Friday, April 04, 2008

SWAMP THING IN THE HOUSE.

Aiiiiight, before we begin, if you haven't read my post from yesterday, please take a minute now and read it so you can get a sense of exactly what I'm fuckin dealing with here. I promise you it's totally worth your time.

Back? Fuckin crazy, right? Did I tell you??
Ready for the next chapter?
Ok, good.

I woke up this morning and laid in bed for a while, debating whether or not to put any effort into cleaning my house for Camille's visit so I don't have to hear her point out just how fuckin slovenly I am. Like I need to be reminded.

And I thought, FUCK NO. You fuckin show up at my HOUSE and invite yourself over THE NEXT DAY, you get what you fuckin get, ya little bitchlet.

I'd practiced my lines. I was totally prepared for Camille to say "Sarah, don't you ever clean your house??" And my out loud response (which I was reeeeeally hoping to be able to say in front of Swamp Thing herself) was going to be,

Well, Sweetheart, when you don't give me very much TIME to fucking GET READY, this is how it is.

And my inside-my-head-voice would say, And if you don't like it, missy, you can walk your bratty ass the 1.02 miles back to your OWN house, where it's clean. So either shut the fuck up or get the fuck out. Your choice.

I was confident as I pulled on my Power Panties this morning. I even passed on the Xanax. I went into total Game Face Mode. Don't for a minute think I'm above kicking a 6-year-old's ass. I'm not. I'm a nonconfrontational pussy, I know, but I'm pretty sure I can mess up a 6-year-old if it came down to her or me.

The whole time I was in the Odyssexy on my way to drop Tito off, my mind was drifting between remembering the brilliant line I'd come up with and experimenting with just how I was going to deliver it, and the thought of seeing Anti-Stella for the first time after she read my last post. And let me just say, she hugged me just a little longer than usual... kidding.

So I came back from dropping Tito off at school, and...

THE SWAMPMOBILE WAS WAITING IN MY DRIVEWAY.

Not at 9:30. At 9:12.

So, apparently her house is not only missing a PHONE, it's also missing a FUCKING CLOCK. What is she, fuckin Amish?
(fuckin Amish sounds funny, doesn't it?)

So I park and get out and I'm trying to get Camille into the house as quickly as possible without opening the door wide enough for Swamp Thing to sneak in behind me. I shuddered as I felt her cold boney hand on my back and heard the gravel in the blender:

Can I be nosey??

Huh?

I just wanna see your backyard!

And kids, I have to confess to you that for half a second, the petrifying thought that she had somehow stumbled across paragraph three of yesterday's entry quite literally stopped my heart. Then I realized that she meant my ACTUAL backyard. The one behind my house.

Um, sure...

Would have been WAY funnier if I had just dropped trow right then and there, wouldn't it? I totally should have. But anyway, I brought her inside and began speed-walking toward the back door. She stopped.

Oh, Sarah!! I LOOOOOVE YOUR DINING ROOM!!! It's probably just as big as... (almost in a stage whisper) well, it may even be BIGGER than mine...

It is.

I explained that the hideous wallpaper in the dining room came with the house, I always feel obligated to point out to visitors that the orange and green Bird Of Paradise print was SO not my choice. I don't know why I care, really. I did keep that shelf paper in the pantry.

Then she stepped across the entryway into the living room. She touched my furniture. She patted my ottoman. She squished my pillow.

Get your hands off my stuff, sister.

Oh, you've got SOOOO much ROOOOM!!!!

I wished I had taken a Xanax or three. I wished I could have had ample time to somehow acquire and train a pet rat to scamper across my living room floor on cue.

Meanwhile, Swamp Thing Junior is running through my house screaming, BYE, MOM!! BYE!!! GO, MOM!!!!! YOU CAN LEAVE NOW!!

My sentiments exactly. Get the fuck out so I can blog about you. My vast readership is eagerly awaiting an update. Only this would be the time she DIDN'T bend to her daughter's will.

Just a minute, Camille! I just want to see Miss Sarah's cute new house!

Not the backyard anymore, THE HOUSE. I fuckin knew it. But I'm still trying to lead her through to the patio door as quickly as possible without physically dragging her by the hair.

Oh, the backyard's right this way...

(Gasp) IT THAT THE MASTER BEDROOM?
ON THE FIRST FLOOR???

Um, yeah...

(Gasp) And do you LOVE it???

Actually, we...

CAN I JUST PEEK???

Yeah. She peeked. In both of my walk-in closets.

She saw my yarn stash, and my bras hanging from my doorknob. If I'd known she'd be stickin her head in my bedroom, I'd have left some kinky sex toys out on the bed or something. I wished we had a trapeze in there. And shackles on the wall. And a stripper pole. And a disco ball. And strobe lights. And a smoke machine.

By now it's 9 fuckin 40, and we're still not in the backyard. FUCK.

So I finally got her out of my bedroom and beelined it toward the patio door. Our patio is a mess, but it's been raining for like a month straight, so I didn't feel that bad about it.

She came out and took a gander at my glorious backyard. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but her house is on the side of a huge hill so her "backyard" is basically her driveway and a really steep slope that's covered in brush where no kid could ever actually play.

