My Idiot Brother

My Idiot Brother annoys me.

There's more to the story, but essentially, we are back on speaking terms. No, he hasn't apologized for calling a f*&^ing thief, and no, I'm not thrilled that we are speaking again. It's just that he has my phone number, and I care about my nephew too much to spit in his father's eye when there's still a chance that I can be of some benefit to my nephew.

Today he called me after fighting with his son; he wanted to go through the whole fight all over again and explain to me how very wronged he was. Oh goody. He never listens to me, but I told him that he needs to stop fighting with his son. Stop getting angry. Stop trying to convince the kid of anything. Just lay down some rules of the house on paper, some rewards and repercussions, and STOP TALKING.

"Oh, you're so right. You're so right," he gurgles all over me.

Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You never listen, but sure, I'm right. I'm right.

Best line from MIB (My Idiot Brother): "It's just so HARD raising children!"

Are you freaking kidding me? ME? You're saying this to ME? If you hadn't been a deadbeat dad for the last five years and an oblivious jerk for twelve years before that, you might be having a *slightly* easier time of it now, you know.

Author, know your audience.

And then the crazy hits

This seems to be happening to me with greater frequency this month.

I'll be talking to someone, or following an argument online or on TV, nodding my head, agreeing with the premise, happy and content, and the the crazy hits. About five steps in, the person I thought was so perspicacious drops a crazy bomb right in the middle of an example.

Whoa. Wait a minute. I was with you right up until .... What? You really believe THAT?

Well then, I don't think I can go with what you were saying three minutes ago. Except for the fact that I was fine with where you were going right up until the moment you pulled that LAST over-the-top example out of your butt.

Assuming that we bring up the point we think is the strongest early on when trying to convince someone, can I suppose that this last bit isn't as important to you as the ones I agreed with? I'd like to go with what you said right up until you lost me.

But on the other hand, if you believe ANY PART of that last bit, I have to question whether you are a rational human being I should be taking advice from whatsoever. Because that one was on the nutty side of loony.

Maybe in your quest for intellectual stardom you reached too far? Benefit of the doubt? Want to reel that one back in?

But then when it's in print, there's no way to question the author, is there? And then I'm left with this niggling feeling that this thing I'm reading is annoying the crap out of me not because I'm deeply in denial of finding the pathway to sanity, self-respect, honesty, and a better marriage with a cherry on top, but because the author may very well be a quack dressed up in a business suit and I'm just too smart for all this self-help mumbo-jumbo heaped up on a pile of crazy.

Or I'm sabotaging myself looking for flaws in arguments.

My therapist is going to want to discuss this, and I don't want to find out that my therapist thinks this author is "all that". Because I do not like arguing with my therapist, but I cannot DEAL with any theory based on the application of applied kinesiology as proof. Weaker arm in the presence of negative thoughts my ass.

Crap. Stuck in the crazy.

I need to go find some more escapist fiction, thank you very much.

Best email salutation ever.

"Dear Knitting Mentor Guru Fabulous Suisan Person,"


Now tell me, who wouldn't get a pick-me-up from that? Made my day, it did.

-------------

In other news, I should not go shopping with my youngest daughter ever again. She is not me and I don't get her.

I never got the whole "window shopping", "retail therapy", "Let's try on tons of clothes just for fun" thing that girls do to bond with each other. Shopping frustrates me as it forces me to look in the mirror and examine things that don't quite work. It's all a compromise in the end, and I just want to find an outfit that works with as little fuss as possible.

Basically I want Garanimals for adults. If the top is red plaid with a little bit of black, then it goes with black pants or a white skirt. Hoorah and woopdidoo. Can I go home now? I'm totally an East Coast L.L. Bean, Talbot's, Woolrich, Orvis sort of chick. Straight, boxy stuff in simple colors. Toss in the occasional yellow wool blazer for a touch of pizazz when I'm feeling exotic. But everything else should just *be*.

I'm not feeling the kid's clothes these days. It's ruffles at weird places and strange necklines and I seriously cannot figure out whether some of these things are super short skirts or skinny tunics. And the fabrics are, um, yuck.

But hey, I don't have money for L.L. Bean clothes for my youngest kids who grow through them too fast as it is. So here we are at Walmart and Target looking over summer clothes with my youngest daughter. Oy yoi yoi. Bad mommy, me.

We ended up with a good selection of shorts and t-shirts. Along the way there were way too many snide comments ("You know I don't like THAT color green, Mom.") and an almost complete meltdown over socks ("The ankle socks slip under my heel! But I'm not wearing CREW socks with shorts! That's stupid. And stop pressuring me, Mom. There are too many CHOICES!" Really? Short or tall -- pick one.), but eventually we got through it all. I just may never speak to her again.

I can't wait for the teenaged years with this one.