Tuesday, January 02, 2007

It's Not Christmas Unless ThePeach's Mom Cries

Sorry for the delay, sluts. The next person to harass me (TheCrip) about updating my blog (TheCrip) is going to get a foot in the anus (TheCrip) and maybe a “Block. Delete.” off my msn (TheCrip). I’m just saying…

Anyway, here is what you’ve all been waiting for:

ThePeach’s Christmas with the Family


My Mother Hates Me: Now I Know for Sure

Ever since my mom sold our house and precious belongings (“sorry honey, I didn’t think you’d still want your baby pictures”) to move to the other side of the province with her boyfriend, we’ve been holding Christmas in her teeny little apartment in the middle of nowhere. That means that I spend my holidays stuffed in a small apartment with my mom, TigerCat, my mom’s bf, and my grandpa. There is no privacy. I can’t drop a deuce without my grandpa or my mom asking me how it went. There is nowhere to go. The apartment is literally surrounded by nothing. It is, in short, pure hell. Stuff my family in a small apartment with no privacy and no escape for a week? Sure, why don’t we just murder some kittens and maybe nuke an orphanage at the same time? It all has the same outcome: pure macabre disaster.

Our holidays can be summed up in a few choice words:

1. neglect
2. cheese
3. outright hate
4. disturbing images
5. torrid sobbing

Let us begin.

On the first day of Christmas, my family gave to me: NEGLECT

It started when my mom picked me and my sister up at the train station. The time was 7pm. We had been on the train all day. We were tired. We were hungry. Our mother had told us that we were putting up the tree that night, so we were at least looking forward to that. And then, it began…

*in the car*
Peach/Tiger Mom: We’re not putting up the tree tonight.
ThePeach: What?
TigerCat: Why?
Peach/Tiger Mom: Because it’s late.
ThePeach: It’s 7pm.
Peach/Tiger Mom: It’s late.
TigerCat: But you told us we were doing it tonight. That’s why we got here tonight.
Peach/Tiger Mom: I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

*in the car, 5 minutes later*
TigerCat: So, you know how that friend of yours stayed in the guest room for the past month? The one who had a nervous breakdown and didn’t bathe and had an infectious rash all over her body?
Peach/Tiger Mom: She bathed a few times.
ThePeach: Ya well…did you wash the sheets? And the blanket? Since we’re staying in that bed for the next week and all…
Peach/Tiger Mom: The rash wasn’t infectious.
TigerCat:…did you wash the sheets, mom?
Peach/Tiger Mom: I don’t like the way you’re talking to me.
ThePeach: I don’t want a goddamn rash, mom! Did you wash the sheets?? Why won’t you just answer us??
Peach/Tiger Mom: The rash was starting to heal by the time she left.
Peach/Tiger Mom: *parks car* We’re here!
ThePeach: For the love of fuck.

*in the apartment, after hugging our grandpa and our mom’s boyfriend*
Peach/Tiger Mom: Well, you girls must be hungry.
ThePeach: Yes, I am. Let’s sit down for dinner.
Peach/Tiger Mom: We already ate.
TigerCat: What?
Peach/Tiger Mom: We went ahead without you.
ThePeach: We just took the train for over 5 hours to come visit you and you couldn’t wait for us for dinner??
Peach/Tiger Mom: It’s late.
TigerCat: It’s 7pm!!
Peach/Tiger Mom: OH GOD I’M HAVING A HOT FLASH. *opens window; freezing rain pelts everyone in apartment* OH GOD IT’S HOT.

*the next morning*
ThePeach: *opens eyes; stretches; scratches face* I’m getting up now.
TigerCat: *scratches head* ok.
ThePeach: *opens bedroom door; encounters fully dressed mother heading out the front door* Mom? Where are you going?
Peach/Tiger Mom: Oh, just out for brunch!
ThePeach: But…why didn’t you tell us or wake us up? Can you wait a bit? We’ll come.
Peach/Tiger Mom: No, I thought just me and your grandpa and my boyfriend would go.
Peach/Tiger Mom: Bye, sweetie!

On the second day of Christmas, my family gave to me: CHEESE

I’m sure that by now you all know how much I adore the cheese. Cheese is my lover. I would marry cheese if I could, because cheese would never leave me. Cheese is always with me; every time my thighs touch while walking or my heart stops while sleeping – cheese is there. So it was no surprise that I asked my mom to stock up on cheese for the holidays. She lied and told me that she bought all kind of cheese, when in reality she just took some scary preserved cheeses out of a gift basket given to her and her boyfriend. These cheeses were wrapped in foil and did not require refrigeration. They probably gave me blood cancer.

One such cheese was called “Zingg” and this cheese scared me the most of all the scary preserved cheeses. It came in little foil triangles with pictures of cows on the front. Right away, I was alarmed because I don’t like to be reminded of which animal the food I eat comes from. I’m no box-eating hippy, but I just get thrown off when I’m reminded that my favourite foods consist of, for instance, the juice that is squeezed out of a cow’s rubbery nipples. “Zingg” wasn’t looking too appealing.

I still ate it. Zingg tastes like feet. TigerCat liked it:

TigerCat: It tastes like Kraft Dinner!
ThePeach: Let me try some. *peels silver wrapper off Zingg; spreads on cracker; consumes* OH GOD.
TigerCat: Isn’t it good?!
ThePeach: OH GOD *clutches stomach* OH GOD, IT’S HORRIBLE.
TigerCat: But it tastes like KD!
ThePeach: *gags* It tastes like day-old Kraft Dinner NOODLES!

