I am not even kidding. There’s a huge tire track right down the middle of my motherfucking foxglove. The daisies and the mysterious yellow flowers look like they got tackled by the fucking Titans. Some are dead.
I get it. You know.
I get it.
My shit isn’t shit. The things I love, my effort, it’s just some motherfucking shit that’s in the way.
I wish they loved me enough to pretend to respect me, you know?
God damn it.
My grandma, bless her heart, has voted Republican her whole life. Until now. She has become very concerned that she cannot prove that she’s a citizen of the United States, because she can’t find her birth certificate. My mom tried to assure her that there’s no problem with just ordering a copy from Cook County, but my grandma is also convinced that a copy of her birth certificate will not be good enough proof, considering all of the trouble that she feels Republicans have given Obama about his.
Shoot. I’m wondering where she thinks they’d deport her to. Who knows? Both her parents were born in Chicago. ICE will probably just stick her on the Metra at 179th and send her on into the city. That won’t be so bad.
Still, I love it a little bit that she’s all “What if they try to pull that bullshit on me?!”
If I had to say, on a scale of 1 to 10 how angrily irritated I am with my family, I would put me at a 5 for reasons I won’t go into for fear of getting to a 6 or 7. But I have just heard something that has put my irritation in perspective.
My sister-in-law is pregnant.
I swear, no matter how trying these next couple of weeks are, thinking about that makes me smile. I know that makes me a bad person. But, between the flood and the bookcases and the vacation planning in secret behind my back for reasons so stupid I haven’t even bothered to try to figure them out, my ability to give a fuck is broken.
Will my brother bother to try to make sure he’s not put on the birth certificate by virtue of him being her husband?
I am guessing not.
So, hey, I might be an aunt again!
It’s kind of exciting. In the old days, you had to wait until the baby was born to see what gender it was and to finalize a name. In my family, you wait to see who gets put on the birth certificate to see if you’re going to be an aunt again.
Shoot, I hope her boyfriend is smart enough to make sure his name goes on that birth certificate. Lord knows, that baby should not be left under the legal auspices of our family.
Edited to add: Well, I pulled my dad aside and told him that he needs to make sure that my brother understands that a woman’s husband is the presumptive father of her children unless he and the father of said woman’s child and said woman are all on the same page about who goes on the birth certificate and make sure that’s what happens. In response, my dad is considering buying my brother a divorce. This is somewhat outrageous, but also hilarious.
And, at least, a divorce settlement would mean a legal custody arrangement for my nephew and legal recourse if those arrangements aren’t abided by. So, that will be nice.