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.

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. :)

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.