Deep Conversations with Beau

Sometimes I don't know who's ADD is worse, Beau's or mine. I'm the one with the optional pills (that I take before a long meeting), but I like to think ADD suits me when multi-tasking at work. Beau, would prefer to be more focused, except of course, when I'm trying to talk to him.

Setting: Beau and J. are sitting in a booth at a favorite local restaurant that features 30 kinds of buffalo wings.

J: So, I've been having a lot of trouble with my stomach lately...

Beau: *staring intently at J's face*

J: And I've been trying to figure out what's going on, because it's really causing me a lot of pain...

Beau: *starts to slowly lean toward the right, still intently starting at J's face*

J: And you know, I don't want to take those stupid stomach pills because of how they make me... *watches Beau continue leaning to the right while now lowering his head and peering up at her* ...Uh, what are you doing?

Beau: Huh?

J: What are you staring at?

Beau: Your nose. *indicates nostrils*

J: *self-consciously touches her nostrils and feels nothing* What? No hairs are sticking out.

Beau: No, not really sticking out...

J: What? Do I have a big booger? I'm trying to talk about my stomach here...

Beau: No, the hairs...um...you ever seen a starfish? When you turn it over, you ever seen its mouth?

J: Are you saying my nostril hairs look like a starfish's mouth?

Beau: Yes. Just like how its mouth has these interconnecting, you know... like the hairs in your nose. *interlaces his fingers for a more dramatic effect*

J: Argh!

K-Mart Woes!

In the continuing spirit of "Customers Who Suck," Spongie sent me a hilarious letter of a "customer," who loved to be a dick while at K-Mart (and was actually pretty damn funny - I'm just glad I don't work there!)

- Click on the image to blow it up to a readable level -

Shop-n-Buy-Bye

So, I've given my two weeks notice in at Shop-n-Smile. Hooray! And I can say in all honesty, it was one of the biggest moments of relief in my 3+ decades of life. Now, the job isn't a total nightmare - I've had worse - but it has gone on so steadily for six months now, and has changed me from a normal person into a constantly-exhausted drone who is beginning to detest the human race - so it's probably a good time to quit.

Not without a fair amount of guilt though. Since Beau couldn't substitute teach or drive a school bus all summer, our income took a nose dive and we've had a tough few months. He's back to subbing - and surprisingly, already nabbing several jobs, but he's not driving the bus. And of course, he's still working at Wally World, a job he just might possibly hate even more than I hated Shop-n-Smile, since he works even longer hours there than I do, and also due to the fact that 95% of their employees are either total assholes, complete dumbasses, or both. So, by my quitting Shop-n-Smile, it guarantees another loss of income and kind of locks him into Wally World for awhile (though I have repeatedly pleaded with him to find something else). I just really really need a rest. I think I'd like to go back to a second job in a few months, maybe around the Christmas season (Barnes & Noble again?), but right now I just need to be able to go to my 9-hour day job and come home at night and have a normal dinner and just NOT work. I'm tired.

One surprise is that all my managers have risen up in this sort of group-lament-entice-me-back kind of thing. In the past couple months they started to let me know just how much they value me there, but once I put my notice in, suddenly I'm employee of the universe. Sunday night my manager looked truly sad, and kept saying, "Isn't there anything we can do? Please stay. You're one of my favorite and best employees." The next night, the female boss said, "You're the only employee I can trust to do a good job. This is awful." And last night, a different male boss said, "Have we done enough to try to get you to stay? Remember you get 10% off all those Christmas presents! Is it Shop-n-Smile or something personal? What can we do?"

This is all very flattering, of course, but you have to weigh it against the fact that more than half the staff is below the age of 19 and act about half that. They do a piss-poor job and piss and moan at everything. I wouldn't want to supervise them, no fucking way. One guy last night said he could finish his area (1/3 the store, not including apparel) in "about 20 minutes." My combined areas are domestics and housewares. It takes me two full hours to do domestics alone (housewares considerably less). It would take me about 20 minutes just to leisurely walk the aisles of my area. So, I work hard and do a good job, but I probably look even more stellar next to my co-workers.

