Sweet fucking Christ. I do not know how I am going to get through the remainder of today and all of tomorrow without a) crying (working on that now, actually) or b) totally blowing up at my family members.
Tomorrow is the big party for the 'rents anniversary. The closer it gets to lift-off, the more often people (my sister, actually) are calling and the more they are saying ridiculous shit.
First, my sister called with a question about the wine I was getting. I have a box of white and I'll be getting a box of red. See, the whole discussion we had with the liquor was that we'll get basics -- wine, beer, vodka and gin. Anyone who drinks odd stuff will almost certainly bring their own anyway (we do know our family). Apparently, my mom was not happy that the box of white wine I had was not a riesling. This is her party and she wants to drink what she wants.
Fine, I will get you a fucking bottle of riesling. Suddenly, this is HER PARTY. She can't relinquish control for five fucking minutes because we might not do shit right.
My sister just called again (the third time since I got into the office) to ask me a question about dressings on our salads. I've been saying for weeks that they should all be dressed today, because the flavors need time to marry. That's how it fucking works. We'll leave out cheese, nuts and the like that would get soggy, but the salads will taste better if everything else sits overnight so the flavors develop.
But my sister and my mom know better, so nothing is getting dressed until tomorrow. Why am I even involved? No one listens to a goddamn thing I have to say. My sister is being the fucking martyr because she was at the farm yesterday -- an entire day and a half before me. And she and the future sister-in-law will have everything done by the time my brother and I get home. I'm terribly, terribly sorry that I don't have summers off because I'm not a teacher. I'm sorry we're busy and I have coworkers out on top of that.
If they're not home when I make it down, they're at my aunt and uncles and I should just drive over. How 'bout I just stay at the house with the dog and watch the Twins by myself because I cannot deal with you people
Everything will turn out just fine and all that, I'm sure. But Jesus, getting there might very well kill me. But when you see that newspaper headline that says "Anniversary party turns into family brawl," well, it's not like no one saw it coming.