Again with the drama

It’s been a while since the outlaws acted up so I guess I was due. 

Let’s go back to Friday shall we?  After some annoying (yet thankfully still under warranty) car trouble and a very very VERY long week I was exhausted and fell asleep, without dinner, at 6:30 pm on the office futon.  With the cat.  Around 9pm I went up to bed (sans cat) and slept until midnight.  And of course, after sleeping for nearly six hours, I couldn’t fall back to sleep.  After lying in bed and listening to the Hubs snore and groan and mumble I got up, went downstairs, knit a while, read a while and purged some recipes and patterns that I’ve had kicking around forever, before going back to bed at 4am.

I woke up around 9am Saturday morning and came downstairs for coffee.  I’m still more tired than normal given my weirdo sleep the night before but I spoke with the Hubs for a bit and then settled in the living room to knit a dishcloth while I waited for him to leave for the day.  Along with his parents, he was going on a visit-ALL-the-cousins-north-of-the-big-city trip and would be gone all day and for much of the evening.  The outlaws were told to arrive for 10am and the three of them would leave post-haste.

As an aside, for the past few years I’ve refused to go on these jaunts as a) I don’t want to give up my Saturday visiting his family b) I don’t like many of these cousins and c) figure if I’m going to get insulted or told what to do by virtual strangers I’d rather have it happen at work where I’m both getting paid AND not giving up my valuable free time.  Yes the Hubs was a little pissy he had to go “alone” but he’s finally figured out how far he can push me when it comes to non-command performance family events so he was sucking it up.

At 9:25 I heard a soft knocking on our door (we don’t have a doorbell and the Hubs hasn’t been “in the mood” to put up the door knocker yet) and I told him to answer it as I was in my pj’s and I couldn’t be arsed to get up or put aside my knitting.  Besides, at that time of the day it’s likely someone we didn’t want to speak to andI’d rather he give the Jehovah’s Witnesses/door-to-door marketers the brush off.

How right I was.  It was someone I didn’t want to talk to…it was his mom.  She’s standing on our front porch, telling him that they’re here (35 minutes early) and that they’ve parked on the next street (instead of in our empty-for-this-reason) driveway since they didn’t want to “inconvenience” me.  WTF?  Hubs tells his mom not to be silly and to come inside. She refuses.  He raises his voice and tells her again to come inside.  She once again refuses.  She then asks him if he’s ready to go.  He’s standing in the doorway wearing warm-up pants and a sweatshirt and he tells her no, he’s still eating breakfast and has to shower, shave and get dressed, all of which he was expecting to do in the next 35 minutes before they were supposed to arrive AT 10 AM.  She tells him she’ll be in the car with the FIL.  From my seat in the living room I do a mental eye roll and keep knitting.

Hubs comes in and we give each other the WTF look and he proceeds to finish eating breakfast before getting ready.  He leaves 10 mintues early, kisses me goodbye and tells me he’ll be home around 10pm.  Which is fine with me since I’m going to my sister’s house to help babysit my nieces and don’t expect to home until then either.

My day progresses nicely.  I knit a bit of a pair of socks I’m making, I sort through some yarn, I look at some patterns in myqueue, I eat a leisurely dinner.  It’s a delightful day.  Then I drive off to my sister’s house, get greeted like a rock star by three little girls, proceed to have two of them “help” me knit and play some Angry Bird on my sister’s iPad.  It’s a nice night all around.

Turns out the Hubs came home much earlier than anticipated and I got home much later than anticipated but whatever, we had no plans and neither of us was particularly put out.  We go to bed and I sleep and sleep and sleep.  DST always knocks me for a loop..

So, we’re sitting around the living room later in the morning on Sunday and I ask Hubs what the hell was up with his parents yesterday and why didn’t they a) park in our driveway and b) come into the house and wait.  Not that it was super cold outside but why wait in a car when you can sit on a comfortable sofa and drink coffee?  He tells me that his parents didn’t want to inconvenience me.  What?  Again with the not wanting to inconvenience me business?  Yes, seeing them is an inconvenience but really, they couldn’t sit in my house for half an hour?  Sure it’s not super tidy but whatever.  There was fresh coffee and I could have scraped up bagels or cookies or something to nibble on. 

