Living with a drunk is fun (NOT)

I'm not drunk...

I\’m not drunk…

There are so many ways to list how living with a drunk is not fun. Notice I didn’t use the term alcoholic. There’s a definite difference between the two (I’ll save that for a different post). I don’t live with an alcoholic. I live with a drunk. And there are so many ways to list how it’s NOT fun.

Of course no two drunks are the same so your list may be quite different than mine. I will also be adding to this list on a regular basis, I’m sure. But as of this minute, here are my top reasons why living with a drunk is not fun.

  • You may have your headphones on so I can’t hear your depressing and sappy music, but I can hear YOU. Listening to you singing the depressing and sappy songs at the top of your lungs really sucks. You’re not that good of a singer under the best of circumstances. Now add the headphones and the crappy song selection and I’m ready to rip those headphones off your head and stuff them up your arse.This just in: You are NOT a rock and you are NOT an island, no matter how many times you sing the song; no matter how loud you sing the song. Some smart guy once said that no man is a fucking island.
  • I can hear you (not just the singing). You might think you are mumbling incoherently under your breath, but you are really talking in your “out loud” voice. Actually, you are  talking in your “at top volume” voice, and I can hear the snide remarks, the sarcasm, the stupid comments–all the bitchy things you think only the voices in your head can hear, well, I can hear them too. They are not endearing you to me.
  • Only dental patients, stroke victims, and people without tongues should slur their words as much as you do. Of course we wouldn’t notice if you’d just keep your mouth shut and be drunk in silence. But no, you have the wordy squirts, which is, just so you know, another giveaway that you’re DRUNK.
  • You’re turning me into an alcoholic too. Do you want to know how I try to cope with your bullshit? I drink. Gee, I wonder where I learned that from. Of course I would classify myself as an alcoholic, but we can get into that later. It really pisses me off that what used to be a nice glass of wine at the end of the day to relax has become a nice bottle of wine at the end of the day to cope.
  • I have two kids. They don’t have the same name. You profess to love each of them so is it really that difficult to call them by the correct name? It must be difficult when you’re drunk. Yes, the Young One does notice that you always call him by the Big One’s name when you’re drunk. I’m sure it won’t affect him in the long run.

There’s more, but right now I have to go stuff your headphones up your arse and find a way to keep you from slur-talk-singing to the boys. Who have different names.

11 days and counting

11 days and counting until Mother goes home. Since she’s packed, unpacked, and repacked her three suitcases, her mood has greatly improved–she hasn’t been bitchy at all. In fact, she’s been uncharacteristically helpful. Doing dishes, taking the boys, helping with the new pooch–it’s positively eerie. I guess the prospect of leaving and heading home has changed her outlook.

This is a good thing. Of course I’m conflicted about her leaving, but having her here just hasn’t worked out. Of course, the little diner down the street just posted a “Help Wanted” sign. Where was that sign 3 weeks ago? (sigh)

The goose will probably miss her the most. We’ve told him that she’s going home and even though he says he understands, how can a 5-year old really grasp the concept of work/money/happiness? To him, happiness is watching “Transformers” for the upteenth time while putting himself into a sugar coma by drinking his body weight in Capri Sun. I want him to remain this way for a while longer–ignorance is truly bliss.

So I have 11 days to take advantage. Meshegne and I are heading out this evening, leaving Mother with the bear (the goose is going with daddy). I can cook up a few more outings for mommy and daddy while she’s here. 🙂

Invasion of the soul snatcher, part 2

It’s been one week. And mother and I have already started the bickering, eye rolling, complaining, bitching and fighting that makes up the bulk of our relationship. Saturday had us moving her crap in the rain. Of course it rained…why wouldn’t it? Then the storage unit she swore would only cost a penny ended up being $52. I guess it evened out, however, since the U-haul was only $27. Since Saturday we’ve barely managed to be civil to each other. Things have been said, feelings have been hurt, rows have ensued.

Only two more weeks to manage, however. L’il bro stepped up and booked her a flight back home on the 16th. She lasted one year here. Maybe she’s right…maybe things will be better for her back home, even if she is 1500 miles away from us.

I hope the next two weeks go better than the previous week…

Invasion of the soul snatcher, part 1

Well, it happened a week earlier than we expected. Mom had to move in last night. I thought I had seven more days until the fun bagan. That’s not how God’s sense of humor works, I guess. So we had a fun evening—not only did she come last night, she came loaded. How she could buy alcohol, with no job and no money (since I did see her spend the $20 I gave her at the store) was beyond us. Of course, as the conversation regarding her prospects continued and Meshegne and I kept “badgering” her, it came out that no, she was not drunk. She was high. Isn’t that nice? L’il bro’s leftover gift from when he came to visit two weeks ago. Remind me to thank him for that.

Needless to say, the evening was NOT a success. She stormed off to sulk and pout, in the dark (of course—no good martyr would have it any other way). Meshegne and I, we had a nice little shag. Our non-verbal way of communicating to each other that we weren’t going to let her emotionally drain the household this time around. She has a gift of bringing everyone down (except the boys, who are impervious, thank God). If she’s miserable, God dammit, everyone should be!

Not this time.

Invasion of the soul snatcher = 0
mi familia = 1