My parents are insane - The Chronicles Chapter VII

PASSION

A great pop culture character, Angel, once said: “Passion is the source of our finest moment, the joy of love, the clarity of hatred and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace but we would be hollow. Without passion we’d be truly dead.”

I might have had a revelation today. Ok, I admit, I’m always having revelations but this one is a good one.

I always thought that my mother not being permissive enough had me develop only bad traits and for the majority is true. I have a bad temper because of her, I don’t really like mushy stuff because of her, I don’t really know how to say I love you and not feel fucking awkward. And by the by, the fact that I AM in fact telling some people that I love them is a huge fucking deal and I, most of the time, hold back from puking afterwards, so yes, be proud, you’ve earned it.

I was wrong about my mother; I actually have a lot to thank her for.

Let me tell you why.

I have a LOT of passions. I love music more than I loved any human being EVER, I love to hear the emotions that some other person felt when writing down some lyrics, or just playing around with their guitar. A freaking iconic song (which slips my mind at the moment ) was written when the guitarist of that band was playing around in the studio, it’s just fucking amazing how something so huge can come out of just jerking off in the coffee break. Freaking NIRVANA wrote the song that consecrated them based on a joke, when a chick said that Cobain “smelled like teen spirit”(which was a ladies perfume). That’s either brilliance or it’s faith and out of the two, I don’t know what I’d pick.

I LOVE drawing, I’d spend hours just doodling away. I don’t even care what it is, it could be potatoes with arms, it could be the next Starry Night as long as something comes out of my hands, I’m a happy camper. It’s true, I don’t do that anymore….now I play Candy Crush. I guess you can call that “creating something”, I’m creating a void in my head so I won’t think about the fact that I actually stopped creating shit.

I LOVE to read. For a “hater” like me reading is the best thing that could ever happen. It gets you out of this universe and then anything is possible. You get to go inside of another person’s mind without using black magic or science, you flip the page and there you are, reading their thoughts, feeling their moves, speaking their language, living their lives. You can even talk for two or three people at a time and sometimes the only one who can experience their grief, it’s you and that gives you a sense of power, you’re absolute. In slang terms you’re just too fucking awesome.

When I was little my mom was always smacking me for not writing the lesson down in class, I would, instead, just draw. I was listening to what the teachers were saying but all my notebooks would read the date, the title, a couple of lines and then just flowers and dresses and hands and attempts at portraits. So every time I would come home from school with such a page she’d just smack me around a little. “How can you do this? Look, your classmate, Georgica is writing everything down.” Despite the fact that he was writing everything down, Georgica was left behind a year so that wasn’t the best policy for passing your classes. HA! Take that, mum. Of course I had a little anarchy in me since I can remember so, naturally I was inclined to not even write the date anymore instead just draw some more.

 I had a pair of jeans that were ripped, at one point, I’ve just discovered punk and loved it because it was nothing like britney spears or n’sync (and yes, I’m just gonna write the names without capital letters because they don’t deserve it). I would wear them every day for about a year, summer, winter, -20 degrees; my knees would be just hanging out, breathing fresh air. So she gets mad at one point and throws away my noise making army boots, my leather jacket AND cuts my pants in half. I was so mad I wouldn’t come out of my room for a week that summer. She eventually smashed my mixed tape; that got me out of the house because I had to make a new one and of course listen even louder.

I was in eighth grade and just gotten my hands on Shakespeare, it was so intricate that I had to read Hamlet three times so I could truly understand what was going on. The fact is that Hamlet was not in the curriculum and I had to prepare for the last exam. Instead I was sitting in the middle of the bed, at 7 in the morning reading Shakespeare and my mother comes in, very upset saying things like “you should be getting dressed, you have to be at school in half an hour and you’re sitting here reading crap.” Crap, yes, she called Shakespeare “crap”.

I was never the child she wanted me to be. I was never perfect and I never did anything on time. I also never did, or said, or dressed like the norms of society dictates us and that killed her.  Maybe she just didn’t want me to suffer if I would be seen as an outcast or maybe she was jealous at my free spirited nature.  But by her denying me all those things I think she drove me to developing passions for amazingly beautiful thing and now they’re in there and there’s nothing she can do about.

I was talking too my workmate today and after I had a huge rant about a song I asked her “what passion drives you anyway?” and she answered “none.” And then I’ve waited, maybe it was something there, something buried deep, something that would make her want to cry or giggle at the thought of, but there was nothing and I felt so sad for her because she might never know what it means to go through and emotional rollercoaster every time you hear your favorite song or watch your favorite movie. She might never now the anger when you can’t draw the other eye or the joy when everything is perfect. She might never understand the itch in your fingers when you want to write something or draw something and you don’t have a pen nearby.

