Nice knowing you jerks. I made my own Grumpy Cat meme and I have to tell you, it’s a doozy. Any second now, I am expecting the money to start pouring in… that’s why people make so many of these damn things, right? Because they’re getting paid, right?
Right?
Oh.
I take back that whole “jerk” thing. Here’s the pic I made:
Last week my Aunt contacted my brother to let us know my mother was kidnapped.
Before you say “Holy shit, Darian! Did you call the Mexico City Police?!?!”, you need to know… we don’t live in Mexico. So the abduction of an adult senior citizen with no money is a statistical impossibility. You’d have a better chance of being a hand model with leprosy. However, what passed for sanity in my mother was long ago spinning back kicked in the face until it bled common sense all over her priceless Precious Moments ceramic figurines.
From the first text, we both knew it was bullshit.
As the story unfolded, we were led to believe she was kidnapped.
;
Details were sketchy at first. She allegedly was seen getting into a black car with a stranger two days prior. My daughter is 8 and one of the first things we taught her was simple: Don’t get in cars with strangers. However, since we didn’t respond to my mother’s past threats and insulting emails, it isn’t beyond her to “show us” by hitching a ride with a spade shovel wielding maniac. Then we found out she had told a neighbor she was going away for a day. Then we found out “no, that wasn’t true”. Then they got my grandma involved.
At this point we had two frantic family members calling us to find our missing mother. Why call the police to report a kidnapping when you can just contact The Hardy Boys, amirite?
Needless to say, if my brother or I were to have played Liam Neeson’s role in either Taken movie, it would have been the shortest movie ever.
“I don’t know who you are, but you should know: I have a certain skill set that allows me to be apathetic about even the most seemingly horrific thing someone could be told. And I have old episodes of Fringe on my DVR so I have to get to that before I run out of space… so… yeah…”
This all begged the question: If a tree is kidnapped in a forest and no one cares, was it ever really kidnapped?
I’d say “no”.
When I set up my mom’s last PC, I installed logmein on it so that way the next time she hurled racist comments at Road Runner’s tech support, I wouldn’t have to drive over to her place to retrieve her deleted address book. By the way, the last time she called tech support, the tech on the other end of the phone told her that their name was “Purple”. It could have been because the person’s name was “Purple”, but I think it was more because she was insulting whatever country she thought kicked this person out.
Even though she was “missing” and no one had seen or heard from her, and why weren’t we more concerned, ie launching a 32 state search party with our private funds, the whole time I was watching the logs as she logged on her machine, used it, logged off, day after day. Suffice it to say, my personal alarm level never raised above “watdafuq”.
Finally, after a week of being imaginary kidnapped, my mother was able to fight off her pretend attackers and drag her way from her apartment to her apartment, where she was able to put together an email for my brother and I. In it, she discusses how it takes a “tragedy like this” to make her realize how horrible she did at raising both of us. By “tragedy” she means “fake kidnapping”. I am almost certain faking a felony is a felony, but, like I said before, I’m not a cop. She also tells us to stop throwing pity parties for ourselves, while she is in fact, on the business end of a pity party.
I can only imagine after this, the only thing she can do next is fake her own death, wait for us to come to the funeral, jump out of the casket and admonish us for never believing she has a problem.
Like the Iran/Contra affair and President Regan, she has an easily defensible position on this issue. She never told us directly she was kidnapped. Instead, she left us to use our super skills of inference to connect the dots and figure out “Why, she must be kidnapped!”
Anyway, here is the email (the previous email was how the government is screwing her and my Grandma over, and how my Aunt is conspiring with her goofy ex-boyfriend to steal her cell phone minutes):
Subject: BY THE WAY….
I NEVER GAVE EITHER OF YOU MY NEW PHONE NUMBERS BECAUSE NEITHER OF YOU “EVER” CALLED OR CHECKED UP ON YOUR MOTHER, ANYHOW. YOU ARE BOTH PITIFUL…U SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES. JUST REMEMBER, WHEN YOU BOTH TURN 70 OR 89, WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES AROUND….I GAVE MY ALL FOR 37 YEARS TO YOU BOTH AND YOUR FAMILIES, AND FOR WHAT? ???…FOR YOUR PITY PARTIES, I GUESS…..TIME TO GROW UP….YOU ARE BOTH HEADING TOWARD 40….TIME TO TAKE OVER, NOT TIME TO THROW PITY PARTIES……AND WHAT I GAVE TO YOU BOTH, SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING. IT IS/WAS YOUR HERITAGE. IT DOES NOT MEAN A THING TO ANYONE ELSE BUT IT SHOULD MEAN A WHOLE LOT TO THE BOTH OF YOU. HOW SAD YOU BOTH ARE. AGAIN, SHAME ON YOU BOTH!! I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO DISAPPOINTED IN THE BOTH OF YOU IN MY ENTIRE 39 YEARS WITH YOU. BUT, I FOUND OUT THAT IT TAKES A TRAGEDY LIKE THIS TO FIND OUT WHAT YOU DID WRONG ALL OF YOUR LIFE…DO NOT MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES THAT I MADE….DO NOT BUY YOUR CHILDREN EVERY DAMN THING THAT THEY WANT BECAUSE IT WILL MEAN NOTHING TO ANY OF THEM…..
