Well... that was awkward.

Johnny is still mad at the wok. It is quite upsetting. Hannibal took a shit fit about it yesterday and decided to go "visit his family in the distance" (which means he is probably cheating on me with that Clarice woman on his speed dial again). As a result, I have been mildly depressed. So has Robert, who gets depressed when I get depressed. Which his sweet, but then what does he do? He invites his Philosofriends over to play PhilosoClue and completely ignores me. They are still here. None of them went home last night. They've been playing their little game since three o'clock in the afternoon.

I don't even think they went to bed. At all.

Which is awkward.


Michael is trying to make me feel guilty for grounding him. He sat on the couch all morning like a loaf of bread, sighing repeatedly as he watched game after game of hockey on TSN. And then he watched a really creepy tape of pre-recorded Wal-Mart commercials they made, after which he got up, looked at me and said, in an extremely exhausted tone, "I'm just going to go lie down."


It's not going to work. I have no pity left in my system for the little twat. At all.


Dear Lord. Sweet mother.


Wednesday the 13th was Lispeth's epic dinner party. And I mean epic in the literal sense of the word, not in the many dysfunctional ways Mike and his little friends seem to enjoy using it.


Speaking of this, look what I found while inspecting Michael's text messages on Friday morning:


Michael: duuuuuuuuuude. :o there is some funky shit going on.


Jason: (I have edited Jason's replies to make them more legible) I don't understand.


Michael: Hannibal is being a fugster again.


Jason: So is my dad. He's drunk.


Michael: When is he not drunk?


Jason: When he's on crack. I wish I was drunk.


Michael: I wish I was on crack. At walmart.


Jason: I'm slightly pumped for the party tonight.


Michael: :) Me too. You should tell your dad to bring some crack LOL.


I'm not quite sure what the significance of all this is, but it can't be good.

So yeah. On Wednesday, Jason called our house at seven o'clock in the morning. I got out of bed reluctantly and answered. "Hello?"


Jason was all, "Oh shit, it's you!"

I'm all, "Yes."


He hangs up.


At 7:02, the phone rings again and I pick up on the first ring so Michael doesn't have time to answer. "Jason, stop calling us. Now."


"How did you know it was me?" Jason asked, sounding extremely confused.


"Oh dear..." I sighed. "Jason, honey, we have caller ID. And I know this grounding is punishing you, too, so for that I apologize. But it's only for a little while longer. And then you boys can go to Wal-Mart aaaaaaaaaaall you want!"


"Mrs. LSD, can I please talk to Michael? Pleeeeeeeeeease? My birthday is in exactly five months and I need to remind him that he's invited."


I said, "I'll let him know."


"No, I have to give him his invitation in person! ... Over the phone!"


"Jason."


He sounded like he might be on the brink of tears. "I have to tell him something about tonight's party... thing... which I don't know the purpose of... that we're all going to... and... oh, I'm so confused!"


He hung up.


Yeah. That was awkward.


We only made it to Lispeth's around five-thirty because Michael had a very hard time deciding which blue jumpsuit to wear, but that was okay because other people showed up really late too, namely Stephenie Meyer and her Chinese adopted daughter Sella Bwan. They enjoy arriving everywhere fashionably late by at least three or four hours. Which is okay, because nobody really likes them anyway.


I have to say, Lispeth really outdid herself this year. The house was beautiful... or at least it was beautiful at the beginning. Then it got completely ruined when Freddy decided it might be interesting to spike the chocolate fountain.


This happened around seven thirty, right after Lispeth's youngest daughters had been put to bed. At first, nothing seemed to be wrong. But then Mike and Jason were downing glasses of chocolate straight from the fountain and Jason suddenly keeled over and dropped to the ground. And then Mike just looked at him, shrugged, and kept drinking the chocolate. By this time, I was fairly confused. No one tried to help Jason, which was quite awkward. Obviously, Mary-Sue was not in the room at the time.


Suddenly, Michael looked rather confused. He pinpointed Lispeth and walked up to her and he's like, "Lispeth... I have something to tell you. You know Freddy's a pedo, right? Like, he's a toooootal pedo. Totally."


Lispeth just stared at him going, "Michael... have you been drinking?"


"Whaaaat?"


Lispeth's daughters are usually very helpful and courteous at her parties, but I started noticing that they were flopping about and I found it quite unfortunate that they were all wearing dresses. Suddenly, a still-sober C'Dward noticed that Jason was all flopped on the ground and he very politely went over to help the poor dear up (Such a polite child, that C'Dward. I often find myself wondering why my rotten apple of a child doesn't appreciate him as a person), but then Michael noticed this and he was all "WHAT THE FUCK!" because for some reason he was screaming out all of his words now. I said, "Michael!" but he ignored me, obviously, and he trudged over to were C'Dward was aiding Jason (which reminds me... I still have no aida cloth. Note to self - buy aida cloth immediately.) and he said, "What is going on here?"


Jason was all, "Bluuuuhhh. Mikey, is that you?"


Michael was all, "DON'T CALL ME THAT. Are you on crack?!"


Freddy jumped up from his chair and he said, "Actually no - he's on LSD."


Jason let out a very strangled laugh, which made C'Dward jerk back in apparent repulsion. Jason was all, "Mikey! I love you, man! Huh." And then Michael was poked in the stomach.


And then Jason was thwacked in the face.


C'Dward was all, "Jesus!"


Michael was all, "Excuse me, wench?"


C'Dward was like, "Well, you shouldn't be so mean to Jason. He's always so nice to you. What is wrong with you? Everyone is always so nice to you and you treat them like shit! You're actually soooo mean! Stop being so frigid, you whore."


Michael looked deeply shocked for like two seconds before he frowned furiously. He’s all, “BIZNATCH!” (which, by the way, is the one word Michael uses only when he is extremely angry. And I know this because this was the first word Michael said after he was shot in the head at school.) and then he leans forward and literally whacks C’Dward in the face.


With his fist.


Jason was all, “What’s going on? I’m so confused...”


This was when I decided it might be a good idea to intervene.


I walked over, grabbed Michael by the arms and pulled him backward. I was furious, so I spoke through gritted teeth. “That is enough. We are going home now. Obviously, you cannot be trusted to behave. Keep this up and I’m going to send you over to be homeschooled with Ghostface!”


Michael struggled. “EFF OFF, MOM! He called me a whore!”


“You obviously are not a whore, Michael,” I said patiently.


Then C’Dward was all, “Not that you know of, anyway!”


Michael was all, “WENCH! YOU FUGSTER!”


I was all, “I swear to God, if you say ‘wench’ one more time...”


