News at 11: Catfight at local bar
All right, so we've established I have a very messed up family, and really, is it any wonder I decided perhaps it might be a good idea to get some professional help? Now, since I was on my dad's insurance at the time, we did the co-pay route. That meant I went to one my stepdad recommended. However, the person I requested wasn't taking anymore people, so I got someone straight out of school, I swear.
Why do I think this? Well, she insinuated my problems with dear old stepmom was from jealousy. Yeah, no. My school counselor said the same thing, but the problem is neither one had met the woman in question. (This is the woman that was about 160 lbs and wore a midriff and daisy dukes out in public. She's rouuugh, too. Seriously. Oh! I can show you the pic. *runs off to get the link* Here you go. Don't consume food or drink while looking, unless it's brain bleach.) They also pooh-poohed the maternal influences in my life. Sure, I bet they have a usually drunk mother. I'm so sure. And a manipulative godmom. Really, I wanna see their personal life credentials.
I went to the lady for about four months, once or twice a week depending, before she came up with the bright idea of getting all my family together. The list includes: me, dad, mom, stepmom, and godmom. My stepdad was invited but decided that it would be safer out of the line of fire. Bless his heart. He had the right idea. I told the therapist that it was a very, very bad idea. But hey, what do I know? I only live with the people.
So we're all sitting around, trying to let me unload all my problems they've forced on me (why it wasn't done individually, I'll never know). But I do it, and surprise, surprise my stepmom turns around and starts attacking my mom and godmom. Saying this that and the other. Riiiight, bright idea, genius. I have a temper like my mom, only it's hard to set off, so when my stepmom got in my mom's face, pointing at her and calling her a drunk, I knew no good could come from this. My dad, unsurprisingly, was silent the whole time. Daddy doesn't talk much, he thinks about things before commenting. My mom and godmom who normally never get along were together in beating the bitch who made my life hard. Never mind it was because I was their property. Anyway, long story short, the meeting broke up soon after because my mom was ready to deck stepmom. It got ugly fast. And I never went back to the therapist, as she never called to schedule another appointment, and it's not like she has a single brain cell anyway. I didn't miss her too much.
Now this was in January of 98, I think. On Valentine's Day, I got a call late at night. My aunt was calling to tell me that my mom was seen at the bar trying to attack my stepmom. Normally I wouldn't cheer my mom on, but stupid stepmom went into my mom's hangout for the past 20 years and thought she'd be welcome. Apparently, Aunt's (that'd be the recently dead one) friend said my mom froze up when she saw the couple come in, and was trying to be cordial when my daddy (bless his dumb heart) stopped by to say hello. They were talking low, and all of my sudden my mom comes out with "No one treats my daughter like that!" and ready to start swinging. For the record, mom? Was drunk off her ass, but that's not unusual. Aunt's friend said, "whoever her daughter is, I wouldn't want to her mom after me." The friend had no idea that the one ready to fight was my mom. It was pretty priceless apparently.
Right after my godmom hung up with aunt, my mom called. She explained a lot of the same things my aunt had told, but there was more! You see, they did start cat fighting, or nearly as one could in the small space. My dad was trying to move my stepmom out of the bar (and hee! she was permanently thrown out of the bar after that), and my stepdad was holding my mom back. Bad, bad idea. Like colossal. You see, we've all told R (stepdad) that when my mom's fighting, just let her finish it. Don't stop her, don't attempt it. Bad, bad. Apparently, he didn't listen. So while his trying to hold her back, she reached around and grabbed him by the balls. Oh, that's not the worst of it. My mom has long, rounded sharp nails. So imaging them squeezing him really hard. It had to hurt, especially since he was attempting to keep my mom held at the same time. Mom was told to go out of the bar for the night and come back when she'd calmed down.
See, this is when it's useful to be a regular. Hell, I went into the bar looking for my mom when I was something like five, cause I have vague recollections of it. And I went in as a high school senior because of who she was. After I got out of school, she and R would meet up for drinks, so around 3 we'd go over. I loved it, honestly. Seriously, I knew half the patrons for most of my life. Nice and convenient. Though, kinda skeezy when someone my dad's age was hitting on me. Damn rack brought the pervs.