Nope he says, they didn’t want to bother you.  Which is weird.  This is the second time this year they haven’t wanted to come in our house.  Clearly I’ve done something to annoy them, but in her classic passive-agressive fashion the MIL won’t tell me what it is and now I’m being “punished” by not seeing them.  Which is ironic and hilarious but whatever floats your boat lady.

Then, and here’s where the real drama starts, Hubs tells me that I should ask them tonight (at our twice a month scheduled dinner) to come to our house for dinner. 

I’m surprised you didn’t hear the F#CK NO! in your town.  I reminded him that we asked his parents over not so long ago.  Together.  At their house.  His parents refused.  Several times.  He argued with them and they dug their heels in and said no.  So we left it.  For whatever reason they didn’t want to eat with us in our house.  No skin off my nose. 

Now Hubs says, they don’t feel comfortable coming over (despite having been over for coffee AND dinner several times in the past three years) and need to be invited over several times before they say yes.  Umm are they vampires?  Is this is a scene from The Lost Boys where Max the Head Vampire has to be invited to cross the threshold?  Can I expect my inlaws to want to suck my blood the next time I see them?

So the Hubs tells me to just ask them and I tell him fine, seeing as how I’m not going to win this argument, but if his mother says no, this is THE VERY LAST TIME EVER that I will invite them to our house.  He can invite them but I will never again issue an invitation.  Ever. 

And since we’re scrapping I figure hey, I may as well make this a full blown fight, and tell him that I’m actually insulted that they preferred to sit in a cold car rather than come in our house and talk to me.  And he says ok, tell my mom that.  Fine.  I.  Will.  And you can bet, with his blessing to let it all out, I won’t be subtle about it either.  Six years of slights and passive-agressive BS is coming to an end.  Either she backs down or I do.  And I’m not backing down.

At the very worst, they  accept and come for dinner….in June which is the next time we have a free Saturday.  And at the very best she says no and I am forever off the hook for cooking for them ever again.  Best of all though, the Hubs will be sitting there watching.  I’ll mention it over dinner.  Captive audience and he can watch his parents squirm when I ask them if my house is not good enough to sit in and my coffee is not good enough to drink. 

Oh my darling husband.  Be careful what you ask for.  I didn’t work with a thousand lawyers in my former life and not pick up a few tricks.  Cross your fingers for me.  And watch the news at 11.  Hopefully the lead story isn’t about a 30 something Librarian who has gone postal.  I don’t look good in orange.

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Why

is it that even though I start my Christmas knitting in May I’m still way behind with 50 days to go?

is it that I keep doing Christmas knitting for a group of people, many of whom I don’t particularly care for?

is it that I am dead tired at 6:30 pm but get my second wind at 10:30 pm and stay up way too late and thus perpetuate the cycle of exhaustion?

is it that deer WILL NOT stay off the highway?

is it that everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) in the world irritates me right now?  Oh, wait, that may be due to that whole exhaustion thing.  Maybe.  Or maybe I’m just super crusty right now.  Both are perfectly logical answers.

is it that I keep re-living something over and over and over that I can’t change?  It’s my own personal Groundhog Day.  Or version of insanity. 

is it that I can’t remember anything anymore?

is it that I keep having these ugly red freckly spots come up all over me and they refuse to go away? 

is it that I hate all my shoes?

is it that I have so much freaking yarn but not enough of any of any one kind to actually knit a garment?

is it that after 2 years of living in the Money Pit we STILL haven’t unpacked or hung up pictures?

is it that we ALWAYS have to spend Christmas Day with the outlaws?

is it that every year I dread Christmas more and more and wish that I could skip it entirely?

is it that I look like a wizened old crone on 4 hours of sleep yet the Hubs looks fresh as a daisy on the same number of hours?

is it that Canada Post has mysteriously lost my Sock Club shipment and the yarn store is not all that interested in tracking it down yet they want payment for the next installment?

is it that both of my sock clubs this year have sucked rocks?

Honestly.  It’s been that kind of week.  I want a do-over.  Or maybe go to bed tonight and wake up on December 26th.  Both options work for me.

