It’s Raining Men!

That’s right, the wedding actually took place (to my family’s chagrin) and “It’s Raining Men” was the song my brother Van’s (the groom) son, Brandon, requested at the reception for Brenda and Van. Nothing could have been more amusing, and while I was more than happy to have been elsewhere during it, it would have been most amusing to see myself. I will most definately be posting more pictures for laughs in the very near future.

Now I’d like to do something different with a few of the pictures and play a little game. It’s called,

Now I will show you two chins, and you guess which one belongs to my brother Van, and which one belongs to B-renda. The difficulty of this game should seriously scare you. The winner can glory in the fact that he or she can tell the difference between…ummm…I would say male and female.. but uhh.. that’s questionable. So, lets just say you’ll be real good or something, ok? I’ll reveal the true pictures in a few days.
Chin #1:

Chin #2:

Leave your guesses in the comment box.

Just Call me Aunt Renny

Tyler’s learning to write. He’s so adorable!

A picture of B-renda, courtesy of my lovely neice Brittney. I could never have gotten this angle shot without her. Carefully pointed out are her man-like features, as if I really needed to point them out! Ha!


Brittney on a sugar high.

These picture pretty much sum up my evening yesterday. Atleast the calvary arrives tomorrow, right? With back-up on Saturday!

Damned if I Do, Damned if I Don’t

Right now I feel like the hugest waste of space. Nothing I do is ever right. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I know I joke about my sanity slipping away, but at this point it’s really not a joke anymore. I don’t think I can take the pain of being a lesser person to my family much longer. These people are suppose to be my back bone, not the people that bring me down.

My mother HEARD me crying, yelled to get my attention, and when I responded what did she say? Not, why are you crying? Not, what’s the matter? No. What she said was, “Don’t flush the toilet cause I’m getting in the shower.” Wow. I say, “Maybe I shouldn’t go to the dinner tonight, I don’t think I can stand to look and B-renda and hear her crap anymore. I really just want to be a wallflower and fade into the background. I don’t want to cause problems.” my mom starts yelling, “Your not being there IS a problem. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.” I try to bite my cheek to take my mind off the inevitable emotion that wells up in the my throat like a lump. Why is it that nothing I do is right? I’m sorry that I’m a feeling person, I really wish I could make it so I wasn’t… I really do.

Seriously, if you have a trick for taking the heart off your sleeve and shoving it behind steel vaulted walls, let me in because I’m dying here.

To make everything even better…..

I did this to my mom’s baby. Her Jeep.

Those little black things on the ground? They would be the clips that hold the fuel pan in or some crap. Most of the damage was buffed right out… but one scratch remains. This will be lorded over me for the rest of my natural life. David is already referring to the Jeep as “Mom’s wrecked car” just to keep it nice and fresh. Nevermind that he scraped the mirror on the poniac going in and out and in and out of the garage with it. Did I lord it over him? Nah… I didn’t say a thing.

All I can do right now is “give it to Jesus” as my pastor would say. Harder than I thought it would be… and I’m not quite sure how it works… but I’m trying.

Do fevers happen just because your upset?

Send Help!

Wednesday starts the weekend badness, my brother Keith, his wife, and 2 kids are arriving to fill the house with noise… but they’ll be a nice catalyst to my mom’s ever-growing anger. Lately I’ve been able to do no right, and when I say ANYTHING it’s a button for her to get angry. I’ve had to eat a LOT of things I wanted to say to keep the peace around here, so I welcome my brother’s company. Maybe he can chill her out or something.

B-renda left messages on the answering machine telling me (since the answering machine is in my room) that she was going to lie to Van, since brother Keith’s arrival is a secret, that my mom wants them over for dinner on Wednesday. Oh, and she was telling him my “friend” was also flying in on Wednesday, which he isn’t, and that should assure Van wanting to come over. How sad is it that she has to tell lies to get him to visit his mother? [horrible obscenity here] Well, since my dislike grows daily, I’ve “forgotten” about it and her little surprise may not even happen. Boo-hoo. Next time, don’t piss me off and maybe I’ll be nice. Yeah, yeah… I’m petty and biatchy, shush. You would be too if your every move was scrutinized and found lacking, only to have the accusing party conveniently “forget” about the accusation moments later because THEIR stress is relieved by yelling.

Thursday is the tux fittings… yeah, and we found out TODAY! My [more bad words] brother doesn’t find it necessary to … ya know… let us in on this crap. I know… I know… chill. I’m going CRAZY here, people! CRAZY!

