The ongoing saga of my insane mother continues. I'm convinced that she's going through "the change" or perhaps the mass quantities of drugs is catching up with her, because she's finally snapped.

I haven't spoken to her for months, but my sister continues their relationship. She doesn't have it in her to tell her to fuck her hat and she also actually gets something out of their relationship, so I get that. Anyway, my mom has asked Shannon to provide reconnaissance on me, as if I have so much going on. Also, since my mother has also apparently decided she's an evil genius and come up with a glorious plan to "make" me talk to her.

My mom?

As you may have assumed, I'll be back at H&R this year, so in a Sun Tzu-like maneuver, she informed Shannon that she will "make" me do her taxes. Unfortunately for her, I work with two other tax preparers, both of whom would be glad to prepare her taxes.

Seems like picking up a phone would be easier, though not nearly as diabolical. But whatever. Life is much less complicated, and endlessly more funny, this way.

My mom has been calling quite a lot. Finally, I just got fed up with this little game of Dodge the Crazy Bitch and told her to "get a clue and stop calling me". One part of me wants to, I don't know, write a letter and tell her all the reasons she can fuck her hat and the other part of me wants to leave her to think whatever she wants. The factors driving me toward the former are two-fold. One, my own closure. I'm holding all this in and let me tell you, I cry. I cry a lot. At least once daily, I burst into tears for no discernible reason and poor Sean is suffering the brunt of my mood swings. The second reason is that I know she's sitting at home, blaming it all on me. I can only imagine the things she says to other people in her life, considering what she's told Shannon (that my fight with Sean when I called to talk was "what I get", for example).

As far as my father, I haven't heard from him, though that isn't surprising in the least. Sean has "forbidden" me from going over there anyway, because he's been around for a lot of that bullshit. I think he's taking some responsibility for how I feel when I get home, because he's been my mode of transportation to most of these awkward clusterfuck dinners. Still, a part of me would like to tell him where to go as well, because I'm fairly certain he remains oblivious to his status on my shit list.

To top it all off, my period has been notably absent (crossing my fingers hard for a stress-related explanation) and my boobs feel like they're so inflated that they're going to explode on my chest. Also sick every day and the aforementioned crying jags. Please, please, please God, I can't have a behbeh right now (ever?). WebMD assures me, however, that it's probably just aseptic meningitis, so that's cool.

So, what happened.

Last night, Sean and I got into an enormous fight, the details of which I won't go into, but I thought it was going to be "it". It cultivated into him leaving and me going out of my mind, so I called my mom to talk. She asked how I was, and I told her that it was shitty and I needed to talk. She informed me she was just about to eat dinner and said goodbye. Fight went out, we made up.

Today, Sean, Jason, Shannon and I went to my dad's for dinner. It was, as usual, forced, fake and awkward, as those people (Dad and his new family of retards) wouldn't have anything to do with my sister and I (and actually didn't) if Shannon hadn't had Calli. An hour in, it was announced that Dad would paying the living expenses for his stepson of like, five years, who is maybe going to a college he hasn't even being accepted into, and buying him a condo. Thus, I needed a smoke so went outside with Shannon. This was after my sister received a card and gifts from a grandmother who I haven't heard from in years.

In the truck outside, Shannon told me she's pissed at our mother because after I had that brief "conversation" with her, she called Shannon. Mom asked if Shannon knew why I had called, so Shannon gave her the Cliff's notes of what occurred. My mother then told Shannon that it was "my own fault" for moving so quickly and firmly informed Shannon to not allow me to stay at her house. Being that my mother is absentee (and kind of a total cunt), Shannon was pissed and told Jason "you know if Ashley needs a place to stay, she's coming to our house", to which Jason replied "of course."

It was all too much. I asked Shannon to go inside, tell Sean to grab my purse because I was leaving. I was on the verge of bawling and couldn't take anymore "let's pretend we're a family". Sean came out and I drove us a while before I started to bawl and relinquished the wheel to Sean. My poor helpless husband grew increasingly frustrated about the way my family was behaving, and said he wanted to "have a talk" with my dad.

What do I want? Not to see my parents anymore. Sean said that I would regret it, that people usually do, you can't choose your family, etc. Maybe I can't choose them, but I can choose to not have anything to do with them. I just can't keep feeling like a burden, a disappointment, a "we couldn't choose our daughter". The only good thing those two have done is give me a sister who is my family and acts like it. Sean's family has made me feel more welcome and cared for than mine has in the past ten years, and they've never even met me.

So it looks like I can choose my family, and it does not include Leslie Stevens, Jeff Stevens, or their sparkly new families.

So, stuff has happened, but most of it has been bad, which hasn't left me much to write about without sounding like a bellyacher. But absenteeism isn't acceptable to some.

As I've mentioned before, I got married on the first. Sean's family (including some that he hasn't talked to in years) sent cards and gifts (read: money) "for the newlyweds" (the thank you cards are in the mail). My parents? My father told me "when he's invited to a wedding, he'll give us a wedding present." Fair play.