Now, my stepmom, bless her dumbass self, said that never happened. Never mind we had an independent source tell us the same story. To date, the best Valentine's Day present ever. Seriously, who could top that? My mom fucked my stepmom's shit up for trying to emotionally abuse me (okay, fine, she totally did) when I was her property, and for calling her a drunk when my stepmom moved in my dad after knowing him a grand total of a month and had gotten her eviction notice a month before she met him. Oh, and my dad and stepmom? Met at the same bar she was banned from. Haha! But that's a story for another time. A good story though.
This? Is a normal day in the life of me.
(Oh, and to clarify, the bar is really a redneck honky tonk. So imagine the fight in that kind of setting.)
Why do I think this? Well, she insinuated my problems with dear old stepmom was from jealousy. Yeah, no. My school counselor said the same thing, but the problem is neither one had met the woman in question. (This is the woman that was about 160 lbs and wore a midriff and daisy dukes out in public. She's rouuugh, too. Seriously. Oh! I can show you the pic. *runs off to get the link* Here you go. Don't consume food or drink while looking, unless it's brain bleach.) They also pooh-poohed the maternal influences in my life. Sure, I bet they have a usually drunk mother. I'm so sure. And a manipulative godmom. Really, I wanna see their personal life credentials.
I went to the lady for about four months, once or twice a week depending, before she came up with the bright idea of getting all my family together. The list includes: me, dad, mom, stepmom, and godmom. My stepdad was invited but decided that it would be safer out of the line of fire. Bless his heart. He had the right idea. I told the therapist that it was a very, very bad idea. But hey, what do I know? I only live with the people.
So we're all sitting around, trying to let me unload all my problems they've forced on me (why it wasn't done individually, I'll never know). But I do it, and surprise, surprise my stepmom turns around and starts attacking my mom and godmom. Saying this that and the other. Riiiight, bright idea, genius. I have a temper like my mom, only it's hard to set off, so when my stepmom got in my mom's face, pointing at her and calling her a drunk, I knew no good could come from this. My dad, unsurprisingly, was silent the whole time. Daddy doesn't talk much, he thinks about things before commenting. My mom and godmom who normally never get along were together in beating the bitch who made my life hard. Never mind it was because I was their property. Anyway, long story short, the meeting broke up soon after because my mom was ready to deck stepmom. It got ugly fast. And I never went back to the therapist, as she never called to schedule another appointment, and it's not like she has a single brain cell anyway. I didn't miss her too much.
Now this was in January of 98, I think. On Valentine's Day, I got a call late at night. My aunt was calling to tell me that my mom was seen at the bar trying to attack my stepmom. Normally I wouldn't cheer my mom on, but stupid stepmom went into my mom's hangout for the past 20 years and thought she'd be welcome. Apparently, Aunt's (that'd be the recently dead one) friend said my mom froze up when she saw the couple come in, and was trying to be cordial when my daddy (bless his dumb heart) stopped by to say hello. They were talking low, and all of my sudden my mom comes out with "No one treats my daughter like that!" and ready to start swinging. For the record, mom? Was drunk off her ass, but that's not unusual. Aunt's friend said, "whoever her daughter is, I wouldn't want to her mom after me." The friend had no idea that the one ready to fight was my mom. It was pretty priceless apparently.
Right after my godmom hung up with aunt, my mom called. She explained a lot of the same things my aunt had told, but there was more! You see, they did start cat fighting, or nearly as one could in the small space. My dad was trying to move my stepmom out of the bar (and hee! she was permanently thrown out of the bar after that), and my stepdad was holding my mom back. Bad, bad idea. Like colossal. You see, we've all told R (stepdad) that when my mom's fighting, just let her finish it. Don't stop her, don't attempt it. Bad, bad. Apparently, he didn't listen. So while his trying to hold her back, she reached around and grabbed him by the balls. Oh, that's not the worst of it. My mom has long, rounded sharp nails. So imaging them squeezing him really hard. It had to hurt, especially since he was attempting to keep my mom held at the same time. Mom was told to go out of the bar for the night and come back when she'd calmed down.
