustration.
Rusty responds to this in a way that can only be described as fucking batshit insane. He digs out his cell phone, dials Sea Hag, and ASKS HER how fast he should be driving, "Just to see what you would find appropriate. ... No reason, I'm just having an argument. ... No, I'm not being smart with you, just tell me how fast would be appropriate."
I spend the rest of the trip gazing out the window wondering how long it would take me to walk home from here, and how it's possible to have a relationship with someone so obviously intent on self-destruction. It's going to be a long fucking day.
We arrive to the usual housefull of family members who barely tolerate each other. Uncle Jay, for example, entertains himself by making backhand sarcastic comments about whoever is speaking and retreating to his bedroom downstairs. Uncle Jay is over 50, BTW, and lives with his parents under the excuse that he needs to take care of them. Which is to say, he needs to leave his children with them when he needs a babysitter and eat their food. I stray from my point... Dinner will be ready in an hour. The majority of the day procedes predictably--a few sarcastic jabs, twisted revisionist history lessons peppered by sometimes highly tangental memories from Papaw... During a discussion about how it hadn't snowed yet, for example, Papaw told us a story about how when they first built a road up on an embankment in 1934, everyone was sure the horses would just fall right off of it, but it turned out that once it started snowing, that road was the only one that stayed open because the snow blew right off of it.
I had hoped to leave within an hour or so of eating, but H was having a ball playing with her cousins, and Grandma got a call from Cousin June, asking if Rusty was there, and telling him she'd be there around 4, so please stay if he could. Grandma and Papaw nod off in their chairs. A while later, the phone rings, and Grandma is roused from her nap. I look over at her, and she has something dark running out of her mouth and down her chin, a stain about 3 inches long on her shirt. "Oh my God! Grandma's dead!" I thought. No, grandma's moving, she was just drooling in her sleep. Why was it brown? I thought she must've been eating something chocolate... no, Rusty informs me, that would be chew. Grandma has a tobacco habit. Seriously, can you get anymore hillbilly than that?
Cousin June finally arrives with son in tow--at 5pm. Poor H and I are bored out of our minds as all the other cousins and aunts and uncles have left. Rusty and June are a bit estranged. They were super-highly tight as kids, drifted apart as they aged, and then reconnected when Rusty divorced. Then after a couple of months of palling around, they suddenly lost contact. For the past two years, he's been trying to reach her and couldn't track her down for the life of him. She wasn't in the house 5 minutes before they were yelling at each other. He announced we were leaving in a huff, and H and I gratefully gathered our coats and got ready. Before we could get out the door, he'd dragged her outside to talk it out.
*sigh* ... Uncomfortable foot tapping. ... "No, H, Daddy's trying to make up with June."
They returned after about 5 minutes, pals again.
DRAMA, anyone??
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