Tonight I had a long conversation with one of my mother's younger sisters. Up until this conversation, I thought I had nothing to say. The difference of one conversation.
My aunt has been actively campaigning for Obama. (We won't mention my other aunt. She thinks that Dubya walks on water. As such, she is a McCain supporter. From what I gather, abortion is a huge issue for her. Just as it was when she chose to have one. Before she was saved.) Many of our conversations center around politics. My aunt said that my mother might need to get a room ready for her in Mexico. Just in case.
We also talked about our individual relationships to my mom. My aunt laughed hysterically when I told her about the events on Sunday. Why? "It's not just me." We then spoke about the things I had thought that I had told her earlier -- the things that would prove it was not just her. We all fall under my mother's wrath. Until the day upon which my mother realizes that she too could benefit from therapy. But I'm not holding my breath for that realization.
And so yeah, I'm a little stressed out right now. My thoughts are jumbled. I switch from my aunt's death to my stepmother's impending death to the racist crap that some members of the Republican party are pulling. (I said "some members." That does not mean all Republicans.)
And I sit here broken-hearted in too many ways to count. I mourn for my family and my country. And at times, right now, I am ready to be done with both.
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The kitchen is sort of closed
No new food here for some time. I need to work my way through the things I have accumulated in the freezer over the last couple of weeks.
I tried to put this off on Monday by heading to Poulet for the Basque chicken. Alas, they were closed due to the holiday. How dare they?
But this was the sight I caught on my way home so I guess the outing was worthwhile.
And now I'm going to go out on a limb. There is a post that I actually meant to publish today about privilege. But then I decided that I'd probably catch a lot of crap for it and I'm really not in the mood.* The thoughts started a couple of weeks ago when folks were reacting to the Tim Rice piece that was being circulated via email. I noticed that while many of the folks who wrote posts about the piece understood it, there were quite a few commenters out there who just didn't. And yeah, I got pissed off. So instead of that post, I ask you to click on the link. I ask you to re-read the section on "The Persistence of White Privilege." Notice what Zetzer says about achieving change? It's about open dialogue. Hmmm. I vaguely remember saying something about that in the past year or so.
Also pay special attention to the section about wealth. This Wikipedia explanation is pretty on-point, although I do question the deletion of the stuff on housing. OK. So it's clearly discriminatory behavior. And I guess the link would be that it is due to privilege that realtors feel comfortable in engaging in this kind of behavior. Also I highly suggest that you check out the References and Suggested Reading at the bottom of the page. Perhaps after reading this you can understand why slavery enters the conversation so often. If a group of people are denied ownership, then there is no way that they can acquire wealth. And guess what? Most standardized tests do not measure a student's knowledge of a subject but the wealth of their parents. Yep, there is a direct correlation between wealth of parents and how a child performs on a standardized test. Now apply that fact to what we know about wealth distribution in this country.
Read a good portion of this and then you can have a conversation with me about what privilege is. Because this is a topic upon which I feel like Heather does about politics. I have spent way too many academic hours engrossed in this topic and it used to be part of my professional life. As a result, I may know more than other folks because I have read a lot of the writings in the area. So all I ask of y'all is that if you're going to write about a topic such as this, do your research first. Don't just base it on the one thing that you have read. Do the research.
Hell. My mother sent me an anti-McCain email tonight. I don't believe I have ever said on this blog how I plan to vote but I think I have made my political leanings pretty clear. While the email was compelling, I felt the need to do some fact-checking. What I found was that the alleged source of the email denied ever writing it. And so I did not forward it. If I do not have supporting evidence that something is true, then I will not pass it along. I think it's called having principles. And then I emailed my mother the details of the questionable provenance.
Oh dear. I just realized that I have written that post after all so I may as just keep going. This was really supposed to be about telling you to check this post out. But whatever.
So how did I become such an uppity bitch? My father's paternal grandfather somehow got his hands on 500 acres in Alabama. We still haven't figured that one out. My grandfather bought out his siblings upon their father's death and expanded the farm to almost 1800 acres during my grandfather's lifetime. It gave him the ability to send all ten of his children to college, if they wanted to go. All this while year after year, he took the tests to prove his fitness to vote -- and passed them every time -- only to be told that he could not vote. (It is for this reason that I vote in every election.) So yes, my family has wealth but a lot of my folks don't.