They can't play soccer, can't roller skate, can't ride bikes because they're on top of this ridiculous hill that wears me out walking up it. I park on the street and walk up so I don't have to either back the van out or turn around in the driveway. So I can understand why she'd be envious of the yard that we got with this house. It's nice and flat. And fenced. And we have nice neighbors who take care of their yards too. It's a park-like setting, really. I love it.

See, I pretty much summed up the backyard and its awesomeness for you in about three sentences, right? She went ON and ON about how nice it must be to have such a great yard where the kids can play.

Yeah, I said (just to be twatty), it IS nice. It's great. That was one of the things that was reeeeally important to us when we were looking for a house.

Like most people with three kids.

We're looking forward to the warmer weather, so R can barbecue on the built-in gas grill that came with the house, too.

Stab. Twist.

She admired my Magnolia Tree. And she thought the other tree I have by the patio might be a Weeping Cherry Tree. The only thing she saw wrong with my backyard (and I KNEW there'd be something) was that my tallest tree has a knothole in it. And of course you know that means the whole tree could rot out and land on my house. So I'm gonna need to keep an eye on it. Thanks.

We stood out on the patio for several minutes. I wished it would rain. I wished for a house to fall on her from out of the sky, like in The Wizard of Oz. I wished a fuckin Winged Monkey would snatch her up and fly away. I smiled slyly to myself as I imagined her flailing helplessly in the Winged Monkey's grasp and the sound of a gravelly blender trailing off into sweet, beautiful silence.

Then we came back inside, and she stood in my kitchen for a full ten minutes. And I swear I was trying to take good mental notes for blogging purposes, but for the life of me, I can't remember how she got onto the subject of varicose veins.

Oh, wait, I remember. I said something about how I usually eat standing up. It's funny, really. On our vacation, we parked the Uplander and I stepped outside to eat my lunch standing in the parking lot. She mentioned that she also rarely eats sitting down, and coupled with her retail job (at a store I don't shop at anymore), all the time on her feet had given her HORRRRRRIBLE varicose veins.

Now you're all visualizing Swamp Thing and her varicose veins, aren't ya? Well, if I had to suffer that visual, y'all are gonna have to suffer along with me.

And then she told me about her sister in law and how her varicose veins were so bad she had to have surgery, and then about two months later she had these horrible, painful clots and her legs were so swollen and purple she couldn't feel them, so she went back to the surgeon and you know what he told her? He told her there was Nothing. He. Could. Do.

Ever pray for a whole swarm of cockroaches to crawl out of the woodwork and dance across your kitchen, wearing little bitty top hats? I'm gonna guess not. Well, I HAVE.

Seriously, why would she (or anyone, frankly) think that was an appropriate topic of pleasant converstion? Like I wanna HEAR that? How am I benefitting from this information? Ick. Just, ick.

I have never met anyone so unbefuckinlievably ill-mannered. She has absolutely no concept of how to function in fuckin polite society. How could she have gone her entire life with NO ONE ever showing her how normal people behave? I mean, I'm no Emily fuckin Post, but show some basic fuckin etiquette, Bitch!

Show a little fuckin respect for people's time and privacy. How basic is that? Seriously.

I would actually love to know if she treats everyone like this, or if I'm the lucky one. I guess she thinks we have some sort of especially close relationship, although I can't imagine what I might have done to give her that impression, other than give in to her ambush playdate requests. Maybe she's figured out that the only way she can get people to say yes to her is if she fuckin backs them into a corner and scares the crap out of them.

This too-niceness bullshit is a total fucking curse. I'm tellin ya.
I'm such a fucking pussy, all I could do was wish for crazy shit to happen. That's the only defense I have. Pafuckinthetic.

She left at 10:05.

Thank God I drew the line and didn't show her the upstairs. I might have accidentally pushed her down, just like Baby Jane. Oops.

17 comments:

Poops said...

Next time you want ST to leave:

"You're just in time! I was just about to start my daily devotions! Will you join me?" and then kneel down with some rosary beads, maybe light a candle in front of a Bleeding Jesus and pray like your life depended on it.

Religion scares people. Use it to your advantage.

Unless she's Catholic. Then you could have a bigger problem on your hands.

Penny Karma said...

I fuckin love you, Poops.

Nell said...

HAHAHAHA!!!! I love the idea of your prepping in power panties.

And I especially love how even her kid wants to get away from her!

Poops said...

I want to know more and more about the Swamp Thing. What's she like, you know, down inside.

Please turn the tables on her. Show up in the Swamp with your kids, announce a playdate, ask her to put on a pot of coffee and find out every little tiny weird-ass detail of her life. Check out her medicine cabinet and the drawer in the nightstand. See what magazines she subscribes too. Search for a hidden stripper pole or a disco ball.

I have got to know what makes her tick.

I think she'd make an excellent project for you this summer.

turtlegirl76 said...

I love Poops too. Good God that's hilarious.

Batty said...

She looked in your closets. Unbe-fuckin'-leavable! Baby Jane really does come to mind. Particularly with a quote from the interview that followed the success of the movie: "Pushing Bette Davis down the stairs was the best thing I ever did."

