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. :)

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!

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 

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.

Curious crystal-digging business and conversation with Mary-Sue Vrees

The day has been relatively peaceful so far. Mike got up this morning and noticed there were no Froot Loops, but he didn't get angry. Not openly, at least. This, as I soon found out, is because he had a piece of "important news" for me which he wasn't sure how I was going to take.

Michael is now under the impression that he, Jason and that miscreant Frederick are going to a four-week camp this summer located in what I imagine must be in or near Montana. From what I understand (which is not too much considering he was speaking like a robot on a caffeine high), they are going there to dig up crystals at the bottom of a lake. Sounds pretty fishy to me. Let me tell you, I am now under the impression that this is both not a legit camp and that it is also not a place I will ever allow my only son to go spend one day, let alone his entire month of July. So I let him finish his little I'm-an-independant-big-kid-now-and-this-is-what-I'm-gunna-do speech, then I looked at him and I very calmly said, "Over my dead body... unless you want to give me that mask."

Michael is now at school, doing algebra problems and plotting my death.

I actually just got off the phone with Jason's mother, and only now am I realizing that I probably should have asked her about this curious crystal-digging business, since the whole thing was probably her idea in the first place. It sounds mean of me to say, but trust me. That woman is crazy. Insane. Completely off her rocker.

She called me disgustingly early this morning, right after Michael had caught the bus. Hannibal was the one who answered the phone, taking a break from his power-dusting. "Gert-phone," he said quickly and without any trace of a comma, as usual. I answered from the living room. I barely got out the "hello" before she was all, "This is Gertie?" in a very icy, snobby voice. I said, "Oh, hi Mrs V," which I know sounds like something a loser of a 39-year-old mother who's trying to be "hip" and "in touch with the teenage culture" would say, but it's not. I just can't pronounce her last name.

And not only that! I also don't know her first name, despite the large number of infernal summer barbecues I attended at her house this past year. I swear to God, the first time I met this woman, she threw out her hand and said, "HelloI'mMissesVrees". She never said, you know, "Call me Cathy" or "Call me Carla" or "Call me Bob". Nope. Just a cold, impersonal, "Missesvrees" for Gertie.

I gave her a name. I did! I will admit I baptised her. I called her Mary-Sue. Now, in my head, every time Jason's mom calls, or when I see her, I'm all, "Ahp, there's Mary-Sue comin' along." I think it's a fairly fitting name for this woman considering she looks suspiciously like Dolores Umbridge from the Harry Potter movies. But that's just my opinion. For all I know, her name's "Deidre" or something along that line of naming. So it's not like I can just answer the phone, my normal bubbly self like I always am when the house is this empty, and be all, "Oh hiiiiii, Mary-Sue!" That would quite possibly cause her to come to my front door with a dagger in the middle of the night and have an awkward conversation with herself in several different high-pitched voices on my doorstep before killing me. So I can't do that. And I can't say "Mrs. Vrees" either, because that would make me sound like I am on a special underground type of opioid drugs.

So I call her Mrs V. Sue me.

Anyway, so I say "Hi, Mrs V.," and she's all, "WHATDIDYOURDERANGEDCHILDDOTOMYPOORINNOCENTJASON."

I considered this for a moment, quite shocked at her loud, expressionless tone. My ear still hurts a little bit from that. Honestly woman, the last thing this family needs is another trip to the family doctor's office. So I said, genuinely confused, "I'm-not-quite-sure-I-know-what-you're-talking-about." And she's all, through gritted teeth, "Last night... Jason came home... from hockey practice..." - which she forces him to go to, by the way - "and he refused... he refused... to remove his hockey mask."

I said, "Exactly what are you insinuating?"

And she was all, "Michael. Is. A. Bad. Influence. On. My. Dear. Sweet. Child. You. Keep. Him. Away. From. Us. Or. I. Will. Go. Out. And. Get. The. HOSE. And. I. Will. Douse. That. Little. Psycho. In. Cold. Garden. Water." She hung up the phone.

Well, so much for being civilised with each other! Golly-gee! Whatever happened to "it's a beautiful day in the neighbourhood"?

As soon as I hung up the phone, Hannibal, who had obviously been "inconspicuously" eavesdropping the whole time (in other words he was standing in the doorframe and staring at me as I conversed with Mary-Sue Vrees), came up to the couch and began his regular ceremony. "What was that all about? What did she want? What's she insinuating about me? What's she bitching about now?"

I went to bed for about an hour with a cup of hot tea and a good book, and now I'm back downstairs, waiting for Michael, Johnny and Robert to get home so we can pick from a hat and figure out whose turn it is to cook dinner.

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.