I asked her if anything was ever denied to her by her parents and she answered with “nothing.”

So in spite of mein mutter actually being mein furer she might have actually created in me the best trait that a human being can posses: PASSION. And for that, I thank you, mom.

Also there’s no point in this post and you’ve spent the last 10 minutes reading a crazy lady’s rant. I’ll just go buy some cats now.

A bien tot! 

My parents are insane. The chronicles Chapter VI

Dear friend,

I’m really tired talking to a machine all day long so I am going to start writing to you and pretend I have to go down to the post office and mail a letter every once in a while.

I’ve decided to talk to you about my parents who are completely mental.

I sometimes fantasize I leave to work in the morning, something really amazing happens and I just don’t come back home, ever.

Today is the 27^th of December, I had to stay home for the holydays which drove me completely insane. We stayed in because my mother decided to be mad, for no reason at all. She was mad at us, she barely spoke to me or my dad and sat in bed all day long watching TV.

I’ve gotten so used to keeping myself busy over the last three months that I came to a point of not being able to just lie in bed and watch movies and eat junk food like I used to. Which, incidentally makes me feel a lot happier than I used to be. These two days were the death of me. I was so bored I wanted to blow my brains out only so that I could scrape them off the wall and have something to do.

I made the insane mistake to remark as such in a loud voice, in the vicinity of my mother’s ears.

What came next, left me completely perplexed for at least an hour.

My mother started screaming at me “If you would’ve taken us to the mountains you wouldn’t be bored now.”

I said “Mom, why didn’t you say you wanted to go out?”  Especially since the day before I asked her if she wanted to go to the country and she refused with a barely mumbled “No.” that got me figured she was in one of her moods and just wanted to stay in.

As a response I got more yelling “Because you’re you and you would’ve said you don’t want to, or that you have stuff to do. You’re the one how should’ve said something.”

I really feel like I need to mention the fact that I’m not a mind reader. Of course if I had said something she wouldn’t have wanted to go because nothing was planned out from a day before.

So let’s see what we have until now, shall we? My mom wants everything to be perfectly planned out without her actually saying anything and when she does open her mouth is just so she can reproach to you that you didn’t do something you didn’t even know about.

Now what am I supposed to do with that new discovery except for actually blowing my brains out?

Love always,

Laura 

My parents are insane - The Chronicles

Chapter V

I take the risk of repeating myself over and over again and say this – my family is crazy, man!

Three days ago I got sick.

But I should start this with the beginning. About two months ago, after the weather started getting colder and slowly slipping into winter my dad got a cold. He pranced around for two days like a big hero saying he doesn’t need any medication cause he’ll be fine. After two days he succumbed to the annoying feeling when you get a cold, that annoying feeling that you’re not in fact fine and you would do any fucking thing to get better and he chose the perfect moment to realize he would in fact like some medication. That moment was a Sunday evening at 9 p.m.! That’s right folks my dad wanted drugs at the one moment in a whole week when you can’t find a store, let alone a pharmacy opened for miles. So I got dressed, I ran all over the neighborhood trying to find one opened pharmacy and when I didn’t, I got in the car and drove to the nearest 24/7 drugstore I could find on my nifty little machine with buttons. But I did it none the less, because he’s my dad and because he was feeling sick and because I wanted him to feel better because I CARE!

The story ended up with my dad cursing and gagging over a Coldrex which in his opinion is “just disgusting”. Which brings up to the present day.

Three days ago I got sick. I was feeling week and my muscles were sore and my nose runny. The difference was that it was a Friday morning. So I started dropping hints all over the house maybe someone would pick up on that, go to the pharmacy and get me my druuuuuuuugs. But my dad it’s just a little bit too thick to interpret hints so I just spelled it out in big shy letters “I WANT SOME DRUGS!”

And then my dad opened up his mouth and I dropped mine on the floor. “Neah, it’s too crowded and it’s a little bit too cold, I don’t wanna go.”

So in the end I was the one to drag myself to the drug store and pick up my meds with a fever of 38.8 degrees Celsius, sores all over my body and snot coming out of my nose like I was the Niagara falls.

My mother on the other hand….

I don’t know if I told you this about my mother but somehow, because she stares at that TV all fucking day log, somehow she mastered medicine, psychology and neuroscience all at once.

….my mother on the other hand said that I induced myself into a cold. I somehow wished to get a cold, conjured up the powers that be and made myself sick just to annoy the holly fuck out of her.