Since the last time we spoke, my mother faked her own kidnapping. I am trying to figure out a way to make that more interesting than it already comes across in a single sentence.
For now though, I noticed I have a lot of texting mishaps where I am misunderstood. Usually it’s a simple typo, but the other end always goes away feeling as if I’m a douche. Nothing could be further from the truth. As a self improvement exercise, I went back and looked at my more recent texts. I’ll let you be the judge.
For the record, it was supposed to be a frowny face. I was going to tell him that, but there was a cool commercial on TV for a Hot Wheel race track that glowed in the dark and I got distracted.
He is leaving off the part where he shoved my remote down the front of his pants. Puts it all in perspective, doesn’t it?
The next one is from a shut in friend of mine. Maybe he would be able to look society in the eye if he didn’t do dumb things.
Am I a dick? I think not. The evidence clearly shows, these are all honest mistakes.
Hi, my name is Leonard and I work with Darian. He told me last week I’d be famous if I kept a log of my day and allowed him to post it on his stupid website. I’m not sure I understand why I would do this, but I do like to keep people in the know about some obvious facts they may have missed. It’s important to me that people stay as informed as I am about super important topics.
Hi! I’m Leonard. Do you want to discuss fracking? Because I do!
5 AM – 6:28 AM: Just got out of bed, showered and had a slight panic attack. I couldn’t find my denim jacket. Thankfully, it was where I left it, covering the entrance of the huge hole under my house where I decided to put in a basement, 20 years after the house was built. The whole process has been frought with hardships. Many of those hardships I was fortunately able to document in photos that I sent to Darian in email. He never replied to ask me about them. Sometimes I think he doesn’t want to talk about the type of concrete I poured, the amount of dirt I shoveled by hand and large machinery and my wood burning stove. I know that’s just me being silly, because why wouldn’t someone want to talk about it? Regardless, I always make sure to mention it to him first thing in the morning while his mind is still fresh. I want him to be able to take in the scope of what I am doing on every aspect of this project. After donning my jacket, I am out the door, lickety spit, for work!
7 AM: I arrived at work at 7. My official start time is at 8, but I like to be here when Darian gets here. One reason is I know he is always late and I want him to see how a good employee operates. The other reason is I know he really likes talking to people first thing in the morning. Every day when I start talking as soon as his foot crosses the threshhold of the office, I hear him say “Oh God” and I can only assume he is calling out in praise, thanking our Lord for allowing him another chance to talk to me. There are two light switches in our room, one set of lights is brighter than the other. Idealy, I would have every light on in the room, with additional 1000 watt LED lanterns, but Darian always shuts off all the lights. If it’s dark out, he will only turn on the dimmest of lights. He has mentioned before that the brighter set of lights causes him a migraine as they shine right in his eyes when he is sitting at his desk, but I don’t believe him. Bright lights: On.
7:45 AM: Darian arrives to work, a prompt 15 minutes late. I have spent the last 45 minutes compiling a list of grievances comprised of everything in the department that is wrong. Most of these are things I could easily take care of myself, but since he is technically my boss, I like him to know his leadership is what is wrong with this country. My favorite thing to do is to drop a pile of issues in his lap and walk away. This morning was different; prior to that I went into great detail about how the new restaurant in my area brought me sweet potato fries instead of regular fries. I was shocked by how much of a story there was to tell, but I really mined it for all the gold nuggets within and I could tell he really enjoyed it.
8:30 AM: Darian complained of a migraine and looks like he might puke. I know a lot about migraines, so I do my best to inform him. Did you know there are several types of migraines, as well as several other types of headaches that get mistaken for migraines? There are, at my last google search while Darian had his head down on his desk: cluster migraines, ocular migraines, sinus headaches, tension headaches, hemicrania continua headaches and status migrainosus. That’s a lot of headaches! How could Darian treat his headache if he doesn’t know what kind it is? I told him all about it, but he didn’t reply. I was afraid he didn’t hear me so I said it much louder and started playing videos of various doctors talking about it on youtube at twice the volume it would take to entertain 39 small children. I also farted several times. Not to be funny or ironic, but because that is what I do.
