Friday, January 6, 2012

No Nonsense

I have never been called sweet.  Sure I've gotten kind a few times.  People have called me interesting and different several times.  I have heard crazy and strange too.  And of course I have been called emotional and sensitive.  But whatever.  I'm not really upset about not being sweet.

Last month, as I was putting my clothes back on after a minor medical procedure a nurse said, "So you're no nonsense."   I looked at her through my post-anesethia haze and thought, this chick really gets me.  "I buy their stuff all the time, I am a no nonsense gal myself," she added sounding very chipper (again not something I have been called).  That's when I realized she wasn't talking about me at all.  She was talking about my socks.  And they weren't even very original socks either.

My mother's nickname for me was/is "Angry Angie."  I think I have mentioned in here before that a therapist along the way somewhere told me that my anger really saved me.  It got me through stuff without becoming a victim.  It has been my challenge over the last 10-15 years to lose the anger without becoming a martyr.  Ugh.

Speaking of my mommy dearest, I spoke with her last night.  It was a great conversation. She called to tell me how her therapy and home health care is going.  She told me how she figured out her meds and cut back on her painkillers.  She asked about the kids.  She thanked me for helping her through a really rough time when she fell and broke her neck. 

Yeah right.  This did not happen.  She called alright.  She called to tell me how "crazy" her dogsitter is.  Um, hello pot (you know calling the kettle and all).  Then she went on to accuse me of taking items from her home.

After agonizing over her injury, her life, her mistakes, her addiction; after mourning the mother I knew years ago; after letting myself love her just a little bit again; after letting go of my ongoing anger for her and the years of hell she has put us all through:  

She accuses me of stealing.  And I wouldn't put it past her to press crazy lady charges.

It is all over a pair of black boots.  Boots she claims I took.  Black f-ing boots.  

On the phone I could feel it coming.  My heart started racing, my blood was boiling.  "I don't have your boots mother," I started off calmly.  "You can buy different boots, hell I will buy you new boots," I said a little louder. She wouldn't let it go.  She kept pushing and pushing.  "Mother I DO NOT HAVE YOUR STUPID BOOTS," I yelled into the phone.  

"Remember it's your mother and she has a broken neck," someone said in a quiet, wee little voice in the background.  I turned around and saw my 10-year-old wise beyond his years son Peyton.  Ugh again.


The anger is back.  And it feels good.  It feels right.

They may just be a pair of socks to a sweet, chipper nurse, but to me I am no nonsense. And I'm not gonna take it anymore. (at least for a while anyway)

And here are a few things I know for sure:

One of my favorite Christmas presents was to my kids from their fabulous uncle Jeff.  The first season of The Muppet Show.  First of all, I am obsessed with the Muppets. And now after enjoying the latest movie, my kids are having a blast with the dvd's of the first season.
How cool is it that my kids are enjoying not only the Muppets, but all the great stars from the 70s!  Like Mrs. Brady. 
Look how Carrie Bradshaw Flo Henderson was with the LOVE necklace.

I still love Tina Fey/Liz Lemon and am so looking forward to new 30 Rock shows.  I know for sure that if you don't laugh watching this clip, there is something wrong with you.

Twitter is my new best friend.  Feel sorry for me?  Don't, it rocks.  Try it.  Then follow me.

My favorite angry at my mom song.  Me and Eminem---two of a kind.  I feel you Em.


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