I'm Starting to See a Pattern.

And it's not a knitting pattern. It's a July 4th Weekend pattern.

Before I start, though, I need to mention two things that have nothing to do with the past weekend but nonetheless are contributing to the fucked up state of mind I'm in right now. One, it really requires an assload of backstory to truly understand, but suffice it to say that I've got a couple of dear relationships that are weighing on my heart pretty hard right now.

And two, after typing on this blog entry for about 40 minutes via my Wii internet connection (since the kids were watching something from Netflix on the PC), I discovered that nothing I had written got saved. Thought it happened automatically, but I guess not. Gah, I hate that. Totally par for the ubershitty course of my day.

But anyway, back to why I'm starting to hate the 4th of July.

Two years ago, Tito got lost in the dark after the fireworks and scared the shit out of me.

Last year, Aldigirl kicked over a chair and FIL tried to make me as mad at her as he was.

Oh, and may I just point out that the Aldis were conveeeeeeeeniently absent from this year's festivities? Just as I will find a way to be conveniently absent in 2009. And forevermore.

This year topped them all, friends.
TOPPED. THEM. ALL.

I haven't told ANYONE this story yet. Not even KOFA, who so often hears my stories as they unfold or shortly thereafter.

Let's begin with Friday. R and the kids and I were invited out to my friend Maeby's parents' house. We were going to go to the local parade that Maeby and her daughter would be in, BBQ and hang out. Wasn't our neck of the woods, and her parents had never met us, so there was potential for disaster there. Plus, ya gotta know, it's not really R's thing to hang out all day and be social with total strangers, but he handled it brilliantly because he knows how much I like hanging out with Maeby. And I thanked him. He was awesome. Truly.

Anyway, we didn't stay at Maeby's for the fireworks because it was a really long day and R was kinda Peopled Out, but we had a great time. Her family was fantastic and it was a lot of fun. Beeb even got to flirt with her son a bit, which was adorable.

So after a long day at Maeby's Mom and Dad's, I had to pull it together and go out to Chez Inlaw for the big Fireworks party the next day. I couldn't seem to wake up, so I kinda tried to pump myself full of caffeine so I wouldn't be a slug when I got out there. It's all part of my Game Face.

This was Supremely Bad Idea #1.

I got really jittery and I could feel my hands shaking and my heart pounding and my jaw was starting to hurt, so what did I do? I took a trusty Xanax. On an empty stomach.

Supremely Bad Idea #2.

I could (and should) have taken half of one instead, but I needed it to start working fast and I wanted it to last long enough for me to ease into the evening. I meant well, really. But it knocked me out. BIG time.

I was the kind of tired that you only get on Thanksgiving, when you eat until you pass out watching football, you know what I'm talking about? I just wanted to curl up and watch football, only the Cards/Cubs game was on instead - even better! And Mr. Lexus was there, so I figured he'd be into it too and there'd be two votes for baseball. Awesome.

So I got up from the table - where the topic of conversation was POOP, I might add - threw away my paper plate and plastic utensils and went over to the sofa to watch the game, happy as can be. At one point, FIL asked if I was feeling okay, and, surprised that he cared, I answered, Yeah, I'm okay, I'm just really reeeeally tired.

Supremely Bad Idea #3.

Later, and I don't remember how much later, but I think it was when R and I were walking over to put our blankets down and stake out our spots for the fireworks, (which were scheduled to start in about four hours - yeah), R quietly brought it to my attention that FIL was upset with me.

Jesus Christ, what now? What'd I do?

According to FIL, when I'm a guest at his house, I NEVER offer to help clean up after a meal.

Never. EVER.

In almost twelve years, not once have I offered to help clean up.

Do I even need to point out the utter fucking absurdity of this statement? I mean, think about it - in all that time, dontcha think at one point I might have ACCIDENTALLY helped clean up, even if I really didn't mean to? COME ON! But according to FIL, I'm a big fat lazyass and R needs to lay the smackdown.

Ok, first of all, Dickless, FUCK YOU.

I kinda figured since we're all adults and perfectly capable of picking up our own paper plates and plastic utensils, there really wasn't a whole lot of cleaning up that needed to be done, that I could see. But I'm truly sorry if you expected me to remove your paper plate for you so you wouldn't have to, y'know, stop talking or anything.

Secondly, got static with me? Fuckin bring it TO ME. Don't be a pussy and talk to me only through your son.

But ya know why FIL won't ever confront me directly? Because he doesn't have the history of blind submission that he gets from his wife and children. No, I'm a loose cannon. He can neither control nor predict how I'm going to react to him. And he can't handle it. Simply put, he's afraid of me. And he should be. I'm sick of his reign of terror. I'm plotting a revolt.

That's why I'm really careful not to drink too much when I'm out there. It doesn't take much for my filter to turn itself off. And yes, I actually do have a filter, believe it or not. If I got drunk and he wanted to start shit with me, I may just say something like,

Y'know what, Bag O' Douche? YOU's the one who never lifts a goddamn finger to help clear the table. You sit there and talk and talk for a million hours all alone at the table while the rest of us clean up the kitchen. Do you even know where the fucking sink IS?? And y'know what? I would so much rather wash dishes than sit and listen to you. I would rather wrap my naked body in barbed wire and roll around in fiberglass. I'm just (hiccup!) sayin'...

But instead, after I got back to the house with R, I got down on my hands and knees, in full view of FIL, and picked up every single crumb off the floor under the table. YES I DID. Happy now, FIL? Nope, he wasn't. But I didn't care.

You do NOT want to get into a Who Can Be A Bigger Passive-Aggressive Asshole war with me. Have we ever talked about how competitive I am? Not sure if we have...

So just to go a step further, I had a private moment with MIL and I totally spilled my guts.

"MIL, I'm sorry I didn't offer to help clean up. And I hope you don't feel that I never help out..."

She clearly had no idea what I was talking about. Interesting. I went on.

"That's how it got back to me, through R, and I feel especially bad for him because it puts him in a tough spot. I know he wants to defend me as his wife, but he doesn't feel like he can. And that breaks my heart.

"Just to let you know, the reason why I'm a little out of it today is because I'm on some pretty heavy [note the emphasis]... anti-anxiety medication ... for reasons that I'm sure I don't need to explain, and it's making me a little groggy. I wasn't going to bring it up because I just really didn't want to talk about it and I don't think it's anybody's business, but I wanted to tell you because I wanted somebody to understand why I'm not my usual chipper self."

And here's what she said back. Ready? She said,

You know what, Sarah? I can't get anything right either.

And thank God I had taken the meds because they slowed down my tear production. Otherwise I would have been a fuckin basket case.

I don't know if she said anything to FIL or not (and it may well have been Supremely Bad Idea #4), I hope she did, but I kinda doubt it.

The rest of the evening, I don't even really remember because even though I knew I'd done all I could do to smooth things over in an equally passive-aggressive manner (i.e. via an otherwise uninvolved messenger), I was still kinda seething. But the kids were good, the food was good, the fireworks were good. We didn't get home until after midnight.

And I don't really care if I ever go back again.

I've also noticed that we haven't been invited to Aunt Huggy or Aunt Drama's yet this summer. I'm going to look at it this way - I'm sure they want to invite me because, let's face it, I'm kickass. You WANT me at your party.

But, if they invite us, then they'd kinda have to invite MIL and FIL and The Aldis, and well, they suck. So they'll give up a shot at a kickass party just to prevent royal suckage.

Sigh. I hate when my coolness jacks up my social life. It's a curse.