Well if that’s the truth, mother, I hopped I made you fucking bonkers this past three days cause I on the other hand, had a blast with the shivers and the hot waves and not being able to sleep thinking I could actually die from not being able to breathe.

You’re gonna say “What’s done it’s done, the past is past, move on.”

OH! I’m moving, believe you me, I’m moving to my next story.

TODAY!

My dad thinks that, because I’m a girl, I’m some kind of moron.

My dad is kind of racist and sexist and a little bit of a supremacist…not the hard core “faster pussycat kill kill” sort of way but just enough to drive me up the walls cause I’m more inclined to be on Gandy’s  side rather than on Hitler’s (just to throw and example at you).

The point being is that my dad and I are like two peas in two different pots.

In the summer my car battery died, we opened the doors one too many times, flicked the lights on and off as we pleased and I almost got stuck in a yard in Vama Veche with no means to get home.

After a guy gave me a jump (God bless his soul) the car ran like new but I did call my dad to tell me if I can play music while the car is rolling.

We got home safe and sound and since the battery got filled up enough on the road it just didn’t die anymore after that.

Because the battery didn’t die after I got home, my dad practically called me either a liar or a moron and he kept up this opinion until three or four days ago when he wanted to take it out and couldn’t cause the battery wasn’t working …AGAIN.

On my birthday my grandma called me, she cried cause she’ll never see me married and she’s dyeing and she wants to see her grand-grand children which, of course, are nowhere to be found because …well you know how it works: No sperm – no kids. Then she said she’ll send my some money for my birthday. Today these money came.

My mom never even wanted to mention them or to fork them over but my dad was running around like a chicken with its head cut off saying he wants to get a new battery for MY CAR! (first of all it’s my fucking car, shouldn’t I be informed if something goes wrong, if it needs a new fucking spark plug, shouldn’t I be the one to decide if I have the means to buy that fucking spark plug or to be a pedestrian for another month? …any who)

So he made my mom give him my money to buy a new battery for my car and my mom would never have told me about the money if my dad would have never took them except that she’s a selfish bitch who saw an opportunity to ignite a scandal just because she could keep the money to buy her own selfish ass some more whoreish clothes.

I’m in fucking hell!

You know, when you hit rock bottom you just hit rock bottom, you know you’re on the bottom and everything can only go uphill from there? With me it’s like : it’s rock bottom, lower are 50 feet of crap and then me.

In these situations, I want to admit, without being jugged, that I understand those people who murder their entire family by bashing their head in with the meat cleaver.

Over and out! 

My parents are insane - The Chronicles

Chapter IV - My father is insane

My dad has his bright spots. Mainly bright spots, but he's also possessing  the talent of bringing you down, hard, whenever he can and mostly when you're uber-excited about something. 

Last night I went to the Roger Waters concert, first one ever in Romania and definitely the most grandiose thing I have ever seen in my entire life, as short as it is. 

I graciously called my dad and asked him if he can come pick me up from Universitate once the show ended. He accepted, huffing and puffing, but he accepted none the less. 

I started telling him how obscenely big the whole thing was, how those people built a wall during the concert and how it came crumbling down at the end. How the puppets, huge, as huge as the stage, were so life like and how impressed I was, how I cried during a guitar solo, how the guitarist made his guitar sob and yell, like it was in pain, like it was crying for every living soul that was ever hurt by hatred and racism and all the crap that's going on, on this God forsaken planet of ours. 

How every minute of that show meant something to all of us. A moment of freedom, a moment of awe, a lifetime of misunderstanding taken away by a single note because everybody in that place was on the same wavelength as you and you realized you're not alone, you're not a freak for not wanting to fall in line. 

I started explaining all that with so much passion, with so much consideration for the people who worked at that whole damn show and all my dad could say was: „American idiocracy.”

My whole feeling of belonging, of feeling complete and contempt for the first time in my life came crashing down, just like that wall at the end of the show. I've built a an imposing, magnificent edifice during the show and after my father's words everything that was left of it, was a pile of cracked bricks and red dust. 

Parents, man, parents!

My parents are insane - The Chronicles

Chapter III

As you may have gotten used to it by now, my mother is insane.

Most recently, she found out that I was going to the sea with my friends.

As she is in her mid life crisis, the insane idea of dyeing without doing certain thing is seared into her brain. I tried to keep it a secret, God how I tried, but somehow it just came out and now she want to tag along. I should mention that the people I’m going with are two lovely girls, my age and we are planning to live in a tent for a week and feed ourselves with alcohol, like normal young, stupid people that we are.

