So annoying, people who complain all the time Ruin Thanksgiving

(edit: If viewing in Reader, title makes no sense.)

If you have ever been to rehab or a 12-step meeting, you discover quickly that some people consist of complaints and not much else.

Constant Complainers also tend to have scant self-awareness, so there is little motivation for them to shut it.

I complain, too much I’m sure. I hope I sprinkle enough positivity, or hell, neutrality in there to keep people guessing. I’m terrified to know how much self-awareness I lack. My husband sometimes fills me in, but when that dam breaks and a torrent of failings head my direction, I’m usually too pissed at him to give a damn what he thinks.

My parents consider it abusive – they actually use that word – when I reveal an annoyance, big or small. Hilarious (to me): at my last session my therapist exclaimed, “You have such a dysfunctional family! Oh Jesus.. so dysfunctional! Why would you want to be around these people at all?!?”

She has NO idea. I’m there for some CBT; talking about the past is only therapeutic when I’m able to amuse someone or myself with a story that captures part of my family’s… unique way of interacting.

And therapists don’t find anything about dysfunctional families amusing.

I started this post planning on getting some complaints off my chest, but instead I’ll tell you about The Year I Ruined Thanksgiving. Forever. It’s not ha-ha funny, but it will give you a tiny glimpse of the insanity and the hoops I have learned to jump through to keep the peace.

Our family rented a house on the Oregon coast. Mother-in-law was there along with my brother and his family. No problems so far. Things are peaceful, normality is prevailing.

Getting ready for dinner, I noticed that my mother made a Caesar salad, which has anchovies in the dressing. My husband is a vegetarian, and simply could not live with himself if he knew he had consumed a miniscule amount of anchovies. Yes, I think it’s a bit silly when he has leather seats installed in his car, but we can’t always be morally consistent.

I tell him about the dressing. It’s exactly the kind of thing he would be unaware of, which my mother was apparently banking on because obviously Thanksgiving is ruined if Bill can’t eat the salad.

Thanksgiving was ruined. I took about two minutes of her moaning about the horror of it all and how evil I was for revealing dressing ingredients and left the table, sarcastically saying “Well, I guess I ruined Thanksgiving.”

“Yes You Did!”

Impressive. Especially considering I was sober.

The next morning neither parent would talk to me (my dad follows my mom’s lead – wimpy, yet smart) except when we left. My mom declared that it was terribly unfortunate that our family could never celebrate Thanksgiving together again.

And we haven’t.

I’m ok with that.

However, I have grown somewhat proud that I am a person who Ruined Thanksgiving… Forever! Family members who accomplish such feats should be accorded special status.

I still love them.

No Badfinger Bad Luck

I have been asleep for most of the past few days. Worn out, stressed…

I am not a person who sits well when things slip out of her control, and a bunch of stuff fell out of my hands all at once.

It was a bad run, but I can feel things turning around. There’s having a run of bad luck, and then there’s Badfinger Bad Luck. And I’m sure it will never get that bad.

As a child, decapitation was a frightening concept


I do love Golden Age Illustration.
From: The life of Jesus : retold from the Gospels for children (from “Stokes’ wonder book of the Bible”)
Helen Ward Banks, Florence Choate illustations, published 1922

On The Line

Epic headache has finally subsided. Just the occasional spark. I am actually quite tough when it comes to pain, but this reminded me of the excruciating pain of ear infections as a child. It would not release me from its grip for a second, and stuck around for days.



This is happening. Without revealing my precise location, I’m on The Line.

Excited, but the city is going to be packed. People are renting out their yards for tents. Need to stock up on necessities and hide.

The Joplin tornado hit a month after we moved here from Seattle:


When she’s on her best behavior
Don’t be tempted by her favors
Never turn your back on Mother Earth
Towns are hurled from A to B…

Nasty, brutish and short. And random rules.

Quick note: I’m turning off likes for quickie posts. I know it’s still an option in Reader, and that’s fine. Just so you know why likes come and go. I’ve considered turning them off completely, but continue to allow comments. Maybe.


I still have a headache. But I slept, so I probably won’t crack.

But, wtf? Going on 48 hours. It’s not a migraine. I am blessedly free from that curse.

Stress. Grinding teeth, family strife I won’t detail here, mostly because it’s so ridiculous and incomprehensible why they do the things they do. It’s a mess. I have to fix the situation. Unfair but necessary. And it’s what I do.

Agony, Insomnia, and Pavel Tchelitchew


The Eye, 1949. Central location of my epic headache. Odds of it leaping out of the socket in a mad dash for relief? High.


Self explanatory.

You should be able to relax

when you have a generic option for one of your meds. Right?


$8 copay three times a month now $100 copay. Three times a month.

Greedy bastards.