Slow Burn

This week I was starting to feel a little guilty about not liking the MIL.  Dinner on Monday wasn’t as craptastic as usual and her company was almost pleasant.  This happens sometimes when the Monday dinners go reasonably well and I start to think that maybe I’m being too hard on her.  Maybe she’s not as bad as I think she is.  But then, something ALWAYS happens and I realize she’s worse than I thought.

Last night DH called her and early on in their chat it became pretty clear she was angling for something.  Turns out her BFF’s husband’s mother had died and the MIL, via the BFF’s husband, wanted DH to be a pall bearer.  Now, I’m sure this is going to get me flamed and I mean no disrespect to the dead woman, but here’s why I am angry and 110% against this. 

DH has never mentioned the woman who died EVER.  She  may have, like a whole bunch of other old Greek ladies, looked after him when he was a child, but in the five and half years we’ve been together her name has NEVER come up.  Which to me, means that she hasn’t played a big role in his life for at least 30 years.  Also, the MIL has never mentioned her.  And this is the woman who was the MIL to her BFF.  If they were close, my MIL would have talked about her.  Believe me.  So DH’s “family is important to me” refrain doesn’t ring true here.  More importantly, I could tell he was hesitant about agreeing to do this.  He danced around saying no until she basically dragged a “I guess” out of him.   This is another one of those “for the show” events.   Which means that everyone has to do something they don’t want to do because it will look good.  Damn the consequences, they’re providing a united front and making everyone else in the local Greek community jealous.  Please.

All that aside, and this is the real reason I’m aginst the pall bearer thing, DH does not deal well with death.  Not at all.  Even the death of a distant relative/family acqaintence he hasn’t seen in many many years will make him maudlin.    So he will be a mess for at least a week over this.  A hot-I’m-going-to-sit-in-the-basement-and-listen-to-The-Smiths-and-play-with-razor-blades-and-pout mess.  And I’m the one who will have to deal with it.  Who will have to try and jolly him out of his melancholy.  If this was a close friend of the family or someone who meant a lot to the DH I’d be ok with him being a pall bearer.  And I’d be ok with the whole basement-Smiths-pouting thing.  Not happy about it but I’d deal because that’s what marriage is about…for better or for worse.

But what really burns my ass is that MIL knows how DH is with death.  We’ve had a few discussions where I’ve told her flat out to stop asking him to do this stuff.  I’ve told her how upset he gets and how hard it is for him (and me) for days after the funeral.  She nods and agrees and then proceeds to keep asking him.  And I proceed to pull out all my hair.  Her excuse is that if she’s asked by a family for DH’s pall bearing services, she can’t not tell DH  because he’s the one who needs to decide.  Except he’s going to say yes because he’s looking for approval (which never comes) from his parents.  He wants to be the dutiful son, even when he doesn’t want to be dutiful.  It’s a lose-lose situation for everyone except his mother who gets to preen about her son and how devoted he is and all the rest of that crap.

I’m not against DH going to the funeral.  Fare from it.  In fact I’m all for it.  Especially since I don’t have to go.  What I don’t like is that his mother has completely disregarded my wishes and has bullied him into doing something he’s not really comfortable doing.  Plus she’s not going to be there for the fallout afterwards – the moping and complaining and pouting that will go on for days. 

But, I guess that second part is his problem.  He’s got to realize, that as his parents and their friends age, funerals are going to become more and more common and he’s just got to deal with it.  Death isn’t always sad and tragic, especially if the person has lived a long and happy life.  And if he doesn’t want to play an active role in the funeral, he’s going to have to speak up about it. 

As for me, I’ll bring it up with the MIL the next time I see her.  Another “gentle reminder” probably won’t change anything in the long term but my MIL is passive-agressive and doesn’t like it when people stand up to her.  And making her miserable pretty much always makes me happy.  Especially on this particular matter when it clearly upsets the son she professes to adore. 

Since I’m not going to the funeral I figure I’ll spend my day in the garden, surrounded by living and growing things, listening to happy,fun, upbeat pop music, doing something I want to be doing.  Afterall, one of us should be happy on this long weekend and it may as well be me.

