Monday, June 22, 2009

Lindsey is snarling to herself again

So yesterday my mom, my married sister and I were throwing a Father's Day BBQ for the men. Being only 1/3 of the committee, I was outvoted and the menu was largely ribs and chicken wings, neither of which I eat. (Too much work for too little meat, lots of gristle and fat mixed in...ick.) I volunteered to bring potato wedges and pasta salad, thinking I'd at least have two things to eat, albeit a major carbo load. About two hours before dinner time, my dad calls me up and asks if I can come over early to give him a massage. (That's OK, because it pisses me off if I find out that a family member is in pain and DOESN'T ask me for a massage.) I packed up my carbs and headed over to my parents' house in the mountains.

**Now, just so you have the full picture here, a family get-together in my house consists of my parents, me and my husband and two kids, my unmarried sister Sabina and most likely her boyfriend Chad, my married sister Ashley, her husband Bruce, and their three kids, and, if we're lucky, my neo-hippie brother Jesse. The children are insanely loud and the adults are sasquatches, so it's crowded and aurally painful. There are also some hangers-on who occasionally accompany this crowd of pandemonium. Jesse has a girlfriend, Addy, who is very sweet. They break up every other week. (She has two kids who I hear are super-annoying, but I have never met them. I usually don't like other people's kids.) Chad has a daughter who is 16 and likes to text a lot. He also has a mother who is bi-polar and doesn't like to take her medicine. Oh, and she takes other people's stuff and won't admit it.

As I am working on my dad's seven-mile long back (he's 6'6"), he gets a text message. Chad's mom is coming. My brows lower. I have made a finite amount of potato wedges and pasta salad! I have to hide the fly-fishing bag I use as a purse with the garage sale money in it! How rude of people to throw last minute additions onto a dinner party!
"I'm annoyed," I grumble.
My dad sighs. "Yeah," he agrees. "We'd better let Mom know."
We yell up to her, and she pauses momentarily, then cheerfully bustles about, setting another place. Last minute guests never seem to irritate the crap out of her like it does me, unless her family is coming, and then she's like Mommy Dearest. Those Mormon relatives of hers are like Stepford Wives with their perfection and it sends my mom into a dark place.

Anyway, my mood lasts through the rest of the massage, I get madder when Ashley, who is cooking the wings, shows up late and we have to wait for her to cook her stuff before we can eat. Then my potato wedges start sticking to the pan when I try to flip them, and I growl about the fates aligning against me whenever I try to cook, even if I follow directions to the letter.

But wait! Chad and Sabina show up minus bipolar mom, who has apparently swung to the anti-social end of the spectrum, my potato wedges start cooperating, and I actually try some ribs, which aren't as fatty or gross as I had previously thought. Crisis averted.


  1. Samsmama is giggling to herself while reading this.

    Seriously, uninvited people annoy the hell out of me. Especially when they are bipolar thieves. I'm a snob like that.

  2. I'm glad that you had a happy ending.

    A friend of mine was in town, so I invited a couple of mutual friends and their families for dinner. I never heard from one of them, so I assumed they weren't coming. The three of them showed up, growing our party from 6 to 9. Luckily, I had enough food, but I had to scramble for extra chairs and plates. Guess who doesn't get invited back?

  3. I'm with you on ribs and wings. Not worth it. And you can't eat either without carrying floss, because the meat in yer teeth will drive you nuts. At least it does me.

  4. That was so anticlimactic I almost cried a little where there wasn't a beat down over the wedges.

  5. Samsmama - Yeah, me too, I guess. Damn thievin' bipolars.

    Frank - At least yours were, at one point, invited. The not-invited crashers really chap my ass.

    Cary - I usually sit around digging in between my molars with my tongue, and I end up not getting anything out AND looking like Slingblade. Floss would be a better alternative.

    Audra - I got impatient during the typing of this story, can you tell? And hungry. Mostly hungry.

  6. Right, Lindsey, uninvited is the worst. That's why I'm trying to figure out a way to get myself invited to the Great Blogger Shindig in Dallas next week. heh.

  7. LMAO @ Samsmama..I'm a snob like that too!

    I am glad that everything worked out in the end for you.

  8. Yeah, I'm with Cary, can't do ribs and wings without floss...hence I carry some in my bigger than your fly fishing bag bohemouth bag. Not a fan of stuff stuck in my teeth, especially after I find out somethings been there while I've been smiling and having a complete conversation...

    Yeah, last minutes and bipolar anythings are not a good sign...bipolar, liar AND and thief...thank goodness not my possible future mother in law...however mine is just a liar and a user.

  9. Frank - I'd never attempt the blogger shindig with the fear that either I or everyone else would turn out to be babbling morons who can only communicate through the written word.

    Harmony - Yes, it all worked out except for on the scale. Turns out five helpings of pasta salad can make you bloated.

    Dawn - Your bag is big enough that I wouldn't be shocked if thirteen illegal immigrants climbed out of it every Tuesday to mow your lawn. (I'm from Aurora, IL, people, don't judge me!!) Lucky for you, your mother-in-law lives in Ohio (right?) and not in your house.

  10. Well, Lindsey, I may be a moron, but I babble less in real life than on blogs, so it kinda evens out.

    I think.

  11. Two posts into your blog and I'm hooked! Nice to "meet" you, Lindsey. :)

  12. Haha...yeah, MIL is no longer in Illinois, and no longer living with us (I swore I danced a jig when Loverboy kicked her out).

    And how did you know about Pedro and his battalion of yard workers? I pay them in mango's and salsa...because people like to say SAL-SA!


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