We went home. Michael struggled mentally. For three hours. On the floor. In the bathroom. With his cell phone. It was dying. He kept telling me, “MoooooooooomMMMmmmmmmmMMMM!!!” varying the intensity and volume of his M’s like a cow in distress, “My phone needs to be CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGED! And also, C’Dward is going to like, rape Jason. And you are going to feel like SHIT if that happens because you forced me to come homeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” He then proceeded to wail like a Beluga for three point five hours in his bedroom. He sounded like Dory in Finding Nemo. Which drove me nuts, Jesuschristlordalmighty. I told him to shut the hell up, but of course, he ignored me.


He literally slept the entire next day. And I mean we actually couldn’t wake him up.


What the shiznatch, as Johnny would say.


But anyway, all of that is over now. Lispeth, thanks for organizing that party for us! Despite the spiking of the chocolate fountain, at least it was more of a success than last year’s. No offense.

P.S. - For some reason, Hannibal was acting very strangely the whole time. I still don't really understand why he was so twitchy and awkward. Maybe he was just embarrassed by Michael's existence. I wouldn't blame him, currently.

I have no aida cloth.

Look, I like watching TV as much as the next 30-something-year-old-woman, all right? But sometimes TV just isn't enough, you know? Since Hannibal cleans the entire house every day out of sheer boredom, and Johnny and Robert both make more than enough money with their fancy-bum jobs to keep us so far out of debt that our non-debt pile might as well be Mount Everest, TV tends to be the only thing I have to do all day. Especially when my son isolates himself in his room texting and listening to Korn, and as a result, I don't even have him to keep me company.

When I get like this - that is, when it gets to the point where I'd rather like to annihilate my televisions against the wall - I do something that probably doesn't sound like something I would do at all. But nonetheless, I do it.

I cross-stitch.

It's so unlike me, I know.

I wish I could cross-stitch today, considering everyone appears to be either grossed out with, pissed off at, or purely on bad terms with everyone else, and as a result, I am Bored with a capital B. But I cannot cross-stitch because I have no aida cloth. Which, for those you don't know, is the fabric... thing... one cross-stitches ON.

They sell it at Wal-Mart, but I'm afraid that if I come home with a Wal-Mart bag, Michael will sense it and have a nervous breakdown.

Sigh.

So, since I cannot cross-stitch, here I am, updating my blog. Like I said, everyone's taking a fit at everyone else currently, so nothing much is really happening at the mo. Thus, I will amuse myself by giving you an account of everyone's issues right now. Should kill at least five minutes.

Robert vs. Myself
I had a frank talk with him yesterday for quoting Epicure excessively. The only philosopher I can tolerate being quoted excessively in this household is Aristotle. And Robert knows this. But yet I'm the bitch. Well excuse me King of the World.

Robert vs. Hannibal
Robert dislikes Hannibal at the moment because of an... incident... with the downstairs toilet. Don't ask.

Hannibal vs. Johnny vs. the wok
Johnny became angry at the new wok, who apparently "has an attitude". Hannibal dislikes this because according to him, woks are INANIMATE OBJECTS and thus CANNOT HAVE AN ATTITUDE. And it angers him excessively that Johnny is being so dramatic when HE is the one who washes it, and blah-blah-blah. Long story short, Hannibal ended up throwing the wok into Mary-Sue Vrees's yard, where it was then run over by Alfred Benedict, who was driving his plough, drunk, on the lawn. The wok is now disfigured completely, and Johnny is really furious with Hannibal.

Myself vs. Johnny
Johnny and I currently are not getting along because, er, I agree with Hannibal. And he refuses to accept this. But I don't give a shit. :O

Myself vs. Michael
IN REGARDS TO THIS WEEKEND. ENOUGH SAID.

Michael vs. Jason
Who are currently arguing like an old married couple over text messages.

Michael and Jason vs. C'Dward Eullen
My expert manipulator of a child has managed to fully convert Jason to "Team Not-C'Dward", it seems, because the latter apparently told C'Dward off when C'Dward sat with them at lunch and later attempted to give Jason a hug. I'm so sorry, Matilda... I thought my life was shitty at the moment, I can only imagine the drama at your house.

Jason and Freddy vs. Myself
They're pissed at me for keeping Mike grounded this long. Bet they thought I couldn't do it! Haha, showed them all right. Still, it's awkward because they keep egging my house.

Lispeth vs. Michael
Despite the fact that Bertha was always asleep before they had their little "liquor escapades", this does not change the fact that a large, large quantity of alcohol was stolen from her by our three little miscreants. Sigh. I know the teenage years are the worst, but do they really have to be this bad?

 

Our week-ish in a nutshell

Oh boy.

Here we go again.

SO sorry for not keeping you updated of our shenanigans all week. First these random people who just moved into our neighbourhood came over for dinner so we were BUSY... then the power lines outside our house were literally snapped in half by some angry miscreant (read: Jason Voorhees – and I am using his full name because I am PISSED) so the power was off for like four days because that’s how long it takes the damn Haddonfield effing power people to come down and fix our lines (and in case you’re wondering, we never call the Crystal Lake power people because Crystal Lake is a hick town and it HAS no power people).

So yeah. Allow me to make up for my absence by spelling out our entire week to you. Sound good? Good.



Saturday

Michael finally gets out of bed at one P.M. and he’s all, "Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." and I'm like, "Whathoney?" This was the first word he said to me since we parked him on the loveseat with the cell phone. So it was slightly surprising.

He's all, "Apparently there's this awkward fugster that just moved in across the street." Again? "And he's got a mask on. Whatthefuck."

"Michael."

"Fudge, then. Whatthefudge."

I'm like, "Who told you this, now?"

"Freddy. He was egging Stephenie Meyer's house and then this awkward-ass moving truck pulled into the driveway next to hers down the road and then this van that looks like it belongs to some wench that only dates men fifty years younger than she quickly followed. And then buddy with the fugmask got out."
I tried to make sense of this alien-language-based explanation. "So a single mom and son moved into the house next to Meyer's that's been for sale forever? Well, that's wonderful."

"Not so much wonderful, mom. The fugger is trying to be me!"

"MICHAEL."

"What! I said fugger!" he yelled. "With Gs!"

I started doing some thinking. Eventually, I decided it would only be proper to welcome our new neighbors to the area by inviting them to a wondrous seafood dinner that very night. Just me, Hannibal, Johnny, Robert, Mike and our brand new friends. Hopefully Michael can finally make a "dude friend" that doesn't/isn't A) vastly intellectually inferior to him, B) eat people, C) completely embarrassing to be around, D) a complete bad influence and/or E) have a massive gay crush on him.

Oh, and/or, F) smoke lots of dope.

Almost forgot that one.

"Mom, can we invite Jason, too?" Michael asked hopefully as soon as I informed him of my little plot to make the new neighbors like us.

I said, "No. You're grounded."