Friday my honey arrives (thank heavens) and I’ll finally get someone that’s sane to be around. Unfortunately, my brother Van’s little “angels” also arrive. (Psst, if I’m not bald from the stress… these two will finish me off. Send help.) So there will be at LEAST 9 people in a 3 bedroom house. This should be interesting.

Saturday is the big, fat, HAIRY event of all events. Van and the Beast get married. The one bright point, other than seeing my brother David piss off B-renda, will be seeing that hairy creature in a dress. I’ll be taking bets on the seams splitting and just how long that thing can hold out. I saw her when she was trying it on, and if a sausage could be packed any tighter I’d be surprised.

I’ll be posting pictures galore for everyone’s enjoyment. Please, stay tuned people! I’ll be blogging a LOT!

No More Rage?

Apparently I’m not “allowed” to be angry with B-renda anymore. My mother seems to think my anger only excites my brother David’s anger for queen hairiness, and so since he’s FAR more likely to do something about it than I would, she feels I should zip it.

Well, were it as easy as turning it off I would have long ago. Spending my time loathing someone isn’t something I really enjoy doing, it’s just my job title… as David would say. After all, I didn’t earn the title “The Biatch” being as sweet as my blog name may make me. When I know I’m right about something, I will drill it into your skull until you can do nothing but cave in and agree… I’m female, I’m allowed. Neener! Also, as the youngest sibling I had to out smart 4 of my bigger, stronger brothers and my “punch in the gut” kinda sister. It’s made me into the thinker that I am, and by no means am I very smart, but I can at LEAST out smart them, the dummies.

Anyway, I’m not going to stop, can’t even if I wanted to, and it’s not like my dislike is doing any harm (save a few really bad internet shot). She’s just worried I’ll say something to my multi-million dollar aunt that’ll make her look bad. Chill, mumsy… you raised me to *ahem* be classy… so I will be. As classy as a girl can be at a reception where the dress code is hick-wear. A-yuck, a-yuck.

Oh the Whore-er!

Well, last Saturday I went to B-renda’s bridal shower and as I exited the car with my mother said, “There better not be any stupid bridal shower games at this thing.” knowing full well that there would be. We entered the cave…er house and sat in uncomfortable silence as B-renda’s best friend (who is her clone) fluttered around like a pixie on speed. Now, I’ve harped on B-renda quite a bit, but I actually felt sorry for her hairiness as I took count of only 5 of us present. I remembered right then that when we’d RSVP’ed (on the last day) we had been the first to do so. It doesn’t really surprise me that B-renda doesn’t have many friends. She’s so fake it’s disgusting, and I seem to see red every time she opens her stubble laden mouth.

As the party begun I tried my hardest to act the part of excited sister-in-law to be, but I could only muster up enough fakeness to be a plastic-like happy, and only then when I was forced to be. As the games progressed, I got progressively worse. Wedding related word scramble, Guess the cake game … and then… my most hated… toilet paper bride. You separate into teams, and make a gown out of toilet paper. My mother and the woman on our team were really just trying to get it over with… and I stood there trying not to scream. When the picture taking started, I ripped the TP off with an “Oops!” to which B-renda said, “Jenny! I only got 2 pictures!” I wanted to tell her to shut her man-trap, but I fake laughed instead. I swear, I should get a medal for this crap.

Anyway, the “party” ended without any blood shed, and B-renda lived to see another day. I would post a picture of my TP horror, but I’d rather not remember that day better than I already do. I fully intend on sending her an email to express my dislike for her ASAP because I’m too chicken to say it to her face, plus… my brother could possibly see it, and he needs to.

Don’t worry; I’ll post that puppy here too. I want to remember the euphoric feeling that I’ll undoubtedly get when I write it.

Anger Management?

My brother and his hairy fiancé have been hitting me one right after the other with the (figurative) punches lately. So much so that today I was actually shaking with anger.

Now, before you assume I’m some berserking evil person, I have to say that it really takes a lot to get me seriously angry. Even today when I was shaking I was more hurt than angry. It’s like what I told my mom today as I drove her around to get things, it’s as though I’ve been walking through life with these blinders on thinking that they care. This trudge back home to help my parents has been eye-opening. No more of the “I’m the favorite sibling because I’m the youngest! Tee-hee!” anymore.