Another reason I want to quit so bad is because, like my short-but-insanely-intense time at Target, working in retail makes me HATE people, and sadly, women much more than men. I have seen people do such disgusting, rude, insensitive, inconsiderate shit, day after day. Just last night while folding rugs, my nose was assaulted by the smell of a discarded Wendy's meal, complete with open barbeque sauce packet, shoved behind a rug. WHO the fuck DOES that?!?! You'd like to think that it's a rare thing, but in reality, it's not. It just makes me sad, really. Deep down I want to be Anne Frank and truly believe that we are all basically good, but increasingly (just in the past six months alone!), I have seen so many examples of human indecency. Yes, indecency.

Besides the various half-consumed food and drink I find discarded, people are also constantly breaking, tearing open, pulling apart, and just messing up various items in the store, then shoving them in various "hiding" places, often in a different area than it originated. One of the ones that pisses me off the most is curtains - of which we have a WIDE selection. Despite the fact that a full-sized sample of EVERY. FUCKING. CURTAIN. is hanging right next to the rows of packaged ones, people STILL rip the curtains out of their packages to have a look. Now, if YOU can't get the thing back into its packaging in a neat, folded way, how the hell do you think *I* can? I'm not some Vietnam factory worker who has mastered the kung fu art of curtain folding/packing. And now the product is basically ruined, since who would want a curtain that has been stuffed unceremoniously into a plastic package, and now resembles a wrinkled ball of dirty laundry?

The other thing I detest is the general attitude of so many customers. Kevin wrote a wonderful, satirical piece on the many aggravations of working in an Italian restaurant and dealing with bullshit there. Beau and I had a somewhat academic discussion the other day on how the U.S. has developed such a strong service culture, and how it has sort of mutated from "the customer is always right" to "the customer is a fucking privileged, entitled fuckwit who must be given every demand and allowed any detestable behavior, or else!"

When studying abroad in France back in 1995, it took about 10 seconds for our group of 14 Americans to notice the harsh contrast in Europe's service culture. No, we weren't always right, we weren't always given a big smile and perfect service, and apologies were rarely forthcoming (along with the "we took that off your bill" or free meal many expect). When at an Asian restaurant in Gdansk, Poland, (yeah, I know, I was 22), I specifically (as I always do) asked for NO ONIONS! When my dish came, complete with onions, I complained politely. The waiter gave me an annoyed look, shrugged, and said, "Minimal!" before clomping off fin a huff. I just sat there, mouth agape.

There's just so much DEMAND now - demand, defiance, and entitlement. I have come to hate people with a sense of an entitlement just as much as I've come to hate arrogant or snobbish people, but they kind of all go together. And along with that entitlement is a sense in the United States, that we should have unlimited choice! Years ago when a Swedish friend, who had been living in the U.S. for awhile said, "God, it's just so convenient here," I didn't really get it. When I finally lived abroad, I really did. Not just choice in products, but the fact that things are close, transportation is (often) good, things are open very late or 24 hours, things are cheaper here (especially food, clothes, and home products), etc.

Of course, in part I blame Wally World. It has given people SO much choice, and such low prices (along with being open ALWAYS), that people have become spoiled. Example, female customer the other day:

FC: "Where are your kitchen rugs?"
J: "Right this way; I can show you." *leads her to the row of rugs, as instructed by Shop-n-Smile* "There you go."
FC: *Woman gazes at entire row of kitchen rugs, of which there are about 30 different kinds in various patterns. She pinches her face together and says, "Oh, is this IT? I thought there'd be more."
J: "There are actually several more along that wall right there" *pointing to wall featuring another 30 rugs in various colors/sizes*
FC: *Woman makes another snooty face* "Oh. Hmmm. Still."

This is not an atypical scene. I've noticed that if things are not DIRT cheap, or come in 64 colors, a la Crayola, people get instantly pissy. Shop-n-Smile has FIVE rows of bath towels/washclothes/bathroom rugs. FIVE! You can just imagine how many different colors that entails. People still come in and complain that there aren't enough colors. Especially if it doesn't happen to match THEIR bathroom. At that point, I just want to put my fist through their face.