Michael crossed his arms, "Well, then you wenches aren't getting any Demon Squares. You know that, right? Jason always holds the pans and does the dishes after. No Jason, no Squares."

"I'm sure we'll survive."

"YOU'LL LEARN TO REGRET THIS!" he yelled before running upstairs to lock himself in his room and play some Korn - punishment inflicted upon the entire world for scorning him.

So I called up the operator and asked for 45 Rippergrove Road. “You know, that random long-ass street right on the border of Crystal Lake and Haddonfield.”

“It’s 544-0468,” said the operator.

“Okay,” I said. “Wait. How did you know that?”

“... I’m the operator.”

“But how did you know that so fast? You spat out that number like it was a lightning bolt about to strike the Earth.”

“Have a nice day, ma’am.”

“Was it something I said? Oh – I’m sorry! Was I sounding like Margaret Atwood again?”

She hung up on me.

But whatever. I had the number. So I called.

After the third ring, a cow-like voice exclaimed, “Yelloh!”

I’m all, “Uh... hi. I’m -”

The... person... on the end of the line promptly interrupted me, “WHAT’SYOURFAVORITESCARYMOVIE?”

I’m all, “Are you on drugs?”

Then, simultaneously, two more voices added themselves to the conversation, “Ghostface honey? Are you talking to a girl?”

“MOM!”

And then Michael was all, “The fuck is this? Mom, are you having a phone threesome?”

“MICHAELHANGUP.”

Anyway, after a few moments, only myself and the other lady remained on the line. I was all, “Okay, that didn’t go exactly as I had hoped.” And she laughs and she’s all, “Do not worry, lady. I know what it is like to have offspring who do not respect the authority of their post-pubescent parental units.”

I’m all, Why is she talking like that?

So I invited them over for dinner. They showed up around seven (two hours late – dinner was cold. I’ll feed it to Mary-Sue later), which was perfectly fine considering they brought about fifty pounds of Belgian truffles. Which happen to be my favorite.

Michael was all, “BELGIAN TRUFFLES?” and ran up into his room sobbing dramatically like the drama queen that he is.

He kinda hates Belgian truffles. Oh well. He would come back downstairs eventually.

When he did, at around eight fifty, he plopped down on the couch next to our new masked little cutie-pie Ghostface, muttered “belgiantruffles...” and then looked at Ghostface with pure hatred for about fifty seconds.

“What?” the poor dear asked innocently.

Michael’s all, “Who the wench are you?”

Ghostface raised his chin in indignation. “I am Ghostface Hammersmith. And who are you?”

“I am your worst nightmare.”

“Michael -” I said patiently as I chatted with Ghostface’s single mother, Marcia-Poppy Hammersmith, who is a single mother. Which is a tragedy because it appears that therefore, the poor child is a bastard. “That’s Frederick’s thing.”

If looks could kill, Michael would have quite brutally gunned me down.

I can’t say the visit didn’t go well. I think we’re all going to be quite civil with each other, thank you very much. Also, the boys did have an actual conversation at one point, which I found impressive coming from Michael, who isn’t usually very good with new people. Usually he just sits there and doesn’t say anything, all the while looking in amusement/contempt at the poor, hapless soul in question as if this is the dumbest piece of poop he’s ever encountered.

Hopefully this awkward type of attitude will disappear once he turns twenty-one. Because everyone in the United States of America knows that once one turns twenty-one, one is officially a perfectly responsible adult, magically becoming mature and socially conscious with the magical age.

We love twenty-one here in America. And twenty-one will love my dear son. It will. He won’t rebel or like, go on a bloody massacre or anything. He’s getting all the “rebel” out now, I just know it.

So yeah. They had a conversation! And it was quite awkward but it’s a start.

Michael said, “D’you, like, go to school?”

“No, I’m homeschooled,” said Ghostface eloquently.

Michael’s all, “Why? Is there something wrong with you?”

Ghostface looked disconcerted. “Um... no. I just need time to do my shit which school does not allow for.”

“And what shit is this?”

“Oh, I develop video games,” said Ghostface nonchalantly.

Michael’s face lights up and he’s like, “LIKE MANHUNT?” Aww, he got all excited. It doesn’t happen often. Especially not when he’s grounded.

“Kind of like Manhunt, actually, although I find that game to be fairly poor in taste and quality. What’s your favorite scary movie?"

Michael’s all, “EFF OFF. Don’t be dissing Manhunt, wench!”

“Sorry.”

“You’re like this huge nerd, aren’t you?”

“..."

“So what nerd video games did you make?”

Ghostface was all, “Well, now I’m working on a new project I’m uber-proud of called Mathacre.”

“Called what?”

“Mathacre.”

“What?”

“Mathacre.”

“Do you have a speech impediment?”

“NO! It’s about math! Math-acre.”

Michael tilted his head in confusion for a few seconds and then he was all, “What the Christ!”

“You have to kill the bad guys, but to do so you need to answer math equations correctly. It’s actually helpful for kids who hate math – you should try it. Not kidding. The tagline is “4+5 = DEAD”. Isn’t that awesome? I’m actually quite thrilled about this one.”

... Okidoky then!


The next few days nothing really happened, so they can all be summed up in point form. Don’t you love point form? Me love point form. <3


Sunday

- Pretty much the only thing of importance that happened Sunday was that Michael went over to Edna’s. She suggested we make her home an extension of ours for the duration of the grounding. Michael seemed pretty content with himself when he came home. I don’t know what she did, but it worked, and I’m starting to think she might be a type of deity.

- Oh yeah, and our power got chopped by a machete. Yeeeaaah. And Michael, whose electronics can all run by battery for extended periods of time, amused himself by laughing in our faces for twenty minutes. He would probably have laughed all day had I not politely informed him that he would be grounded for an extra week should he not shut his trap.

- Hannibal crisised. It is a verb when applied to him, yes. He actually went downstairs and cleaned the whole basement in rage.

- Did I mention HANNIBAL CLEANED THE BASEMENT? Yeah, okay, just making sure.



Monday


- Johnny and Robert were both acting extremely awkwardly. Michael went back to school, as well. I’ve never seen him more thrilled to return to school. He was legitimately giddy. You’d have really thought he was planning on jigging all day to sniff glue in the woods.

- Or at Wal-Mart. Knowing him.

- Johnny bought a new wok that he says will work much better than the last one, which he threw into the lake behind our house the other day in anger. The new wok is misshapen and looks like it might have been possessed by a demon in its previous life. I still don’t understand how the last wok was retarded. This wok looks pretty effing retarded to me, just saying.

- Robert got an e-mail with one of those “Happy Bunny” strips and he literally laughed/chuckled for four hours.