I pulled into the parking lot at Costco and sat there a second as my mom got angry at me for letting them get to me again. She said, “I learned long ago that I can’t expect people to do what they should do. You need to learn that, too.” My reply was, “Maybe your faith in my siblings has gone, but mine is just dying so you have to give me time to adjust.” She was totally speechless and then when she did talk she was really quiet when she suggested that we just go home. I put my sunglasses on and got out of the car as I scowled, “Oh, no you don’t! We’re getting B-renda’s water because I’m not dealing with her snarkiness when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

Incase you were wondering, my anger today stemmed from an incident over the phone with B-renda. I was at a bridal re-sale shop looking for a flower girl dress for her as a favor and when I didn’t answer her fast enough because my mom was also talking to me, she snapped at me. Umm…no. You DO NOT get all snarky with me, hairy. If I didn’t care about my mother as much as I do, I would have torn her a new one right then and there. Once this wedding is over though all bets are off….

Ahem… so you can see why I feel the need for anger management, no?

Sh*t Turned To Sunshine!

My life lately has had very little glow to it, but I have things I am thankful for and because of these people Keithy, Meggers, Elek… I dedicate this post to you guys. You always get me through the craptastic times.

Today, after several emails written in a progression of nastiness, I recieved the email of all emails from Colin.

“It takes about 6-8 weeks for the certificate to pass through Ottawa. Then the next step takes about 3 weeks then its over.”

All I can say to that is….


This (along with my honey Keith, and my friend Meghan and her son Elek) …. is my silver lining. Ahh… victory is nearly mine… I can almost smell it now.

Angry Bunny – Proceed With Care!

So this weekend was interesting, as all of my weekends of late seem to be. I was lazily planning my Saturday when I heard the downstairs house phone ring. I ignored it, and eventually it went to the answering machine. Soon after my cell rang and I raced to get it, but was too late. I looked to see who it was, expecting it to be Keithy, to find it was my brother Van. Hrm interesting! So I call him back only to get voice mail. So I call his house number and B-renda answers, “I don’t know why he would be calling you.” Shut up, freak. He’s my brother… duh.

Finally he calls back and says, “You gonna be at the mall today?” I’m like… huh? “Why would I be at the mall?” He says, “I got the kids today!” in a tone that says duuuuh! This, of course, angers me but I reigned it in. “Uhh… no one told me I had to be there.” He says, “Yeah, around 12:30 in the food court.” Marvelous. I hated it last time because he put me in an awkward position, so here we go again. I could hear the panic in his voice. “Right, I’ll be there.” I said. He acts like I owe it to him. “Ok, don’t be late.” Dude, don’t push it.

The kids are in rare form. Brandon hits his spine on the corner of a chair but is fine. Chris pulls a chunk of hair out of my head, like I need the help, and reports, “You wash your hair too much.” I refrain from saying anything and hold my head in horror. Brandon decides to take a lock of hair from the side of my head and again I say nothing and hold my head in awe. All-in-all it was an interesting meeting. They met B-renda and her treat to them was to make them sit in a tuxedo rental place for an hour out of their hour and a half visitation. Nice thinking hairy step-mother.

Van says, “Welp, you can go now.” as I wave to the boys as they drive off with their mom. I reign in my anger again at the dismissal. Jerk.

My mom spent the morning before I left crying about how Van doesn’t want anything to do with her, and yet I wasn’t allowed to say anything about her being upset. Well folks, I don’t need my mom’s hurt feelings to fuel my fire anymore, I have my own reasons for being bitter and angry. My family has become a wound that constantly gets slashed open, and here I am… telling whatever stranger might happen across this about it, and not the people that I should be! Why? Because if I do, then they’ll have to be upset or angry about something and that would be uncomfortable. Boo-hoo!

I haven’t talked to my brother in 2 days except to tell him that saying he’s registered at the bank for his wedding is tacky. Does he care? No. Will he? Oh hell yes. He WILL care if I have to …….do something…. really….. to like……. make him!

Running for Mayor?

This is in no way anything political, so if you’re stopping to gather some kind of information other than my views on how funny I think this guy is, you’re going to be sad.

A few weeks ago there was a piece of paper jammed into the door of the house and I picked it up as I headed out the door with the dog, shoving it into the pocket of my shorts. As I stood waiting for my dog to do her business I unfolded the paper and had a fit of laughter. There, in huge blue bolded letters “COBBLEDICK FOR BLAHZVILLAGE”. I mean, I know it’s immature to do… but… cobbledick? Man, that guy had to have been a victum of malicious teasing (and since I’m blogging about it, likely still is).

It still makes me laugh every time I enter the city and see the sign and think, how would it look to see “MAYOR COBBLEDICK” underneath it? I’m sure the snobs of Blahzvillage will be lifting their noses at such a thing.

This is a picture that is actually on his campaign site. Dude, are you TRYING to lose? It must be some kind of political humor I don’t get.

Cobbledick. *snicker*