I have a small retirement fund. I rent an apartment. These are not necessarily signs of wealth. Of course, when certain family members die, I will suddenly find myself quite wealthy. I'm just not now. And so I can feel for folks who aren't. The folks on my mother's side? Far from wealthy. Many of them are just getting by. And this is why I can understand.
I just think that if we can't have these conversations, then we are fucked as a society. And if that's the case, then I'm out of here. I've already told my mother to get my room ready at the house in Mexico (Much easier to enter than Canada if you are fleeing. Or so I've been told.) because I might just have to move there. And you know that things have to be pretty bad here if I would seriously consider living under the same roof with my mother once more.
So let your indignant comments fly. Because the rule on my blog is that everyone can be heard. Except the spammers. Those are the only comments I delete. Because if we're going to have a conversation, then we all need to be heard. But the spammers don't count because they are clearly not a part of the conversation. And they're a rarity around here. I think I've only had to delete two comments at most as a result of spammers. Just so y'all know what kind of principles I hold.
*Death Watch 2008. My stepmother is now completely bed-ridden. She no longer has the muscle control to sit up. She is bloated and when conscious, hallucinates a great deal. I keep trying to make plans but I also know that they need to be fluid. The end is around the corner. May I never again have to experience the slow deterioration of someone about whom I care.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
The person I wish I was
I don't discuss it much here but I watch a great deal of reality TV. Currently I am watching "From G's to Gents," "New York Goes to Hollywood," "BB10," "Brooke Knows Best," "Project Runway," "Shear Genius," "Date My Ex," "I Love Money," and "Flippin' Out." OK. So "Flippin' Out" ended this week but the reunion show was so hilarious, I know that I may have to watch it a few more times. Just to see Jeff with his business partner's daughter. "Bad baby." And "I Love Money"? I call it "Best of the Skanks." And into this the summer series of "The Closer," "Psych," "Monk," and "Mad Men"...
Long before I discovered reality TV though, I was into "Vanity Fair." I've had a subscription for too many years to count. And I usually read each issue from cover to cover. Over the last year I have not quite met this monthly goal. As part of the "taking care of me" plan, I decided that I needed to start this practice once more. And what a great issue to do this.
I started my reading during lunch today. I decided to save the article on Carla Bruni for later reading and instead read about the recent presidential election in Zimbabwe. As I read the article, I teared up a few times. How could people treat one another in that way? And how could the rest of the world stand by silently for so long while it happened? (OK. They are both "silly" questions. Both are a part of the history of the world unfortunately.)
My dad made a couple of trips to Zimbabwe during the mid-90s with the Chamber of Commerce. The items in the photos were my souvenirs from those trips. He and my stepmother told me tales of this wondrous land. And there were also the numerous photos my stepmother took. (My dad had several of them enlarged into posters and framed them.) I wanted to go and see it all for myself. And then things became unstable.
I didn't think about traveling to Zimbabwe anymore until I read the article. Because as I read the article, I became angry. My first thought was to hop on a plane to Harare and to help in the struggle for democracy -- since that seems to be what the people there want. If they wanted communism or some other form of government, I would feel just as passionately about it all.
And then I heard my mother's voice in my head. "You will go over there and open your mouth and then they will kill you." In younger days the words "they will kill you" were instead "you will get arrested." While my family views me as a rebel, I know in my heart that I am a long way from that point. My true self was not that afraid of being arrested. It was the reaction of my parents that scared me more. The same goes for the dying thing. When one has spent the good part of one's life trying to kill one's self off, the idea of dying in itself is not that frightening. The only part of it all that scares me now is dying before I've had a chance to do all the things that I want to accomplish. I am sure that one day I will find a cause and drop everything to rush off to be a part of it all. Because I know that this is a large part of who I am -- who I want to be.
In the meantime, I am trying to think of other things that I could do. My first thought was to write this post. Because I don't think that we hear enough in the U.S. about the living conditions of others outside of this country. Especially if it is a lesser developed country. No, that term doesn't seem completely right in describing Zimbabwe.
To stop all of these thoughts, I read the article on supermodels of the 90s when I got home. Next I'll finish the one on Carla Bruni. And maybe somewhere along the way I'll have a sudden epiphany about how I can stop feeling helpless in wanting to help those who seem to need so much.