8:38 AM: Darian shut off the over head light and left the room. I have answered my phone three times already this morning and my phone smells weird. I can’t be certain, but I think he’s doing something to the part I speak in to every day. While he’s gone, I notice that my desk once again seems as if it’s more cramped. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was moving it every few days.
9:07 AM: Darian returns. He still looks like he is in pain but he is communicating. I announce loudly that I am going to make a pot of coffee and share with hm a wonderful song I made up on the spot about making coffee. “Making coffee, no one else can; I love coffee, I’m a real man”. I’m the best songwriter I know. I write songs in my head all the time. I sing them as I make them up because everyone enjoys them so much. He left again with a stack of work orders in his hand.
1106 AM: I just read an interesting article about how a salt mine is releasing methane gas in Louisiana and it may collapse, destroying the southern half of our country. I can’t wait to tell Darian, I bet he thinks this is really important. Of course, I’ll have to step him through how this happened and propose an evacuation plan should this occur.
11:48 AM: Darian returns to grab his coat so he can go get lunch. I watch as his cell phone rings and rings, and his desk phone rings and rings, and various people stop in to see him while he is trying to leave. Now seems like the perfect time to discuss fraking. I love to talk about fracking. And HAARP. But today, I want to tell him about fracking.
Hydraulic fracturing, or “fracking”, is the process of drilling and injecting fluid into the ground at a high pressure in order to fracture shale rocks to release natural gas inside.
There are more than 500,000 active natural gas wells in the US.Each gas well requires an average of 400 tanker trucks to carry water and supplies to and from the site. It takes 1-8 million gallons of water to complete each fracturing job.The water brought in is mixed with sand and chemicals to create fracking fluid. Approximately 40,000 gallons of chemicals are used per fracturing. That’s a lot of chemicals! I could go on and on, I did with Darian. I just don’t want to type it all out. But I bet you’re curious now, right?
1:15 – 1:52 PM: Darian returns with his lunch. I’m not allowed to watch TV at home so I spent my lunch watching old Charlie Chaplin movies on youtube. Oh, how I laugh. Once the one I was watching finished up, I found some calming music to play for Darian, loudly. I could wear headphones, but I think he enjoys letting me pick out his entertainment for him. Yesterday it was Middle Eastern chants, but today it’s something really special. African Tribal drum patterns. Man, those guys beat the heck out of some drums.
2:07 PM: Darian seems to be intensely concentrating on something while taking multiple phone calls. I take this time to invite a few janitors in and discuss the current state of our employer. We make some uproarious jokes and everyone has a good time. Except for Darian. He just keeps looking at me and muttering. I tried to explain that sometimes there are pacific problems I have to deal with, and also how much I would like to see the Specific Ocean one day. I went on to tell him about a bad cable drop. I told him “if I only had a set of dykes, I could really whack this thing off”. He just laughed at me. I don’t know what I said, but lots of times I am so witty even I don’t realize it. Just the other day I saw a guy up in a ladder. I yelled up at him “How’s the weather up there?” And we laughed.
2:58 PM: Darian left again to go do something. I don’t know what he does. I assume he is off somewhere being a bad employee. That’s what bad employees do. I go back to youtube to look up videos on HAARP. Oh darn, I forgot to tell him about the Methane Salt Mine conspiracy.
3:30 PM: It is the end of my shift. No matter what I am doing, I walk out at exactly the same time everyday. I’ll usually leave by saying something witty like “I guess we’ll do it again tomorrow”, but since Darian isn’t here right now, I turn on all the lights and walk out. This was fun, I may start doing this everyday.
My name is Lillian and there are several things I hate. My biggest complaint is anyone born after 1968, because that’s when they stopped making God damn common sense!
Do you see the numbers on my rear view mirror and how they match that parking space? That’s because it’s MY PARKING SPACE!!!
Another thing I hate is when people park in my Moses lovin’ parking space. They’re assigned for a reason! I work in the lunch room here at the school. My responsibilities include separating cheese from the wrappers it comes in and on some days, I also have to divide plastic silverware. I do it alphabetically. We don’t have any sporks but if we did, I’d put them last because they are an abomination in the eyes of our Lord. My hands hurt and sometimes I accidentally tell students my social security number.
Today when I got to work, some big white van was in my parking space. Normally, I park in one of the I.T. guy’s parking spaces, but today they were already here. So what did I do? I’ll tell you what I mother lovin’ did. I parked right behind the asshole’s car that runs this stupid ass website. He can be as snarky as he wants to be, but that little Mary won’t be going anywhere soon.