This also happens with other things like sheets. For the most part, Shop-n-Smile sells the standard sheet set containing: fitted sheet, flat sheet, and two pillowcases (sometimes also with two shams). We also have SEVERAL rows of these sets, which range in quality from crappy-dorm-room sheets to super-high-end-for-company sheets, and all in between. Sateen, satin, flannel, 100% cotton, 100% polyester, half and half, micro-suede, jersey knit, etc. (do I know my shit, or what?). We have entire sheet sets for as low as $7.50, and as high as $100 (though the latter is constantly on sale for much less). Still, I can take people to a display of fairly decent sheet set for $20, and they are instantly offended at the price. Personally, I think that's a lot for $20! Yet, so often I have had people get huffy that they are "that expensive." Again, fantasies of pushing these people off a cliff enters my mind frequently.

So, I'm glad to be leaving Shop-n-Smile. No, overjoyed! The two weeks I have to wait are really torturous, and since I've been given extra shifts, feel like it's just DRAGGING. I do have to thank Shop-n-Smile for some things though. Like, for giving me a job in the first place when I needed one and there weren't many options. And two, for almost single-handedly furnishing and outfitting our apartment with everything from a dining room table, to dishes, bath towels, bed sheets, a shower curtain, picture frames, gardening and camping equipment, and various small appliances like my beloved little food chopper (pesto!). Beau and I had almost NOTHING with us when we first moved in. Now it finally looks like a home and the kitchen and bathroom have what they need. And I got almost all of it either on clearance or at the best price possible (along with my added store discount). That is a blessing. Too bad it took up a good chunk of each paycheck.

And please, in parting, let me speak to ALL women out there: Don't be ASSHOLES! Please! I know men do bad stuff too, but after my experiences at Barnes & Noble, Target, and Shop-n-Smile, the culprits, by FAR are women. Please take care of the following:

-- If you accidentally drop a shirt on the floor, Pick it the FUCK up and hang it back up. We're not your servants. Were you REALLY raised that way?
-- If you want to take out 10 rugs and spread them all over the floor to have a gander, fine, but PUT THEM BACK! Don't walk away, leaving a fucking mess behind that would shame you if broadcast on Youtube.
-- If you look at some towel or t-shirt and can't figure out how to re-fold it, that's okay, just put it back where you found it. We'll happily re-fold it for you. THAT is our job. Do NOT roll it up into a big ball and shove it behind the Cabbage Patch dolls.
-- Do NOT leave your half-eaten, half-drunk food around. It disgusts us and kind of frightens us in case you're diseased. I don't want to carry your half-drunk foamy Starbucks gunk to the trashcan any more than you do! And no, I'm not paid to do that for you. Neither was your fucking mom. Do it yourself!
-- If something you bought is broken/doesn't work, whatever, bring it back and let us know. We'll be happy to refund/exchange it for you. Don't be a righteous jerk and act like you were forced to endure some unspeakable horror. It's not that big of a deal. Seriously.
-- If you grabbed a pillow that you THOUGHT was $5.00, but is actually $10.00 because you didn't read the shelf label right, or read the price tag of the shelf NEXT to the item you're purchasing, do not DEMAND you get it for $5.00. You fucked up, or maybe, just maybe, some customer put it back in the wrong place. Mistakes happen. Chill. If the pillow is really mislabeled, we will ALWAYS give it to you for that price.
-- If you break something, ESPECIALLY if it's glass, tell us! We're not going to throw you in jail or force you to pay for it (really). We'll appreciate that you brought it to our attention, and we'll just defect it and get our money back. Hiding something like that where it can be found like some sort of awful surprise is not just dangerous, but fucking mean, and childish.
-- Despite the fact that most people in retail make shit money, they honestly do want to help you and even have a good time doing it (I often do with the right customer). Be nice, even if you're not satisfied. How you treat a sales clerk or a waiter/waitress says volumes about you.
-- Don't "threaten" us with how you'll go to Wally World instead if we don't do what you want or lower our prices instantly for YOU. Trust me, if you're being that much of a dickhead, we WANT you to leave and go somewhere else.
-- And lastly, don't open the fucking curtains!

H is for Horse

Dreaming is great! But in the past few months I've had some rather vivid dreams. And a strange new habit has developed, I'd say, in about the past year. If I try to "oversleep" or sleep-in, I will have a nightmare. This happens to me every time I try it on a weekend. I used to be able to lie languidly in bed until at least 10am, and I LOVED it! Now, if I try, I wake up from some awful nightmare. Not necessarily as awful as the "Ax murderer stalking and trying to kill you and you are just running in place" nightmare, but still more upsetting than the "Oops, I didn't hear my alarm for my final exam" nightmare.