Monday, December 17, 2007
From dad
If you've been paying attention around here, I talk to my dad nearly every day. This is phone calls. That does not include the emails that I receive from him -- mostly jokes. And so this afternoon, I received a link to this gem from him. I knew I had to share it because, heck, I'm still wiping tears from my eyes.
So while you enjoy this, I'm going to head over to Buzzgirl's to get a little more Pearl in my life.
So while you enjoy this, I'm going to head over to Buzzgirl's to get a little more Pearl in my life.
Monday, September 10, 2007
We have all survived ... for now
Let's just get things straight. There will be circuitous mentions of food but there will be no photos of food. If you are looking for photos, then you need to move on. If you are looking for what is going on in the mind of someone who is at times in turmoil, then you are at the right place.
Right now I'm in the middle of my aunt's birthday season. This would be the one fighting cancer. This would also be the same one who introduced the concept of the birthday season to our family many years ago.
All of her siblings were in town this weekend with the exception of one brother. He is currently teaching at a college and did not think it would be fair to his students to ditch out on them. Because after one year of teaching at this college, his classes are packed. Like I knew they would be. He had given up teaching many years ago and I kept pleading with him to return to it. He is the reason why I survived physics and calculus -- two of his favorite subjects -- in high school. He has this inner peace that I have yet to see in anyone else. Perhaps I should talk to him more often so that one day I too can achieve that kind of peace. Because nothing ruffles him.
And here we go. The weekend started off OK. Saturday morning was brunch at Lois the Pie Queen. (By the way, the portions at Lois's? Huge! And the review is so right about the charm. The attentiveness of the staff made me feel like I was in someone's home down South. I was late arriving and eventually felt a hand on my shoulder. "Hon, have you had a chance to order yet?" Once I did, they checked in several times to let me know that my food was on the way.) Then we all hung out at my aunt's house. Sunday morning my dad called to ask me to join them at Cornerstone Cafe for breakfast. I have no job and money is low. Of course, I showed up for the free meal. And then back to my aunt's house. Then back home to get ready for dinner -- the real party. And that's where I knew I would be in trouble.
I could probably take my dad's family on their own. But their friends? There are certain women who have a way of making really catty remarks. Like the main speaker who acknowledged all of the family except for me. And yes, she knew I was there. Everyone else would excuse her behavior but deep in my heart I know the bitch did it on purpose. Because that's the kind of bitch that she is. Why my cousins over me? Because I just don't fit their mold of what is acceptable. And at this point in my life, I don't want to. Their lives, while being stable, bore the shit out of me. They are so Stepford. I have given my closest friends instructions that if I ever become like that, they should take me out.
I have had numerous conversations with my dad on this topic over the years. (I'm hoping that the upcoming conversation with both of my parents will get rid of all of this. That if they add up all of the parts of me that they each know individually, they will come close to the real me. That's the real problem of compartmentalization. Unless you are willing to let someone add up all of the parts, s/he will never really truly know you.) I have tried to explain to him how after so many years of trying to gain acceptance from these kind of people and then realizing that I never would, I would just not like to be around them. The whole thing is rather painful for me. And my father just doesn't get it all. I think that this is what my dad meant when he was talking about compromise -- the idea of being happy with something even if you are not happy to be there. Although the event was really positive overall, there were those moments in there. Compromise? Fuck them all.
And while driving home, I started to replay those moments in my mind and felt tears forming in my eyes. And I had thoughts about this underlying belief of my parents' -- that of keeping up appearances. Some days with them, I feel like I'm on the campaign trail. Not me. Them. Because my dad's friends have tried to convince him into running for some sort of office. And then it will come down to whose skeletons in the closet are bigger -- his or mine. Probably mine. Because the positive things my dad has been able to do for his community far outweigh his negative points. Of course, I have another year to go before I reach the age at which my dad "stopped drinking."
But before I start getting deeper into the bad stuff, let me recount the happier moments. I was about to erase that when I realized that I really meant one moment. My uncle was standing around when the DJ played Rose Royce's "Wishing on a Star." I told him that he should ask his wife to dance. His response was that she was in conversation. So I walked over and tapped her on her shoulder.
"My friend over there would like to dance with you on this song."
"Well if he really wants to dance with me, he would ask me himself."
I sped across the dance floor.
