Pop and Technology.....

Most people don't know how hard it is to try and explain technology to someone who obviously doesn't get technology or EVER will. You know... Explaining "advancing technologies" to someone who only JUST got a cell phone last year, but still doesn't know how to use it. Explaining the concepts beyond an abacus and counting rocks to someone who only JUST got a computer a few years ago, but still doesn't know how to use it. Explaining that "the world got a little smaller" to someone who only JUST discovered the internet a couple of years ago, but only knows how to surf for free online porn.

Yes. My pop: The technological retard.  Technology is a foreign concept to him. Seriously. This is a guy who blew the door off of the microwave trying to hard boil an egg in a glass of water... The guy who nearly burned down the house making toast in the microwave by putting a piece of bread in it for 15 MINUTES. I mean, pop might manage as long as something doesn't require more than two steps to get done what he needs to. He's somewhat capable then. It's an unfortunate thing though that there are usually more than two steps to get to where you need to get to sometimes. You know... Because when "turning the device on..." counts as step one, well, you're basically fucked. Add in the concept of having to use reason and logic? It's a recipe for disaster. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm only a few steps above technologically retarded myself, but I'm not as bad as my pop.

Teaching pop ANYTHING takes the patience of a saint. A REALLY PATIENT SAINT. A REALLY, REALLY PATIENT SAINT who can perform miracles every five seconds to fix what the old git will inevitably screw up and/ or break. He's not patient enough to listen to ALL of the directions all the way through and forgets everything he's told about three minutes after it's told to him. I once spent a day teaching him to put a contact in the "Contacts" in his cell phone. He doesn't remember how to put a contact into his phone and he has no idea how to retrieve it, even to this day. And of course, these sessions are always riddled with him debasing me and telling me that I'm a useless idiot and a stupid animal.... And people wonder why my eye twitches every time he enters a room I happen to be in? Then to have the end result be that he learned nothing at all and that all that time was wasted anyway. :s

There are just some things in life that don't go well together. Toothpaste and orange juice. Milk and lemon juice. Drinking and driving. Plaid and paisley. Orange and brown. Yup! And of course, my pop and technology.

He's.... right behind me, isn't he.....

I hate those moments when you're talking about someone and they're standing right behind you and you didn't know. Happens often at the house because my mom is always asking me why I don't talk to my dad too often or ever, really.....
So I go off on a tirade about how pop is a mean son of a bitch with a cruel  and hard streak with a nasty temper and the one person who should be trying to curb his crappy behavior isn't doing anything but making excuses for the nasty old coot and is instead enabling the behavior so that he continues to do it more by berating and yelling at me and calling me a worthless stupid animal who should go somewhere and die, when, in fact, this elderly nightmare would be doing the world a favor by letting go of what he claims to be such a miserable existence. POOF! He materializes out of friggin' NO WHERE..... Japanese ninja skills? You be the judge. He shuffles around the rest of the time and FLABAMMO! Right out of thin air, he's right behind me....
Then we get into battle royale over it because I'm a stupid animal, which frankly, I'm getting sick and tired of hearing, while mom sits on high doing her "martyr thing" and pop throws yet another one of his tamper tantrums.
I keep my mouth shut these days and whenever possible, I make myself scarce and stay away from the house all together. I like the silent awkwardness better anyway. At least that way I can ignore the old kooks I live with....

I am?

It would seem that I am the "that one" of my family, close and extended. I'm the only one of the family to be born in the US and is American, born and raised. My parents say that that is the likely reason why I'm such a freak.

Looking through the family tree though, it's really surprising that I turned out as "normal" as I did. I suppose when I am the only "normal" person in the family, I'm gonna be seen as someone of a freak. Figures...... There really is no wonder that there are days when I look at my family and think, "Who the fuck are you people and what the FUCK is your problem??!??" and then I realized that I'm related to them..... Then I get all depressed. On other days, the feeling I get is worse. Ugh..... No, insanity does not run in my family. It gallops, skips, hops, jumps, power slides, mosies, scoots along the floor, rolls around, does a little dance and shimmy routine and screams the lyrics to Pop Goes the Weasel....

