The pen, the sword, or the venomous tongue?
There are certain traits I always knew to be genetic: height, build, hair and eye color. They're the visual "markers" that state we belong to a certain family. "That Debbie, she has the Gibson eyes!" But what about the internal stuff, the traits that make up our personalities? Is it possible to pass on charm, money sense, or the habit of procrastinating until the very last second? The person I believe I resemble the most, my Mom, is an amazing and talented woman. But like all humans she's flawed, built with a few imperfect (and perhaps undesirable) qualities.
Back when I was going through the terrible-teens, my Mom and I would get in these awful fights about nothing. Maybe I stayed out too late the night before. Maybe she wanted to borrow the sweater I was wearing. They would start off as unplanned verbal attacks, crude and juvenile. "I hate you!" "You're grounded!" "Yeah well... You're OLD!" And it would end with well orchestrated letters, designed to disarm and destroy in one blow, slipped under my door. At least that's how I viewed them at the time.
I hated seeing those envelopes. I would start crying before I even opened them. They symbolized my ultimate defeat. I had made the grave mistake of giving her time to think, and now I was going to pay. Once I understood that those letters would NEVER contain a white flag, I tried to avoid them. I wouldn't read them. I ignored them. I'd try to apologize before she could even pull out a pen. Eventually I moved out on my own, and I believed the days of the venomous tongue were done. I was wrong. "You're such an asshole Hoop. A big, fat, hairy ASSHOLE!"
That was me last night, knee deep in paper and boxes. Hoop had been complaining for an hour that he was tired. I had been packing for three evenings straight. Hoop's first mistake was letting me go to bed angry. His second was letting me get up angry. As I laid into him this morning, words of poison frothing off my lips, I felt the shadow of my Mom lurking about. These weren't juvenile insults I was throwing around. They were words meant to disarm and distroy. After Hoop had left for work I sat in the bathroom thinking, "I sounded like my Mother! Which means this horrible trait is genetic. Shit, I'm doomed. WE'RE doomed. Poor Hoop." We should adopt.
Oh, and speaking of Hoop, he's fine. He says the "new one" I ripped him makes it a lot easier to get in and out of the bathroom quicker. *Sigh*
Courtesy of Odd Mix:
The words for this weekend are...
Unposted as of yet. Check back later for updates!
Around The Water Cooler:
Coworker: I get so disorientaded.
Tink: What makes you disoriented?
Coworker: Wearing glasses.
Tink: Well, that kind of defeats the purpose.
Around The Water Cooler 2:
Sales Guy: Sorry to interrupt. I need you to get me that invoice.
Coworker: I'm on lunch.
Sales Guy: I know, but I need to leave in five minutes.
Coworker: But, I'm on lunch.
Sales Guy: You're sitting right outside the building!
Coworker: Would you like me to Mary-Fucking-Poppins it for you?
Sales Guy: *Leaves in a huff*
Tink: I think Mary Poppins would have been nicer about it.
Around The Water Cooler 3:
(Please, no hate mail. I do not condone where this conversation went)
Tink: I swear, some men can't manage money to save their lives.
Coworker: Who are we talking about?
Tink: Papa Bear. My poor Mom has her hands full.
Coworker: It's like living with a Downs Syndrome person.
Tink: Excuse me?!
Coworker: They look like adults, but they're not capable of handling adult things.
Tink: Did you just compare my Stepdad to a mentally disabled person?
Coworker: Well I didn't mean any offense to the disabled.
Tink: I mean... I can't... Nevermind. I'm going back in.
Countdown Until Hoop And I Are Homeless: 11 Days
Have a wonderful weekend!