Now, that I told her I’d rather not having her along, criticizing my every move she’s gone mental.

 “You didn’t even think about me! I tell you, that’s our punishment for taking you to the beach so many times when you were little. You went ahead and did this to me without even thinking  << she’s really suffering for not being able to see the sea this year>>” and so it went on, and on, and on, and….

Now I’m asking you: what 25 year old, in its right mind would take their mom at the beach, alongside their friends?

Is that a valid question? I’d say so.

She insisted I go to Greece with her in September. She fucking insisted, after I said NO so many times I was left without a breath.

Every time I wanted to go somewhere or do something and I didn’t have someone to do it with she’d say “Go alone.” That’s what I told her about Greece and then she went postal, again.

There’s no real reason to quote all the stupid things she said after I made that grave and regrettable mistake, except that now, she’s telling me that my dad didn’t want to go so I could go.

BULL HOKEY! My dad said he doesn’t want to go because there are too many old folk on that trip and he fucking hates them.

I want to be honest with y’all. My mother never liked me too much. She had no idea how to raise me.

Maybe because of the way things were back then, maybe she just practiced what she learned in her own family.

My mother never wanted to know what I want, what I’m capable of, what I can do with my own to hands. How talented I am or how athletic I used to be. All she wanted was an improved version of herself, disregarding the human being.

I think that now, my mother is seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and she realized that she never really listened to me, she never actually wanted me around and now she’s trying to make up for lost time.

I say TOO BLOODY LATE, MOM! This ship has ….. well, now sailed per se, but at least ripped up the rope that was holding it tied to the dock.

I hate being angry at my mom. I always feel guilty and then more angry.

I might’ve said too much.

Interrupting transmission …..

My parents are insane - The Chronicles

Chapter II

My mom is an expert in everything. From literature, math, history and foreign languages down to politics, fire fighter codes and nuclear physics.

God forbids someone else can have an opinion, and if she accepts to listen to that opinion it will be, most definitely, wrong. My mother’s opinion in the truth and nothing else is acceptable. Even if she agrees with you she will find a misusage of a word and draws the attention from the previous matter by listing everything that was wrong with the way you used the word, hence creating another argument that she can win at.

My mom’s opinion is always the right one, unless that opinion comes from the TV that she listens to, religiously and if the doctor says is like this, than the doctor is a crazy bastard who is trying to kill her, because the nice lady in the talking box said it the other way around.

The nice lady in the talking box taught her to eat healthy, so she buys every shit that she can find with the word “healthy” on it. She buys the weird black and seeds bread, that I can’t stand, and we are all obligated to eat that stuff.

Unless I’m on a diet.

The word diet sparks a plug in my mom’s brain, a plug that makes her crave non diet-y stuff, therefore when I’m “on a diet” you’ll find in the house the following: Coca cola, cake, French fries, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate, ice cream and many other non diet-y groceries.

My parents are insane - The Chronicles

Foreword

There isn't one person in the whole wide world who didn't said at least once “my mother is insane”. My mother instead is especially insane, and to prove that I’ve decided to document every act of insanity that may come up along the road and part them into tinny tiny insane chapters. 

Let me tell you something about my mother.

She likes to shop. I mean Rachel Green, Miranda Priestly and that girl from The confessions of a Shopaholic have nothing on my mother –except that they wear nice, designer clothes and she just buys for the sake of spending money. My mother does volunteering work but not for the right reasons. When people do volunteering work, they do it so they can help other people or animals or simply out of passion. My mom does it because the uniform looks nice and they let her out of paying the mortgage on the house. 

My mother worked with her hands ever since she was in dippers. She believes that writing or drawing is not work and that her only child can do that AFTER she has kids and basically dies inside.

CHAPTER 1

I’m twenty somewhat years and I still can’t say “NO” to my parents. Last year I went to the beach with some friend for a week. I was positively sure that in September I’ll have to go back with my parents because we seem to be tied in some strange way all together and they simply can’t do anything without me. 

On my way back I used the air conditioning in my car, struck by heat and exhaustion a little cold invaded my body and the next day I was feeling like crap on a stick. I was having high fever, sore muscled, I was shivering like a leaf in the Canadian wind, my eyes were runny, my nose was runny, my throat hurt and I had a headache the size of Russia.  I asked my mother if she could go get me some medicine for my cold to which she replied: “You’re feeling bad? Really? Well imagine how bad I felt when you went to the beach without me! Go get your own medicine!”

Needless to say that I went, I got and I got back on all four . 

So that’s one chapter in the “My mom is insane - The chronicles” book.