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Monday, May 24, 2010

A Plague Upon My House

As I have mentioned here before, I have kids. Three adult children and one teen. The three adults were boomerangs. The oldest managed to get out and get a job and get his own place after spending months asleep on my couch. Bravo! My next oldest son is working and going to school and still managing to look for an affordable place and a new job that won't lie to him about working around his school hours. We've also spent considerable money repairing his car, giving him cash for gas, as well as feeding his monumental appetite. His next youngest sister will never leave my house or stop mooching off family. I'm about as resigned to this as I can be and keep my sanity.  My youngest is 16 and wants desperately to escape her siblings.

You see, the problem is this, they are bugging the everloving hell out of me. I think I want to kill them. First off, you do not ask to come live back at home, the bitch about your situation and expect me not to tear a piece of flesh off that plastic surgery can't ever make look good. But my kids? And this shows you that they got their intelligence from their retard loving father, they try to make me feel guilty because I'm not doing more for them. I've told them their entire lives that I've never felt guilt or remorse, so just can it already. Which shows that you can lead a man to knowledge but you can't make him think.

I hear about how I don't buy the food they like. Move Out and buy your own food. I don't buy the froo-froo smelling laundry detergent or dryer sheets they prefer. Buy your own, use a laundromat or get out. Either I am a bitch for giving them their mail or I'm hiding it from them. Get the mail yourself, or better yet, move out and get your own damned address. Why can't I just give my daughter my car already. Buy your own car or, get out of my house and STFU. And my favorite of them all: Why do I have to help clean up? Get out, get your own place to mess up and then let me know when the magical pixie faeries come in to clean it up for you.

I have started buying only the bare essentials to fix a meal. No nothing extra. No chips, no cookies, nothing. Anything my husband and I buy is hidden in our room and for our consumption only. We paid for it. You want your own snacks, you know where the store is. My problem is not that they eat the food I bring in, it's that they don't tell me when they have depleted my stores. Nothing pisses me off more than to head into the kitchen all ready to make a cake or brownies or cookies and there's no milk, no eggs, no butter and not one soul has uttered the words, "Mom, I used the last of X."

I upset them when I decide I am going to watch the shows I've recorded on my DVR on my big-ass screen TV that I bought with bonus money. My son actually got his panties in a twist because he was watching one of my favorite anime DVDs and since it had been years since I'd watched it, I went into the living room to watch it, too. Well, excuse the hell out of me for wanting to watch MY DVD, on MY TV, in MY FUCKING HOUSE! Then he has the balls to tell me he wants me to get him an iMac for his art and illustration classes in college. Screw you, kid. Try buying less Dragonball Z DVDs and perhaps you'll have the money yourself in a couple of months.

To my children. I love you, I gave you life. Now get the hell out of mine.

I'm so damned glad the youngest can't wait to graduate and get out. If only to get away from her sister that will never be self-sufficient or go to school.

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