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A documentation of a human's existence.
Several years worth of entries. Not routinely updated.
momma drama
okaaaay well, havent i had a LOVELY day so far! oh and arent mom and the criminal having such an interesting conversation?
"well, i think you should wash it with amonia, then bleach it, then wash it normally" says criminal
"hmm, do you think that'll work? and whats in that ammonia stuff anyways?" says mother.
and just HOW did we get into this conversation? well, perhaps i should start from the beginning.

me mom and the criminal were in the car garage saling.we were all happy. i was making jokes and my mother gazed at me lovingly and the criminal laughed with me. we were one big happy family. later we went to worlds of fun and had a fantastic time. HA! Now wouldnt THAT have been pleasant? well that WASNT WHAT HAPPENED! curious of the real story? we were in the car, mom and the criminal are talking animatedly, i'm sitting in the back of the car, with my arms folded across my chest, cursing my mp3 player to the deepest circle of hell for dying ever-so-conveniently, so i would have no way of blocking out their cheerful chatter. we had been garage saling for awhile, and i got some cool stuff. some jewelry, a pretty cool directors chair, and some pins to add to my purse. so i wasnt angry about the garage sales, they were actually decent. i was rather pissed at mom though, because when i agreed to acompany her to these garage sales, she had "accidentally" forgotten to mention that the criminal was coming with us. so there i sat, staring at my hands and thinking of the music in my mind. i mean, i was kind of glad that i had come, otherwise i wouldnt have gotten all this stuff, its not as if i'm some ungrateful child, and its not like mom bought all this stuff for me. i pay for my own when i go to garage sales. but the pure happyness of the situation was kind of getting to me. oh, and one more tiny thing. everytime we got back into the car, the criminal would hold the door open for my mom, reach over her, and buckle the seat belt. do they think i'm ******** stupid? now, sure, he can be polite by holding open the door, i dont really have a problem with that. but the seatbelt thing was getting to me, the way his hands took their precious time reaching over her. uugh. shuddering over here. i believe he is being slightly more than helpful. alright, well the car stopped and we were at another sale. it was bloody huge. tons and tons of clothes. at first, i didnt pay much attention to them, i figured they werent my size, but when i started going through them they were, and they were really cool. i gathered up a bunch of tank tops, and shirts that work really well for layering things, some frilly skirts that flare when you spin around, oh and a corsett! like a real one! pretty darn awesome right there. so i gather up all the stuff, and we walk up to the table to pay ( mom pays for clothes, thats her one exception. she doesnt pass up opportunities to save fifty bucks) so as we're waiting behind a person, mom leans over and whispers
"dont let it touch the table"
"okay..?"
we get up to the table, and i hold out one of the shirts to show the person the price, but she snatches it out of my hands and, you guessed it, puts it on the table. i glance at my mom, and then she starts going
"oh, krissy you should try not to put it on the table, something red's on it" and she says this really loud so i am sure to die of embarrassment, and the people that we're paying are sure to hear us. but no, the lady who takes my clothes is stupid and keeps putting them on the table, so my mom trys again
"can you not put them on there? i dont want my daughters clothes to be stained" so the stupid ladies run their hands over the table and go
"oh, its not wet, dont worry" and continue handling the clothes and putting them into bags. so mom pays and we walk to the car, and she's getting all mad.
"i didnt say it was wet! i said there was a stain! how ******** stupid do these people have to be? i said clearly that i didnt want those clothes on the table!"
"yeah, they should keep their stuff clean, its unhygenic" the criminal adds
"i'm tempted to go back there and get my ******** money back!" mom almost shouts. meanwhile, i sit silently back in the car.
"mom, it doesnt always have to be blood. it didnt even look that color, and who could possible bleed that much all over the table, unless someone was dying?" i mutter.
"it looked like blood to me! didnt it look like that to you?" she asks the criminal
"well, it could be anything, and who knows what else has been on that table. i'd go get your money back" he says in that annoying voice of his.
"do you think i should?" she asks (duh, what did he just say??)
"yeah" the criminal says
"well, what do you think krissy?"
" i think its unnecessary, and its my clothes, so why does it matter?"
"because i want you to be safe!"
i sigh "mom, they're fine." but of course, i'm ignored.
"well, i'm DEFFINATELY going to have to bleach those clothes, and your going to have to wait like a month to wear them." she says
"a MONTH? what the heck? you used to say two WEEKS!"
"well, it takes two to three weeks for all the stuff to die off" and the criminal continue their conversation, repeating stuff over and over again like "did that stupid b***h not hear what i said?" and so on. oh, and then she goes back to the issue of what to do with the clothes, saying that she might just throw them away or burn them. hey mom, isnt that just a little dramatic? and shouldnt it be my choice since its concerning my safety? but i just sit in the back of the car. staring angrily at my hands. why must i be the one to have the obsessive compulsive mother? oh, and here's a bit of trivia for you: the criminal doesnt touch doorknobs, he keeps a kleenex in his pocket to open the doors. oh, and you know what else? i saw someone do that on a show where the guy had ocd. hmm, perhaps i've found a match here? aaaaaah! it was hard enough with one of them, but now TWO? bloody hell, i'm losing my mind over here!!! so when we finally pull into the driveway, i get out. and walk to the door. i stand there waiting for mom, i'm getting kind of dizzy, because i guess i forgot to eat again. and still havent. aaugh, but oh well. so she opens the door and i walk in, she makes me bleach my hands, of course. oh, and wash my arms off too, "just in case" and change my shirt. god damn, i liked that shirt. i hope she doesnt bleach that one too. that one's a good one. so now here i sit, at the computer. writing this, and staring at my soaking wet bracelets that are on a piece of paper. and just to prove how soaked they are, the paper is disintegrating. and the arm of this chair is wet, because my wrist was on it to hold the mouse. oh, and here's an emo kid moment for you. * heavy sigh* well, i'm going to go now, and hopefully get away from here sometime soon. hmm, i think my dad said something about tubing on that thing behind the boat. now wouldnt that be fun? maybe i can bring someone with me...yesterday when my dad mentioned it, my mom went on about how thats probably not safe since its behind the boat, and theres a motor back there, and we might sweeney ourselves. well, of course she didnt say it in those words, but that was the general idea. tune in next time ( though i wish there wouldnt BE a next time, but i'm not so nieve as to think that,) for MOMMA DRAMA!
~krissy






User Comments: [2] [add]
Cynthiasideways
Community Member
avatar
commentCommented on: Sat Aug 16, 2008 @ 08:04pm
gosh, i hope she would stop bleaching your clothes...iiiiii am gonna call you now, hopefully it's not too late to do so.


commentCommented on: Sun Aug 17, 2008 @ 04:38am
Take the clothes and run. Just take them. Hide them. Tell your mom to get help. I mean, this is getting out of hand. This osunds like some AWESOME clothes. I wish I went with you, cept she might've burnt my stuff too..
I really think your mom has more of an issue than OCD.



Meowh
Community Member
User Comments: [2] [add]
 
 
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