Nuclear Family: A Whole New Meaning

I'm at my parents' house.  Thing about my parents' house is that it's boring.  Really boring.  All they do is sit around, whine about nonexistent problems, and watch bad sitcoms on a really nice TV.  I bring my computer, but for some unknown reason that's rude.  I can't figure out the difference between the TV and the computer, but apparently it's that we can all watch the TV, while only I can use my computer.  Make sense?  Yeah, me neither.  But, my grandparents are here from Florida and the coffee here is better.

There's a fantastic reason my parents like bad sitcoms so much--I'm pretty sure they think they're part of one.  My mom nails the part of the overbearing, always right wife.  Likewise, my dad's version of the emotionally clueless husband is spot on.  They have little conversations that go like this:

Mom:  I told you to get lettuce.
Dad:  I did.  It's right there.  *points*
Mom:  That's not lettuce!  That's iceburg lettuce!
There's so much disdain in the word "iceburg" you'd think my father had handed her a cockroach or a dead rat, rather than a head of lettuce.
Dad:  I'm sorry.  You said lettuce.  I got lettuce.
Mom:  No,. I said Italian blend.  You got (and here it is again) iceburg!
Dad:  You want me to take it back?
Mom:  Well now dinner's almost ready.
Those are the words that fall from her mouth, but the meaning behind them is perfectly clear:  Thanks for ruining it.

Dad (in the confines of the garage, where he knows she can't hear him):  Just kidding.  I bought iceburg on purpose.  That other shit looks like I pulled it out of the yard.
*cue laugh track*

Then, my grandparents are here.  This is a mixed bag.  I'm my grandma's second favorite grandchild.  I was the favorite, until my daughter replaced me, and I guess I can live with that.  On the other hand, they turn said daughter into some sort of minion from hell.  No one else can wind her up like they do, and the results last hours after returning to the calm of our own home.  She shows off, they egg her on, she pushes harder, and so on.  By 3PM, I have a splitting headache and can't wait for her to go to bed.

I'm pretty sure my grandparents are drunk about 95% of the time they're awake.  You know how some people can't function until they've had their coffee?  My grandparents can't function until they've got a 72 ounce mug of Kentucky Gentleman and Pepsi 0.  I'm not even kidding.  I've known a lot of raging alcoholics in my lifetime, but never--never--have I seen anyone capable of consuming that much generic liquor that early in the morning.  Not even when I was a teenager.  I didn't know it was possible.  Anyway, my drunk grandma is spectacular.  Her drunk husband is sort of a douche.

For all that it matters, my drunk grandpa is my grandpa, but not biologically.  He and my grandma married the year before I was born, so he's always been one of my grandpas, but since my mom was already a married and pregnant adult (and again, he's kind of a douche) she's never considered him her step dad, just her mom's husband.  And he's really good to my grandma, which is cool.  He's sort of shitty to everyone else, though.

For example, when I was 14 and introduced them to my first boyfriend, he ran back and told the rest of the family he caught us doing it on the sofa and they should probably expect a bastard child within the next year.  I didn't even lose my virginity until I was 19, so that was just him being an asshole.  Apparently, he didn't give up hope for that child, though--at my wedding reception, he went around telling everyone we only got married because we had to.  Now he just nags me about my baby weight and how I'd better watch so my husband doesn't leave me.  Hey, asshole!  It's not baby weight when it was there before the baby.  Did you see me at my wedding?  I was fat there, too!  He still married me.  Really, if you're going to pick on me, pick on something I care about.  Dick.

Also, my dad has learned to lock his briefcase, check book, and any other financial documents in his safe.  Several times he's caught drunk grandpa rifling through them.  He's not looking to steal, he's just nosy and competitive.  Someone died and left him heaps of money, plus he's the cheapest motherfucker you'll ever meet so he's pretty much loaded.  And he will make sure everyone knows it.  Parents bought a new car?  Well, he paid cash for his!  I buy a house?  Too bad it's a dump, don't I want one in his neighborhood?  Never mind that he lives 22 hours away in a community I'm not even eligible to live in for over 25 more years, that is exactly what I want.  And, of course, he'd never buy a shitty $1 bag of iceburg lettuce!  It's best just to ignore him as he slowly drinks deeper and deeper into his stupor, but all that tongue biting really hurts!