Worse, my mother. She asked what we wanted, I told her that our house was stocked, but our bank accounts were not, and all we needed was money. "Okay," she replies.

A month ago.

About a week ago, I was at my mom's house and she moans that she can't get us anything just yet because "she can't move". Unfortunately, she's been going to parties, and has a trip to Edmonton (three hours away) planned for next week, and really has no excuse. That's why I'd just given up on receiving anything from her, either.

To add insult to injury, though, when I was most recently at my mom's with Shannon, the subject of Shannon's wedding came up. Her fiance has said that the wedding won't happen if his best friend from Ontario can't attend. Immediately, my mom gauchely announces "well, if that's the case I'll fly him here for a wedding present." No more talking from Ashley.

I've pretty much written my mother off as a selfish fuck.

As an aside, let me mention that my parents wouldn't even both go to the hospital when Shannon went into labor. Do I want to even try to invite them both to a small civil wedding ceremony?

Nay.

Now, my father also doesn't intend on getting me a wedding gift, but there's far worse from him and that is he married a bitch.

Last time I went to my father's for dinner, steak was served. It should be known that I like my steak rare, very rare. From the second I walk in the door, my dad's wife Carla is going on about how she's dreading "watching me eat that" because according to her, I'll be talking during my meal. The evening progresses with intermittent mockery of my meat choices until finally it's zero hour and my meat is bleeding on my plate. Carla is truly losing her shit now, incessantly going on about how much it disturbs her. Finally, I tell her, "Carla, you have no idea how badly I want to ruin your meal right now" and Sean and Jason break into a line of questioning regarding the possibility of Carla owning bovine as a pet. She decided then that she would eat outside on the deck, and my dad will join her. So, it's Sean and myself, Jason and Shannon and Carla's son Mitchell inside and our wonderful hosts outside. I wonder the whole time if this is how they treat all their guests.

My father has been absent for years. He's only reemerged since Shannon got knocked up. After some months of Carla's ham-fisted insults of my mother and myself, I'm aware that my presence is only perfunctory. It would just be rude to invite Shannon (she of the grandchild) and leave me out, and if there's only thing my dad isn't, it's blatantly rude.

I'm done with my parents and their systematic destruction of my self esteem.

I'm still looking for a job, though my desire to keep attending these interviews is ebbing drastically. I have no idea who the Hell is applying for every job I apply for, but for whatever reason, I can not get a job. Cold Lake has recently discovered foreign labor and they are completely gung ho, in spite of the fact that there is some heavy duty unemployment in the area, since a lot of oil rigs went belly up. My last interview was extra awesome since the man I was interviewing with informed me many times how much he hates hiring Canadians "because they're lazy, and the Natives are even worse". He told me that he plans on refiling an LMO (labor market opinion - basically says there is no one locally to fill a position) for a Filipino woman he has working for him. It should be mentioned that this woman is as qualified as I am (he told all of her qualifications), but is not Canadian, and is therefore better. Pretty sure this is illegal?

Otherwise, I've quit smoking and thus, compounded all my insecurities regarding my parents. It's been a week (minus about 45 minutes of slipping), and I hate every second of it. My heart often feels like it's going to explode out of my chest, my anxiety is ka-powing all over the place, I cry a lot. I hate it. Apparently it gets better. Everyone who I come in contact with better hope that is the case.

So, yeah. Right now, FML.

My Thanksgiving was...something.

Shannon and I could not, for the life of us, figure out why my Martha Stewart Doppelganger mother was not having an Easter dinner, but all that came to light when I was warned that coming over to pick up my baby book might have to be put on hold because Mike's daughter would be there.

Awesome.

Additionally, for some reason, my sister going to Mother's house to do laundry turned into a bizarre confessional when she regaled Shannon with a story I sure as Hell have never heard. Evidently when I was around two or three, I was being a holy terror, as toddlers are wont to do. In retaliation, my mother grabbed my arm and threw me into my room. Unfortunately, in the way was my beloved Spring Horse. I don't know if you remember the old ones but they sure weren't plush - they were molded plastic and stainless steel, so when my face bounced off it, I wound up vertically breaking one of my front teeth. My father returned home that day and whisked me off to Edmonton, three hours away (Cold Lake had no dentists? I don't know.) where it took three grown men to hold my squirming, Incredible Hulk'd out ass down.

This explains my aversion and outright terror when it comes to dental work.

I don't know why this is affecting me so much. It was 23 years ago! I think the fact that I don't remember it and all of the sudden, my mom's red hot temper of yesteryear is recalled.

Speaking of yesteryear recalled, I did end up getting my baby book and it is the first time I have ever seen photos of myself as a baby. It was strange, especially since my first days of life were spent in the UofA hospital with an IV in my head. They had to shave the front and the sides, which left me looking like a pissed off raisin in a toupee. Lucky for me, I got pretty cute quickly; it wasn't a good look.