Doors Open. Doors Close.

Such is life I suppose.  I was offered (and accepted) a job last Monday and that same day DH was finished on his section of the project.  Well, technically he finishes on Thursday as this is a short week, but nonetheless he’s done.  Not done DONE as in unemployed, just done as in coming back home and working regular hours.

Which, after six months of living away during the week, will be weird.  Initially I hated being left alone all week.  I was scared of the creaky noises this house made and didn’t like coming home to an empty, dark house ever.

But slowly, over the past few months, that changed.  I left the radio on all day (so there was always some noise when I came home) and I stopped being an energy Nazi and left some lamps on on every floor.  I started leaving the house after work…shopping, visiting, knit night.  I got used to eating at 10pm.  And I got used to eating whatever I wanted for dinner (mostly healthy Wendi, don’t you worry).  I slept sprawled out on the bed during the week and stayed up way too late reading and knitting.  I could talk on the phone as much as I liked and never had to share the computer.  But far and away best of all, the every-other-week-dinners at the outlaws ended.  No more craptastic meals and passive-aggressive dinner conversation.  There are not enough words to describe how great that aspect of the past six months has been.

But, you get what you get and I got freedom from the outlaws for six months and living as I pleased.  I also got a cranky, miserable, only-home-on-weekends DH too so it wasn’t all roses and unicorns and balloons.  But Fate is cruel and I know dinners will start up again.  I haven’t brought it up with DH but his mother knows he’ll be home again.  I’m sure it will be mentioned this weekend at Easter dinner.  And after six months of outlaw-free living I don’t have much of a leg to stand on when it comes to saying no to seeing them.   Marriage is all about for better or for worse and this is a for worse part.

Anyway, DH finds out what his new project is next Monday.  Is it evil of me to hope that he’s temporarily shipped off to Pittsburgh?  Or Montreal?  Those are drivable distances for long weekends reunions.  And they are outlaw-free cities.

Knitting right along

My wrists are aching and I have calluses (or is that calli?) on my fingers but Itchy and Scratchy is coming right along.  I’ve almost finished the front and tonight I will cast on for the sleeves.  Two at once to combat boredom and then the back.  If all goes well (and I forgo sleep) I hope to be done by next Friday at the latest.

And it really is deliciously itchy and scratchy.  It  just feels so awful and I  swear this yarn is but one step removed from that Phentex plastic crap.  I.  Love.  It.  Well, I love the fact that it’s so vile and that the  FIL will be obligated to wear it. 

Although, I kind of think that all that itchy-and-scratchy-awesomeness will be wasted on the FIL.  I’m pretty sure he has no idea what nice wool feels like and the  MIL has no idea either since she once told me that a ripple afgan she crocheted (it’s actually very nice) needed to be handwashed as it was made out of wool.  Umm yeah wool that came from petrochemical sheep.  It’s 100% acrylic.  To quote the Penguins from Madagascar “smile and wave boys, smile and wave”.

But I’ll know the truth and I’ll laugh my ass off every time the FIL wears it.  Long live Itchy and Scratchy!  And since Itchy is a petrochemical product it really will last forever. 

Pictures will be posted very soon.

Like a phoenix rising from the flames

It’s no secret that I don’t like my FIL.  Picture Archie Bunker, but with a Greek accent and that’s the FIL.  Although Archie Bunker was slightly more enlightened.  But before you start to feel bad for the FIL, he doesn’t like me much either.  In fact, last Christmas he told the DH (in front of the WHOLE family) that he made a mistake marrying me.  Good times.

So why am I making the FIL a sweater for Christmas you ask?  That’s a lot of time to spend making someone I don’t like something.  Well, I like my uncle-in-law a lot.  And I have some really nice wool to  make him a sweater.  But I can’t make a sweater for him (the UIL) and not the FIL.  We open presents in front of each other on Christmas Day and while I really don’t like the FIL I’m not going to throw it out there for all to see….I’m trying to take the high road here.