One thing that never happens to me, is that I never have recurring dreams. Well, I don't think so, since most dreams fly out of my head like helium out of a leaky balloon. But for the past two nights I've dreamt that I was riding a horse. The first one was especially glorious - I was astride a large horse, and we were galloping at an incredible speed through the streets of where I lived (it kinda looked like Madison, but coulda been anywhere). Although we were going at top speed, I was still comfortable and in complete control, and of course, utterly thrilled with the ride.

Beau, who raised horses for many years, has often told me that riding at that speed (irl, of course *cough*), is a bad idea. "When you're going that fast you're no longer in control of the horse. It's dangerous and anything can happen." I hate hearing such practical statements, since as a city girl, I have often fantasized about galloping off on a beautiful horse day after day. I don't think I'm one of those crazy thrill seekers, but I have gotten rather bored on those "only follow the ass in front of you at a snail's pace" horses they sometimes give you in commercial stables. I want to fly! I don't want to hear it's a bad idea!

This usually brings to mind the memory of me on a beach in Phuket, Thailand, where I was out on a horseback ride with a bizarre young Thai man (the guide), and how I'd envisioned myself galloping along the beach like I was in some kind of douche commercial. In reality, although we were galloping along the beach, my lack of equestrian skills resulted in my not being the blonde in the douche commercial, but more resembling a large sack of potatoes bouncing up and down rather violently on the poor horse's back. At some point during my pogo-stick fest, my wallet even jettisoned out of my bag and was lost forever to the sea. Glamorous.

But this was a dream, and in dreams, everything's perfect. I'd love to have them again, but I doubt that could happen, and though I've always wanted to seriously get into lucid dreaming, I've never taken the time to do it. So instead, I went online to the 8 gazillion dream interpretation sites to find out what riding horseback signifies. I mean, to have the dream two nights in a row must mean SOMETHING, right? Well, the answers were varied enough that I no longer have any idea what it means. Oh well.

INTERPRETATIONS:

If you are horseback riding it suggests that you are self assured and feel a sense of control in your daily life. (Nice, but not necessarily true).

To dream that you are riding a horse, denotes that you will achieve success through underhanded means. You lack integrity. (Well, crap).

Riding a horse is quite interesting. Horses are wonderful creatures which stir great passions within us. So riding a horse we are showing great passion in the course of our life. We are consumed in our ambitions and determined and resourceful. It also shows great skill - riding a horse is an intensely skillful ability. (Thank you, but I'm still not sure what this means).

A dream that you're riding a horse represents the way you're taking responsibility to "guide and manage your life" right now, or the way you have been recently. The rider represents you, the horse represents your life and and your life circumstances. How well are you taking care of, guiding, and taking responsibility for the horse in the dream, and what does this say about your life? Try gentle horse-whispering, not managing by force. (Well, I'm controlling my "life" really well, but I seem to be going rather fast....not true...but interesting).

The horse denotes freedom and most of the symbology of dream horses derives directly from this. E.g. riding a horse means controlling or taking someone else's freedom. (Wait, taking someone ELSE'S freedom?? Ugh).

Another Montana Thing I Will Never Understand...

It's 37 degrees out...

A typical outfit: Full-on UM Grizzly sweatpants, sweatshirt...

and flip flops.

J-Smackdown!

"You're a pansy!" Beau exclaimed.

"No, I'm not!" I snapped back indignantly, "I'm a Pacifist! It's different!"
---------------------------------

The other night I was working at Shop-n-Smile, when I remembered I wanted to pick up some waxing stuff for my eyebrows which were once again growing into that "giant-caterpillar-on-face look" I get if I don't keep totally on top of them. I went to the aisle, checked out the products for about 30 seconds, then grabbed one that seemed good and went back to my area. I was in the horrid rug aisle folding my 11,000th rug that someone had unfurled, left on the floor, and then callously walked away from (sometimes I totally fucking hate people), when I heard the Security team page me over the loudspeaker. I called them up, and they asked me to come into their office.