On the third day of Christmas, my family gave to me: OUTRIGHT HATE

My mom did a really great job this year of making my sister and I feel unwelcome. You’ve gotten a taste of this in the NEGLECT section. I should also mention that she:

- did not do any groceries for Christmas dinner
- did not do any Christmas shopping until 4 days before Christmas, and told us this.
- told me that she didn’t like hosting Christmas and didn’t want to do it anymore.
- did not put up any Christmas decorations
- left us one towel. For two people.
- spent 3 of the 5 days that we were visiting doing fun family activities without her daughters. We would wake up to notes left on the kitchen table.
- yelled; cried

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, don’t you think?

On the fourth day of Christmas, my family gave to me: DISTURBING IMAGES

Here are some of the images my family delighted me with at the dinner table on Christmas day:

Image #1
Courtesy of: Grandpa
Situation: Turkey Carving
Effect on ThePeach: chokes on wine

Grandpa: Spread ‘er legs and dig ‘er out!

Image #2
Courtesy of: Mom and Mom’s Boyfriend
Situation: Clearing table
Effect on ThePeach: throws up into napkin

Boyfriend: Can you grab it?
Peach/Tiger Mom: I live to grab it.

Image #3
Courtesy of: Mom
Situation: Pouring wine
Effect on ThePeach: Threefold (anger, disturbed, blame for poor math skills and other mental deficits)

Peach/Tiger Mom: This is the wine I was drinking when I got pregnant with you, ThePeach!

Thanks a fucking lot, whore. Next you’re going to pull out your crack-pipe and tell me how you celebrated my 6 month gestation. If I had been born with a flipper I would slap you in the mouth with it right now.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my family gave to me: TORRID SOBBING

As my title suggests, it’s just not Christmas unless my mom throws a crying fit. She’s awesome that way. She knows how to take a warm and loving holiday and turn it into a reason to slit your wrists with a butter knife. The crying fit almost invariably occurs during the cooking of Christmas dinner, which is when my mom’s stress levels reach a point that only be described as “neurotically amazing”. My sister and I actually cook most of the dinner, yet my mom still finds a way to make it seem like she has never worked so hard in her life and that she hates us, the tumors of her womb, for forcing her to partake. My sister and I will be calmly peeling potatoes and basting the turkey, when my mom will explode into the kitchen, knock over a pot, yell at us for criticizing her, moan about how much work needs to be done, hit her head on a cupboard door, swear, cry, and go hide in her room while my sister and I clean up the trail of wine and antidepressants she left in her wake. She’ll emerge 20 minutes later to tell us how much she loves us. On her way out of the kitchen she’ll trip on an apron string and the whole scene will be repeated.

Here is how this year’s torrid sobbing went down:

My sister and I were in control of the kitchen. Everything was cooking beautifully and we were being totally competent and amazing. My mom didn’t trust us and watched over us like a hawk. A hawk who doesn’t know when to shut up. A hawk who has hot flashes every 13 minutes and tells us about them in detail. A hawk who needs to be slapped in the mouth. Yet we kept calm, somehow. Things were still somewhat civil…until:

Peach/Tiger Mom: Ok, you girls did an adequate job on the gravy. Now, I’ll just pour it into this gravy boat…*spills gravy all over hell’s half acre*
TigerCat: Shit.
Peach/Tiger Mom: *pitiful sobs*
ThePeach: Jesus Christ.
Peach/Tiger Mom: *torrid sobbing*
TigerCat: It’s not Christmas unless mom cries.
Peach/Tiger Mom: *little-girl giggles* Dinner time!




QueenB said...

It's not Christmas until the aunt who skipped Midnight Mass for "AA" gets herself and her 13 year old daughter drunk on the free booze Christmas day and then asks for MORE money and packs all the leftovers to take home...Sweet Jesus....the 6th day of Christmas: Gluttony and your other relatives

asian cymbals said...


Too good.

It was great seeing you when you escaped back to UniversityTown early after all that stuff!

Maybe you disown your mother?

Cleavage said...

I thought I was the only person in the world with a mom who cried hysterically EVERY Christmas!
Let me rub it in a little: I skipped the crying this Christmas. If the Englishman's mum cries on Christmas day, I didn't see it. The most stressful it got was his sister and I duking it out in Trivial Pursuit.
So the simple solution to holiday stress is to go at least 5000 km from where your blood relatives are, and when you telephone them and hear them arguing, pretend there is lots of static and then hang up.

Anonymous said...

I agree with Cleavage, although you don't have to actually go 5000 km away from your relatives... you just have to not go to your mom's house anymore. Have a sister Christmas next year! And don't tell me that you would miss going home. That's why you have blog entries like this, to remind yourself that you won't miss going home!

theHubby said...

In my family I'M the one who got stressed out/overly emotional and turned into a crying lunatic bitch. Maybe we are related by blood...or maybe I have a uterus, and this is the cause of my hysteria. Either or.

asian cymbols' gay friend said...

You just made my Christmas seem that much better. Thanks. :) P.S. I'm sorry your mom is a whore like that. You and your sister deserve better.