Sister went to Spidermonkey’s for most of the day today. While she was there, she called here and asked my mom to switch her clothes over to the dryer, but to leave her jeans out to dry. My mom was in the middle of baking and said she’d get to it when she could. So later, my mom asked my dad to do it (my dad was still baking), and I guess forgot to mention the jeans.
A few hours later, there’s a police helicopter scoping the neighborhood, looking for some lunatic or something…anyway, Sister’s not home yet.
Then around 11:30, my dad says he’s going out somewhere, to keep the door locked, and not open it unless we were sure it was Sister. As soon as he was out the door, I said, “We should make her give us a password.” And we all laughed.
Sister came home about half an hour later, as we were starting How the Grinch Stole Christmas. She knocked on the door, and I ran to it, put my face to the eyehole all dramatically, and said, “Who’s there?”
She said, “It’s me! Open the door!”
I said, “What’s the password?” (still in this deep, dramatic voice).
She said, “Open the door; I’m freezing!”
I said, “That’s not the password! There’s a dangerous criminal running around out there! Gotta be sure it’s really you!!”
So then I unlocked the door and came and sat down. She comes straight in, goes to the laundry room, and shrieks, “WHO DRIED MY JEANS!!!?!?!?!?!?!?”
Milo says, “Not me.”
Brother says, “Not me.”
I say, “Not me.”
I’m pretty sure it was my dad, but I didn’t say anything. I don’t like to make her pissed off at anyone else in the family, because sometimes I think if she’s pissed off enough, she’ll kill them.
She starts shrieking at the top of her lungs how her pants are ruined now, and banging things around in there, and we’re all sitting here in silence, taking this all in…my mom’s trying to sleep in her room…Sister runs into her room, slams the door, comes back, starts shrieking some more, kicks the dog’s pen across the room, kicks a plant and knocks several branches off, shrieks some more, goes into the laundry room, looks at her pants, starts crying, stands there crying for several minutes, starts shrieking, takes all the clothes, kicks the walls, kicks the bathroom door—hard—goes into her room, and slams the door. I saw the Christmas tree shake. I also heard the bathroom door and my mom’s door rattle.
Milo decided he’d had enough. He heads to her door, knocks—we hear her shriek, “WHAT!?” He asks to speak with her, she opens the door, and an argument ensues. The point is basically something about how her pants are ruined, and nobody in her family cares, and Brother and I are rude to her, and tonight it happened before she even got in the door (and I know we’re going to get yelled at bigtime by my dad later for this)…all this shit. And Milo is saying how the pants are not our fault, to stop trying to make all of us feel bad, that my mom is trying to sleep, to be respectful, and to stop slamming doors.
Sister shrieks something else as he’s shutting the door (because, after all, she must have the last word).
So he comes back in to watch the rest of The Grinch with us, and Psychobrat turns her radio up way loud as it always is and I guess goes to sleep.
Oh, so he was working on the Viking tonight, and I was sitting there watching him, and when I told him the thing about how Spidermonkey’s getting a key to the house, he said, “Oh, get this!” He tells me that the other day, when he was the only one here, Psychobrat came in the door from hanging out with Spidermonkey, and she says, “Brent told me to tell you not to have sex with me,” with this stupid laugh, and he just looked at her like, “What!?” (and said that), and she said, “I don’t know, that’s just what he said!” and laughed again and went into her room. What the hell is that supposed to mean!?
You know what…as much of a bitch as she is to me, I still feel remorseful every time I complain about her. I really do love my family, even if some of them are constantly pissing me off. I really am grateful that I have them all, whatever I might say. It just…sometimes I think they’re literally driving me insane. I don’t know. Is it possible to love someone and hate them at the same time?
*Sigh.* I feel like it’s all my fault….
The Blue Rose Journals 