Passive Aggressive Notes (A Life Update)

Dear Bottomless Pit's Mother,

Do not bring up the 'Have you thought of any names?' topic to push your agenda on me.

C'mon. Really?

You expect me to name my child after someone on your side of the family (someone who already HAS namesakes, by the way)?!

I'm not sure if you know this. But. I have family, too.

Am I naming the new baby after any of my family members?

Any of the ones I absolutely adore?

No.

So...

What makes you think your suggestion has a shot?

Suck it.

Imma slap you,

The Girl Who Won't Marry Your Son (Not JUST Because She Knows It Bugs You So Bad But That Is A Bonus)

PS. Your sneaky ways of trying to steal all of the holidays, even after they've been divided up? Not cool. This year we're going to Thanksgiving Dinner at my sister's, you get Christmas. Now you're saying we're supposed to come to you for 'Thanksgiving Breakfast"? Just like you ruined Easter Dinner with my nutty/ill mom by filling your son up at your first ever "Easter Brunch"? You never do these breakfast/brunches when we're spending said holiday with you, you're way transparent, knock it off. Unless you want me to start cutting into your holiday time by doing special "Christmas Desserts" with my family. Which I would love to do, but I don't because I have class.

Try it.

***

Dear Mom,

I know that I shouldn't be surprised, since you haven't had anything nice to say to me since I was...6...? But...When you came to see my, your youngest child's first home and you didn't have anything to say except 'There's paint on the floor'... That totally caught me off guard.

I'm only as neurotic as it's possible to be, and totally preoccupied with things looking new and pretty for as long as possible. So naturally, the fact that a size 15W workboot stepped in white paint and tracked it on a walnut wood floor got past me.

I surely wouldn't have noticed, or been upset about, a giant & visible foot shaped splotch in the very center of the room.

Thank God you pointed that out to me, instead of having something else to say.

Something else, like, congratulations.

I nevereverever would've noticed that huge mark that, just so you know, came up easily with some scrubbing using a Magic Eraser so whaddaya got to say NOW, huh?

Stop calling me by the wrong name already.

Love,

Noelle, no, Adrienne, no...The Other One.

PS. Stop being a Thanksgiving Nazi. The Pilgrims didn't eat macaroni & cheese? Well they didn't eat green bean cassaslop, either. Yeah, I hate turkey. And stuffing. And gravy. And turnips. And sweet potatoes. So I'll bring my own damned macaroni & cheese. Get over it. And my delicious pumpkin cheesecake? Well dontchu worry about that. It's not Pilgrim food. I wouldn't want you to be tainted.

***

Dear Bottomless Pit's Dad,

Hey.

You know we're moving this week, right?

And you know that my car isn't registered or inspected because your son keeps buying pickups that you point out to him as 'amazing deals' that eat up what little spare time he has.

Well, you see, I'm trying to say that we have a lot going on and I don't even have my own transportation. You know that.

So don't guilt trip either one of us at the last minute because your cousins from NJ are here to visit and you'd like us to stop in so they can see the baby.

Your son has been working 14 hour days.

We are moving into a house that isn't even ready for us.

And your cousins are disgusting pigs.

The first time the ex-crackhead blond met my newborn she did hand gestures, to be 'funny', that were so vulgar that I didn't even catch on to them right away. When I yelled at her she accused me of being hormonal.

Don't use the 'blah blah blah might die soon' on us, because you used that one up on Grandpa's last minute cookout that was the same day as my brother's birthday party.

Where is Grandpa, by the way? Oh. Right. On a hiking trip. Nowhere near his deathbed, so STFU.

If you'd ask me in a straightforward way I would politely decline and give you the reasons why it's not doable. But since you insist on manipulating and guilt-tripping, all I've got for you is a middle finger. And a 'Hey! I betcha don't know what this means!'. Relax, it's funnnny. Right.

Better luck next time,

Busy Girl

***

Dear Bottomless Pit,

Sweet boyfriend.

Keep me out of your damn 'nice gestures'.

How come everything nice that you want to do for someone only involves...ME doing work?

Why don't I bake your friend something? Why SHOULD I?

Is he fixing MY car? Is he covering MY shift? Is he turning in MY paperwork?

Well?

Girls aren't servants.

Especially not pregnant ones.

Pregnant ones who are in the middle of packing, who painted the interior of an entire house without any help from your punk ass.

Ya wanna mess with me?

'Sir, thank you for holding that door open for me. Do you have leaves that need raking? My boyfriend will do that for you.'

Please explain to me when I'm supposed to bake 3 dozen cookies if I'm painting all day tomorrow, I go to 'Thanksgiving Breakfast' on Thursday morning, Thanksgiving Dinner Thursday afternoon, finish packing on Friday, move boxes to the new house magically with no car on Friday night, and finish moving over the weekend. The Cute will help, right? Is this before or after I beam myself over to visit your father's pig relatives?

Oh. Wait. I'm not going to Thanksgiving Breakfast, visiting the pigs, OR baking cookies.

Problem solved.

♥

PS. Stop FARTING.

***

Dear CeraVe Lotion,

You are nothing like La Mer. The reviews on Makeupalley lied.

Thanks for the giant, underground zit on my jaw.

Impressive, considering I never break out.

Enjoy the dumpster.

Hatechu,

Girl With A Horn Growing From Her Chin