Ugh…

So we went to my grandmother’s 85th birthday party yesterday. It was at the assisted living facility she and my grandfather live in – near our place, so not out of the way or anything. I baked the cake; and ended up baking two cakes (one for the adults, one for the kids). These people are usually pretty up and down with their drama; although, over time I have come to give them the benefit of the doubt and think they are just coming from the position of what my Trailer Trash Mom lies to them about. Of course every time I give them an inch, they bite me in the ass for it – so maybe they are all of the same breed. Okay, they all wallow in hillbilly pig shit.

But let’s not wax philosophical about them today. Let’s talk about the Trailer Trash Momma Drama that went down at gammy’s party.

“Why Does [Poor] Nick have a film strip tattooed on his arm?”

My husband has a tattoo of a film strip on his right arm, owing much in part to the fact that he works in fucking film. He studied film in college, and has worked at a post production company for close to eight years, working in the editing and management side of the process.

For a brief time after college, my husband worked at Starbucks; although, for the entire time I’ve known him, he’s been in film. I have told my mother he works in film. My mother has seen him go to work. She has talked about the projects he does with him. She has even written down a goddamned TV show he was assistant editor on for my grandpa to watch.

But for some reason the following conversation happened between one of my cousin’s spouses and me yesterday:

“Heather, why does Nick have a film strip tattooed to his arm?”

“Because he works in film.”

“Nick works in film?”

“Yeah, he works in post production.”

“No, seriously? Your mom just told us recently that he works at Starbucks.”

This reminded me of the time we showed up to visit my grandfather at the hospital about a year ago and someone started yelling at me because my mother told them I had never really graduated from college.

For some unknown reason my Trailer Trash Mom seems to want everyone to think we are total fucking losers. I’m not saying that people who work at Starbucks are losers; quite the opposite, actually, they likely have way better benefits and job security than almost anyone in the film industry does.

But why always downplay our achievements like that? It’s a little weird.

The awkward speaker-phone phone call

Something my Trailer Trash Mom always does at a family party is call whatever family member is not present, put them on speaker-phone, then require everyone to yell “hello!!” to them.

The first time or two that she did it, it was cute. Now that it’s been ten years or so since my mom got a cell phone, and there have been countless family parties since, it’s gotten a little fucking annoying. Especially since now it always involves her hillbilly husband.

Yesterday was no exception. After walking around and sharing with everyone the many different stories about her husband’s cancerous mole on his face (the worst is the story about how the doctor supposedly showed him photos of what he would look like after the mole was removed – something doctors do not do – and claimed he would look ‘like a hideous freak of nature.’) … what does one say to the guy when he gets put on speaker phone and says “hello” to everyone?

I’m also a little frustrated right now with them because my mother was talking to him the other day and told him I got a job writing for a magazine. She detailed that it was a column about being a mom, and I heard his hillbilly asshole voice say loud and clear “what does she know about that?”

Bitch, unfriended

Towards the end of the event, I was sitting there talking to my grandma. It was legitimately 95 degrees in the room at this point, the assisted living facility having left the air conditioning off despite the unseasonably warm temperatures. They were finishing the gift exchanges and I just wanted to leave. Then my cousin’s bitch of a wife (who writes occasionally for some two-bit newspaper near where she lives) turned to me and started talking about her job.

These people have got to be the most narcissistic, self-centered people on the fucking planet. They never come to family events, ever. And while I don’t blame them, it isn’t to avoid the drama but because they legitimately believe they are better than everyone. It’s been so long that they had never met one of the children that was at yesterday’s party. She turns 6 years old next month.

(But of course everyone excuses their absences, while causing an unending series of drama if I ever miss an event…)

So she turns to me and she starts rambling on about her day job doing some marketing bullshit, and then she tells me she’s doing this article for the newspaper about wineries or something. Then she says someone suggested she quit her day job and become a full time blogger. She laughs, and then says “God, why would I want to become one of those losers?”

Indeed.

This bitch knows I write a blog. I don’t know what she knows about me beyond that, but she knows I write a blog. In fact, she is a Facebook friend.

Wait … make that was. Just a few days ago, I went on her Facebook and wished her a Happy Birthday. Sure, she’s a total bitch, but I’m still going to be cordial – something few of my Trailer Trash Mom’s family members seem to know the meaning of. Well, when I got home, I went to look on her Facebook and see just what “newspaper” she does these cutesy little articles for, only to learn that she had defriended me. Sometime between about five days ago when I wished her a happy birthday, and yesterday when she said she doesn’t want to be a loser blogger. Like those people (me).

Good riddance.

Well, happy birthday to my grandma! And may my Trailer Trash Mom’s family continue to wallow in their trailer trash pig shit they seem to wallow in most days of the year.