My mom, Driver level: Asian............

 

Oooooooops!

The short story: My elderly mother hit Puppy Guts' car, while it sat parked in the driveway, and dented it up real good. 

Now, let me give you a more detailed version of the account, people. Trust me. You're gonna love this. It gets good. I promise..... 

So, Guts was sleeping in the bedroom, as he has to work that night. Guts' car was parked in the driveway because, well, it seemed like the right place to park it. There was plenty of room in the driveway leading up to the two car garage and he made sure he left plenty of room for the other car to be able to get out, as he left his car parked behind mine. Well, mom decided that she was going out. She gave Guts' car a quick glance and scoped the amount of driveway space she had to back her car out of the garage. Upon backing said car up out of the aforementioned garage, she promptly Asian-behind-the-wheel-ed right into Puppy Guts' car. Not just a little. A LOT.
She came inside and notified me that she had hit Guts' car. Well, actually, the conversation went a little more like this:
My mom: I hit Rick's car.
Me: Ha, ha.... Funny, ma.
My mom: No. FOR REAL. I hit his car.
Me: Wha? The thing is PARKED in the driveway. It's the size of...... A CAR!!!! How do you not see something the size of a car that's just sitting there? YOU HIT A STATIONARY SOMETHING THE SIZE OF A CAR!!!

So, I ran out the door and there I was standing at the top of the front steps, and the damage is as plain as day..... And there's my mom, standing in the driveway, hunched over, trying to "rub it off" with the sleeve of her shirt, every once in a while stopping to put a little spit on it.........
Me: Ma.... I don't think that's going to work......
My mom: Really? I think it's helping!
Me: No, ma..... Just stop.

The question became, "Do we wake him up?" I mean, on the one side, I was thinking, he just went to sleep an hour ago, and considering he has to work his midnight shift, he needs his sleep. If I wake him and tell him about his beloved car, he probably won't be able to go back to sleep. Not good. Sending in a midnight shift cop into work without having had sufficient sleep. Not good.... But if I DON'T wake him, and he finds out AFTERWARDS, he's going to be all, "Why didn't you wake me??!?!?!" The decision was made. I was going to wake my Puppy Guts up and tell him about his now mangled car..... Did I mention that the front driver's side door was crushed shut and wouldn't open? Yeah...... That too.

Mom says, "Let me go tell daddy first....." and she shuffled upstairs to tell him. A minute later, I hear my dad upstairs, cursing up a blue streak, in a mixture of English and Japanese (ALWAYS amusing to hear the creative uses of bilingual cussing), as he shuffled down the hall, down the stairs and out the front door. And before long, I was watching TWO elderly Asians, standing in the driveway, hunched over, trying to rub the dents, scrapes and damage out of the front end of Guts' car with the sleeves of their shirts, while occasionally using a little bit of spit to help out.....

Me: Um...... That's NOT going to make any of that damage go away!
My dad: Shut up! I think it's working!
My mom (to me): See? I told you!
Me: <face palm> :shaking head: I guarantee the door STILL isn't going to open and the damage is still as bad as it was before......
My dad: But it LOOKS better, so shut up!
Me: Whatever......
(Incidentally, it DIDN'T look better......)

I called my parents' insurance company, explained the deal, and bing, bang, boom: claim number, all the information, "Everything's going to be taken care of for both cars!", thank you very much, bye. Police summoned, incident report, blah, blah, blah, "Here you go, ma'am.... Try to have a nice day!", kthnxbai. Ugh..... It was time to rouse the Puppy Guts.....

Needless to say, when I woke my poor Puppy Guts up a half hour after or so the incident, he wasn't happy, 1.) about being woken up, and 2.) his car being damaged and his driver's side door not opening. He only cried a little bit over his beloved car...... 

Well, the next day, my mom's car and Guts' car went off to their respective body shops to get fixed up nice-y, nice. The rental car companies picked them up .... Guts thought it was unfair that my parents got the Dodge Charger, while he wound up with a four banger Nissan Altima..... But, whatever. 

Thanks for propagating the "Asian behind the wheel" thing, mom! GOOD JOB!
o_O

My mom.....

