like a drunken sailor
I drove to Hughes, Arkansas, this afternoon. It was 14 miles from the highway to the police station, and I swear to god those were the longest 14 miles of my LIFE. I have seen some beauty in Arkansas here and there, but this was most definitely NOT IT. Perhaps the fact that I was driving to pay off a $125 ticket had something to do with the misery. Add to that the fact that the AK popo don't take checks or credit cards, AND there is only one ATM in "town," which is conveniently disguised on the side of the street opposite from where the nice policemen told you it was. After I got out the cash (OUCH) and made my way back to the tiny brick building, all the nice policemen had gone and the people behind the desk actually RADIOED IN a cop to come and write me a receipt. The cop radioed back for the desk people to do it, and the special instructions were "where it says offense, write speeding". Sadly, the woman who wrote the receipt had to ask twice for those special instructions. I am grateful to have made it back from Hughes, Arkansas. It felt cinematic enough that I half-expected a toothless guy to jump out of the bushes and take me to a dungeon where I'd be dressed in a pinafore to greet my slow and painful death.
In related i.e. otherwise depressing news, I had a conversation with my mother last night. I had to call her because I'd told her I would call on Tuesday night and I forgot. Really, I forgot. That isn't just what I told her, which I am wont to do.
It started off okay; if we stay on the shallow end, she feels like we had a good conversation. As soon as I start to speak my mind a little, it gets uncomfortable, and according to her, I 'preach.' I guess I kind of do, mostly because GAWD somebody help that woman. Please.
The money subject came up, dangerous territory indeed. We'd been talking about whether J. gets an allowance from her wealthy parents; I said no way, Dottie said oh yes, I know this because G., her mother, told me once that they (her children) would get some yearly amount after they graduated from college. I joked, why can't I have one of those? Which is how we got there. The moral of the story is, don't have any financial dealings with Dottie. Lament a little the fact that she is the kind of parent that not only doesn't give to her only daughter, but outright makes her suffer. I owe her $500 right now, the 2nd payment of the Mercury, which I was forced to offer her so she would sign over the title to my grandfather George's car (who passed away 2.14.04, for those following along at home)so I wouldn't get cancelled from my insurance, because I'd been insuring a damn car not in my name for two years.
It's not like she needs the money.
When I was in VA I had to take her to cash the first $500 check I'd sent; she made me drive way out to Pantops to the bank there, because that's the account where the getaway money is, to the tune of 10K, and she wants to keep all that cash together. I talked about this before. So now she wants me to pay for the storage facility in which we are keeping all of Dot Dot and George's furniture from their apartment (that I cleaned out when they died! because she couldn't deal!), because it is all 'mine' despite the fact that I have neither space nor an extra $150 a month. It was kind of the last straw, considering there is a fucking trust with the money that George left that I may or may not see, regardless of the fact it was earmarked for me. And we're off! The funniest thing she said is that I 'spend money like a drunken sailor.' Apparently all the drunk sailors are not only off cussing up a storm, but also spending all their money. I bet on illegal stuff like hookers and drugs. Basically she was talking out of her ASS because she has no idea how I live, what I do.
I had a lot of good comebacks once she started comparing herself to me. Because, COME ON. My eye cream does not cost $250! I don't have parents who buy me my house, my car, and give me $20K to 'play around in the stock market' one Christmas because my daughter told them I was depressed! (that was high school.) MY parents are the ones bitching about the pain of having to 'move money' to pay for a storage facility, and for that reason want their struggling daughter to pay for it instead! And the icing on the cake, she assumes that the reason I don't have said extra $150 a month, is because I support D! I pay his rent, I pay his bills.
What the fuck?
Incidentally, I believe that is the point at which I started using the word 'fuck' in my retorts, for emphasis.
Luckily my drunken sailor tendencies didn't kick in after work today, so I ran it off, and went to t'ai chi, and gracefully retrieved the crock-pot chicken breast I'd cooked, and pretended to be normal. Sometimes if you pretend well enough, you can feel as if it's actually true...
In related i.e. otherwise depressing news, I had a conversation with my mother last night. I had to call her because I'd told her I would call on Tuesday night and I forgot. Really, I forgot. That isn't just what I told her, which I am wont to do.
It started off okay; if we stay on the shallow end, she feels like we had a good conversation. As soon as I start to speak my mind a little, it gets uncomfortable, and according to her, I 'preach.' I guess I kind of do, mostly because GAWD somebody help that woman. Please.
The money subject came up, dangerous territory indeed. We'd been talking about whether J. gets an allowance from her wealthy parents; I said no way, Dottie said oh yes, I know this because G., her mother, told me once that they (her children) would get some yearly amount after they graduated from college. I joked, why can't I have one of those? Which is how we got there. The moral of the story is, don't have any financial dealings with Dottie. Lament a little the fact that she is the kind of parent that not only doesn't give to her only daughter, but outright makes her suffer. I owe her $500 right now, the 2nd payment of the Mercury, which I was forced to offer her so she would sign over the title to my grandfather George's car (who passed away 2.14.04, for those following along at home)so I wouldn't get cancelled from my insurance, because I'd been insuring a damn car not in my name for two years.
It's not like she needs the money.
When I was in VA I had to take her to cash the first $500 check I'd sent; she made me drive way out to Pantops to the bank there, because that's the account where the getaway money is, to the tune of 10K, and she wants to keep all that cash together. I talked about this before. So now she wants me to pay for the storage facility in which we are keeping all of Dot Dot and George's furniture from their apartment (that I cleaned out when they died! because she couldn't deal!), because it is all 'mine' despite the fact that I have neither space nor an extra $150 a month. It was kind of the last straw, considering there is a fucking trust with the money that George left that I may or may not see, regardless of the fact it was earmarked for me. And we're off! The funniest thing she said is that I 'spend money like a drunken sailor.' Apparently all the drunk sailors are not only off cussing up a storm, but also spending all their money. I bet on illegal stuff like hookers and drugs. Basically she was talking out of her ASS because she has no idea how I live, what I do.
I had a lot of good comebacks once she started comparing herself to me. Because, COME ON. My eye cream does not cost $250! I don't have parents who buy me my house, my car, and give me $20K to 'play around in the stock market' one Christmas because my daughter told them I was depressed! (that was high school.) MY parents are the ones bitching about the pain of having to 'move money' to pay for a storage facility, and for that reason want their struggling daughter to pay for it instead! And the icing on the cake, she assumes that the reason I don't have said extra $150 a month, is because I support D! I pay his rent, I pay his bills.
What the fuck?
Incidentally, I believe that is the point at which I started using the word 'fuck' in my retorts, for emphasis.
Luckily my drunken sailor tendencies didn't kick in after work today, so I ran it off, and went to t'ai chi, and gracefully retrieved the crock-pot chicken breast I'd cooked, and pretended to be normal. Sometimes if you pretend well enough, you can feel as if it's actually true...