Tonight, we went out to eat with my in-laws. I dislike saying that, because it makes it sound like I put them in a separate category than saying, “My family.” What I’m trying to do is be specific, but in my mind, it becomes half cringe worthy. But I don’t know how else to say it. I have a mom and dad, and I’ve never been a fan of calling my parents by their people names or calling anyone else mom or dad. It’s just the kind of kid I’ve always been. I get how other people can do it, and why other people do it. I do insist on occasionally calling kids “kid.” For a year or two, my friend’s daughter ceased to be known by her name and took up the nickname “Diva.” Not because she did drugs and went to rehab, but because she liked to wear pink and was assertive and adorable and an only child. I think she also had a shirt that said it, which possibly started the fad. I stopped when she got really mad and yelled about it one day. Short of nicknames, I just call my MiL and my FiL by their names. Which STILL feels weird. I guess having pseudo parents is just a weird experience, although I do enjoy having them around. I don’t know that it will never NOT be weird, and it’s been a few years. If it stops being awkward, I’ll let you know how many years it takes for that to feel normal.
We all ate and drank and talked, and a few of us were quite tired so I tried to be funny and not crabby. Which is what happens to me, and I really have no excuse other than I’m not great at containing emotions.
I’ve rewritten this paragraph several times, but basically, an issue came up. Something that isn’t political (YAY!) or deathly, but is a big problem that’s affecting one of our family members. By the time this got brought up, I got really, REALLY cranky about it. Mainly, because I had a lot to drink, I was tired, and as Booger said when his actor counterpart played a character in Risky Business, “Sometimes you gotta say, ‘What the fuck?’ ” The situation I won’t divulge, but basically, I have issues with this within my own family, and it makes me really touchy on the subject. No one was AGAINST this family member, but I got really loud and opinionated on the subject. Fortunately, even when I make people uncomfortable, my sister-in-law is really well-versed at handling awkward situations, so she didn’t think twice and just laughed and joined in talking with me about it. This led to more laughter and agreement, because when we drink, we become larger versions of children. There was also high fiving. We didn’t stay on a bummer topic for long.
I also remembered how wacky I get. There is always a piece of me that I feel like I have to apologize for later when I don’t think people should see that side. It doesn’t have to do with drinking, it has to do with my Mr. Hyde side. The form I’m talking specifically is the aspect of radical honesty (not a philosophy I live by, but something I indulge from time to time). Part of why this this blog doesn’t have a billion followers yet, because I’m not sure who I want to see it and when. I also want to reserve the right to bitch about people without them knowing about it. And my mom would kill me if she knew I was writing about her. I find that last part stupid, because she is awesome. But she won’t see it that way.
Speaking of my mom, when I got home I talked to her. She told me that one of her friend’s daughters told her tonight that I was “so lucky that I had found someone,” and it was interesting since the topic earlier in the evening had been about divorce (not my husband and I, but the family member).
“It’s hard to find a man who wants to commit,” she told my mom.
This made me feel both lucky and sad. Sad, because there are a lot of kick ass people out there, who would be awesome together if they could stop being afraid. It’s weird how you unconsciously know you’re lucky, but you forget until someone points it out. I am lucky. And I’m sure, wherever you are, you have something to feel lucky about too. The other thing is, I don’t feel that it’s necessarily luck. “Luck” is a fill-in word that partially mean luck, but there’s more to it. I also like to think it has to do with a thousand incalculable variables.
Then I made the mistake of thinking that because Lassy Legs (a product that removes hair without lasers or razors) uses a texture similar to sandpaper that if I used sandpaper on my legs, it would be THE SAME. It’s totally not, and now I have what looks like rug burn. Meanwhile, my legs are clearly raging against me in pain and the hair remains unphased. BOO. I just freakin’ shaved you! What a bunch of high maintenance sticks.
That had nothing to do with my above statement, but I thought anyone who thinks like I do should know what they’re getting into. Lassy Legs works, sandpaper doesn’t. At least, not in terms of removing hair follicles from your matching body cacti.
Anyway, so love the ones you’re with, and remember how lucky you are. Of course, you should also use more nicknames. If you have suggestions of what I could call my mother and father in law that would put us all at ease, please tell me. I’m open to suggestions.