Just to give you yet another glimpse into the day in the life.... I mean, what would life be like without one of my parents harassing me one way or another...... I present an actual conversation that has taken place between my mother and myself:

My mom: Your socks don't match!
Me: What are you talking about?
My mom: LOOK AT THEM! 
Me: Yeah..... So?
My mom: One's green and pink, the other is white with pink polka dots! They don't match!
Me: Mom.... I have A SOCK on EACH FOOT. THAT means they match.
My mom: ....... I am wholly convinced that we would have been better off if we had left you under the rock where we found you...
Me: Thanks mom.

An Ad for a Couple of Parents: FREE!

Elderly and used, but still lively, crotchety, cranky, bitchy and will probably live forever. They can go separately or as a pair. I don't really care. Care and maintenance should be minimal as they really only complain about everything, but the reality is that nothing is wrong. They are completely insured and have the AARP something or another and Medicare and a prescription program of sorts. (Might I suggest PROZAC...) They are still quite independent and shuffle around on their own steam and are always very willing to insult, yell, scream, debase, humiliate and cause permanent psychological damage to each other and everyone around them. 
I'd also be willing to throw in a sister, but you'll just have to take my word for it that you got her in the deal as she will never call or write or contact you UNLESS she needs something from you. Don't expect the favor to be returned.

Pick up or delivery. Duct tape available on request!

Constructive Criticism.....

Living with my parents is no walk in the park. Pop is an old and ornery old coot and senility makes him even more of an angry and verbally abusive old shit. Mom has a laundry list of issues as well which has turned her into a very unhappy, miserable, bitter bitch with a martyr complex. SHe's seriously bat shit crazy. All in all, a GREAT combination for people who should be nominated for  parents of the year! :eye roll:

Criticism was never constructive. It was actually the opposite of that. Like, nuclear holocaust type destructive. And what flickers of pride, dignity, hope,  or sense of accomplishment that was left (if there was any) was stamped out, all in the hopes of making me a better and stronger person. To make me an over-achiever. To strive to be better... Yeah. I don't really get it either.... Nothing was ever good, nothing was ever done right, nothing was ever positive. It was all crap.

The funny thing about it all is that I know they thought it was wrong because when asked about how they raised me, they either avoid the question all together (especially when I'm around, although I DO start laughing hysterically) or say something to the effect of "With love and support..." which gets me laughing even harder. I know that they are embarrassed at the way they raised me and I point it out to them all the time. With love and support? Oh, REALLY! I have a laundry list of how it wasn't. Was my life with them ALWAYS awful? No. Especially when we were all out in public. It was happy and sweet and "perfect". I question it all now and whether it was just one of those "facade" things because we were out in public.

Sure, I have a few happy memories with my family, but they were oftentimes also followed up with some  really NOT happy times, which makes them not so happy in the end I guess... Take for example graduation. They were there and yay, happy great. We took pictures with the family and we're all smiling and whatnot. We went out to dinner and great. Then I get told, "Well, we didn't think you were gonna graduate at all. You're not the smart one of the family and quite honestly, you didn't do THAT well..." Gee, thanks... I mean any kind of "accomplishment" was greeted with that kind of shit.

And if I did something wrong or I failed or something didn't go right? HOLY SMOKES! The ridicule and absolute humiliation that I was made to suffer, even for years afterwards would have driven a lesser person to suicide or at the very least a clocktower with a scoped out rifle and a whole shitload of ammo....   I like to point out this fact to them all the time when they try to give me "suggestions and pointers" as I raise my own children or try to step in and open their mouths. Ain't happening. And my parents are verbally slapped back into line and told to shut up.

On the one hand, it sucked to be here growing up. (I seriously AM still trying to sell my parents because I really don't want them. Any takers are welcome to contact me through any of the channels listed here on this blog!) And it's unfortunate that my circumstances and finances force me to have to stay here for now. On the other hand, it did teach me exactly how I DIDN'T want to raise my kids and how exactly NOT to do it. It gave me a lot of useful tools in the parenting toolbox of how NOT to treat my children. Just trying to make a positive out of a negative here. It's this new thing I'm trying.....

