rantrantrantrantrantrantrant
Just finished a really really annoying email exchange with my brother. He's basically a self-righteous asshole who thinks everyone should think like he does. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but not by much. Too much detail to go into, but he was basically giving me attitude for not being all warm and cozy with HIS fucking in-laws. No, seriously. I see these people maybe once every five years. I have nothing in common with them. At ALL. I don't have any particular hatred for them; I just wouldn't pick them for friends, and I don't particularly care about them one way or the other. I think it's fair to say that thoughts of them do not pop into my brain at ANY point of my day or life.
My brother, on the other hand, thinks we have this big ole yahoo extended family about whom I am supposed to have warm and fuzzy feelings because HE has warm and fuzzy feelings about them. "They're part of the family" he says. But they're NOT. They are not part of MY family. Not his in-laws. Not my father's horse riding buddies. Not my sister's best friend from high school. Not the family blacksmith. (I'm serious. The family blacksmith. I'm supposed to be all warm and fuzzy about the family blacksmith, and I bet you didn't even know there are still fucking blacksmiths!) Nope. Sorry. Don't know 'em. Nothing in common with 'em. Don't care.
Well, my brother is of the opinion that I'm an asshole because I don't care. To which my response is, fuck you, buddy.
Actually, my response was "If you have an opinion about me feel free not to tell me about it."
But what I realized is that I have spent my whole entire life listening to my family tell me what's wrong with me. It became so familiar that I married men who would spend all their time telling me what's wrong with me. You know, I'd meet some one who'd tell me what a jerk I am, and I'd think, "Oh, that sounds reassuringly familiar." And I'd marry them. Well, two of them told me I was a jerk; the other one just slept around with everyone on the planet while he was married to me. Whatever. Same message.
Dad: "Get your head out of the refrigerator, you fat pig."
Mom: "Oh Wendy, I'm so disappointed in you."
Sometimes I wonder why my self-image is so bad. Today I'm wondering how I manage to get out of bed in the morning, and I am proud of myself for keeping on keeping on. Next step: dump this load of critical bullshit and, in the words of the immortal Bette Midler, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."
My brother, on the other hand, thinks we have this big ole yahoo extended family about whom I am supposed to have warm and fuzzy feelings because HE has warm and fuzzy feelings about them. "They're part of the family" he says. But they're NOT. They are not part of MY family. Not his in-laws. Not my father's horse riding buddies. Not my sister's best friend from high school. Not the family blacksmith. (I'm serious. The family blacksmith. I'm supposed to be all warm and fuzzy about the family blacksmith, and I bet you didn't even know there are still fucking blacksmiths!) Nope. Sorry. Don't know 'em. Nothing in common with 'em. Don't care.
Well, my brother is of the opinion that I'm an asshole because I don't care. To which my response is, fuck you, buddy.
Actually, my response was "If you have an opinion about me feel free not to tell me about it."
But what I realized is that I have spent my whole entire life listening to my family tell me what's wrong with me. It became so familiar that I married men who would spend all their time telling me what's wrong with me. You know, I'd meet some one who'd tell me what a jerk I am, and I'd think, "Oh, that sounds reassuringly familiar." And I'd marry them. Well, two of them told me I was a jerk; the other one just slept around with everyone on the planet while he was married to me. Whatever. Same message.
Dad: "Get your head out of the refrigerator, you fat pig."
Mom: "Oh Wendy, I'm so disappointed in you."
Sometimes I wonder why my self-image is so bad. Today I'm wondering how I manage to get out of bed in the morning, and I am proud of myself for keeping on keeping on. Next step: dump this load of critical bullshit and, in the words of the immortal Bette Midler, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."