All the women, who independent, throw your hands up in frustration…

So, I haven’t mentioned that I’m moving again, probably in about 2 weeks. The rent in my generic, cookie-cutter apartment complex is going up to an amount that’s basically a mortgage. I COULD pay it, but decided to go see what else I could get for that amount or less.

Turns out, I can get the same amount of space but WAY cuter, a more walkable neighborhood, better food options, and closer to everyone I love, for about $400 less a month.

I made lists. I did math. I considered all my life factors and made a grownup decision. When I talked to my therapist, she told me it sounds like the perfect choice for everything I’ve said is important to me, including my budget and mental health.

NO one in my family is happy for me. Everyone got some shit to say.

Today my grandfather offered to let me move in with him, basically rent free, saying my new rent is “still a lot of money,” and my dad chimed in and said, “Yeah, can you imagine putting that amount in the bank every month? After 5 years you’d have, what, $60,000?”

Um…$60,000 for WHAT, exactly? My retirement to an institution because I haven’t had sex in 5 years and have gone insane living with a 90-year-old man who watches home shopping at full volume all day and lectures me about my sodium intake?

It’s a VERY sweet offer, honestly. I’m incredibly grateful. If I am ever in any form of dire life straits, obviously this would be a lifesaver. (Speaking of which, I’m not a total asshole — Granddad doesn’t need live-in help; his health is probably better than mine.)

But I know my family, and this is a goddamn trap. I love my grandfather, but dude IS the patriarchy. I’ve lived alone for 5 years, sir, sometimes unemployed, and the beauty of that particular soul crush is, you learn to fucking handle your bid-ness. I don’t know what kind of helpless, broke-ass princess they think they’ve raised, but I ain’t havin’ it.

I am going to live alone, and walk around naked, and stay up too late, and binge watch My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend on weekends, and hopefully have noisy, raucous sex followed by salt-laden Indian takeout at the first available opportunity.

NOW. If you’ll please excuse me, I gotta go throw my hands up at Destiny’s Child.

“I’m gonna dress you up in my [self] love…”

And speaking of party dresses…

Whenever you put on a piece of clothing, look in the mirror, and think, “Is that MY body? GodDAMN, I want to have sex with myself!”, you need that garment in your life.

Perfect mindset for tonight’s family party, no? (Hush, there’ll be other people there.)

Via LOFT:

I’m dreaming of a white (trash) Christmas…

Family Time, Day 2.

Wine rations are low. I am texting friends:

Me: “I’m in a car listening my mom and grandfather talk, and ‘Disco Duck’ is on the radio for some reason. So… I’m just gonna jump out of the car and hope for the best.”

Friend 1: “BWHAHAHA.”

Friend 2: “Holy shit, that is amazing. Godspeed.”

Me: “The conversation literally just went from houses in the city Grandpa worked on back in the day, to this area being ‘right near where Butch’s* friend was murdered,’ to ‘I have to go to that Indian doctor later this week.'”

Friend 2: “I look forward to your alone time. That is a lot to process.”
*When you’re white trash (as I am), there’s always a Butch. Fact. I know two. If you’re really lucky, you’ll get a “Butchy.” But you have to BELIEVE.

Family rally cry? Family rally cry.

I know you guys aren’t on my side with the country music, but I think we can all agree Pistol Annies have been reading my journal as we approach my family’s Christmas dinner. This is my new favorite song to sing in the car. (Shut up, I am SUPER hot when I have twang.)

“Well, Daddy’s reading propaganda
And he’s talkin’ ’bout the end of days
Well, cheers to the vodka Mama’s been sneakin’,
Let’s all gather ’round and pray.

“So I snuck out behind the red barn
And I took myself a toke
Since everybody here hates everybody here
Hell, I might as well be their joke.

“I’m gonna dance up on the table
Singing ‘This Little Light of Mine’
God gave it to me, what good’s it gonna do me
If I don’t, by God, let it shine?

“Hide your tattoo,
Put on your Sunday best,
Pretend you’re not a mess,
Be the happy family in the front pew…”

“Hush hush, don’t you dare say a word
Hush hush, don’t you know the truth hurts
Hush hush, when push comes to shove,
It’s best to keep it hush hush.”

“What would we do, baby, without us? Sha la la la…”

I just got called “cold” and had Sad Singleton noises made at me when I mentioned to coworkers that I consider Thanksgiving weekend a short vacation, not family time, and that I hoped my family didn’t host dinner, because I’m looking forward to relaxing alone.

“Jeez, some people LIKE spending time with their families.” Hey, good for them. I am not one of them. Sorry, is my childhood trauma bothersome to you?

For me, Christmas is the family holiday. I will happily (well…) attend. But a pregame four short weeks BEFORE Christmas? Having my parents insist on family “closeness” now that they’re older, not realizing they were my age 25 years ago while they were inadvertently teaching me NOT to value family? Sorry it’s not my top priority as an adult.

(I know I don’t have to attend either holiday, but skipping both is more of an emotional hassle than it’s worth. Plus, ham.)

Thanksgiving weekend is for me to sleep, watch movies, and cook something delicious, not to drive 2 hours to make shitty small talk or silently ponder which mood medications my father should be on.

I can be thankful and reflective by myself. It’s better than being asked if my ex is seeing anyone, hearing how much my family misses him, and explaining to obscure relatives looking at me quizzically that I “recently” ended a long relationship. Oh, and don’t forget what a good mother I would’ve been, and how maybe I’ll change my mind — that is not at all like being punched in the uterus. (Also, c’mon, my eggs aren’t exactly fresh from the farm. They’re, like, Walmart eggs at this point.)

Besides, I promised a friend who’ll be spending Thanksgiving with HER family that I’d be her on-call getaway car if she needs an extraction (SEAL Team Smug!). So I’m not the only one not singing “Kumbaya” for family time.

BTW, yes, if you know me, “cold” is exactly the right word. I am a complete, dead-inside asshole, and people I love mean nothing to me. You nailed it.

 

In which Three Olives is my interim therapist

You say “day drinking my feelings” like it’s a BAD thing.  

#FamilyTime

#TherapyIsDandyButLiquorIsQuicker

#CheeseIsAlsoHelping

The family that medicates together, stays together.

Dear Pharmaceutical Companies,

If you created a special antidepressant for Family Time, maybe something with quaaludes in it, and insisted it be taken with a shot of Jäger for maximum efficacy, I would ask my doctor if it was right for me, and would gleefully give you all my money.

I suggest calling it Lextrapro, but obviously you already have your own splendid ad strategies, so feel free to Don Draper this shit as you see fit.

Just something to think about while you’re working on more erection pills.

Best,
Smug

Limited time only, family two-fer value pack!

I’m spending the day with my family.

Perhaps this is just coincidence, but I’m also repopulating my entire Amazon wishlist with Xanax and bourbon.