So the plan is to make the UIL a sweater out of nice wool and make the FIL a crew neck sweater made out of the grossest, scratchiest, itchiest acrylic I have in my stash.  The FIL will be obligated to wear it and it will be uncomfortable.  Yes, I am evil and yes, I am going to hell.  I’ll probably see many of you there.

I started Itchy last year  (there’s a post somewhere in the archives but I’m lazy and  can’t be arsed to link it) but gave up on it.  I found it again last month and had to frog most of it, but it’s back baby!  Itchy and Scratchy has risen like a phoenix from the flames and will live to torment the FIL.  Which is why blog posts have been few and far between.  Give me a week or so and I’ll post a picture of Itchy in all it’s glory.  Bwah ha ha ha ha.  Ahem.  Excuse me now, I’ve got a sweater to knit.

 

It’s always something

So last weekend was DH and my anniversary.  Three years and we’re both still alive.  Some days that’s nothing short of a miracle.

Anyway, three years and one week ago we got married on what happened to be Thanksgiving weekend.  We chose it for several reasons….we had to have a long weekend as we were inviting pretty much everyone his mother had ever spoken to in her whole life.  No really.  We sent out over 600 invitations.  Honestly I think his mom invited the people who bag her groceries.

But I digress.

Another reason we had to get married on Thanksgiving was because the Orthodox Church “blacks out” days.  I don’t know the reason why (and to be honest I don’t much care) but think of it kind of like trying to fly on points and a lot of the good dates are no-fly times.  The one summer weekend that was left unbooked was during my parents’ European cruise.  They offered to cancel their trip but we said no (good thing since the weather that weekend was horrific…cold and torrential rains), Thanksgiving was fine.  And fine it was.  We had a lovely, warm, sunny day.  In my opinion, it was the best day of the whole year to wear a big puffy white dress with two crinolines.

A side benefit of getting married on a holiday (that I’m pretty sure the DH never thought of) is that that holiday is forever “yours” and if you choose to go away for your anniversary during that time, no one can ever complain.  I mean really, how can you bitch out your kid for wanting to spend time with his wife on the anniversary of the best day of your life so far MIL instead of coming to your house and eating turkey.  Win-win indeed.

And so we spent the next two Thanksgiving weekends away.  On our first anniversary we decided to take in some local theatre and went to Drayton and saw The Man of La Mancha.  Which was really, really good.  What was not really, really good was the weather.  It was hot, humid and sticky beyond belief.  And given that it was October the B&B where we were staying had taken out their window AC units and sleep (and all other indoor sports) were uncomfortable in the extreme.  It’s hard to be all romantic when you’re dripping with sweat and sticking to the sheets.  Not the B&B host’s fault for sure and she was thoughtful enough to leave a bottle of champagne in our room for when we got back.  Good play, nice B&B, bad weather.

The next year we took an extra long weekend and went to New York City.  I had been only briefly prior to that trip but DH went all the time as the SIL used to live there.  We weighed the options…drive or fly and knowing my penchant for buying yarn and, well, pretty much everything else, we elected to drive.  Good call.

The hotel was ok (cheap and cheerful but an awesome location in the Upper West Side super close to Central Park) but DH just about killed me with his “death marches”.  By now I should be used to the fact that he goes from walking 0 kms in everyday life to 10+ a day on vacation.  My feet had swollen so badly  I could wear only one of the four pairs of the shoes I brought and forget about even trying on new ones.  The yarn shopping eased the pain though.  We continued on with the anniversary tradition of seeing a musical, this time Hairspray.  Which was also surprisingly good.

And we also continued the tradition of avoiding a big turkey dinner at the outlaws house.  My family rarely cooks turkey, instead preferring to eat the lesser known homemade Thanksgiving pizza or Thanksgiving BBQ’d steak.

This year however, our luck ran out.  We had planned to spend the weekend at Stratford Festival enjoying yet another anniversary musical, this time A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.  The MIL blindsided us by telling us we’d be coming over to her house that weekend for dinner.  DH didn’t exactly say no, buuuuut he didn’t exactly say yes either.  We told her we’d be away that weekend and we’d try to make it to her house the next day by 4pm.  She was less than impressed and I’m sure you’ll not be at all surprised when I tell you I didn’t care.