Just, SHH!!!!!

I get reminded that where I live is not my house on a daily basis, multiple times a day by my dad. It is not my house and it is not my home. I am merely allowed to stay here. But of course, he wants me involved in everything that happens with the house. Me? I really don't want to be bothered with any of it and I don't want to know. It's not my fucking house.
The house is older now and things are starting to break and need repairs or need replacing all together. I get to be the person to call a repair whoever or Sears to whatever the thing so that the thing works again. I try to stay away, go away or disappear when the dude guy arrives because I don't want to know. Then there are times when I don't get out of the house fast enough and I get stuck.
Pop will go rattling off all sorts of stuff in random and VERY broken English, give up, start rattling off in Japanese and ask me to translate. Generally the things that come out of his mouth are not very nice. It gets to the point where I tell my mom to drag the cranky git off to a different room so that I can talk to the guy OR I tell her that I will go make myself scarce leaving the two broken English speaking old cranky people to deal with it all.
The first thing I will do is apologize to the guy for what was going on earlier. My second thing is to ask, "Can you fix it, fix it right and fix it fast?" They usually reply with a "yeah..." Then the threat comes. "Today sir, you will deal with me. I will leave you alone and let you do whatever it is you do. But if it breaks or stops working, you will be dealing with them next!" I say as I point to the door that the old gits are secluded behind. The guys nods and starts his thing. Then I offer the word of warning. "If the old coot comes nosing around, just ignore him. If he asks a question, pretend you don't understand what he's saying. He will call for me. The key here is to try and ignore him though. He will go away."
So many things have been fixed around this house over the last few years it's not even funny. But the jobs have always been done right and they're holding up. Now if I could only get the old people I live with to use the stuff properly.... THAT is a whole lesson in frustration on its own. Trying to show them how the stuff works.... Let me tell you! Pfft.

Duh...

My dad spent a good part of an hour hootin' and hollerin' about his missing glasses. Running around the house looking for his reading glasses that he swore either, I misplaced, the kids misplaced, my mom misplaced or the house ate. He went on a grumble fit of how people shouldn't touch the things that he leaves around or that aren't theirs. Everything is put where he knows where it is and we were all a bunch of asses for screwing with his system. We should all be ashamed of ourselves and none of us are worthy enough to be in the presence of his greatness. His self righteous rant was quickly brought to a screeching halt when I pointed to his head and said, "You mean the glasses on your head? Are those the ones you're looking for??!??"
We had peace in the house that day because he refused to come out of his man cave because I pointed out how WRONG he was. Aaaah... Silence is golden.

Mom's "clogs of doom".....

Eddie Murphy joked about his mom having the sandal that she'd use to slap the shit out of the kids... The Puerto Ricans have the dreaded "chancla"......  My mom had wood clogs. She was lightening fast with those things too. You might see her bend down, but by the time you heard the "THWACK!" she's already got the thing back on and is walking away. Meanwhile, I would be standing there like, "I heard it... Hey, it didn't hurt that... AAAAAAARG!" Wicked... And always right on the knee! I swear that's the reason why I have bad knees... The orthopedic surgeon has been on me to get them fixed FOREVER! Ain't nobody got time for that though....
Well, just the other day, I came across those clogs in mom's Chamber of Horrors (A.K.A. the basement)... They miraculously got doused with lighter fluid... and they accidentally and maliciously caught on fire outside on the pavement... And then were smashed to pieces... And then buried as incantations were recited over them. Well, actually, it was just me spewing out a tirade of all the swear words I know in all sorts of different languages, as I sent those stupid clogs back to whatever ring of hell they came from.... I was kind of wishing that my mom would get sucked into the hole with them as they got transported through the portal back to hell. No such luck....
Mom asked me what the smell was as I was putting the shovel back into the garage... I just laughed... Maniacally...

My Parents...

