…my mother is BATSHITCRAZY.
“Sometimes when I open my mouth, my mother comes out. #fml“
Correction: She’s just BATSHIT because even CRAZY wants nothing to do with her. #ohhellsno
Some might think that I am being unduly harsh on my mother – to those readers – don’t worry she will get her chance to tell her side. I’m thinking around Christmas time – I’m going to need every ounce of holiday cheer to get through that post. especially since she’ll probably make me type it for her. Isn’t that a trip – typing your own obituary. Few people ever get the honor. maybe it’s because they’re already dead. #killmenow
My mother and I have always had a difficult relationship. Screw difficult. It’s been downright hostile. We make the Cold War look….well…WARM. #yesiwentthere
My mother has three “moods”: relatively happy, completely miserable, and insanely furious. And like the weather, she can be very unpredictable (notice how I didn’t say bipolar). I love my mother, but I love my sanity more. Thus if I have to choose, I’m going with the latter.
Ok, back to the story at hand.
My room was a mess. I’ll admit it. I was trying to audition for Hoarders (the tv show). I almost made it too.
My room looked like a tornado and shoe-nami had a drunken one night stand in my bedroom. #ihopetheyusedprotection
But in my defense my room was full of stuff – clothes, shoes, books basically everything I had collected over the last 7 years from everywhere that I had lived. It was NOT trash, but it did contain things that could have been thrown away after a careful sorting process that involved a box of wine and a trip down memory lane. #boys #beanies #baddecisions
And before you ask, yes I am capable of cleaning. I’m actually quite fabulous at it – at least according to my former boss. I cleaned bathrooms in college. for one week. and by week I mean 2 hours during that week. The pay was awesome but manual labor is not my forte. unless it involves my mouth. #tipsaregreatlyappreciated
My mother had been nagging me to clean my room for months. It got to the point where I would give her a limit of 5 times per day that she was allowed to bitch about my room and then she was forced to move on to other things. like my weight. #FML
So back to that fateful holiday weekend.
My mother and I made an agreement that I would clean my room by the end of Memorial Day weekend with a hard deadline of the following Wednesday because we had company arriving the following weekend. #wehaveadeal
Until she grew impatient. And by impatient I mean my two year old nephew looked like Ghandi peacefully meditating in the desert after a 30 day fast in comparison.
I arrived at my room just in time to see her shoving my laundry hamper amongst other things into the hallway.
Perplexed, I tried to move the items back into my room as I asked her, “What the heck are you doing?”
As she continued to try to toss things into the hallway she responded, “Helping you clean your room.”
As I watched her almost manic fervor to empty my room I realized that this was a no win situation. I had two choice: let her loose in my room like a wild animal or spend the next hour in a screaming match.
It took me all of 15 seconds to decide. I told you, I got my sanity’s back. #alldayeveryday
So I responded, “I have to go workout with a friend. Knock yourself out.”
My mother froze. She looked completely flabbergasted. This is normally the part where ALL hell breaks loose. I could see her trying to strategize her next move.
And then it happened. My mother came up with a brilliant idea. I mean it was GENIUS.
She said,”I’m just going to throw everything out of the window.”
As I watched my mother climb on top of my bed in her fancy nightgown with her hair still wrapped in her head scarf I thought to myself, “This woman is BATSHITCRAZY.” And at that moment I realized that nothing in my room was worth losing my sanity over. And I won’t lie, I secretly wanted my neighbors to witness the crazy that I live with every. single. day.
S0 my final parting words to my mother, as I watched her frantically tugging at the window screen, trying to pry it off: “Have fun, but don’t break anything.”
And then I left. It’s one thing to let someone throw your entire life out the window its a whole other thing to watch. I may have my “happy, happy. joy, joy.” mantra but there are not enjoy “happys” or “joys” to stop me from launching a nuclear attack if I have to watch her throw my Fendi bag out the window (Don’t worry, it has a parachute. For the price you pay, it better come with collision insurance.)
Ironically, the only item that survived was my scale. Because apparently being able to weigh myself is more important than having oh, I don’t know…sheets, pillows, a hairbrush, shoes, clothes, a hair brush, underwear, books, did I mention a hair brush?
Y’all know how much I love my weave. #triflin
Oh, and I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. My mother still expected me to give her a ride to the airport that evening – because why WOULDN’T I want to be trapped in a tight enclosed space (also know as a car) with the woman who had literally chucked EVERYTHING I own out the window?
Most people would wait until AFTER they need a favor BEFORE pissing off the person they need the favor from.
Not my mother.
According to her, she did me “a favor” because now my room was “clean.”
NO crazy lady, its not “clean”, its motherfucking empty.
So, ladies and gentlemen….
Welcome to my BATSHITCRAZY life. on steroids.