Yesterday

- Frederick and Jason threw eggs at Michael’s Plexiglass bedroom window in the dead of night AND IT BROKE. Busted. The window AND the miscreants. Michael was pissed. He was like, “HOW DO YOU BREAK PLEXIGLASS WITH AN EGG?” And then Frederick was all, “Bitch, you told us to use rocks at first. So suck on that.”

- Michael had no reply to this.


Today

Michael just went to bed. Before that, he, Robert and I argued like fools for a good two hours. At dinner, Robert kept nudging his fork against his plate in a way that was extremely annoying while attempting to hold up “X-Men and Philosophy” in his right hand, turning the pages with his mouth. This was all very annoying, admittedly, but it was not Michael’s place to demean him like he did. I won’t even go into what he said in case one of the younger children in the neighbourhood should stumble upon it. But I mean, this man could be his FATHER. So I confronted him loudly and openly and he’s all, “Unground me and I’ll stop mercilessly abusing your husbands.”

I’m like, “No.”

He’s like, “Yes.”

I’m like, “Michael.”

He’s like, “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE. I WANNA GO TO WAL-MART.”

I’m like, “Too bad. Once you learn to respect other people’s feelings and take responsibility for your own actions, then you can go to Wal-Mart.”

So then he starts like bitching at me as typical, you know, “wench” and “gerontophile” and “fag hag” and “you and Pam are probably lesbians together” and whatnot. Just the regular gripes. But Robert has always despised this so much and he basically snapped, yelling at Michael to go to his room immediately or he would force him to recopy the first page of Philosophical Elements twenty times.

To this Michael replied, “Go fuck a wench.”

And I said, “Room-now.”

He didn’t move and we just all kept fighting. At this point Michael was pretty much verbally assaulting us. Johnny and Hannibal were staying out of the way, I knew, just trying not to get involved.

Then Michael’s all, “Me and Jason haven’t gone to Wal-Mart in like twoooo yeeeeeaaaaaaaars.” As though this would make me reconsider his grounding. Pssht. He thinks I’m soft.

Then Robert’s like, “Michael, you are going to have to get used to the fact that in real life, you cannot see your friends every day. Hate to break it to you, but if you want to go to Wal-Mart with Jason every day – every single day – you’re going to have to marry him.”

I looked at Robert. “You know, I really don’t understand how he can even stand that little whiner every day.”

Oh, wait. Did I say that out loud?

Michael ignored me. He said to Robert, “Yeah? Yeah? Hah. You just watch. Now, just to spite you, I’m totally going to go all queen on you guyses asses and then I am going to get married to Jason and you will all come to our fucking Wal-Mart wedding. Oh yeah. Can’t wait to see your face, DAD.”

And now he’s upstairs, and Robert and I just stood in the kitchen looking at each other awkwardly for a few moments before I came in here and posted this.



So yeah. That was our past few days or so. We have new neighbours, Edna reformed Michael for a day, we have to go to the window shop, the power people finally fixed our damn electricity, and my son may or may not be planning a gay marriage out of rage.

Yeah, it’s been a pretty boring, regular old week.

Oh, P.S. – Lispeth, Michael can certainly babysit for you at the weekend. I’ll let him do it even though he’s grounded. Babysitting is an excellent way for him to learn responsibility! Anyway, I’ll give you a call tomorrow hon, just to get the details, but it’s really no problem at all. :)

I love my life sometimes.

Well, today has been quite a lovely day. And so was yesterday.

Hannibal is gone to "visit his family in the distance" for four days (which means he is probably cheating on me with that Clarice woman I found in his cell phone, whoever she is), and Johnny is "gone on a business trip" (which means he's gone on a business trip - I'm just so used to putting things in air quotes now. Hard to break a bad habit).

So for the past couple days, it's just been Robert and I, plus a grounded Michael, alone in our big mother of a house. Just the three of us. I decided to let Michael keep his phone during his grounding. He can't call anyone, but he can play with it all he wants. Now, I know this might sound like I "went soft"... but if it sounds like that, then, you obviously have never met Michael. You try taking away everything my borderline insane son who probably has intermittent explosive disorder loves for three and a half weeks. Try keeping your house standing up and everyone in the neighborhood alive if you do that.

Sorry, moment of brutal honesty there. I HAD AN ELLEN DEGENERES MOMENT.

Sorry. Moment of talk-show dorkiness there.

Anyway, letting Mike keep his phone was probably the best decision I ever made, because for the past couple days, he, Robert and I have been doing nothing but veg comfortably in the living room watching cheesy scary movies from the 70s, and also truly frightening movie-length home videos the boys made. And while we have been vegging, we have not heard one peep out of Michael. He just sits on the loveseat in his cute little blue jumpsuit and texts all day on that phone of his. It's like he is transfixed. Robert and I were actually able to have a decent conversation about Jaws this morning without being interrupted by a constant stream of "wench" and likewise "cool" teenage proclamations. Because it's like we don't even exist to him when he is texting. He is in his own little world.

Truly.

Do you know what that reminds me of? This one time a couple years ago when one of Michael's innocent little cousins stabbed him with a hanger, and he proceeded to have a complete nervous breakdown, brandishing knives around and such, and Edna's husband Sam Loomis was forced to intervene, and then Michael was given Thorazine. Y'know? Texting is the new Thorazine.

Actually.

Maybe, as a reward for his good behavior lately, I'll go up to Vonage tomorrow and get unlimited text put on his phone. Yes, that sounds like a plan. After all, his unusual silence is a welcome break and is currently enriching my life.

Or at least it will until Hannibal and Johnny return.

Got laptop battery back from China! Oh and also, tree is up! Finally!!

So on Saturday we all got up and realized two things. The first thing was that the Special Christmas Dinner we have every year was that night. The second thing was that our stupid green piney excuse for a Christmas tree was not yet up and decorated.

Yep. Hannibal forgot.

It was approximately eight AM when I bolted up in bed and shouted, "WE HAVE NO TREE!" It was an epiphany of sorts. I suppose Hannibal must have heard my shriek of terror from the barn because five minutes later, he was inside the house, shouting about "silly American traditions" and "Christianity", and also at Johnny, who was in the kitchen mentally wrestling the wok into submission.

Michael came downstairs, and by this time I was pacing in the living room, and I was all, "Michael! We have no tree." And he just shrugged like the arrogant teenager he is, picked up the cordless phone and hit speed dial. "Yeah. My mom's taking a total shit fit because Hannibal forgot the tree. ... Yeah? Yeah okay, right. Just get a tree. I don't care how tall it is. Shut up. Yeah well your mom's a bitch. Whatever. K."

I frowned and said, "Michael."

He's all, "What? Jason's house has woods in the back."

I could have argued with him for about seventy-six minutes on the subject of unlicensed tree-chopping being an absolute, complete felony, but what would have been the point really? After all, my son is a fourteen-year-old rebel, and as a result, he obviously knows everything, MOM.