"My friend says that if you ask her, she'd probably dance with you."
Next thing I know the two of them were dancing. And this is part of the reason why I put up with all of the crap from my family. The moments like this that will live on in my memory for the rest of my life. Of course, this particular aunt is the same one who realized that I was severely depressed at age 12. Might have something to do with the fact that she is a child psychologist. And now she's not alone in the family. The daughter of one of my first cousin's (That would be my first cousin once removed for those of you keeping track.) is now a forensic psychologist. A part of me still remembers her as the two-year-old who patted on the side of the bed until I awoke the day I had flown cross-country. But then at my grandmother's funeral, I changed my mind. She was openly sporting a tattoo and I thought to myself that perhaps there was yet another rebel child in the family. Word has it that she will be making an appearance in town in the next couple of weeks. I hope so.
My mom used to be really close to my dad's sister -- the one celebrating the birthday. But that all fell apart over the last few years. First my mom realized that my aunt was talking smack about my mom behind her back. Then my aunt said some rather malicious -- and untrue -- things about me. When my aunt was first diagnosed with cancer four years ago, my mother set all this stuff aside. And then in the last year, my mother found out that once more my aunt was saying mean things about me. My mother cannot understand how knowing this I can still speak to her. I do but it's hard. We both agree that my aunt is a fun person to be around. And if you are strong enough person, then you can walk away from her smack-talking. And know that one day it will all catch up with her. I hate to say it but, in my mind, her cancer is karmic payback. Because even though she has sent out a lot of positive energy into the world, she has sent just as much, perhaps even more so, hateful energy. And then sits around and chuckles and gloats about the misfortune of others.
When my mother returns, the two of us are supposed to sit down with my father and talk. I know that one of my mother's main concerns is that she thinks that I drink too much. (By the way, if I have failed to mention it previously, my mother thinks that anyone who has more than one to two drinks at a time drinks too much.) And that all my problems stem from that. Hopefully her younger sister, the former social worker, will set her straight on that one during their time together currently. Because I know that my aunt strongly believes that if someone is having a few too many drinks that it is a symptom of something else. (Yes, I have had these kind of discussions with her in the past. About my father.) After this weekend I realized why my dad does not have much to say on the subject.
He stopped drinking when I was 18 but this weekend I saw him sipping on Cabernet. Because my stepmother was not around at the time. A year and a half ago she shared with me her suspicions that he was drinking again. Shortly thereafter I discovered a bottle in his desk drawer along with a bottle of mouthwash. I was doing some work for him and had been left alone in his office. I was looking for some paperwork and stumbled across the secret stash. I deluded myself into believing that it was a temporary thing. Obviously not. And I guess he thinks that after 20 plus years, folks have forgotten how he used to be. My stepmother hasn't. She said that if he went back to being that person again, she wouldn't be sticking around. Of course, her memory is so shot from the cancer who knows if she even remembers this proclamation. She remembers who I am consistently but she is lucky to remember the names of longtime friends.
All I know is that I am going to need to pull it all together quickly, given the state of mind in which I have been in recent weeks. Because next weekend is a surprise birthday for my stepmother. And all the catty bitches will be there once more. Funny thing now that I think about it. It's only the women who give me problems. I get along perfectly fine with the men. And it's always been that way since I was in high school. Might have something to do with why for many years I had more male friends than I did female. And people wonder why I have difficulty in making long-term relationships.
Oh, and the beauty of the evening. One of my dad's cousins has a thing for one of his best friends. Everyone else in the family seems to accept this. I thought that I was alone in my dissent until they made the mistake of saying something in front of my aunt, the psychologist; she's my aunt by marriage. She said everything that I have thought over the last year or so. "Isn't he married? Why would you encourage this?" I warned you that my aunts, the blood-related ones at least, were not kind. They are two of the biggest bitches to walk this planet. Once they have you in their sight, it's hard to escape. Because they're real good at words but if you're willing to throw down? Oh, the biggest pair of girly girls. When I was six, I could take them. And I know that my father's older sister is probably afraid of me on many levels. Because as a part of one her classes for her master's, she had to give a number of IQ tests over various age groups. I happened to be around that summer so I was one of her test subjects. When she finished, she seemed rather surprised. While working in the office in high school, I finally saw my test results and put it all together. She had thought that I was kind of stupid all of those years. But I kick ass at standardized tests. Yes, I know that I am an anomaly being a person of color. And it prepared me for college. Because most of my classes from elementary school on had very few people of color. Kind of like college.