My 'rents are probably about the nuttiest couple of people on the face of the planet. I am what I am because I am genetically related to and had been directly influenced by them... I fought so hard not to become them and became the offshoot... An unexpected creature, created by them... And I have turned...
We are following along, right? We know mom's issues? If you're just joining in, go on back and read through... It's okay... I'll wait here...
Hey! Welcome back! Are we all up to speed now? We're all on the same page? Yeah, mom is a control freak with a martyr complex and dad is a high strung cranky old bastard with a wicked temper (not manifesting physically, but verbally). And both of them LOVE to micro-manage the day to day of my children. Well, not so much these days as we did have it out over that. They stay out of my way, we stay out of theirs. It's been working out so far...
I liked them better when I wasn't living here. At least I had a choice about whether or not to be here...

Stereotypes of the "Asian family"....

Yeah... The stereotypical "Asian family".... I live in one.... It's the reality of my day to day. And my being an American of Japanese descent.... Doesn't make it easy....

If you don't know and have never experienced a Japanese household, let me clue you in.... Whatever you accomplished? It's not good enough. You could have done better. Even if it was the best, it still could have been better. It's never done right, it's never good enough and it most certainly is NEVER acceptable. You are not great, and even if you are, no one is impressed and besides, you suck. You're a disgrace and you dishonor your family with your mere existence because of your world class suckiness. The only greatness you achieved was being a crappy, thankless, worthless offspring and apparently you're doing THAT the wrong way too... Go figure.
A lifetime I've been told how useless, pathetic, worthless, terrible, awful, wretched and stupid I am and I should go somewhere and die, all in the "hopes" that I would become a better person and would strive to be better... What can I say, I guess some hardcore Asian families have a different way of "encouraging" their youngsters to being better people or whatever... Oh well...

For whatever anyone wants to call me or say to me or insult me with, these days, I treat it a grain of salt. Believe me when I say, I've been called worse, I've been told worse and I have been insulted worse. Ain't too much that ruffles my feathers in that respect any more... Sigh. I  guess some people will never learn. Pfft! Not my concern.

My sister...

I suppose life wouldn't have been too bad for either of us if we had been only children... In different families... On opposite sides of the world...
There's an eleven year gap between us and growing up with her as an older sister was tough. She is a sadistic bitch and the "favorite"... Any of the "games" we played usually ended with me sustaining multiple injuries by her hand and yet I got yelled at to be more careful... I'm still not sure how that worked. Oh well...
That was when I was smaller than her... I'd like to see her try any of that shit now. I'd toss her a whoopin' crammed packed with years of pent up rage and frustration... I'm sure my parents would hoot and holler at me about it, but it'd be worth it.

What Did You Just Say?!!?

Ever meet one of those people who should just walk around with an interpreter because... Well, just because? My dad's English (engrish) is unintelligible at best and even worse when he's angry.
The roofer had to come by the house again because the insurance people needed a quote in order to pay out my dad. In trying to explain what was going on, there were misunderstandings...
The roofer got: "Za shingroos  got into butt of outside and oh nooo! Ouchie! It reeked all rover because big holes!"

In standing outside with them to play translator, I almost lost my mind. The roofer was looking at me like "WTF?! I don't want to know! I'm just here for the roof!" making it harder for me to stifle the laugh.

The message that dad was trying to convey was that the shingles didn't quite butt up to each other and the roof leaked because of the gaps...

I would've paid to have that short conversation on video or at the very least a picture of the roofer's face...

Say my name!

I used to get pretty pissed off when my parents called me by my sister's name. Even AFTER she moved out of the house. My parents would STILL call me by my sister's name. Granted, she was the favorite and stuff, but still. Seriously.... DO you remember that scene in A League of Their Own", the movie where Geena Davis and Lori Petty were sisters and ended up playing major league baseball on on an all woman league where Lori Petty is describing how the parents introduce the two of them to other people?
"This is our daughter Dottie....... And this is our other daughter..... Dottie's sister." Yeah. That was me. I was the other daughter. My sister's sister. 

So, it was YEARS later, after I had my own kids and stuff, that a found myself doing the same thing. Calling the kids by the wrong name. Calling them by the dog's name. Hell, I even started making up names. And then I thought to myself, "Holy hell! What the actual fuck right now!" It totally messed with the feng shui of my -ness! In discovering that it just happens was like, "Oh my LANTA......" and then it was like, "I'm becoming like my parents!!!!!" and going through an absolute freak out moment. It was a pretty bad day.