So I just said, “One day you’ll get your bachelor’s degree in applied forestry just like your infirm aunt Beatrice wants, and then you’ll see how wrong it is of you to impose such a liability on your poor dear dyslexic friend Jason Vrees.”

Michael just looked at me like my face was a toxic waste plant in its disgusting, smelly entirety, and he’s like, “Oh my God mom you’re embarrassing can you not speak English for two seconds?”

So Jason shows up ten minutes later in a hijacked baby pink van with the inscription “Crystal Munchies” in big huge swampy green bubbly letters on the side. Atop the van was one massive mother of all trees. It was nice and green, but it shedded a lot into our driveway and that made me assume it would also shed excessively onto our living room floor, and I felt kind of bad for Hannibal, who would have to clean it all up in January.

“Jasonyouactuallychoppeddownatree?” I exclaimed, shocked beyond my wit. That’s an expression my mother used a lot, “shocked beyond my wit”. And by a lot I mean teeth-grindingly, nerve-splittingly, horrendously OFTEN. She’s dead now. My mother, I mean. She was murdered by a group of teenage boys in the woods a few blocks down. It was disastrous. They cut out her jaw.

Jason just got out of the van and he’s like, “Yup. Well – actually I kinda got my drunk dad to help me out. That’s why the bottom of the stump is a little bit jagged. I hope you don’t mind.”

Michael came outside and looked at the tree and then looked at me and then at Jason and then back at the tree. He was all, “Dude, the HELL is up with your van?”

Jason’s all embarrassed. “Tsmymomsasshole.”

I don’t think Michael noticed his justification for the fluffy pink cloud-van, unfortunately for Jason. He lunged toward the tree on the roof of the van and I had to somehow hold him back so he didn’t harm himself. Hannibal came out with his duster and several portions of a vacuum cleaner and started untying the tree in the frigid cold. We pretty much just went inside.

The actual decorating of the tree was fairly uneventful, so instead of wasting your precious Christmas-season Wal-Mart-hopping time (speaking of, would anyone be willing to give Michael and company a drive home from Wal-Mart on Sunday night? I’m afraid they might just steal some poor sap’s vehicle if no one picks them up. I promised Johnny I’d go to his thing. Which thing this is, I’m still not too sure.), I will simply condense my rambling into a clear-cut, simple point-form summary of what happened.

Actually no, you know what?

I’M GOING TO MAKE A TOP TEN LIST! Like the ones on Yahoo! News every second day, except way more accurate.


The top ten happenings during Gertie’s Christmas-Tree-Decorating Shenanigans (this one’s for you, Edna!)

10. Tree goes up with rope Michael keeps in his room (look, they’re even in present tense!). Slightly drunk Johnny comes into living room and says “Shiznatch”.

9. Michael and Jason have slight quarrel over who gets to hang the sandy bell. Everyone holding breaths hoping the tree and house stay up.

8. Frederick Krueger shows up. This is an event upon itself.

7. Robert starts singing “Jingle Bells” from upstairs; everyone laughing and spilling eggnog all over the place (non-alcoholic eggnog – what kind of a mother do you think I am?). Hannibal gets mop.

6. Mary-Sue Vrees calls me to warn me not to give her child alcoholic beverages because his “life-threatening fear of water” is “worse when he’s loopy”. Dear sweet Lord mother of all that is holy was that ever the most awkward phone conversation.

5. Jason has slight breakdown over crystal ornament shaped as raindrop.

4. Frederick “goes to the bathroom” and now there are no eggs in the fridge.

3. Hannibal announces halfway through that he needs to go take a piss. TMI, Hannibal.

2. Hannibal very nearly drops the bucket of hooks and goes “UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!” like a legitimate hippopotamus in heat.

1. Michael pretty much in hysterics over Hannibal’s hippo noises. Angry Hannibal takes large bucket of dirty mop water and throws in Michael’s face, thereby splashing Jason. Michael goes to the bathroom for two hours. Jason in foetal position on living room floor for three and a quarter. Upon getting out of the bathroom Michael tells Jason to “fuck off and get out of my house”. Jason still on floor until people get here for dinner.


Oh, and since you asked, the dinner went well, too. I mean, it went so much better than expected, considering. We had turkey, stuffing, cucumbers... you know, the regular. Sam Loomis now has a healing black eye, Stephenie Meyer had to put Sella in therapy, Freddy refused to eat his cucumber, the house is now three feet farther away to the left than it used to be thanks to Samara and Sadako, Edna’s son Damien pretty much recited the entire Necronomicon to us, Michael and Jason currently are not speaking to each other, and Johnny is still drunk.

But hey, it’s better than last year! Right folks?

Update you again soon! Time for a little shut-eye... that is, if Johnny ever stops dancing with the broom and humming “Here Comes the Bride” downstairs.

Love you all! :)


Hugs,
Gertie

P.S. – I’m feeling much better now that my battery is in my computer and not in China. Thank God Sella Bwan’s relatives didn’t get their hands on it, is all I have to say!

Jason and Michael have issues

Johnny's gone. I've stolen the desktop in the master suite. I'm listening to Boney M on it! RA-RA-RASPUTIIIIN! She's no Susan Boyle, but hey. The CD's downstairs and I'm too lazy to go. I'd ask Michael to but he and Jason are giggling like schoolgirls about something or other in his room... and do I want to know? I think not.

Wait, is that "Mr. Sandman" I hear? Dear God. Dear Lord.

You know what? On second thought, I think I might have to just go and see what's going on in there. Be right back.

... Well, I'm back, and slightly traumatized. Soon as I walked into the room, Michael leapt up from the desk, where he and Jason were busy doodling on a sheet of paper like the conniving masterminds they are. He goes, "MOM! HAHA! Check this out..."

So I walk up to the desk, right? And all I see is a sheet of paper full of messy handwriting and glue-sticked pictures of people.

I'm all, "What did you two do?"

Jason's all giddy as usual. You'd legitimately think there were caffeine fumes in our house. He's all, "WE TOOK PICTURES OF AWKWARD PEOPLE LIKE BEORGE GUSH AND CINARY HILTON FROM NEWSPAPERS AND WE STUCK THEM TO THE RAPER -"

"Jason!" I interrupt, alarmed. "Jason, honey, calm down, your dyslexia! George Bush, honey. Hillary Clinton. PAPER."

Jason blushes and then he's all, "Sorry Mrs. LSD. I got a bit excited."

Michael rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah so ANYWAY, we took the pictures and we put captions next to them - like dictionary captions! Like what word in the dictionary these people would be next to."

I'm still shaking my head. "Oh, you boys. Must you always make fun of people?"

Michael and Jason just kind of exchanged a look and then just kind of nodded.