And you're wondering why we're going down this road. I told you. Stream of consciousness. Because there was a lot of talk last night about the influence of my grandparents. So my aunt? She's known for years that I could kick her ass -- physically and intellectually. While my other aunt unwrapped gifts last night, there was a look of shock when I totaled up the gift cards. My cousin, who is like an older sister to me, reminded her mother and our aunt that I have a near photographic memory. Especially when numbers are concerned. I don't know why they are so surprised. The family liked to think of one of my uncles who passed away a few years ago as being a savant. Yeah, some days he was brilliant but most days he was just plain nuts. So through the gift opening, I kept a running total of the gift cards. My last count was $250 for Macy's and $130 for Nordstrom. Of course, I could be wrong because as soon as I left, I tried to wipe the numbers from my head. And my non-recipient aunt? Well-deluded soul that she is, she thinks that her son should be reinstated to the Bar. Ummm. Hello. He stole from clients' escrow accounts. I wouldn't trust him right now. Or ever.
The good news is that I have another job interview tomorrow. Not that I really want the job. My dad (and BWB) understand why I don't want the job. It would be like settling for second best without finding out if you could have first. My aunt (Not the one with cancer; my dad's older sister. The queen of bitches.) and my mother seem to have this twisted belief. They are of the mind that a job is a job and that having one is better than not being employed. When I explained my decision making process to my dad, he got it. As did BWB. And BWB made the perfect analogy. Choosing the right job is like choosing the right boyfriend. It's bad to settle in either case.
So I am going through with the interview because I like to think of it as practice. But in my mind to accept the job would be the same as settling. And that's just not me.
And finally for some entertainment. I have previously mentioned that when I am around family, we discuss race and politics. My favorite from the weekend? When my father mentioned his chagrin in saying that Condalezza was nothing but Bush's ho in some of his white friends. I decided to top it all by giving an analogy. Condalezza is to Bush as Sally Hemings is to Jefferson. (This was a result of a discussion of Rumsfeld being appointed to the Hoover Commission and the outrage expressed by the other faculty of Stanford. "Refuge of right-wing Republicans?" Then he should fit right in.) And so there was that nervous pause from my relatives but then they chuckled. And this is what I will choose to remember along with that other happy moment (besides grooving to Sly and the Family Stone). For once I did not say anything so offensive (to them) that they could not chuckle.
Right now I'm in the middle of my aunt's birthday season. This would be the one fighting cancer. This would also be the same one who introduced the concept of the birthday season to our family many years ago.
All of her siblings were in town this weekend with the exception of one brother. He is currently teaching at a college and did not think it would be fair to his students to ditch out on them. Because after one year of teaching at this college, his classes are packed. Like I knew they would be. He had given up teaching many years ago and I kept pleading with him to return to it. He is the reason why I survived physics and calculus -- two of his favorite subjects -- in high school. He has this inner peace that I have yet to see in anyone else. Perhaps I should talk to him more often so that one day I too can achieve that kind of peace. Because nothing ruffles him.
And here we go. The weekend started off OK. Saturday morning was brunch at Lois the Pie Queen. (By the way, the portions at Lois's? Huge! And the review is so right about the charm. The attentiveness of the staff made me feel like I was in someone's home down South. I was late arriving and eventually felt a hand on my shoulder. "Hon, have you had a chance to order yet?" Once I did, they checked in several times to let me know that my food was on the way.) Then we all hung out at my aunt's house. Sunday morning my dad called to ask me to join them at Cornerstone Cafe for breakfast. I have no job and money is low. Of course, I showed up for the free meal. And then back to my aunt's house. Then back home to get ready for dinner -- the real party. And that's where I knew I would be in trouble.
I could probably take my dad's family on their own. But their friends? There are certain women who have a way of making really catty remarks. Like the main speaker who acknowledged all of the family except for me. And yes, she knew I was there. Everyone else would excuse her behavior but deep in my heart I know the bitch did it on purpose. Because that's the kind of bitch that she is. Why my cousins over me? Because I just don't fit their mold of what is acceptable. And at this point in my life, I don't want to. Their lives, while being stable, bore the shit out of me. They are so Stepford. I have given my closest friends instructions that if I ever become like that, they should take me out.
