I hate myself more than you do

Is it wrong that I wish my grandfather were still alive to see the rise of World Star? The fights alone would make him a happy honky. I could picture him sitting in front of a laptop with a Heineken close by watching people beat the shit out of each other with WORLD STAR being screamed in the background. He would have been into that. Granted he was an alcoholic, abusive and racist. But there’s something endearing about a Burgess Meredith character cheering on black dudes beating each other and living up to every stereotype that old bastard believed to be true. If it kept him from bothering my grandmother, mission accomplished.

My grandfather used my grandmother as a punching bag when they were younger, and I think my Mom took a couple dozen shots when she was growing up as well. I’m assuming that’s the case, considering she would take great pride in bringing that up whenever she thought I was a “…ungrateful little bitch”. I don’t blame her; she never dealt with her issues. She just did whatever she could to get out of that house; she married young. She married my father when she was 21 and worked as a secretary for a bunch of mentally abusive, alcoholic deviants cum stock brokers. They’re one in the same, you just have more money and with more money comes better booze. I figured that out doing the same thing for a minute and noticed one of the gentlemen I supported downed 12 beers before hopping on a plane with his wife and two kids after a trip to the happiest place on earth.

Who needs Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride when you are your own.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, mommy issues. So my Mom came from that generation where you kept your shit to yourself and dealt with it on your own time. My Mom dealt with it by reminding me how good I had it (which is true) and not speaking to me at long clips ranging from two weeks to six months.

That fucks a kid up. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Mom, and I don’t blame her for everything. I know why she’s like this, and it’s not easy for everyone to ask for help. It wasn’t until most recently when I decoded my Dad’s choice phrase.

“She’s in one of her ‘moods.’”

My Mom gets depressed and who the hell doesn’t? Christ knows I do. I got depressed over Thanksgiving, lashed out and was told not to come to dinner. My aunt was attending, and no one likes this person. My Mother is afraid of her. She’s miserable and happiest when she’s taking it out on you. She always has a rude comment for you and knows exactly what to say to make you feel like nothing.

I, unfortunately, see a lot of me in her, and that could explain my shitty disposition and my taste in men.

Let me clarify, I don’t like creepy dudes who are into fat broads or creepy dudes who latch on to fat broads because of the ample of amount of young girls with self-esteem in their family. That’s her gig. I just prefer married men that are into chubby broads. There’s a difference.

Married men are easy to handle; sure you don’t get the love and affection you deserve or the opportunities an average relationship has. Ok, so there is nothing good about it.

The less connection or opportunity for me to get attached, the better. Listen, it’s just going to end horrible, so why let feelings and emotions make it even worse? I know my parents love each other. I don’t think they’d just smooch each other goodbye all the time for no good Goddamn reason. Granted they could be rubbing it in my face how much happier they are and reminding me of everything I don’t have and that would be dicky.

It hasn’t always been rainbows and sunshine with them. They’ve had their rough patches. Money being the root to all evil and most of their problems. They grew up with nothing and when you’re a product of that, you tend to worry about when the next bill is coming in. Doesn’t matter you can pay everything on time and there’s no need to stress, you still freak at the opportunity of not making a payment or not having the cash to do it.

I used to rationalize that’s why my Dad ripped the phone out of the wall. Extra phones in the house meant extra fees. Besides, who needs a phone in the kitchen? Kitchens are for cooking, not chatting. Paula Deane said that, on top of a couple dozen racial slurs. But she was building a plantation of power down south, and it was only as strong as her weakest slave. The fact the temporary phone removal happened without me hearing any of it was a testament to how much of a sound sleeper I was as a kid. I remember the snide comment my Mother made at my Father when I went to make a phone call, and the phone fell off the wall. “I thought you ‘fixed’ that since you’re so good with tools.”

Always emasculate the ones you love.

My parents have been married for almost 40 years, and I’ve been alone for 35. Do I get a plaque welcoming me to spinsterhood? I can’t have a cat, my landlords won’t let me have a pet, and I’m kind of allergic to them.

So maybe there’s hope yet for me? Maybe I’m not completely screwed, and I can find someone who likes me and all of my faults and there is a laundry list of them. I recently told my shrink I was going to try to put myself out there more. The last guy fucked my head up, and I’m back to thinking everyone hates me. It’s no way to go thru life, but it’s how I feel.

Being overly paranoid and anxious is always fun. At least I’m smarter than some people, and I’m getting help and on meds. The last guy I whatevered with refused medicine and went into therapy thinking it wouldn’t work. I wonder if that’s how he went into his marriage? They were only married for two years when he started talking to me. Hell, he stopped off to see me before he went away for a holiday/anniversary weekend with the family. That was a hard pill to swallow when I figured that one out. I sat home alone, and he was running on the beach with his kiddie waiting for the fireworks to blast off and collecting sticks to use to roast marshmallows.

I wasn’t sure what I was more jealous of, the life or the love. I can honestly say; I love him. He’s done a number on my self-esteem, but the reality of it is, I did it to myself. I knew what was getting into. I was acting out. I can’t overeat anymore(gastric bypass), and I can’t over imbibe anymore(recovery), so we act out. I’m an overgrown eight-year-old not getting her way at the toy store. I want two Barbies, not one. It’s the only child curse. My way or the highway and I’m usually I’m the one trucking down the highway.

Can I sling a cliche or what?