"Okaylet'sseeit," I said, holding out my hand to receive the sheet.


George Bush - Monkey

W. Desnay - Senile

Richard Anderson - Alzheimer's

Hillary Clinton - Partridge

Sam Loomis - Pedophile

Sella Bwan - Illegal Immigrant

Pamela Voorhees - Awkward

Adam Lambert - Flamingo

Hannibal Lecter - Hideous (I said "Hey! That's not nice!")

Rob Zombie (one of Johnny's work frenemies) - Gargantuan


I'm all, "Not cool, boys."

Michael grimaces and he's like, "You have no sense of humor. You're frigid."

Jason's like, "Difgrif?"

Michael's all, "No."

Yep, they have issues. I think I might tell Hannibal that it might not be a good idea to have both of them helping him with the tree... let alone Frederick. That might prove to be disastrous, don't you think? I don't know. I just don't know anymore. Y'know?



 

  

Follow-up on Jason's condition (read "Bad news" for the beginning)

Emotions run rampant here in our waiting room camp-out. A nurse just came in and told us Jason had to be put on life support. Sad... but I'm sure he'll pull through... I mean, when you think about it, life support is really just a technical term for "you got five blades in the side of your head and we must now help you breathe while we attempt to repair the damage." No biggie. They should really stop trying to scare us with ambiguous hospital terms! Golly gosh!

This news caused Michael to swear at the nurse, wish death on her and run (and by run I mean walk awkwardly slowly and stiffly) out of the room. Hannibal immediately got up and muttered, "WHY THAT LITTLE RUNT" and stomped out after him. Robert stood and leapt out into the hallway, alarmed. I could see his frantic eyes searching his mind for the best possible moral to deliver. I for one was more preoccupied with his knees. I'm all, "ROBERT! YOUR OSTEOPOROSIS!" He slowed down a little bit, probably more to shut me up than out of concern for himself.

Sigh. Men. I'm fortunate enough to be stuck with four and a half of them (the half being Jason Vrees, who I am only partially stuck with and might soon not be stuck with at all anymore).

Before the nurse came in, Michael and Frederick got into this big argument along the lines of, "Why did you have to go shove your HAND into his EAR?", so to be fair, Michael was already on edge when she delivered this news. Not that it excuses his behavior, though. I'll have to chat with him once this entire ordeal is over.

I will update you again soon.

Love,
Gertie xox 

Bad news

Jason Vrees is in the hospital in serious condition after an accident during their filming last night involving a glove, our set of kitchen knives and Alfred Benedict's old rusty machete. At this point we're all still kind of waiting in limbo to see what's going to happen with him. Michael is also in the hospital now, technically, because he refuses to leave. So is Hannibal because he refuses to let Michael refuse to leave. So is Johnny because he refuses to let Hannibal make an utter fool out of himself in front of professional doctors and such by refusing to let Michael refuse to leave. So is Robert because he feels that without regular philosophical citations, this entire situation will soon become a full-blown family crisis. So am I because I'm afraid of sleeping alone in my large-ass house. And finally, so is that miscreant Frederick because he's all "OHMYGODWHATHAVEIDONE." Yes, of course he's the one who caused the accident. The film was "Freddy vs. Jason 3.5" after all.

Oh, and Mary-Sue Vrees is here too, obviously, although Alfred Benedict complained about lack of sleep and stayed home. I keep forgetting about Mary-Sue because although she is in the hospital, she is not here in the waiting room with us. Upon arriving she was hysterical and attempted to attack Michael and Frederick with a spork. She is now in the psych ward under observation.

Michael keeps asking me, "MomwhatifJasondies?"

I reply in different variations of "That would be sad." Which is true, because Jason is Michael's best friend, and as such he is kind of like my adopted son. Not that this adopted-son thing doesn't have more to do with Mary-Sue's insanity than anything, but let's not rub that in right now. Except on my blog.

Also, if Jason dies, I think we might as well just give up hope entirely of ever getting the mask away from my dear child. We will also have to move away from Mary-Sue before she goes on a rampage (one-sided conversations included), killing all the children in the neighborhood, wearing a bright pink tee which reads "If I can't be a MOTHER, NO ONE CAN!"

I just got through changing the gauze on Michael's shoulder. He came running home last night all of a dither, going, "OHMYFUCKINGGODJASONLIKEDIED! MOM! MOM!", and apparently, his panic was so great that he did not notice the small knife in his shoulder. I pulled it out and placed gauze on it. I have been having to care for his wound because apparently, he could not care less.

I'm going to have to have a talk with these three about why they feel it's necessary to create such violent films. I mean if you want to make a movie, fine, but Jesus Christ do you really have to kill each other in the process?

This whole thing was probably Frederick's doing. Maybe I should just talk to him.

At this point it doesn't matter much... we're just hoping with all our hearts that dear Jason Vrees makes it through this (and also that Michael does not get gangrene in his shoulder, because it's his writing arm). Our fingers are all crossed for you, honey! Get better!

I'll let you all know as soon as the nurses stop being understaffed and we receive more news.

Love,
Gertie xox 

If you give a Vrees a pancake...

Well, last night ended up being quite a story. Do you want the long version or the short version? Take your pick.

Short version: Jason Vrees is now staying in one of our guest rooms for a few days.

Long version: Mary-Sue and her husband, Alfred Benedict, are getting separated. Why? Well, according to Jason, it's because Alfred snores too much and apparently just got a DUI for driving his snow plough at ridiculous speeds down Main Street after consuming steroids, and apparently, Mary-Sue was all, "THAT IS THE LAST STRAW." and a huge fight broke out, ending in a ten P.M. call to the lawyer's home to receive divorce papers.

I'm not sure I entirely believe Jason, though - or Mary-Sue, for that matter. I do believe this whole situation is probably more Mary-Sue's fault than Alfred's, because everything always seems to lead back to Mary-Sue at some point, and of course, Jason is far too much of a momma's boy to not believe everything that comes out of her mouth. I always knew her overtly intense protection of this boy due to his "delibitating, life-threatening dyslexia" would someday harm him... Oh well. It is neither my business nor my place to make judgment, which is why I only do it here, on my blog.

So this is what's going on: last night, Jason fled from his painfully small home across the street because he just couldn't take the infernal spoon-throwing and "Wellwhat'sgoingtohappentoJASONNOW?"s in the kitchen. He's always been a fairly sensitive boy. So I took pity on him and told him he could stay with us until the whole thing is resolved. I'm not entirely sure Michael knew about all this until this morning. As typical, he'd been "doing his homework" (and listening to Korn on maximum volume) in his room when it all went down... and we put Jason straight to bed, afraid the poor dear would asphyxiate himself with all that hyperventilation. So, judging from Michael's excited display of "OHMYGODWHATTHEHELLJASONWHYAREYOUINMYKITCHEN!!" this morning, I think it's safe to say that that infernal Korn made him pretty oblivious to everything until just recently.