I have had numerous conversations with my dad on this topic over the years. (I'm hoping that the upcoming conversation with both of my parents will get rid of all of this. That if they add up all of the parts of me that they each know individually, they will come close to the real me. That's the real problem of compartmentalization. Unless you are willing to let someone add up all of the parts, s/he will never really truly know you.) I have tried to explain to him how after so many years of trying to gain acceptance from these kind of people and then realizing that I never would, I would just not like to be around them. The whole thing is rather painful for me. And my father just doesn't get it all. I think that this is what my dad meant when he was talking about compromise -- the idea of being happy with something even if you are not happy to be there. Although the event was really positive overall, there were those moments in there. Compromise? Fuck them all.
And while driving home, I started to replay those moments in my mind and felt tears forming in my eyes. And I had thoughts about this underlying belief of my parents' -- that of keeping up appearances. Some days with them, I feel like I'm on the campaign trail. Not me. Them. Because my dad's friends have tried to convince him into running for some sort of office. And then it will come down to whose skeletons in the closet are bigger -- his or mine. Probably mine. Because the positive things my dad has been able to do for his community far outweigh his negative points. Of course, I have another year to go before I reach the age at which my dad "stopped drinking."
But before I start getting deeper into the bad stuff, let me recount the happier moments. I was about to erase that when I realized that I really meant one moment. My uncle was standing around when the DJ played Rose Royce's "Wishing on a Star." I told him that he should ask his wife to dance. His response was that she was in conversation. So I walked over and tapped her on her shoulder.
"My friend over there would like to dance with you on this song."
"Well if he really wants to dance with me, he would ask me himself."
I sped across the dance floor.
"My friend says that if you ask her, she'd probably dance with you."
Next thing I know the two of them were dancing. And this is part of the reason why I put up with all of the crap from my family. The moments like this that will live on in my memory for the rest of my life. Of course, this particular aunt is the same one who realized that I was severely depressed at age 12. Might have something to do with the fact that she is a child psychologist. And now she's not alone in the family. The daughter of one of my first cousin's (That would be my first cousin once removed for those of you keeping track.) is now a forensic psychologist. A part of me still remembers her as the two-year-old who patted on the side of the bed until I awoke the day I had flown cross-country. But then at my grandmother's funeral, I changed my mind. She was openly sporting a tattoo and I thought to myself that perhaps there was yet another rebel child in the family. Word has it that she will be making an appearance in town in the next couple of weeks. I hope so.
My mom used to be really close to my dad's sister -- the one celebrating the birthday. But that all fell apart over the last few years. First my mom realized that my aunt was talking smack about my mom behind her back. Then my aunt said some rather malicious -- and untrue -- things about me. When my aunt was first diagnosed with cancer four years ago, my mother set all this stuff aside. And then in the last year, my mother found out that once more my aunt was saying mean things about me. My mother cannot understand how knowing this I can still speak to her. I do but it's hard. We both agree that my aunt is a fun person to be around. And if you are strong enough person, then you can walk away from her smack-talking. And know that one day it will all catch up with her. I hate to say it but, in my mind, her cancer is karmic payback. Because even though she has sent out a lot of positive energy into the world, she has sent just as much, perhaps even more so, hateful energy. And then sits around and chuckles and gloats about the misfortune of others.
When my mother returns, the two of us are supposed to sit down with my father and talk. I know that one of my mother's main concerns is that she thinks that I drink too much. (By the way, if I have failed to mention it previously, my mother thinks that anyone who has more than one to two drinks at a time drinks too much.) And that all my problems stem from that. Hopefully her younger sister, the former social worker, will set her straight on that one during their time together currently. Because I know that my aunt strongly believes that if someone is having a few too many drinks that it is a symptom of something else. (Yes, I have had these kind of discussions with her in the past. About my father.) After this weekend I realized why my dad does not have much to say on the subject.