Now, I have images of you standing on the landing with a self-satisfied grin with swamp thing twitching at the bottom of the stairs -- not so much because she's hurt but because her clothes are wrinkled.

Aimee said...

I just realized something. She has NO FRIENDS. No one. Her kid wants away from her. Her husband probably works late and weekends to stay away from her. Maybe we should feel sorry for her and treat her as the charity case she is - and feel good about how we are being SO nice to such a pathetic thing?

Of course we would still plot her doom and destruction in our heads.

Wow. She has balls. Big. Brass. Balls.

Anonymous said...

Delurking from South Africa. We have a Swamp Thing neighbour. Visited us up to three times(sometimes more) a day until my mom scared her away. What bliss. Now we can cook in peace(she always cooked better, baked better, cleaned better etc etc)and complete work in time for deadlines. The other people in the street and neighbourhood don't allow her further than their front gates. There will come a time when you will have to tell her(gently but firmly) that you don't really have anything in common with her and that you and your family are busy with your own lives and activities. Try to gradually end the children's friendship . Get one of those phones that tell you who is phoning or if you can, change your number! Try to change your routine to avoid her, You will still see her from time to time at school. Just be firm and say you can't socialize now, play date - you have another commitment. Or you can be really nasty and introduce her to one of the other mothers that you don't like and hope they become best friends and leave you alone. People are really interesting - she must be be very lonely and unhappy. Alida

Kevin C said...

Damnit, woman! I knew I should have trademarked unbe-fuckin'-lievable! Oh well, too late now.

If she asked to see my house, I'd probably have had a dual-part conversation myself.

"Well, I don't know. I didn't have enough time to clean..." or set the booby-traps. "Maybe if I'd had more notice..." I could have found a way to avoid you. "Maybe next time..." I can think of a good way to pummel some good sense into you. "Or at least purge your social ineptitude from this plane of existence." Oops, was that out loud?

When you mentioned this to me yesterday, I seriously wondered if you'd shown her the upstairs. Hell, even I haven't seen the upstairs!

Oh, and just a thing about the dining room wallpaper: I wouldn't have noticed it if you hadn't pointed it out. I've been there several times, even eaten a whole meal in that room (with everyone sitting down, no less!), and still couldn't recall what it looked like even after you described it. My point? Just because you hate it, it doesn't mean it's as hideous as you find it to be.

Oh, and here's my Captcha verification: geybfggl. What is that, homosexual dating internet search by cell phone text message? Is this really a convenience the world needs?

ZantiMissKnit said...

Had she started telling ME the varicose vein story, I would have shown MY Social Graces and puked all over her shoes. I can't hack vein stories, or kidney stone stories, or any of those ooky medical thing stories.

Cindy in Happy Valley said...

Bad news...the Amish around us have both phones (usually in the barn), and clocks (in the house) and are way better neighbors than ST.

Cora Zane said...

She peeked in your closets? *_*

Carina said...

That kind of stuff is when I get rude. I think it's the only language they know.

I have a potential ST myself, one of the Brownie moms who's latched onto me for some reason. I feel bad for her (probably being abused by her husband), but it's not my job to fix her. Ugh. Hard to know how to draw the line, you know?

SiressYorkie said...

Reading these last three entries is JUST like watching any movie with Samuel L. Jackson...the F word is used so many times it actually stops traffic and creates its own rating system (WARNING: this movie contains 514 instances of "fuck"...parents, keep the youngin's at home).

PK, I know standing up to people is NOT easy when you have an anxiety problem. BELIEVE ME, I know. But a few days ago I did the impossible and stood up to my mum when she started in on her "you were always trouble" song and dance. I stayed remarkably calm and rational, and she shut up and stalked away.

I think some people just keep going and going until you say NO. They honestly don't know any better. SwampThing and SwampSpawn sound like they have boundary issues because they've never been introduced to the concept. You and me, we're all about the boundaries. Setting them is easy. Enforcing them...not so much. It takes practice, but your sanity (or whatever you're using for sanity...I use Sanity Substitute because I can't afford the real stuff)is worth a LOT too. Look how much energy you're putting toward someone that drives you spare.

She's just. Not. Worthit.

Oh, and I'd never use the toilet after her either. *shudder*

Ferris Family said...

I have the name and phone number of a Jehovah's Witness... We can try to arrange a housecall...
I'm over here dying! Dying!!! I can't believe she invited herself on a tour of your home. Dude, that woman has the balls of an elephant.

DomesticOverlord said...

I have one of these people. Mine is trying to convince me that she's not a neo-nazi even though she very clearly is. She's mean, horrible, racist, and was possibly thinking of stealing my older child while she was unable to get pregnant. Luckily she finally got pregnant and now I hardly see or hear from her.

P.S. Her soon to be kids is going to be named Faust. I swear it. She gave her dh three choices and that one was the least awful (rejected names: Damien and Adolf).

You see, it could be worse.

Ed said...

"Can I be nosey??

Huh?

I just wanna see your backyard!"


LMAO
still gasping for air.

Poops has a good Idea but I'd be wearing a buka and have two mats facing mecca.