But the play was sold out.  And DH spends much of the week on-site and wasn’t interested in sleeping anywhere but his own bed.  So we decided to go to The Shaw Festival as I’d heard good things about Born Yesterday.   Since we weren’t staying overnight we could splurge on a nice dinner at Strewn (which came highly recommended) and be home by midnight.  Or earlier.  We’re an old married couple now you know.

And so began the comedy of errors.  I always buy tickets on the internet and select the option of picking them up  at the box office.  I have never had issues.  Ever.  Except last Saturday.  We got up later than we wanted to, left much later than we thought we would, didn’t stop at any wineries on the way, drove around Niagara-on-the-Lake aimlessly looking for free parking (DH is cheap that way) and, when it came time to pick up the tickets, the lady at the box office  couldn’t find them.  Because I had mistakenly bought them for the show THE WEEK EARLIER.  Yep.  $220 worth of tickets for the previous Saturday.  Which we had spent lying around the house all day.

To my credit there was no swearing, no yelling and no tears.  I calmly purchased two more tickets, albeit at a lesser price despite the fact that they were better seats, and the very nice ticket lady who felt really badly for me after I told her it was our anniversary, released my tickets and converted that $220 into a donation which I suspect is borderline illegal and definitely unethical but really nice.  Especially as I get a tax break.

The show, which I spent $360 on was sadly not that great.  It was amusing but not nearly as funny as I was lead to believe and even now the lead actress’ grating voice still echos in my ears.  It’s my own fault but I totally overpaid for that show.

We made our way to Strewn, which came highly recommended and left much to be desired.  The service was very slow, the food was meh and the actual restaurant itself was nothing to write home about.  DH paid for dinner and it cost nearly as much as the second set of tickets.  And took longer to get through than the play!

But best of all we had to go to dinner at the outlaws the next day.  DH wanted to see his relatives, which was fine with me, but I held firm to leaving our house late.  And we agreed to continue to let his mother believe we had spent the night away.  I was fully expecting dinner to be well underway by 2:30 when we got there but sadly, they had yet to start.

I was feverish and coughing up a lung and had very little sense of taste so the food was actually reasonably pleasant.  What little I ate of it that is.  And to give her her due, the MIL nearly always does a good job with the turkey.  The gravy not so much but her turkey is decent.  The FIL and I, by unspoken agreement, ignored each other, and I spent much of the dinner coughing in the MIL’s direction and talking to DH’s cousins.  I’ve spent worse afternoons at the outlaw’s that’s for sure.

Next year, I told DH on the way home, will be different, no Thanksgiving dinner anywhere but our house and no guests but him and I.  Unless we once again go away for the weekend, in which case this will all be moot and I can start figuring out what musical we’ll see next October and get on that work up training for the inevitable death marches we’ll go on.

Anyway you look at it I’m going to be hungover tomorrow.

So on tonight the DH and I, his sister and the outlaws will be at a wedding.  It’s the first one this year for us.  As you can guess, it’s DH’s “family”.  The bride is some sort of quasi relation and while I’m sure she’s a lovely person, I really don’t care to dig much deeper.  I met her for a grand total of 8 minutes at my bridal shower and wedding and expect to spend about the same amount of time conversing with her at hers.  No offense but that’s how these things go.  Brides are busy and weddings aren’t really the time or the place to have deep and meaningful conversations.  Not if you’re the bride that is.

And this is how the fun begins.  We are all going in one car.  Yes five adults in one small Japanese car.  As the wife of the driver (aka DH) I get to sit in the front.  Which is a small mercy as his parents have yet to hear about this newfangled thing called dry cleaning.  It can get a little ripe in the backseat.  Anyway I digress.

The wedding is at some golf course and I’m sure it will be lovely and tasteful and elegant.  I was speaking to the SIL tonight and it’s going to be small (for a Greek wedding…only 150 or so people…my shower was bigger than that no word of a lie) and not at all traditional.  I am hoping they elect to go with a DJ or a tasteful trio or ensemble as those weirdo Greek bands creep me out.  And if I never do another circle dance I can easily die a happy woman.

