Mind Vomit by the ikss ~ a journal
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Monday, Jun. 09, 2003
the Lindsey Cut and drunken tears

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"The "seven social sins": Knowledge without character,
Science without humanity,
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--Gandhi

"We have not inherited the world from our forfathers -
We have borrowed it from our children."
--Kashmiri, proverb
Well, I must be losing weight because my favorite, black, Lindsey Cut Banana Republic pants are now a tad too big. This is the only drawback to losing weight, especially when one doesn�t really have very many pair of pants to begin with�in fact, these days I own only four pair of pants: The now-too-big-blacks ones; one pair of blue jeans that are on the verge of being worn out (I know, isn�t it a crime against nature to only have one pair of blue jeans?); one pair of white denim jeans which will soon be too big themselves and a pair of tan colored cotton capris that I only wear when I�m desperate or when nobody will actually see me in them, because they fit very weird and have a tendency to fall down, even though they�re not too big (don�t ask, I don�t understand it either). This means that I really only have one pair of pants I can wear to work (or, you know, dates when I actually want to look halfway decent), which kind of sucks.

I need new clothes. Sadly, although like the majority of my sex I love buying clothes, I rarely want to spend actual money on them�

Yesterday, I walked downtown to pick up a few items and happened by my beloved Banana Republic store�stupid me, I actually took a peek inside�and promptly fell in love with the cutest pair of capris I have ever laid eyes on. Too bad they�re $68 and I don�t want to spend any money before I go to Vegas, baby! They�d look so cute with that new top I bought a couple of weeks ago, too�Guess I�ll just have to wait until after I get home from Vegas, baby! with my pockets full of Black Jack winnings.

Also on my agenda yesterday, apparently and without my prior agreement, was to mess up my back in a major way. All I did was clean my pad and walk two miles and I am now in severe pain.

I am tempted to take the back pain as a sign from God that I am just not meant for housework.

Friday night was fun, but�kind of a challenge. Dinner was fabulous, of course (God bless Arnett!). I ate my entire weight in crab legs, I think�then we decided to go to this British Pub that we go to sometimes (although it�s owned by an Australian man) where we inhaled copious amounts of alcohol and sang karaoke. Don't worry, Arnett remained sober and did our driving for us.

While on the surface that all just sounds like good Christian fun, Barbara�s lips tend to get a bit loose when she drinks. She has a lot of strong opinions (yep, evidently this is a genetic trait) and when drunk she likes to share them with everybody; especially people who disagree with her. She tends to get in to brawls of the verbal variety from which I historically have had to rescue her. You see, I am everybody�s best friend when I am drunk; therefore I am generally the Peace Keeper. I will say, though, I did punch a guy on her behalf once (hey, he deserved it! He grabbed her breast just like right out of the blue!).

Luckily, Barbara doesn�t get drunk very often.

Well, this weekend, she decided to direct her verbal assault at none other than�yours truly!

Wow�what fun that was. It�s a good thing I was drunk because otherwise it would have taken a long time to recover. Since my natural disposition when inebriated, though, is to be in love with the universe, the negative repercussions of her tirade were short-lived. Well, plus I totally knew she only did it because she loves me. It�s easy to forgive when you recognize that the person you are mad at is not intentionally hurting you.

You see, she went off on me about John. She doesn�t think I should be in that relationship. When sober, she can hold her tongue. Not so much when drunk.

Anyway, I don�t really want to get in to the meat of the drunken discourse. She didn�t say anything I haven�t already written about here which means she didn�t say anything I don�t already know. She said an awful lot of stuff, though, that is totally off the mark and that brings up the real topic for today�s discussion and that is:

How The Fuck Old Do I Have To Get Before My Family Stops Thinking Of Me As A Complete Child Who Can Not Take Care Of Herself and Make Her Own Decisions?

Newsflash! I�m thirty-six years old, folks. I�ve been working since I was sixteen. I moved out of my parents house when I was 23, which was one hell of a long time ago. I have lived the majority of those thirteen years since by myself. All alone. Taking care of myself. I even save for my retirement, for Pete�s sake (in fact, I am the one continuously lecturing everyone in my family about how much they do or do not put away for retirement).

And let�s be real, here�I�ve been through the ringer, people. While my life has not been as hard as many in this world, I�ve had to survive some things that neither Barbara nor most members of my family have any idea about. And I did it. I not only survived, but for the most part I have figured out how to use the violence and the humiliation, the hatred and the pain and the terror I have experienced to my benefit and for my own growth.

I messed up in high school. In a nutshell, I just stopped going after a while. To top it off I then never graduated college (I have an AA degree only). In spite of that, I learned to work hard and use my brain and take the bull by the horns and I now make more money than all of my siblings except one. Middle-management at an electronics distribution company may not be heaven; it may not even be that great an achievement compared to what other people out there are doing. And no, it�s not like I make a six-figure salary or anything. In my world, however, when twenty years ago almost everyone you asked would have thought I�d be either addicted to drugs or in jail by now, how far I have come is nothing short of a miracle.

And I did all of this in a positive way, I think. I�m a good person, dammit! I�m fun, I�m smart and I care an awful lot about people. The fact that I can care about people at this point in my life is a minor miracle to me, all things considered. In addition, aside from the occasional weekend toke of the Evil Weed, I have grown in to a reasonably responsible and law-abiding citizen who takes care of her bidness.

So why is it that everyone in my family likes to treat me as if I am still a sixteen year old basket case?

It is really great to come from a large and close-knit family. It is fabulous to know that you have people you can lean on, if need be. I like that most of my close friends are also members of my family and I realize this is rare.

Being the youngest of six kids can really be a pain in the ass at times, though, I must say. I have far too many sets of parents. And the real ones are enough, believe me.

And I may as well just say it, point blank: Barbara can really be pompous sometimes. And lately it�s really been bugging me.

Well, at least Cathy understood my side of it.

The little bru-ha-ha didn�t last long, though. We got over it. You know, after we both cried.

Anyway, so I did little on Saturday aside from sleep and order Chinese food to be delivered. And you know how my Sunday went.

And here I am, back at work. Yippee. And the gal who posts our cash (Alanna) is out, so I am doing extra work (again). Yippee.

Well, I guess this is why I bring home the big bucks.



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