By this point, I'm ready to bomb the house and everyone in it.  Not with real bombs, of course, because deep down, I guess do love all these dysfunctional assholes, but maybe with bug bombs or something.  Enough to make them suffer as much as I have, but still get presents from them for my birthday.  And just when I know I can't take anymore, my brother and his girlfriend show up.

My brother is the second most awesome person I know.  Truly.  We have loads in common and he's a lot of fun.  His girlfriend or fiancee or whatever she is, is a whole other story.  Truth be told, I love the girl when it's just her.  She has a sense of humor that you just don't expect from someone as gorgeous as she is.  She was one of my bridesmaids and everything, and I hope she'll be in the family for a really long time.  But putting them together makes me want to tear my ears off with my bare hands.  I also wonder how they've stayed together for as long as they have.  One word comes to mind when the two of them share a room:  Nag.  She nags.  And nags.  Then when she's tired of nagging, she nags some more.  Or maybe I was just tired of it, who knows.

Today they were fighting.  Last night, she went back to their house.  My brother stayed at my parents.  Some time around the middle of the night, my brother's friend came by and wanted to go out.  My brother agreed to drive him, but did not call her as it was a time she'd be sleeping.  This morning, he made the mistake of telling her and all hell broke loose.  How dare he go out and do something when they weren't together and didn't have plans.  Why on Earth would he think he can have any kind of life?  Doesn't he know he has a girlfriend?  Their little show would have almost been amusing if my nerves weren't already shot.

I don't care enough about my brother's love life to make much of this, except when she's pissed at my brother, she moves on to criticizing my parenting skills.  It's cool that I've got eight years on her and the only children she's ever been around are her cousins, though.  She clearly knows best.  She has a strong disapproval of my (lack of, in her humblest opinion) career choice.  By financially depending on my husband instead of pursuing my own money, I'm setting my daughter up for failure.  Even worse, I indulge my daughter's Disney Princess phase.  Clearly, I'm an unfit parent and the child should be taken into protective custody.  I'm usually not bothered by this.  When I was 20, I knew everything, too.  Today, however, I'm just tired of hearing her talk.  She could praising me as the most awesome sauce covered thing that ever happened, and all I'd want is for her to shut her mouth for five fucking minutes.

Today, they've also brought their kids.  Their kids are two little Yorkshire Terrier dogs.  The female is all shades of adorable.  The male is a rotten little bitch.  He once bit my daughter hard enough to draw blood.  I'm not one of those parents who gets all bent because a dog looked at my child wrong after said child provoked the hell out of it all day, and had that been the case, I'd have looked at it as my fault.  That wasn't the case, though.  My then 18 month old has simply crossed the dog's path while ambling toward my mom.  Little shit just lashed out and bit her.  The dog is nasty, temperamental, and spoiled.  Coming from someone with a child that has similar qualities (?) that says a lot.  However, at least my child doesn't piss all over the floor or hop up on the table to snack from someone else's plate.  That's just wrong. 

So, yeah, that's been my day.  I really don't know where I'm going with this or even if any of it is even coherent.  And I really don't care.  It's time to eat.  After that, if I can make it through that, I get to go home.  Wish me luck!

Okay, I'm home and I did something I normally don't do.  I edited.  Just because right now my nerves are frayed and my brain is oatmeal and I wanted to make sure I'd at least put intelligible sentences together.  I guess I did.  This is not my finest work, and to be honest, I'm really just posting to post at this point--one of New Year's resolutions, which I still intend to make note of--but all things considered, this is still a win.