If we get to sit with the “young people” which may or may not include the SIL it’s all good and tomorrow’s hangover will be minimal.  If we get stuck with the outlaws….Oh sweet Mother of Jesus there will not be enough wine in the joint to make it a pleasant evening.  

Case in point, the MIL firmly believes that weddings only occur so that the couple can have babies (ummmm babies come to people who aren’t married and there are lots of married couples who elect not to or cannot have babies) so I’m sure I’ll be bombarded the WHOLE FREAKING EVENING with baby-related digs and comments.  After all, it’s coming up on three years….where are the babies?????  MIL knows where the babies are…or rather why the babies aren’t but that’s something she’ll conveniently forget tomorrow night.  And why the babies aren’t, is a post for another time.

And if it isn’t MIL making baby comments it will be any number of other irritating Greek women who I have met for approximately 18 seconds at my wedding who now feel that a) they know me intimately b) feel they can ask/tell me any manner of inappropriate things and c) think I am entitled to their thoughts and opinions especially concerning babies.  They’d be wrong on all three counts.

So yeah, long drive, outlaws, inappropriate comments and questions….all while dolled up in a dress, ridiculous party hair and fancy high heels.  Not to mention that I’m PMSy, my face has broken out 17 ways to Sunday and I just want to curl up in bed with the cat, a trashy book and a giant bowl of popcorn instead of going to a virtual stranger’s wedding.  

I can tell you’re just aching to swap places with me.  I can feel it.

Oh but wait, it gets better.  It’s no secret that the FIL likes his wine…and vodka and beer and pretty much anything else with alcohol in it.  He also has major health problems.  Major MAJOR ones that mean if he wants to live he can’t drink.  FIL either thinks he’s invincible or he wants to die given that he still partakes of the grape.  

So FIL earlier this week had a little too much to drink.  He and MIL got into it at dinner (we were there) and, well, it was awkward.  A bit funny but mostly awkward.  There was yelling, name calling and then pouting by both parties.  Closely followed by mumbling in Greek about how the other person was an idiot and the mumbler was a martyr.  At least I’m pretty sure based on facial expressions and tone that that’s what was being said.  

I wanted to disappear under the table, downstairs, out the door…anywhere to be honest but that wasn’t an option.  DH sat there and ignored it all but I was mortified.  In my world, you have your fights in private.  Of course airing dirty mildly-disguised family laundry on the internets is ok though ha ha.

Even though this is going to be a very non-traditional Greek wedding there will still be an open bar.  Of course.  Personally I can’t make it through these events without it and thank God for those fine bartenders who pour me doubles without being asked (to be fair my family’s events often require open bars too).  I drink to shut out the yapping and to take the edge off.  Sometimes that’s one ceasar and sometimes it’s several.  Never can tell until I get there.

So, open bar, MIL otherwise occupied with a) berrating SIL for not being married-honestly-what-is-she-waiting-for-she’s-not-getting-younger and b) berrating me for not being pregnant-honestly-what-am-I-waiting-for-I’m-not-getting-younger FIL will make a break for it and have several beverages while the coast is clear.  He will also have wine with dinner and a cocktail or two afterwards.  At some point MIL will notice and possibly the fight will begin anew.  They won’t yell in the reception hall, although snipes will be made at each other and their children (for some strange reason I am off limits – a fact I am very thankful for) but you can bet the house on it the yelling will start in the car.  Great….long drive back, sore feet (and possibly swollen ankles if it’s hot and there’s a lot of salt in the food), an uncomfortable dress (at that point), super tired, still PMSy, cranky from deflecting inappropriate comments/questions/opinions and now stuck with feuding outlaws.

Sweet Jesus thank you for letting there be a fibre festival and all-you-can-eat sushi in my immediate future.  That and the open bar are the only things that will keep me from stabbing the lot of them with my dessert fork.

Mistress of my domain?

So the outlaws came by.  With the electrician and his wife (who are friends of the outlaws).  And the SIL.  Although the SIL stayed upstairs on the computer…working/hiding…whatever.  I wished I could have joined her.