Come to think of it, I'm starting to regret letting Jason stay a little. It didn't seem like such a bad idea until I saw the kitchen and had to tell an irritable Hannibal to go clean the breakfast items scattered on the ceiling and walls. Oh well. As long as I don't have to clean it, I'm good. Still, Michael and Jason are the type of kids you tell teachers to separate in school if they want them to learn any semblant of a thing throughout the entire school year. And also if they themselves want to avoid their classroom becoming a smaller version of hell.

Meh. I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle for a few days. As long as they don't get into any little quarrels... that is not something I ever want to bear witness to again, thank you very much. Once was quite enough.

Things are going according to plan so far, though. Because we have company, I didn't want to make the regular, boring old grilled cheese I always serve up for breakfast, and so as soon as I woke up, I went outside to the barn where Hannibal sleeps and I delicately shoved him, trying to wake him up.

He's all, "Hmmmmmuuuhhhh?" and I said, "Hannibal! Wake up!"

He opened his eyes, and I said, "Hi, honey. Did you sleep well?"

He's all, "I WAS sleeping well, before you rudely interrupted..."

I decided to ignore this. "Can you please come to the kitchen and make pancakes?"

"WHYYYYYyyyyyYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYyyyyyYYYYYYYYYY?" Hannibal grunted whinily, variating the intensity and volume of his Ys like a woman PMSing, or like Michael this one time when some jerk from school shot him in the head.

I sighed and crossed my arms, annoyed at his immaturity. "BecausehoneywehaveGUESTS. And the only thing I can cook is grilled cheese!"

Hannibal threw his head back like someone was repeatedly electrocuting him. "Some housewife you are! ... Ask Johnny to do it?"

"You lazy ass..." I sighed again. "Johnny is at work, slaving over camera angles, and we need to be grateful because he is the primary breadwinner for this household."

"AskRobert," Hannibal hissed.

I looked at him like a deer might look at an oncoming scooter that it thought was an eighteen wheeler from far away and that scared the shit out of it - or like my dear son might look at some crazy girl at Wal-Mart hitting him across the head with a two-by-four, like, Is-that-really-all-you've-got? This actually happened. We had to get a restraining order. "Hannibal, have you SEEN Robert's cooking? Come on, for poor little Jason Vrees's sake, GET OFF YOUR ASS AND MAKE THE BOY SOME FREAKING GOSH DARN PANCAKES."

Hannibal got up. "You know his name's Voorhees, right?"

"I. Don't. Freaking. Care. Make. Pancakes. Now."   

Hannibal Lecter cannot write the next "1000 Baby Names"

There is a terrible baby name generator. His name is Hannibal.

"If-we-have-a-child," said Hannibal just now, "Can we call it Bertha-Loomely? Or, if it's a boy, can we please call it Stanislas?"

I said patiently, "We already have a child."

And then Hannibal said, "WTFTHATTHINGISNOTMYCHILD."

And then Michael said, from upstairs, "If you value your life, I seriously hope you're talking about the wok!"

I just thought I'd mention that, because now Jason Vrees - oops, excuse me, Voorhees - is knocking madly on the door going, "HELP ME HELP ME HELP MEEEEEEE!". I shit you not. I really must go open the door to the poor child now.

Rolling on the road

It was slightly drizzling as Stephenie Meyer and her Chinese adopted daughter Sella Bwan rolled down the street. This wouldn't have been nearly as awkward as it was if they had actually been in their vehicle.

I saw them and I was all, "Whaaaaaaaaaaat?", so I went outside onto the porch and I said, "Mrs. Meyer! Are you all right? Don't you think you might catch the swine flu?"

"Sella has a fever!" shouted Meyer. "She is not okay! She probably already has the swine flu!"

And then as I watched, Sella Bwan actually stood up and started hyperventilating like Mary-Sue Vrees would if her poor sweet innocent dear child was run over by an eighteen-wheeler and then shot by a tank and then trumpled by five angry werewolves the size of cows, all of this in the slight drizzle.

They are still out there now. I just told Hannibal, who is not yet gone "to the casino", to please barricade the door. And now Michael is angry because he wanted to go to Wal-Mart. So I told him that if he gives me his mask, I will momentarily take the bars off his windows so that he may head on over to Wal-Mart in the slight drizzle.

As I look out the window, Johnny is screaming at the wok in the kitchen again, and I am not sure quite what the angry man expects the wok to do, but he sure is raging... and Stephenie Meyer just tackled Sella Bwan, screaming, "GET BACK ON THE ROAD AND ROLL."

So I told everyone to please stay inside.

Eff my life.

"All we have to do is convince my mom to drive us to Wal-Mart, and then we'll take it from there," were Michael's first words when he came in from school yesterday. Peeking surreptitiously around the corner, I saw Jason Vrees was with him. I just imagined Mary-Sue popping up around the corner with her dagger and having a one-sided argument with herself as she pointed the thing at my throat. I mean wouldn't you be a little paranoid if she basically had a restraining order against your child and her child was in your house with your child?!?

So if this all wasn't bad enough already, then Michael said, "I took a twenty from one of the awkward guys that are married to my mom. Y'know the one thing that's great about this arrangement" - he tries to appear like some big genius when he's with his buddies, but I seriously doubt he knows what "arrangement" means - "is that any one of them could be my dad, which means it's somewhat morally acceptable for me to take money from all of them."

Somewhat morally acceptable? "Well hello Webster's Dictionary," I said, popping out right in front of the two little snots in the hallway. This scares me somewhat - what does it say about a mother when she's picking up tricks from her own son? Nothing good, that's for sure. "What are you two up to? Jason Vrees, go home. Please. Your mother is about three playdates away from filing a legitimate restraining order."

Michael scoffed in a very you're-embarrassing way. "Playdates? Seriously?"

We actually heard the infernal vaccuum cleaner in the hallway shut off and then stomping footsteps as Hannibal appeared in the hallway. He looked like he may have just eaten a very sour pickle. He was all, "Yousmartassstopgivingyourmotherahardtime!" And Michael was all, "YOU can't tell me what to do because YOU'RE not my FATHER." And with very bad timing as always, Jason Vrees said in a very matter-of-fact way, "Well-technically-you-don't-know-that."

So anyway Hannibal basically threatened Michael to have him be the meal at dinnertime if he didn't go up to his room immediately and clean the closet for punishment. So he went to his room, followed by Jason Vrees, who, I’m sure, is only always at our house because he doesn’t want to be in the presence of his mother. Which I completely understand. I mean hell, if I had Mary-Sue Vrees for a mother, I’d rather help clean out a sketchy-looking closet than be at home, too.

