I took several weeks off from The Klonopin Chronicles because I had a metric shit-ton of major life hurdles to, well, hurdle. One is that I sold my house for an insane and record-setting amount of money. You totally want to date me now, don't you. Don't lie. Bunch of greedy bastards, you lot.
Another is that I took a real vacation -- two weeks tripping around Mexico with my daughter, PreMed. (A side note -- she has changed her major, but I'm still going to call her "PreMed" because "PreMBAinWorldHealthandCommunityDevelopment" is just too fucking long.)
The third and most important hurdle is that I found a new place to live and signed the first lease I've ever held BY MYSELF in my fifty-one years on the planet. Coming up on fifty-two in a couple of months. I will finally be playing with a full deck. Boom.
At any rate, I owe you guys the third in the triptych of the Annual Anonymous Winter Holiday Blog of Familial Hostility, or as I like to call it, "The Qualifying Round of Passive-Aggressive Olympics." Some of you guys have been on the podium a record-setting number of Olympiads. It's an honor to compile your season's greetings and a joy to undercut them with snark.
|I know, I know, Urban Outfitters.|
So without further ado, let's get started so we can finish . . .
I’m thankful that no one is coming to our house for Thanksgiving because it looks like we’re auditioning for Hoarders.
(Through to the next round!)
Screw this dysfunctional family.
(I'd say, "fuck them" but I'm just the editor.)
It's so great to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Douchebag.
(Allow me to present Mr. and Mrs. Enema.)
(! ! !)
I just stuffed the turkey full of Xanax so we can all have a relaxing and unstressful holiday.
Dear MIL -- Stop glaring and rolling your eyes at me as I sit on the couch while you wash dishes. I am not lazy. I am saving you from being stabbed in the heart.
(A mitzvah, MIL - you have no idea.)
You are about to become a mother. Please pull your head out of your butt and realize the world does not revolve around you.
(Speaking of heads coming out of butts, let's hope that baby's not breech.)
Thank you for deserting me when my husband threw me and my three kids out because he's a fucking control freak narcissist. Thanks for ALWAYS being there for me and my kids -- with a knife ready to shove into our backs. You guys suck, for real.
(Some of this shit is just real and that's no joke.)
Hey, mother-in-law, about the "vegetarian" thing? No matter how small you chop up BACON and simmer it in sauce? It's still a fucking animal.
(She's got you there, MIL. Your move.)
Go fuck yourselves. It's miserable spending any holiday with any of you.
(No further questions, Your Honor. The witness may step down.)
I'd like to give thanks to my family for offering to visit US at our home for Thanksgiving before my husband, your brother and son, leaves for Afghanistan next Tuesday. I'm sure we'll be showered with your support while he's gone, too - all ten of you.
(And by "showered with support," she means "roundly ignored.")
Here's to another year of togetherness with the very people can suck the fun out of something simply by entering a room.
(And we're not talking nitrous oxide here.)
(I do. Please pass it.)
Thanksgiving used to be much easier when I was drinking heavily.
(Right? Ain't that some bullshit?)
To My Dear Mother In Law: I'm happy you are gone and I no longer have to watch you humiliate your son because he did not become a "real" doctor like you wanted him to be. What the fuck. Thanksgiving gratitude because you are not in it.
(What kind of fake doctor did he become, anyway?)
You are not entitled to anything. Stop draining everyone around you financially and mentally. Grow up.
Well, hello, SIL. Please come in and eat two plates of food and then take ALL the leftovers for your family of four. Guess what? We're secretly cooking up extra batches that won't be put out on Thanksgiving Day so we can have some damn leftovers of our own.
(A brilliant plan. Expensive, but worth it. That gravy. Am I right?)
A lot of you are assholes.
(Succinct and universal.)
Dear Husband: Sharing the looks with the teenagers that you think I don't see. Be a parent for fuck’s sake. Don’t throw me under the bus so you can be the cool friend/parent.and I look fucking crazy. You’re the alcoholic in this family, not me. Own your own shit as I own mine.
(Hmm. That sounds like something I would say. Like verbatim.)
PLEASE stop telling me to eat your food! I know where you get your groceries and I also know that you buy bulk perishables on sale because they're past the expiration date.
(Now it can be told.)
I wish my Mom would stop inviting all of you social misfits so we can actually enjoy our holiday as a family. Don't you have your own families you can torture?
(And by that I mean, how did they get rid of you and can I have lessons?)
I would like to tell my family that if they could stop judging everyone else for once in their wretched lives and use their energy for good maybe they'd wouldn’t be crotchety old wenches who are about to die alone.
(Good to know. And it's not too late.)
(Yeah, Assholes. God.)
You should not have another baby with your "baby daddy". Every other day you are on Facebook telling us how you hate him.
(You might want to adjust those privacy settings.)
Sister, I'm just as crazy as you so why don't you take some pointers from me on how to hide it better. Mother in law - stop taking so much Oxy. You make no sense and by the way, Jesus doesn't hate black people.
(And pass the gravy. And by "gravy" I mean "Oxy".)
(And no jury in the world would convict her. )
Please tell my boyfriend some more about the bowel issues I had as a child.
(You mean your former boyfriend. WTG, Mom.)
(Pie makes it all worthwhile. Real talk.)
And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown. For some of us, it's the defense mechanisms of humor in the face of misery, snark to suppress pain, mocking to prevent murder. The real and honest acknowledgement of "all the feels" we go through on a daily basis. All of us. Even those who wish they didn't and work like hell to keep it that way. I wish you a healthy and happy New Year, where the worst you get is probation and a suspended sentence. We are all in this together. Except my ex. He's a dick.
Namaste, you Nutjobs, you. Keep coming back. LYLAS and all that good noise. And I never ever do this, but - - - xoxoxoxo.
|The Rolo Turtle. |
Stop by the Facebook page where I posted the recipe.
In the words of Louis C.K., eat them until you hate yourself.