"I can't fucking believe this," I thought to myself. I figured it was because I had previously been admonished for "shopping on the job," and that they'd been watching me and now were going to scold me for grabbing that box of hair remover. A manager had already told me that one employee is always being watched (nice), and that was the direct reason we "all" had been lectured not to a) have our cellphones on the floor (I always do, with a hidden bluetooth behind my hair), and b) stop shopping while working.

I always shop while working. It's probably the only reason I don't go totally frickin postal at that place and mow down a bunch of shit-for-brains customers. But it's not like I take a cart and leisurely peruse the aisles. Basically, WHILE working, if I come across something I like or is on a total clearance (like an entire set of Columbia sheets and pillowcases for $4.50-score! Or a lovely picture frame that was $19.99 and is now 79 cents - cha-ching!), I'll grab it and stick it in my cart. (You always have a cart with you while you work). This is why the bulk of my purchases are in the Domestics/Housewares area since that's where I work, and those are exactly the things we needed so desperately when we returned from New Zealand. But Security watches you and if you even pause to check something out, or scan it to see when it will go on sale soon *blush* then you're a bad bad employee.

I am a bad, bad employee.

As I was walking to the Security office, I was muttering to myself. If they were going to scold me like a little child, I was going to put my two weeks in. Tonight. This is of course, a gift. Beau and I always talk about how much we hate our respective retail jobs and how we are just WAITING for someone to do something that will "enable" us to quit. Otherwise, we can't justify doing it simply because it just sucks to work there right now. The money is still needed.

As I entered the office, the manager was there (great), and the ample-bodied Security woman, who basically looked like a college student with her perk ponytail and enormous UM sweatshirt. That's why they catch people, they never look like the typical cop. Barely looking over her shoulder at me, the Security woman (SW) said, "Okay, this is what we're going to do. See this woman there...?" She nodded toward the two TV screens in front of her and the two complicated-looking joysticks from which she was directing the cameras. They oriented on a young woman with Sinead-short white blonde hair and a baseball cap. "Yes," I said hesitantly.

"We're going to apprehend her. She's been stealing a ton of stuff. You're going to go with me since Ms. X can't." (The other SW had a cast on one leg).

"Oh." I didn't know what to say, but I inwardly panicked. Though I found these occasional smackdowns enormously entertaining, I had no interest in being a part of one. SW continued detailing to me how it would work. "We have to wait until she actually leaves the store, which she will be doing soon. As soon as she leaves the first set of doors, we RUN out of this office after her. I'll go first, you right behind me. We'll bust through the doors and come around to face her. Then we'll identify ourselves as security and ask her to step back inside. Hopefully, she'll go with us."

"Um, okay."

"If she pulls a knife or anything, just let her go."

"Err..."

At this point, I was like WTF?! SW was also eyeing the shoplifter's friend, who had not stolen anything, but who "looked really badass."

"Make sure you watch her friend, don't let her get behind you," said the SW.

"Shit shit shit!" went my brain, "What about Billy?" went my mouth.

"Bill isn't 18 yet, he can't do this."

"Um, okay, and Justin in Electronics?"

"He left already."

Fuck. I realized as I was standing there, that although this was a potentially exciting moment in my life, I wasn't interested. It kind of surprised me since I do like to do new, exhilarating things, but taking a shoplifter down did not appeal to me. At all. There had been a take-down just a few days before, where the enormously buff "truck guys" had wrestled a 6'4 man to ground, putting him in a headlock while yelling at him to "Calm down." At that point, the giant man had crapped his pants, and then led a trail of it from the doors to the Security office. Really. The thought of me having to wrestle ANYONE to the ground, or being shat on, made me want to vomit.

But I shrugged my shoulders and thought, "Oh well, no matter what happens, at least it'll be a good story," and I steeled myself for the encounter.

"Okay, get ready!" said SW, and with that, she leapt out of her chair and took off, with me right on her heels. For such a corpus woman, she was startlingly fast, as I sprinted full speed behind her. As we reached the automatic doors, parallel to ones where the shoplifter was now exiting, SW slammed through them like a fucking Tonka truck, which let out a bang that I thought might be the explosion of my heart. She burst through the second set with just as much drama, doing a sharp 180 to come face to face with the Sinead woman. In one fluid movement, SW identified herself as Security, grabbed the woman's arm, and while pushing her back inside, simultaneously grabbed the stupefied friend by her arm and commanded, "You can go," while pushing her out the exit. Basically, I just stood behind her the whole time, silent and amazed.