Last week I tried to park in a different parking space and I was attacked by birds. It was only two but they pecked at the dried up milk in the corners of my mouth and on my chin until my skin was chapped. One of them bit my lip and I accidentally kissed it since I’m always sucking on hard candy.
Back when we fought those crazy little shits from Germany, we didn’t have parking spaces or killer birds. In one way, that’s good, because now I have a parking space. The trade off is I am getting French kissed by God damn sparrows and blue jays.
If these assholes think I’m parking 30 feet away from my space and risk getting my face shit on, they have another thing coming. End of world rules apply, jerk faces and if I want to double park your sissy asses, I will!
Yeah, I did that. Hope you don’t have any place you have to go, smart ass.
This morning I decided to stop in for a bite at a popular fast food chain. I won’t name them because I don’t want to get a C & D or to get sued in some fashion. Besides, the location wasn’t important. What was interesting to me was the person that took my order. Her name was Rebecca. She lives with her daughter who has several children. Rebecca also falls back asleep after her alarm goes off.
Why do I know all of this after a two minute McEgg and cheese biscuit ordering exchange?
This isn’t the lady that took my order. I Google image searched “Crazy Old Person” and this came up. So there you go.
Because Rebecca is like all of society. She only cares about herself. The difference is that Rebecca wasn’t smart enough to pretend to listen to other people. Our conversation went like this:
Her: Good morning, may I take your order?
Me: I’d like a number 3 with a medium decaf.
Her (after awkwardly moving her fingers up and down on the machine like they were part of an independent dance routine she wasn’t invited to and had never seen before): I’m sorry, I am so tired. Didn’t get any sleep last night.
Me: Me too… I spent all night first scoring heroine, and then injecting it until I thought the needle was telling me secrets.
Her (mind you, she never skipped a beat or acknowledged I spoke): My grandkids were in and out of my bed all night long. They just want their grandma, I guess.
Me: I know what you mean, I kidnapped several children last night. All of them were crying and whining about their parents. I told them their parents had died but that didn’t calm them down at all.
Her: Then my daughter came in my room and told me work was on the phone. I said “Well they must want me to come in early”. She said no, they said you’re late. I jumped up and had to hurry and get in here and now my whole day is off!
Me: I get like that when I take a life. The adrenaline rush is too much and I have the shakes for a good 4 or 5 hours afterwards. Right?
Her: Yeah, exactly. Your order will be up in a minute!
On the surface, I had just told the women I abused heroine, kidnapped children and murdered several people (none of which were true, you god damn apes). More importantly though, she slept through her alarm clock.
I guess I was just being selfish.
I’m in the middle of working on a new article for you good people to amuse myself. However, I’ve been struck down with some kind of illness that slows down my already snail like pace when it comes to doing these kinds of things.
Have no fear, I am sure I’ll get better.
What this particular post is about is a voice mail I received from my mother yesterday. In it, she A) Told me my brother bought her roughly $250 worth of groceries and in the same breath managed to bitch about not having a place to put it all and B) she broke down in tears and apologized for the emails.
This isn’t the first time she’s apologized for her bad behavior. As a child, the apologies for the actions she took came in the way of toys. Needless to say, we had a LOT of toys. Because of these past apologies and immediate return to character, I was still ignoring her. Still, hearing your mother cry is hard for anyone, I imagine, so I was on the fence. About 2 hours after the voice mail, I got an email from her that told me, in her mind, all was forgiven. The email was one she had originally sent to my brother. In it, she thanks my brother for the groceries and takes the time to go off on her ex that she has been broken up with for a year. The email also included two pictures of the aforementioned boyfriend. One from 2007, where he looked horrible, and one from 2010 where he looked slightly more horrible. It went like this:
Subject: Fw: WHAT A DIFFERENCE!!
See? That is what passes for “normal” in our family.
Not even 24 hours later, the following two gems arrived in my inbox:
Subject: WHY????
Mind you, I did not respond to the email before about her heroine using boyfriend because, seriously, WTF do you even say to that? Then came the follow up email:
Subject: Forgot
I HAVE THIS ROCK, THAT SITS ON THE COUNTERTOP, AND IT READS, “LET HE WHO IS WIITHOUT SIN, CAST THE FIRST STONE.” REMEMBER THAT…..WHEN EITHER OF YOU BECOMES THE PERFECT HUMAN BEING…PLEASE LET MOMMY KNOW; SO I CAN START REPENTING.
If any of you have a cross, may I borrow it? I’m not sure she can nail herself to the one she has anymore.