Yeah..... So that.

Being the mom of a teenaged boy.....

There is much that I will NEVER understand about my son. Mostly because I was never a teenaged boy myself. This is a fact that Puppy Guts reminds me of quite often. The boy's broody, pissy manner causes all sorts of fun drama. And by "fun" I mean, "someone shoot me now..... This kid is killing me too slowly!" His little outbursts are nothing short of fucking annoying. His attitude is something to loathe and I swear on all things holy, there are days when I'd like to slap the shitty behavior right out of him. HARD. His level of disrespect is TRULY a thing created by some sadistic demon in one of the middle circles of hell, and the selfish, ME, ME, ME shit is just mind boggling.

There are times when I think he does it because he hates me. I KNOW for a fact that he does some of the things he does on purpose, JUST to push my buttons. He still hasn't learned that THAT game always ends badly for him though, but he does it anyway, JUST to get that instant satisfaction at that moment. Then, when he is faced with the consequences of his own fucking actions, it leads to yet another temper tantrum. And then, the cycle starts all over again. Heaps of good fun for everyone..... NOT!

He rolls his eyes constantly and his whining and bitching is absolutely nerve wracking. Like nails to a chalkboard. He claims that I am the ultimate bitch supreme and that I'm a stupid idiot who doesn't understand anything. I've explained to him that he is nothing more than a spoiled little shit with an attitude problem that he can't back up and that his level of selfishness is unacceptable and his excuse slinging will not be tolerated.

I hope we both survive his teen years... I mean, I've got three more live ones in the mag for the "teenaged years", but JEEZ, this kid is a doozy..... FUCK!

Bad parent?

So really.... Does it make me a bad mom when broody teen boy goes outside, with his skateboard in hand, saying, "Hey meem..... I'm going outside to skate....... I'm going to try and land <some impossible skate trick> and possibly injure myself a lot. Is that okay?"
And I'm all, "Okay! Have fun!"
No, he didn't land the trick, but he didn't hurt himself either, other than the normal scrapes and bruises any way..... I must go meditate on this.....

Going to Grams' house.....

My Grams was quite an extraordinary woman. She lived her life in Tokushima, Japan. She was a single mom of four kids. Her husband died in WWII when my youngest uncle was just a baby. She ran an inn that catered to businessmen and stuff and provided a life for her and her children. Don't know too much else about the history. Never could understand the tales she told about her younger days and stuff. I would only smile and nod, but they felt like awesome stories. Rich in history and stuff.

Now, me? Well, I'm the ONLY American born child in my generation. Not until my sister and I started having babies did another American come about in our family. Out of all the family I have in Japan, my mom and dad and sister are the only ones who came to the states, and I was the first American of the whole family. Can you say "stigma"? Yeah. Did I mention my family was JAPANESE and outside appearances and honor and all that stuff is pretty important and shit. That is the culture. Now, if you know the history, you know that I was not just a change of life baby for my parents, I was also an "oops" baby. Not just a little. I mean, it was "the luck of the flip of the coin that saved me from meeting my end with a coat hanger" kind of oops. So, yeah. There's that too.

Grams was probably the only one who never judged me. She spoke in a deep colloquial Japanese. Like think of it like the Louisiana bayou / creole version of Japanese. Yeah, so that. My Japanese is MEH at best. When I was a kid, it was probably a little less than meh. Seriously? I don't think I really understood a good god damn word she actually said. But I felt them. And it always made me feel special. She spoke in food too. Which is probably where my REAL love of food originated. It was just one of those things that only Grams could do. She'd size you up first thing in the morning and she would chatter away while making breakfast. Then before you know it, there's breakfast. And it's the very thing you didn't think you wanted, but it WAS. EVERY TIME!

It's not like I got to see a whole shit ton of my Grams, her living in Japan and me, living on the east coast of the wrong continent and all. When I did get out to see her though, it was like I'd never left. For her or for me. It was like she was always there and nothing had changed. She just had a way about her.

