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Mar. 22nd, 2007 08:03 amI love my mother. I do. I don't always act like the sweet, perfect, lovely daughter you know I should be, but I do love the woman.
But I will never, never, never understand her habit of telling me all the shit my brother says about me. Sometimes it's funny. Sometimes it's almost funny, like when she feels the need to share his thoughts on what I listen to. His complaints about Tori's inability to sing? Ironic considering some of the stuff he listens to. Or when he decides to critique any song I listen to that has a story, particularly if you liken it to being anywhere near country. [The real kicker being that he tortured the family for six months with his country obsession, kay?] Additional kicker to that is there was some really horrible song they'd play on 98X that whined endlessly. You have to work to make what amounts to a metal song whine, okay? You really, really have to work at it. And yet everytime he'd channel surf and they'd play the damn thing, he'd stop and you could freakin' hear him sing along. Yet I never said a word about how the song made me seriously contemplate grabbing the wheel and swerving us into oncoming traffic just so I would never, EVER have to listen to it again.
I can see the humor in this. Really. What pisses me the hell off is the latest declaration from on high.
I'm supposed to take out the trash from the office.
What.
The.
Fuck?
I have a father, and while he also has his problems, he's pretty good about doling out work I don't particularly want to do, so we're not lacking in that department, k? However, I'd be with you on this if not for a couple of things:
1) I will not do something when my stupidass little brother tells me to do so, kay? It's immature, but there you have it.
2) Considering I fork over half my effing paycheck, every single time, I figure it's only fair if we indulge in a little stereotypical behavior. Namely, the pain in the ass brother takes out the trash.
3) If you're not okay with that one, how about this? It's strewn all over the goddamned floor because HE didn't shut the door behind him, so HIS dog came up and destroyed the nice little bag I'd had ready to go downstairs this week. So no, I really don't think I should have to pick up all this junk.
ARGH. Now I'm all pissed off again. Must find migraine meds [my glasses are wonky so this ain't helping] and resist the urge to chuck the bag of trash in his room.
Must.
not.
kill.
I don't think jail would agree with me.
I'm going to go hobble off, watch some Buffy, admire my Powerpuff Girls balloon, and think happy thoughts. Or pass out, whichever one happens first.
Christ, I don't want to work for the next five days straight.
But I will never, never, never understand her habit of telling me all the shit my brother says about me. Sometimes it's funny. Sometimes it's almost funny, like when she feels the need to share his thoughts on what I listen to. His complaints about Tori's inability to sing? Ironic considering some of the stuff he listens to. Or when he decides to critique any song I listen to that has a story, particularly if you liken it to being anywhere near country. [The real kicker being that he tortured the family for six months with his country obsession, kay?] Additional kicker to that is there was some really horrible song they'd play on 98X that whined endlessly. You have to work to make what amounts to a metal song whine, okay? You really, really have to work at it. And yet everytime he'd channel surf and they'd play the damn thing, he'd stop and you could freakin' hear him sing along. Yet I never said a word about how the song made me seriously contemplate grabbing the wheel and swerving us into oncoming traffic just so I would never, EVER have to listen to it again.
I can see the humor in this. Really. What pisses me the hell off is the latest declaration from on high.
I'm supposed to take out the trash from the office.
What.
The.
Fuck?
I have a father, and while he also has his problems, he's pretty good about doling out work I don't particularly want to do, so we're not lacking in that department, k? However, I'd be with you on this if not for a couple of things:
1) I will not do something when my stupidass little brother tells me to do so, kay? It's immature, but there you have it.
2) Considering I fork over half my effing paycheck, every single time, I figure it's only fair if we indulge in a little stereotypical behavior. Namely, the pain in the ass brother takes out the trash.
3) If you're not okay with that one, how about this? It's strewn all over the goddamned floor because HE didn't shut the door behind him, so HIS dog came up and destroyed the nice little bag I'd had ready to go downstairs this week. So no, I really don't think I should have to pick up all this junk.
ARGH. Now I'm all pissed off again. Must find migraine meds [my glasses are wonky so this ain't helping] and resist the urge to chuck the bag of trash in his room.
Must.
not.
kill.
I don't think jail would agree with me.
I'm going to go hobble off, watch some Buffy, admire my Powerpuff Girls balloon, and think happy thoughts. Or pass out, whichever one happens first.
Christ, I don't want to work for the next five days straight.