Anyway, they arrived about two hours earlier than anticipated.  I was lucky I was dressed.  Or maybe they were lucky, it’s hard to say.  DH made the coffee, thankfully we had Baba-baked cookies on hand and a rum cake from the recent Caribbean vacation.

Now maybe it’s just me, but I thought that in my own house that I pay the bills for/in/on I would at least be offered the hostess role.  Ummm no.  MIL opened the door, MIL spoke in a language other than English (co-incidentally it’s not a language I speak) and MIL decided when the coffee, cake and cookies would be served.  She also cut a very small piece for me despite the fact that I bought the f’ing cake and I could have eaten the whole damn thing if I pleased.  The she sees the friends off while I clear the table and act out the role of scullery maid/general house slave.

It’s a good thing I’m drugged up on codeine today or someone would have gotten stabbed with a DPN.  But maybe it’s for the best.  Last night’s dinner wasn’t as craptastic as I envisioned it to be and I was lulled into a false sense of calm and rationality.  Today, acting as though it was her due, the MIL took over my house and my role as hostess and so all is right in the world.  I’m back to resenting her and the coming appocalypse has been put on hold.  It’s ok everyone, the world is not ending.  Not this week anyway.

PS while the end of the world is NOT nigh at hand our search for an electrician continues.  This reno will be the death of me yet.

The crazy train is about to leave the station.

Yes my friends, the whining begins anew.  The SIL is set to arrive for a “flying visit” in less than eight hours.  I’m trying to contain my enthusiasm.

It’s not that I dislike my SIL.  She’s a nice enough woman and I enjoy spending time with her.  Sure there are things that drive me mental about her…she overuses the word “fabulous” and thinks she’s a fashionista but these are minor and I can generally ignore them during the time we spend together.  To be fair to her too, there are lots of awesome things about her, my favourite being the fact that she loves (and wears) anything I knit for her.  Besides, and I know you find it hard to believe, I’m sure I drive her mental too.

What really burns my ass is that we all have to gather for a command performance dinner tomorrow night.  It’s bad enough that I have to clear my night at the last minute (not that I had exciting plans but still)  but I will also have to eat the MIL’s vile and craptastic food to boot (and it will be twice in one week).   I wonder if she’ll actually have a real dessert or she’ll serve cantelopes (despite the fact that she knows I can’t stand them) or just toss a box of her barely-out-of-the-freezer cookies on the  table.  That’s a dental emergency waiting to happen!   Or perhaps some cake she made sometime in 2007 and is only now bringing out of cryogenic storage.  No, my guess is that she’ll have a cheesecake that will be covered in gelatin and canned fruit which will make me gag so I will scrape it off and get the stink eye from the MIL even though after all this time you’d think she’d clue in that I don’t like a) her cheescake and b) jelly-fruity weirdness on said cheesecake.  Cheesecake should be adulterated only with chocolate sauce, caramel or whip cream.  Preferably all three.  The MIL and I do not see eye to eye on cheesecake.

And I can’t wait to see what gems of wisdom the FIL will impart during dinner.  The last time we all met up he told DH (in front of everyone) that he made a mistake in marrying me and should have waited.  Perhaps he will once again tell his children they are not as smart as he is or try to engage us in a stupid discussion as to when is the best time for him to go on vacation.  Hint: immediately.  And make sure it’s very far away.  I’m sure you can feel the love I have for the man. 

And does anyone know why Greeks dilute their wine with ginger ale?  Even the good wine?  It’s weird.  I can understand trying to make the moonshine more paletable but the good stuff?  However, it’s not like we ever get the good stuff at the outlaws’ so it’s kind of a moot point I guess. 

Anyway.  As you can imagine, the feelings of dread have started.  In fact they started on Wednesday and are ramping up as I type.  I hate these last minute command performances.  They are rarely fun and this kind of stuff makes me resentful and cranky and not the kind of SIL I’d like to be.  Is it Sunday evening yet?  I have honestly never looked as forward to Monday as I do right now.

Have a good weekend kids.  Keep me in your thoughts and prayers and watch the headlines on Monday morning for a story about a crazed woman who stabbed a family member with a knitting needle repeatedly while babbling about overcooked chicken and gelatinous cheesecake.