Saturday, August 20, 2005

can i confess i've been hanging 'round your old address

My mother's need to control everything makes me crazy. My uncle said that my sister and I could have his bedroom suits. Female Offspring #1 took all her stuff with her so I have one "empty" room.
(Yeah, right. Just try to move around in there and then tell me it's "empty.")
The one that was my uncle's set is a dark brown, icky bedroom suit, while the one that was my grandmother's is a really nice antique set. I love old furniture. I'm drawn to it.
The dresser has all sorts of little drawers and stuff, and laugh if you will, but I have a great rapport with that furniture. Whereas, my uncle's bedroom, the rapport.... not so great.
BUT my mother already promised that bedroom suit to my sister because my uncle is going to give me his dining room table which I can't use and don't want.
(Why do people give you what THEY want you to have instead of simply asking you?! It's not even practical for my place, and he knows that.) My mother has the key to my uncle's house--he's in the county home--so when we went down yesterday to look at the furniture again, I said to my mother, "Ya know, I don't know if I'm going to take that bedroom suit because I just don't like it." She said, "BUT IT'S FREE." I said, "What good is getting furniture that you DON'T like?" She said, "But if it's GIVEN to you what difference does it make?" At this point, I just want to slap her. It's like she NEVER can let me make a decision that she doesn't need to override. I said, "That's like taking a bunch of clothes that you hate
and will never wear simply because they're free.
What the hell good are they?!"

Last night Holly and I were laying around in the living room and she found one of Mr. G's socks. I got this great idea to turn her into a drug sniffing dog. (She's GOTTA redeem herself somehow.) I'm thinking nothing is more powerful than the smell wafting off of one of Mr. G's three day old socks. So when she turned around, I hid the sock, and said, "Find it. Get me the sock, Holly." She looked around for a few seconds, trotted down the hall and came back with *another* sock. THREE TIMES we went through this process. I'm thinking "how many socks did Mr. G leave laying on the floor?!" I kept hiding them and she kept finding new ones. I'm like, "Ok, clearly you're not understanding the game." Actually she was understanding it better than I was...

My online pal Lisa said she was studying the book, "The House That Crack Built" in college.
I thought it HAD to be a joke.
But alas, it's not. She said it starts out, "This is the house that crack built. This is the man who lives in the house that crack built. These are the men that protect the man that lives in the house that crack built" If THAT book can sell, I think I'll write
one entitled, "This is the Trailer That Laziness Built." "This is the trailer that laziness built. This is the Goddess that lives in the trailer that laziness built. These are the offspring that piss off the Goddess that lives in the trailer that laziness built."

Living with Holly is like living with a dingo.
Everything that isn't on a high shelf, gets snatched or eaten or both.

A big THANK YOU to Mike South who worked really hard
last night and got my stats working!! YAY!!! He was working on it till after one a.m. at which point I'm like, "damn I'm too tired to stay up any longer." He said, "I got it!"
and SUDDENLY I was wide awake again. Then I coded my pages for over an hour.
A small price to pay indeed.

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