We took a few steps into the inner part between the two sets of doors where Sinead paused, her face contorted in fear. Then I heard it. Looking down, I saw a fast stream of pee exiting from both of her pant legs. A mixture of sympathy and revulsion swept over me. The whole time, SW kept ordering her to keep her hands out of her pockets, where Sinead kept attempting to put them. Though mute, I enthusiastically agreed. I don't want anyone to cut me!

After Sinead had finished wetting her pants, she was slowly led back into the store, where due to her condition, she walked as if she wore leg irons. Quickly, it was determined she didn't speak much English, which excited me somewhat. "Hey, maybe I can help with this!" Being a shoplifter's interpreter is much more my style than throwing some poor immigrant to the ground. But unfortunately, there aren't a lot of French, Swedish, or Thai-speaking shoplifters frequenting our stores. Not that I would have gotten very far with Swedish anyway. I could probably have entertained her with the playful child song of "Tycker du om mig?" (Do you want me?) or asked her if she drank milk or loved me.

Then the cranky, broken-leg other SW ordered me out of the room, and I left Sinead to their devices. Later they told me she was terrified...and Romanian. Oh well.

Mother-Daughter Conflict *Vent*

Sorry, venting time.

I don't talk about my family much on my blog because basically I'm not all that close to them. I don't hate them, but there's a lot of drama and bad blood and though I wish no one pain, I'd rather we just had a sort of distant, but polite truce. I know they'd be shocked to hear that, though deep down they'd know it to be true. Once in awhile I make some effort to visit/reconnect/whatever, but I usually end up angry or hurt in the end.

The truth is though, I'm not all that bothered by them 99% of the time, basically because there's always been so much emotional - and with all my moving around - physical distance between us. I don't think of them that often, and until I get some guilt-inducing call or email, have little contact. I know this sounds cold, especially for those lucky enough to have had a warm family life, but if you can just imagine a NOT-so-warm family life with a cast of characters that go beyond your after-school-special kind of dysfunctional, maybe you could understand.

The problem is that sometimes, that 1% of the time, they really get to me. REALLY get to me. I guess anyone could say that. And all mother-daughter relationships are complicated, even if they are "healthy." To give a quick re-cap, my mother had me in college (woops), and after a few years of child-rearing, which ranged from awkward to, at times, outright child endangerment, I was handed over to my grandparents, two people experienced at childcare, but for whom to this day, I still claim, are prime examples of a couple who should have remained childless. But then, there would be no me, would there? And how much bleaker would our society be without my endlessly depressing blog posts? Wait a minute.

Anyway, years later, my mother married and quickly had a child of her own, a girl. It was that time that she reconnected with me, and the yearly summer visits commenced until I went to college. The relationship has always been very civil, sometimes fun, but for the most part, strained, as you can imagine, and any therapist would have a heyday with my "abandonment issues." One thing that has contributed to the strain has been my (half-)sister. I know I've spoken of her before in the past, but I think it's been awhile. Basically, she grew up as an only child with my mother and step-father, and was denied nothing, despite their middle class incomes. This was often difficult for me to watch, since not only did I grow up rather poor with my grandparents (one retired for medical reasons, the other a high school cafeteria worker), but also because my sister was as many spoiled children are - loud, demanding, obnoxious, and ungrateful, which is simply a product of being spoiled, but which, in a circular way, makes the child seem unworthy of the spoiling. (I'm hurting my head now).

The other thing that strains it often, is that any time I ever talk to my mother by phone, or we have email exchanges, it is almost entirely about my sister (except for those rare, delicious emails that consist of 2-3 pages detailing how she's painting her kitchen. Fuck. Me.). To my mother, like many mothers, my sister is beautiful, smart, popular, talented, etc. I don't feel competitive with my sister for the most part, because there are so many years between us, we're in completely different worlds. And our personalities and interests are so completely different, that it's a bit bizarre. Her straight and shiny Asian hair (from her father), dark skin and eyes contrast against my Nordic genes of blue eyes, wavy blonde hair (color courtesy of a bottle nowadays), and fantastically pale skin. She is a dancer. I am, I dunno, a teacher who shuffles papers around most of the day. She is loud and attention-seeking. I am (for the most part), quiet and enjoy solitude or the company of one or two people.