When my grams died, it was a pretty harsh blow. It had come months before I was set to go visit her with my kids, so that they could meet their great grandmother. It was a rather soul crushing thing that it never got to happen. It also happened to be RIGHT during the time that my mom was out in Japan visiting. Mom went to Grams' nursing home and spent the day with her. They looked at all the pictures that my mom brought of me and the kids and what had been going on. And bless her, even at close to a hundred years old, she was still as sharp as a tack. She knew me and my children. (Apparently I was the fabulous American one with all the pretty halfie children.) They spent the afternoon putting up all the new pictures around Grams' bed. In the evening, my mom left saying that she would be back in the morning. Grams passed quietly during the night.

It's been a few years since Grams passed. I still find myself thinking about all the things that I think she was saying. I still remember the richness of her voice, the calm and quiet demeanor about her, the way she carried herself with poise and grace. When I imagine her speaking to me, the words coming out of her mouth are gobbledy guck, as they were to me even when it WAS Japanese coming out when she was alive, but I can still FEEL them, just as I did when I sat in front of her as she told me stories.

Yeah, so that.

Compliments....

I don't take compliments very well. Actually, I really don't know how to respond to them. And it has a lot to do with my parents conditioning me to wait for the kick in the pants.  They've never really paid me a compliment. I mean, when it's, "Wow! That's a great shirt! It looks like crap on you!" or "Your hair looks FABULOUS! Your face? Not so much....." or "Wow! You did a great job, but it could have been so much better if you had......." That was basically how it was and how it still is.

So, now a days, I just can't take a compliment too seriously. Having become jaded over the years hasn't helped either. I find most people to be two faced and absolutely unreliable. I tend not to believe anything that I hear coming out of the mouths of most of the people I know or run across. And it becomes a problem I guess. There might be the rare and occasional person who is really trying to pay me a compliment and I'm all, "Uh huh.... Okay. I like pie!"

I don't mean to offend, but, it's just who I am. I can't really recall a real compliment that was given to me by my parents. Just a simple "Hey that's awesome!" kind of thing. They were always followed up with a "but". You know, "......but your sister is so much smarter.", "..... but I don't understand what he/ she sees in you!", ".....there's nothing really outstanding or special about you...." That kind of shit. Oh, no, I am being absolutely serious. This was my life and still IS. It used to be something that bothered me quite a bit, but it's not the case any more.

I found that they are MORE bothered by having that meanness pointed out because I KNOW that they know, they are being less than courteous. They ESPECIALLY find it humiliating when I point it out in front of other people. I take my jabs whenever I can. Call it immature and vindictive, but I'm keeping this one.

The more things stay the same......

My parents always hoped that the things they saw in me as "flaws" would change over time and that they were just phases that I was going through. My parents always hoped that I would become something that I'm not. My parents always hoped that I would follow in their footsteps and become people just like them. My parents always hoped that everything that I was, was just a phase I would grow out of. They hoped that I wouldn't continue to be their greatest disappointment, their greatest mistake, their greatest shame, their greatest failure in life.

Well, sorry to disappoint yet again, parental units. It turns out that despite the many years of you trying to mold me, scold me, punish me and subject me to physical reprimands and what I feel to be nothing short of mental abuse, I turned out to be the exact opposite of what you had hoped for and I remained your greatest disappointment, your greatest mistake, your greatest shame, your greatest failure in life. A fact that they remind me of at every opportunity they have. What bugs them most of all is that although it used to bother me when they told me so, it no longer carries any weight with me. It no longer upsets me, and it brings me some joy and makes me smile and giggle, which in turn bugs the ever loving shit out of them, which in turn brings me quite a bit of amusement.

I've never hidden the fact that my parents and I are part of a dysfunctional family. Honestly. Mine is the perfect fodder for a comedy/ satire show about the epitome of "dysfunctional family". Between a cultural barrier, and a language barrier, anad just an all around disrespect of one another all around because I think they're a couple of assholes and they think I should respect them anyway. Pfft.... Ain't happening. I've finally gotten it to the point where they go about their business, and I go about mine. 10 word exchange per day maximum. Perfect.