I Kid, But My Dad May Need Drugs After This

You all may recall that though many of my people have had their battles with booze and drugs, only one of us has managed to regularly get in and out of rehab.  And in and out and in and out.

And this same relative recently was on the front page of my dad’s hometown paper talking about his battles with addiction.  My dad has not read the article.  As of five seconds ago, I have.

It’s exactly the kind of bullshit con-artist crap you’d expect from a lifelong drug addict who’s got no real desire to change.  Shoot, it’s not even that, yet, it’s still all about how he’s working on being able to forgive the people who’ve done him wrong, and not one word about the marriage he wrecked, the kids he fucked up, or the terrible things he put my aunt and uncle through.

He claims to be adopted.  He was actually taken in by my aunt and uncle after his parents (my other aunt and uncle) divorced.  He claims to have been given drugs by a family member.  Considering that he’s among the oldest of my cousins and that no one in the generation above him even drank, this is on its face laughable.

He also claims that until this program, he never spoke about his past, which again, is laughable since he’s always trying to get money out of my family by throwing giant pity parties for himself in which he goes on about how poorly he’s been treated and how rough his life is.

Well, I will say this, if he’s going to lie, thank goodness he’s telling people he’s adopted.

Heh, you know, it’s kind of funny in a sad way that he can’t just be honest with himself and the rest of the world, because he didn’t have that great a life and if he’d just talked honestly about his parents and their divorce and his troubles, it wouldn’t make his battle with drugs any less understandable.  But instead, he’s going on about the hippies (I should point out that his dad was born in the 30s.  The closest my cousin ever came to a hippie family member was my dad, who, bless his heart, could not identify the smell of pot if it were lingering on the clothing of his own children, let alone doing drugs with his nephew.) and how shitty his family life is and having lived in a group home before he was adopted (which I’ve never heard of before now.  I’ll have to ask my dad.)

I guess the reason it pisses me off so much is two-fold.  One–my parents were his hippie liberal relatives and my parents don’t even drink.  He came down and spent summers with them from the time they were married in ’69 until after I was born.  To insinuate that his hippie relatives introduced him to drugs is a lie about my parents.  And two–he’s a nightmare of a person who has ruined a marriage and his children.  For him to have the guts to talk about how recovery is all about him finding ways to forgive the wrongs done him?!

Get thee to an NA meeting jackass and work on begging the forgiveness of your poor kids. 

Advertisements

Is It Wrong to Drug Your Father?

“You need to read that Tim Allen article in the new Reader’s Digest.  He talks about how he was irresponsible before but now realizes that part of showing people you love them is by leaving things better than how you found them, like by wiping up around the sink or cleaning your hair out of the drain.”

“Tim Allen’s got enough hair to clog his drain?”

“No, you.”

He goes upstairs to take a shower.

“Are you using my red towel to wipe your hands?”

“What?”

“The red towel.  Are you using the red towel to wipe your hands?”

“I don’t even know where the red towel is.”

“So help me, if you’re using the red towel to wipe your hands… That’s my towel.”

“I am not using the red towel to wipe my hands.  I don’t even know where the red towel is.”

“It’s the one right here by the toilet.  But there are two perfectly good blue towels right by the sink you can use.”

“Oh, like the blue towel right by the sink that you said yesterday you use to wipe the floor around the toilet with?”

“Well, yes, but they’re obviously very different towels.”

Obviously. 

America, this right here is why I don’t wipe up around the sink.  Who the fuck can figure out which towels you’re allowed to touch, which towels are sacred, and which towels are used to wipe up around the toilet before they’re hung back up in their own special spot right by the sink?  I’ve just been using the paper towels he’s also got sitting by the sink because I dare not risk discovering there’s some special Dad-ass-wiping towel just hanging where a person might mistake it for a place to wipe her hands after washing them.

Two Funny Things My Mom Said

1.  Friday night we played rummy and my mom acted like she could hardly even see the cards.  Tonight she whipped our asses.  When asked how come she could mysteriously see better today than two days ago, she replied, "Well, tonight I’m sitting downwind of the light."

2.  My mom took a bunch of her first and second graders to see a play this week.  Before they left, she asked, "Can anyone tell me how to behave at a play?" 

One little boy answered, "Don’t cuss and don’t flip anyone off."