See, this is when it's useful to be a regular. Hell, I went into the bar looking for my mom when I was something like five, cause I have vague recollections of it. And I went in as a high school senior because of who she was. After I got out of school, she and R would meet up for drinks, so around 3 we'd go over. I loved it, honestly. Seriously, I knew half the patrons for most of my life. Nice and convenient. Though, kinda skeezy when someone my dad's age was hitting on me. Damn rack brought the pervs.
Now, my stepmom, bless her dumbass self, said that never happened. Never mind we had an independent source tell us the same story. To date, the best Valentine's Day present ever. Seriously, who could top that? My mom fucked my stepmom's shit up for trying to emotionally abuse me (okay, fine, she totally did) when I was her property, and for calling her a drunk when my stepmom moved in my dad after knowing him a grand total of a month and had gotten her eviction notice a month before she met him. Oh, and my dad and stepmom? Met at the same bar she was banned from. Haha! But that's a story for another time. A good story though.
This? Is a normal day in the life of me.
(Oh, and to clarify, the bar is really a redneck honky tonk. So imagine the fight in that kind of setting.)
Labels: family
posted by Jessie at
9:32:00 PM
10 Comments:
Where the hell is Patrick Swayze when you need him?
Probably Too Wong Fooing.
Wow, girl, you do have stories!
The stepmom?
I'd say Tammy Faye Baker-ishy looking
WOW! I saw this on Springer didn't I?? Im from a little town in South Texas, and let me tell you, when stuff like this happens....yeah, I leave them be.
*laugh* Probably did see it from Springer. South Texas, depends on the side. Stepdaddy's from San Antonio, you'd think he'd know better, wouldn't you?
And Nancy, don't I? You'd be surprised at the stories I have. Eventually, I'll tell them all. *grins* What until I tell you the story about my daddy and stepmama's meeting and marriage, from that pic.
*snickers* She has that very ugly hair, olive skin tone I guess is the color, and wore...eggplant purple. Scary, innit? And I wouldn't insult a dying woman with comparing her. Even Tammy Faye thought she wasn't a beauty queen.
Now imagine the woman in the pic wearing the midriffs and daisy dukes...at 45.
Ugh, don't even get me STARTED on therapists. I tried them out when I was a kid (supposedly I was too depressed and mopey to be normal), and the sessions made me feel worse about myself than I already did. Then I started them again this year, under the advise of my school, and let me tell you - my therapist doesn't know jack shit. It's funny, because all the advice she's given me I've pretty much blatantly ignored, because I know it's not going to work (I've tried it before) - and yet, when a lot of my personal problems cleared up recently (all on my own doing, under NO prompting from my therapist), she was like, "See? See what therapy can do? It can change your life!" And I'm thinking, "Shut it bitch. You have absolutely NOTHING to do with my recovery." Yeah, did I tell you she's kinda mean and judgmental too? Bleh.
All the therapists I went to (three in total by the time I was 16) were jokes. Seriously. Well, maybe not one, since my dad didn't like the drive to get there, so I only went a couple times. That was...when I was 14. But the other were like they refused to listen to the teen sitting in front and just had verbal diarrhea. I told them I needed to be on pills for depression, and no one listened to me. "Talk it out" was the key phrase. Well, sure, but that's not gonna do jack shit if I'm sliding deep *and* going to therapy. By the time I was a freshman in college, I'd almost had three mental breakdowns. My family was just too much, and in fact, I flunked that year because the depression slammed full force back into me.
I wanted to be a therapist for awhile, but went "Not so much" when I thought about it. I'd choke some of the fools that came my way. Or subjected them to cleaning the cat box without gloves. I don't think anyone would want keep me on after that. I'm a tad too vocal and I was born without a tact gene.
Yeah, I had a mini breakdown last year (which was why my school told me to start therapy) - it was due to the extremely nosy mom, and that's not gonna change anytime soon, but I've been trying to live with it. Ick. Sometimes I wish I didn't have family alive - things would be much easier. I do feel bad saying that, though. :)
I completely understand. I really do. I hate saying it, but sometimes I kinda wish I was born fully formed from someone's head. It'd be much easier than family bullshit that weighs on you so heavily you can't move. Manipulative moms can wreck serious havoc. Like a bulldozer at a toilet display.
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