But what makes it even MORE strained, is exactly how my mother talks to me about my sister. It isn't just the "Wonders of your Sister" show that I grit my teeth and try to endure politely, for the sake of not coming off as a spiteful bitch, but it's all that my mother lavishes on my sister and chooses, again and again, to detail to me.

Here's an example. My sister just graduated from college like five minutes ago. It was a private school out of state, so just imagine those bills for starters. My mother has taken out several "parent loans" for my sister that my mother will pay probably until she's dead. Additionally, my sister's rent, credit cards (she had 2-3), cellphone bill, and an additional $200 "food money" are paid for/to her each month. My mother is now deeply, and frighteningly in debt, which my sister seems totally oblivious too.

Yes, I'm jealous of this. No one has ever taken/given me a dime for my own education, if you don't count the federal government, who is hot on my tail at the moment trying to get it all back. Once in awhile my mother would give me a $20 bill for pizza or whatever, and unfortunately, my grandparents couldn't contribute anything. I have always paid for my rent (with the exception of generous Steve helping out in NYC), food, bills, etc. I can't even imagine having a credit card bill paid for me without giving someone a blowjob first.

But again, what makes me the most upset, is that my mother, on a very regular basis, calls me up to DETAIL this all to me. And for the life of me, I can't figure out what the fuck for. It really is torture. But if I ever try to broach the subject about it, I just come off as the bratty sister who doesn't want to hear about her younger sister. I am the distant bitch. My mother will laugh and say, "Oh your sister, tsk tsk, she went ahead and bought a whole outfit on that Gap credit card. *insert chuckle and shaking of head* What am I going to do with her? I called her up and told her, 'Now this is it. This is the last time I'm going to pay off this credit card!' But you know, she really did NEED those clothes. I mean, she needs to interview. But of course, she'll just have to pay her own bills from now on."

I've heard a version of that scenario a dozen times over the past few years. Sometimes it's the $400 cellphone bill. Or the late rent. Or a bounced check on my mother's joint account. And my mother always acts like now she's getting tough, she's putting her foot down, but it sounds so incredibly phony, I don't know if she expects me to believe it, and hopefully not to praise her (lack of) efforts. I doubt my sister has ever paid for anything beyond her own manicure (which my mother pays for when she's in town). And to hear this, again and again, when I am usually struggling to stay afloat all by myself (and now with the help of lovely Beau), is excrutiating. I try to "uh huh uh huh" as quickly and patiently as I can so the conversation can end. But it's never fast enough.

I don't want to alienate my mother, like I said, I'd just like us all to be friends - friends who live 2000 miles from each other and just occasionally call/email. And I don't know why she feels she has to do this to me over and over. My sister, who now has an infant son of her own (her own 'woops' her senior year of college), is gainfully employed with a good job, and is living with her boyfriend who is working THREE jobs, is still getting, as my mother called it, "her $120/month allowance."

Her allowance! She's 22!

I know I should let this go. I know that my mother didn't raise me and so does not have the same obligation to me. And I know I should not feel like such a victim for being so fucking poor FOREVER, especially since a lot of it in my adult life has to do with my gallivanting to foreign locales, but it still bothers me. A great fucking lot.

Thankfully, it's only once in awhile. And thankfully, Beau was there for me to secretly talk to through my bluetooth (conveniently hid by my thick, luxurious hair) , while working at Shop-n-Smile, and silently fuming while folding my 10,000th bath towel. I feel like I'm writing an endless letter to Dear Abby, but I guess it's cause I don't know what to do. All those advice columns that say, "Well, you have to sit down with your mother and patiently explain to her..." blah blah blah, "...she'll respect you..." is bullshit. My family takes EVERYTHING as a total insult and my mother will be pissed forever. There's a part of me that kind of doesn't care - it'd take care of that endless feeling of obligation toward a family I am not close to - but really, I just want to be a "good" person and keep the peace. You know?