They were speaking extremely loudly from upstairs, which very conveniently allowed me to inconspicuously keep following their conversation.

“Which one of the guys did you steal it from?” Jason Vrees said, and then my dear child was all, “The one that’s awkwardly in Pirates of the Carribean.”

Jason just absolutely went apeshit then, squealing, “OHMYGODWHATTHEFUCKTHAT’SMYFAVORITEMOVIE!”, which Michael totally ignored as usual, saying, “Yeah and pretty much every Tim Burton movie too.”

Jason Vrees didn’t seem to understand this, because he didn’t say anything.

While I was listening in from the living room doorframe, Johnny barged through the front door and, completely ignoring me, went into the kitchen. I heard a loud BANG-CRACK, indicating that Johnny had taken the wok from inside the oven and slammed it against the counter.

“Bad day, honey?” I asked him.

“MmmmmffffIdon’treallywanttotalkaboutitokay.” I assumed this meant that “that bitch at work” was giving him a hard time about camera angles again.

“Did you notice something bizarre about your pocket money, hon?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. He’d started yelling at the wok. “CAN YOU TELL ME WHY YOU WON’T WORK.” I didn’t really understand what he wanted the wok to do, for it was basically just one big pan, but considering Johnny’s bad mood I didn’t say anything.

I clued in. “Wait a second – MICHAEL!”

“What?”

“Come down here!”

He came down, and – God forbid – Jason Vrees actually wasn’t walking on his heels. “Whatnow.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why did you want me to drive you to Wal-Mart?”

This is how I discovered that Frederick was in the hospital after yet again burning his entire face in yet another house fire that he probably started. According to Michael, they had to go to Wal-Mart immediately to get the delinquent a get well card. I wasn’t very impressed.

“I don’t feel sorry for him at all,” I said somewhat contemptuously. “Maybe this time he’ll finally learn to stop being a miscreant and start leading a productive life. And maybe then I’ll let you hang around with him.”
Michael looked completely unfazed, although he kind of always looks like that. His face always looks like a cold, dead version of William Shatner. I know, I don’t understand either. “Freddy is not a miscreant. You’re a miscreant. Stop getting up in my business, wench.”

I’m all, “Excuse me?”

They took the bus and I’m not quite sure where they are at the moment. I’m not worried. Michael does this every couple of months. He goes out for a few days after we argue and then comes back with a shitload of money and credit cards. I don’t know. I sent Robert and Hannibal out to hunt for him, but only Robert went because Hannibal made a huge scene about the fact that I “didn’t understand his hobby”.

Mary-Sue Vrees has called me exactly thirty-eight times, demanding what has happened to her dear sweet child. The last time I pretty much lost it, I’m ashamed to admit. I basically yelled, “IDON’TKNOWWHEREYOURBLOODYDEFORMEDCHILDISSTOPBEINGAPSYCHOBITCHI’MCALLINGTHECOPS!” I know, it was a bit extreme... but she was sort of asking for it. So it’s not that big of a deal.

I’m listening to Susan Boyle’s new album. Because that’s what I do when my child goes missing and when my $350 wok from Wicker Emporium gets broken my my raving, angry workaholic husband. I depress myself further by listening to Suzie. As the teenagers say these days, eff my life.

I think we need family counseling.

Today, my son came home from school crying because someone had "politely informed" him that Halloween was in October and that it was November now. He flew right through that front door and said, "Mom, am I an idiot or something?" and I said, "No honey, why?" and he said "BECAUSE EVERYONE AT SCHOOL HATES ME AND THINKS I HAVE AN IQ OF THIRTY-SEVEN BECAUSE APPARENTLY I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT MONTH IT IS!!" He then ran upstairs and slammed his door, which I will have to have a talk with him about tomorrow after school because I am tired of having to get Johnny to replace the damn hinges every two weeks. It's not that it's annoying to fix the door - I wouldn't know because I'm not the one fixing it - but it's rather that Johnny absolutely goes apeshit every time I very politely ask him to do so. He's all, "Damnit Gertie, I have a full time job which requires me to do a lot of thinking like very bizarre people! Why can't you ask Hannibal to fix the goddamn thing? It might stop him from 'going to the casino' so much! God knows the kid is not my child anyway! Those bad habits? He gets those from Lecter, not me! I have no bad habits!"

To which I ceaselessly reply, "Except your obvious anger issues?"

Last time Michael broke the door, we actually had to enlist professional aid in getting Johnny to some long-overdue anger management classes. Even the police, who took a break from chasing this house-egging miscreant from two houses down, Frederick, to come solve our little "domestic dispute", said it was pretty much required that Johnny attend anger management immediately. So off we went in the car, leaving poor Robert alone with Michael. On the way out I whispered through gritted teeth to him, "Look, I know you have your huge PhilosoFun presentation tomorrow, but try to get the mask." And Robert was all, "WHAT?" and he made a grimace like I was asking him to move the moon, and I said, "WHATEVER HAPPENED TO HUSBANDS DOING NICE THINGS FOR THEIR WIVES????"

I think that soon, if this nonsense doesn't stop, Johnny may not be the only one who needs anger management.

So a raging Johnny and I get into the car, and at this point, Hannibal is still "at the casino". About four minutes in, when I'm turning onto the street where Michael's dyslexic buddy Jason and his mother used to live before his mother had a midlife crisis and sold her shitty green house to buy a similar shitty green house on our street, Robert calls my cell phone. I answer, all pissed off and snotty-sounding, like, "Hello?", and he's all, "How do I get the mask." He says this very emotionlessly and without a question mark in his voice, which indicates that Michael is somewhere nearby, probably drinking ridiculous amounts of milk in the kitchen again.

So I'm all, "Do what I do. Threaten to withhold his allowance forever until he takes the bloody thing off."

And then Robert gets all snarly like, "Well, obviously what you do doesn't WORK because he still has the MASK."

So I avoid, because obviously, he's having a bitch-fit and there's no talking to Robert when he's having a bitch fit. "RobertIcan'ttalkrightnowI'mdriving!" I say very quickly and snappishly, like a piranha plant from Super Mario Brothers, which I used to be addicted to, by the way. Only the Game Cube version though. I snap the phone closed before he can say ONE MORE WORD.

So now I'm home, about to get ready for bed. Hannibal's late tonight from the "casino". He's going to come back soon and Robert will put him on another of his guilt trips seasoned with philosophical quotations from people that could be Jesus's grandpa, and we're all going to be up until two. And Michael is going to be grumpy in the morning, both because he "didn't get any sleep" and also because I just realized we have no Froot Loops left and that is going to make him angry.

It never ends! I think I'm going to have to play some Super Mario tomorrow, just can't take the stress.

Until next time,
Love,
Gertie.