Once Again, The Weight Is Lifted
Today will be a day to exhale...
Because the last three weeks worth of days were spent biting my tongue and feeling the burn of being angry about something but not able to do much about it.
Here's the deal...and as soon as I use the word "stepdaughter" in this story, you will all immediately know exactly where this is heading...
The stepdaughter is moving to Minneapolis from Duluth, and that's fine and good and all--the more distance between she and me, the happier I will be. (And I know that "she and me" is not proper grammar--I was having a poets moment...)
So stepdaughter and the boyfriend (a kid I truly enjoy--he is great and I'm so sorry that he hooked up with her) found an apartment and the boyfriend found a job and they were good to go...except, the apartment wasn't going to be ready for a few weeks and, (owing to the stepdaughter's winning personality, I suspect) they were sort of kicked out of their current place.
This brought the stepdaughter to our door...just to have a place to stay until moving day. And what do you do in a situation like that? When the kid has made a very big scene about how they can't wait to get the hell out of your house, and blah-blah-blah, and they are never coming back, and yet, there they are, and they actually need some help and its only temporary and you'd feel truly evil to say "no" at a time like this, soooooo....she moved in. For three weeks.
Now, what I would have hoped for, in my mind of perfect-world fantasy, is that said stepdaughter would have recognized that after the huge scene about her leaving and never returning because we are so awful, that on the occasion in which she was forced to accept our hospitality, that she might show a little humility, maybe a dash of sheepishness, or maybe admit that we're not so awful, what with us doing her this huge favor and keeping her from having to live on the streets.
But that fantasy, so optimistically floated, was dashed against the rocky shore, pretty much immediately.
You know how she always pissed me off before? How I wanted to ring her neck approximately once every other week? Well, this time, for the whole three weeks, I wanted to smash her face against a door frame approximately every 6 minutes. You know that old bouncer trick, where they are throwing somebody out of a bar, and "Ooops!" hit the door frame with the offender's head on the way out? Yeah...like that...
So allow me to exhale today, and share some of the stupidity--because I have to laugh at the stupidity, or I'd have been in jail a long time ago. In the three loooooong weeks in which evil stepdaughter stayed with us, there is probably enough blog fodder to write for, well, three weeks, allowing just one amazingly bitchy thing per day, but I'll just skim and give you the highlights:
One day, while everyone else was at work or school, the evil stepdaughter went INTO MY ROOM, browsed the goodies on my vanity table, saw my camera there, and decided to take a bunch of pictures of herself, all posed and freaky looking, while lying on the floor under the coffee table.
First of all, Ew! Secondly, IN MY ROOM??? Are you fucking kidding me? And you went through my stuff? Can I just kill her? And its not as if she tried to cover her tracks or anything--there were 20-odd truly icky pictures of her still on the camera when I used it later in the week.
Last week, I had a day off and was home when the kids got home, and was witness to the most amazing interaction between Evil Stepdaughter and Punky Shoester--it was over some chore that had been assigned to little Punky, by me, her mother. Evil Stepdaughter began speaking to Punky AS IF SHE WERE HER MOTHER, right there in front of me, about her doing the chore. Punky advised that she was going to do said chore, right after a half-hour of violin practice, to which the Evil Stepdaughter replied that she'd better ASK DAD first!
Punky was a tad taken aback by this statement and said, "well, my mom is right here..." and STILL, the bitch insisted that the child would first have to clear it with Dad!
Um...what the fuck?
Then, one day, while Evil and I were the only ones at home, I was making myself a little lunch--just warming up a bit of leftover whatever--when the Stepdaughter asked if I had any plans for lunch.
I replied, "Well, I'm just having this..." indicating the leftovers, of which there was only one serving, and she said "yeah, but after you eat that, there won't be any left for me."
Yes...and your point is?
You see, if you make a big deal about moving out and how you're an adult now and all that, I ASSUME that you can fucking feed yourself and I don't have to plan meals that include you, but NO! She actually got all pissed at me for not creating a delicious and nutritious meal to her specifications, then called the boyfriend and told him that he "had to" take her out to eat because I wasn't sharing (not that the fridge wasn't full of a bunch of other leftovers that she could have eaten). She then waited impatiently for boyfriend to arrive and they went to fast food, brought it all back to the house, and proceeded to have a buffet on the coffee table.
Yeah, that will teach me not to share...
The girls got their school pictures back the other day, and my daughter was not happy with hers and wanted a re-take. I agreed to this, based on the fact that she looked a bit cranky in the photo and it wasn't her best work as a model. The stepdaughter? She looked at the picture and agreed that yes, we should probably have them taken over, not because The Diva didn't look happy, but BECAUSE MY DAUGHTER'S SHIRT (which she had purchased while shopping with her grandmother) WAS INAPPROPRIATE!
Yesterday, the last full day of fun and refreshing interactions with the crazy psycho, was chock full of "I'm just going to kill her" moments...for starters, Punky was watching television, took a bathroom break and came back to discover that the Bitch had turned off the television, put some super-crappy music on the stereo and told my daughter that "the parents" said she could. No, she never asked...just a complete lie from a pathological liar.
Stepdaughter then proceeded to go online and change a bunch of settings on the computer, stating that SHE didn't need all those icons on the desktop (Not your fucking computer, bitch!) and so she moved and/or un-installed some stuff that the rest of the family regularly uses.
Meanwhile, my husband was doing Evil the HUGE favor of replacing the transmission fluid in her car, a HUGE favor because A) my husband has MS, and had taken his shot of interferon, which makes him sick and he was not feeling well,and B) replacing the transmission fluid in a 1992 Sunbird is a pain in the ass, even for a healthy person.
Not only did she NOT assist him with this in any way, but she also stood around, tapping the foot impatiently because SHE didn't have time for this and had things to do before she moved, but it HAD to get done, so hurry up! And no, she would not run to the parts store to get a particular thing that was needed for the job.
She wonders why I hate her guts with seething anger?
At the same time all of this was happening, I was basically just hanging out in the house, doing dishes, an act which prompted the Bitch to say, "isn't that Punky's job?" like I, Punky's mother, was not in charge of when it is, in fact, Punky's turn to do the dishes.
Evil stayed on the computer for a good chunk of the day yesterday, while I wondered to myself...aren't you supposed to be packing? I mean...when I move, packing is pretty much all I do on the day before... After a couple hours of really strenuous online gaming, she got up and indicated that she was in a HUGE rush now, that she had run out of time, and that everybody should all assist in the gathering of her things and help her load various items onto the truck.
This was a command to which we all reacted by sitting quietly on the couch, watching Torchwood, and waiting with frayed patience for her to just go away.
(By the way...Torchwood? Freaking love that show...I would definitely need a better reason that the verbal battering of some hideous c-word to make me miss it.)
Anyway...she's gone. Again. And I would hope for a fiery crash on I-35 this morning that would cause her to be decapitated, thereby sparing the rest of the world her evil, but she has her cats in the car with her, and I don't want to chance having them injured in any way--they can't help who adopted them.
To those of you who live in the Minneapolis area, I'm sorry. You probably will never run into her, but if some miracle happens and she gets a job, you'll know her by the "customer (meaning everyone other than her) is always wrong" attitude that she projects.
If you should happen to accidentally run over her with a city bus, call me and we'll get together for drinks...