There was a neediness within him he abhored. He stared in the mirror and wanted nothing more than to excise this demon from his soul. Yet he knew there wasn’t a knife sharp enough to remove it. The constant state of emptiness consumed him. He couldn’t fill it with love or belonging, because he never felt worthy of either. 
Even as he sat and waited for her to return his emails and his texts, he realized why she wasn’t. He wasn’t worth her time. How could he blame her? He had put her through so much. The life he destroyed wasn’t his own, but rather everyone around him. He had become a pariah. His presence brought only sorrow and his touch, a longing that was not deserved.
It was too late. By the time he realized how broken he was, the pieces had already been swept away. The anger swelled inside of him. His chest heaved and he felt his eyes sting hot with tears. He wouldn’t allow it. He was done crying. Instead, he lashed out with fury. His fist struck the mirror in front of him and the glass gave under the force. He stared once more at his now distorted image as he shook his hand. Blood rolled over his knuckles and down his forearm, before puddling on the sink and floor. The mirror showed him exactly how his soul felt: Shattered into a hundred pieces, a funhouse reflection of a man not good enough to have his own reflection. The shadow had become the man, and the man nothing more than a facade.
Last night I received what may or may not be the final email in my mother and I’s relationship. Mind you, I’ve not responded to any of her insanity. I find it only validates her behavior. I do have the items in question, and yes, I COULD easily produce “proof” or give them back to her. However, I am done being bullied by crazy people. So there’s that. In short, if you tell me you’re done with me, be prepared to be done.
With that mantra in mind, unless something significant happens, I imagine this is the last communication I will ever read from my mother:
Subject: HERE IS THE DATA
THE CHINA HAS BEEN IN THE “KOVACH” FAMILY FOR 80 YEARS. THE JEWELRY THAT I GAVE YOU BOTH AND THE JEWELRY THAT I GAVE TO (my brother) AND (my brother’s wife) TO WATCH FOR ME UNTIL (her crazy ass, one eye’d, COPD having, alcoholic ex-boyfriend who she broke up with 157 times) LEFT BECAUSE I WAS AFRAID THAT “HE” WOULD STEAL IT BECAUSE HE STOLE EXPENSIVE JEWELRY FROM ME ALREADY WAS BETWEEN 40 AND 50 YEARS OLD AND IT ONLY TOOK ALL 4 OF YOU A FEW MONTHS TO F*CK ALL OF THAT UP. YOU ALL SHOULD BE VERY, VERY PROUD OF YOURSELVES. I AM SURE THAT YOUR DAD AND GRANDPARENTS WOULD BE THRILLED THAT YOU ARE ALL SO DAMN STUPID…..THAT PORCELAIN NATIVITY SCENE WAS 40-50 YEARS OLD. THE TILLS WERE $600 A PIECE (the till is in my garage. She bought it for me without asking and this is the first time in any of the tirades it’s been mentioned)….GOOD GOIN!! AGAIN, REMEMBER MY WORDS….WHAT GOES AROUND….COMES AROUND….BUT YOU WON’T GET ANOTHER THING FROM THIS HOUSE NOR WILL YOU GET ANYTHING FROM MY LIFE INSURANCE….I AM DEAD TO YOU…..GOOD LUCK….U R ALL GOING TO NEED IT…
I was shocked by how many people read the crazyness that is my daily interaction with my mother. This weekend was no different. I rarely, if ever, respond to her. What you see below is a conversation aimed at me, but participated in by my brother and my mother. His responses are the sane ones. As before, these are unedited, save for my personal notes and personal info changed. I left her choice of font size as is.
Subject: BY THE WAY…
…DO YOU REALIZE THAT YOU HAVE NEVER BROUGHT (my daughter) TO ANY OF MY APARTMENTS TO SEE HER GRANDMOTHER? THE LAST TIME THAT I SAW HER WAS WHEN I BOUGHT HER SHOES FOR HER BIRTHDAY. AND BEFORE THAT? THE SAME THING. HOW SAD IS THAT?? ..I CAN UNDERSTAND (my wife) AND WANTING JUST HER GOOFY ASS MOTHER TO SEE THEM…(THE WALKING DEAD) (note: her parents have never done a thing wrong to anyone, but especially my mother) BUT YOU WERE NOT BROUGHT UP LIKE THAT…. (side note: I’ve considered bringing my kids there and on several occasions, we were really close to doing so. In the end, I try to minimize their contact with her. Children shouldn’t have to learn how to read an adult’s moods like I had to growing up)
Subject: Re: BY THE WAY…
(from my brother)
My kids have been to both of your apartments, multiple times.
Subject: Re: BY THE WAY…