He stopped drinking when I was 18 but this weekend I saw him sipping on Cabernet. Because my stepmother was not around at the time. A year and a half ago she shared with me her suspicions that he was drinking again. Shortly thereafter I discovered a bottle in his desk drawer along with a bottle of mouthwash. I was doing some work for him and had been left alone in his office. I was looking for some paperwork and stumbled across the secret stash. I deluded myself into believing that it was a temporary thing. Obviously not. And I guess he thinks that after 20 plus years, folks have forgotten how he used to be. My stepmother hasn't. She said that if he went back to being that person again, she wouldn't be sticking around. Of course, her memory is so shot from the cancer who knows if she even remembers this proclamation. She remembers who I am consistently but she is lucky to remember the names of longtime friends.
All I know is that I am going to need to pull it all together quickly, given the state of mind in which I have been in recent weeks. Because next weekend is a surprise birthday for my stepmother. And all the catty bitches will be there once more. Funny thing now that I think about it. It's only the women who give me problems. I get along perfectly fine with the men. And it's always been that way since I was in high school. Might have something to do with why for many years I had more male friends than I did female. And people wonder why I have difficulty in making long-term relationships.
Oh, and the beauty of the evening. One of my dad's cousins has a thing for one of his best friends. Everyone else in the family seems to accept this. I thought that I was alone in my dissent until they made the mistake of saying something in front of my aunt, the psychologist; she's my aunt by marriage. She said everything that I have thought over the last year or so. "Isn't he married? Why would you encourage this?" I warned you that my aunts, the blood-related ones at least, were not kind. They are two of the biggest bitches to walk this planet. Once they have you in their sight, it's hard to escape. Because they're real good at words but if you're willing to throw down? Oh, the biggest pair of girly girls. When I was six, I could take them. And I know that my father's older sister is probably afraid of me on many levels. Because as a part of one her classes for her master's, she had to give a number of IQ tests over various age groups. I happened to be around that summer so I was one of her test subjects. When she finished, she seemed rather surprised. While working in the office in high school, I finally saw my test results and put it all together. She had thought that I was kind of stupid all of those years. But I kick ass at standardized tests. Yes, I know that I am an anomaly being a person of color. And it prepared me for college. Because most of my classes from elementary school on had very few people of color. Kind of like college.
And you're wondering why we're going down this road. I told you. Stream of consciousness. Because there was a lot of talk last night about the influence of my grandparents. So my aunt? She's known for years that I could kick her ass -- physically and intellectually. While my other aunt unwrapped gifts last night, there was a look of shock when I totaled up the gift cards. My cousin, who is like an older sister to me, reminded her mother and our aunt that I have a near photographic memory. Especially when numbers are concerned. I don't know why they are so surprised. The family liked to think of one of my uncles who passed away a few years ago as being a savant. Yeah, some days he was brilliant but most days he was just plain nuts. So through the gift opening, I kept a running total of the gift cards. My last count was $250 for Macy's and $130 for Nordstrom. Of course, I could be wrong because as soon as I left, I tried to wipe the numbers from my head. And my non-recipient aunt? Well-deluded soul that she is, she thinks that her son should be reinstated to the Bar. Ummm. Hello. He stole from clients' escrow accounts. I wouldn't trust him right now. Or ever.
The good news is that I have another job interview tomorrow. Not that I really want the job. My dad (and BWB) understand why I don't want the job. It would be like settling for second best without finding out if you could have first. My aunt (Not the one with cancer; my dad's older sister. The queen of bitches.) and my mother seem to have this twisted belief. They are of the mind that a job is a job and that having one is better than not being employed. When I explained my decision making process to my dad, he got it. As did BWB. And BWB made the perfect analogy. Choosing the right job is like choosing the right boyfriend. It's bad to settle in either case.
So I am going through with the interview because I like to think of it as practice. But in my mind to accept the job would be the same as settling. And that's just not me.
And finally for some entertainment. I have previously mentioned that when I am around family, we discuss race and politics. My favorite from the weekend? When my father mentioned his chagrin in saying that Condalezza was nothing but Bush's ho in some of his white friends. I decided to top it all by giving an analogy. Condalezza is to Bush as Sally Hemings is to Jefferson. (This was a result of a discussion of Rumsfeld being appointed to the Hoover Commission and the outrage expressed by the other faculty of Stanford. "Refuge of right-wing Republicans?" Then he should fit right in.) And so there was that nervous pause from my relatives but then they chuckled. And this is what I will choose to remember along with that other happy moment (besides grooving to Sly and the Family Stone). For once I did not say anything so offensive (to them) that they could not chuckle.
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