Here we go 'round...

..The mulberry fucking bush.

So, after another brief sojourn to another, shall-remain-unnamed blog site, where I found myself fending off people who I apparently knew in high school, looking me up. WTF? I didn't like you then, why assume things have changed in the 13 years (Lordisa, I'm fucking OLD) since we graduated? Anyway, my 14 year old niece looking me up was the kicker. I'm all for honesty in relationships, but I cannot comfortably drop the "fuckmotherfuckerfuckshitFIRE" bombs, where I know there is a good shot she'll see it. Besides, I'm sure I've used up any free passes on the potty mouth train, in her actual presence.

I swear, I will NEVER do this shit to my kids. I'll find new, and inventive ways to totally fuck with them.

Again, the president of Bob-Land came by the house 2 days ago. I've recently started my own business, because, if I don't have at least 3 things too many to do in a day, I'm not happy. Long story, or, at least, slightly shorter, I'm sewing, and some of the material I'm using, has skulls on it. Apparently, my mother, instead of being thrilled that I've started a business, and that I'm actually sewing, which, 2 christmas's ago, the fact that I DIDN'T sew, when "It's not like I didn't teach you how to, you know", took center stage in the long list of all the ways I've been a disappointment, is "terribly upset with you".

Part of me wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, get out, and if she's got something to say, she can say it herself, cuz, she's like, totally, being a butthead, and is no longer invited to my birthday party, but, the masochist gossip monger in me, just had to know, especially since I thought I'd been on my best behavior lately, staying out of the line of fire.

But see, that is where the crazy bitch gets you. I think, that things have been a bit better, we talk occasionally, and it's not stilted and awkward, so I think, "Hey! Things are cordial, if not downright friendly!". Every time. I fall for it everytime. As soon as we move past the superficial shit, and by that, I mean, anything more personal than, "It's hot today", I'm screwed.

Apparently, my choice of fabrics, has her, once again, convinced I'm going to hell, without even the courtesy of a handbasket.

I almost, almost lost my temper. By that, I mean, I didn't walk out the back door, and tell him to be gone by the time I came back in, and keep the crazy bitch away from me. I did, however, drop quite a few, "What the fucking hell? She's lost her damn mind, AGAIN!", and then, followed it with a crack about moving furniture around in the basement, so as to provide enough room for a symmetrical pentagram, in which to sacrifice the goats.

When the fuck, does this merry-to-round END? I'm starting to think, when one of us is dead. I am so frustrated by the fact there just doesn't seem to be a way to fix this, other than me having a lobotomy. I am me. She is, crazy, I mean, her. The two are just oil and water. I am a decent person. Yes, I have a potty mouth, I'm not always patient, have a tendency to spend too much money, and I really like smelly cheese, but overall, I'm an OK gal. I'm funny, occasionally, well-read, and, according to my husband, when asked why he married me, "fun to hang out with", LOL.

She stopped by today, to pick up my oldest son, her barely-disguised favorite kid in the world, for a sleepover, and couldn't have been less friendly. Not rude, never that, at least, not on major holidays, but just...*sigh*. You could actually see the heavy cloud of disappointment hanging over her head. I'll never win, I know that, and that is actually OK by me. I just wish that I could remember this game, because while I seem to occasionally forget we're playing, but she never does.

EVER.