Family members, wills, heirs, and permanent shit lists belonging to other family members are universal, global, and all over the place. Einstein said “It’s all relative,” and he wasn’t kidding.
Without familial drama, Dickens would have been reduced to writing pamphlets on “Venereal Disease Among the Elite.” Arguments over a will and what “Gam Gam really wanted,” is a feature in multiple movies and literary classics. How many waifs of the storm were supposed to have inherited the wealth that their dad’s second wife absconded with, leaving his orphaned child to the vagaries of the matchbox selling game? Which is cutthroat at any time.
This particular genre of drama fell into my soup tureen this week. I had no idea two of my putative relatives were as nasty as they are. Fear not, for to let the sun shine on this, I shall post the entire conversation and what transpired. If it isn’t fit for a movie script, so be it. Hollywood can do no better.
The son of my dad’s third wife started a Messenger chat group with the intention of posting pictures in the near future of all the stuff he still had of my father’s and my grandmother’s belongings. Anyone who wanted an item should let him know and he would ship it to them. I said I wanted my dad’s WWII flight jacket and the fishing globes we had in the Philippines. They were made of green glass and covered with heavy rope.
These things may not even be in the stuff he has, but if they are, I’d like to have them. I had asked my dad for the jacket 30 years ago, at which point he said he didn’t have it any longer.
My older brother added this to the group chat:
“Hey, guys, now that Malcolm is getting around to distributing Dad’s things we should discuss among ourselves how to distribute them – we should come up with an equitable system so we don’t end up creating bad feelings among ourselves.”
(It wasn’t ten minutes later there was a pitched battle in the thread. Good work, bro!)
Me: “I said what I wanted. I don’t even know what’s there, so….”
Ryan, son of my deceased younger brother and a cop in Oregon, chimed in with the sweet, sweet thought that “of course his kids should have first say, but that he, Ryan, was supposed to have the jacket and flight helmets.”
And it went downhill from there.
Sarah: (one of the aforementioned putative and toxic relatives) “I think grandpa wanted Ryan to have the flight helmets if they’re there. I was supposed to get grandma Sarah’s tea set. But we will see what he still has.”
No mention of the flight jacket in her remark.
Ryan: “Yeah, Blair (my father’s wife) was supposed to mail me a bunch of stuff and never did. It was all Air Force related.”
Still no mention specifically of the jacket.
But then: da, da, da, DA!
Ryan: “I think all of his Air Force stuff was willed to me including the flight helmet and jacket. I never got any of that stuff. I served in the Air Force and it would mean a lot to me to have those things. But I also understand you Guys and gals are his children, but I would love to have those things as I believe those were grandpas wishes as well.”
I was a little skeeved by the use of the word “gals,” particularly from someone under 40, but maybe that’s normal for a cop. But, he “believes” those were grandpa’s wishes. No mention of him taking the flight helmet and me the jacket in an “equitable distribution.”
Me: “Nope. If the flight jacket is there, I want it. I asked him for it 30 years ago. He said Debbie made him get rid of it with a bunch of other stuff. Don’t know if that’s true, or he got it back, or what.”
Ryan, pretending to be fair and just: “Well Gigi, perhaps it should not be a want thing, but what his wishes were. I’m sure there is a copy of the will somewhere. Perhaps uncle Danny can be the moderator here.”
Me: “But it IS a “want” thing isn’t it? Because you want it, even though you just said we are his kids. If there is a will, that would override MY wishes, which is that I expressed the wish to have it before you were born. I don’t even know you or your family, as per your family’s wishes all these years, so I’m not willing to be ” fair” about this. And no, Danny is NOT the ultimate moderator simply because you know he’d side with you.”
I was already getting fed up at this point. Danny is my brother, but since there is an overabundance of males in this group, and one moronic female, who feels the need to insert herself EVERYWHERE, I was outnumbered.
This is where Sarah jumps in with her “setting things straight” manner.
Sarah: “It was our family’s wishes to not know you? I’m sorry, I didn’t remember you ever being present while I was a child? And maybe your behavior you are displaying is the reason my father didn’t want you around? But my father isn’t here, you only showed when he was sick and then quickly disappeared back into wherever you went…”
This is priceless. I was a single mother, Brandon was five at the time, I was taking care of my sick mother, and they lived 1300 miles away. I managed to drive us there so that Mom could visit my brother. There were times we had only a couple of dollars to buy a loaf of bread and a dozen eggs, but this person, who was 13 at the time, knows allll about it and what was going on then.
Like we showed up at their house to do what? Grab some things while he was sick and then run away? I don’t follow her here. And the dot, dot, dot following the “disappear back to where ever we went…?” Does she mean we went back home? We did do that in a week or so. It happens. Plus, they’d put us up in the winter in their parked RV. I was glad to get back to San Diego, thanks. Even if we were practically starving. No one helped us, but us.
My older brother, Danny, helped us out a bit after I was laid off from Pan Am, and for that, I gave him my Mitsubishi. But not before my other nephew, also named Blair (one unusual name and two freaking people in the same family have to have it), my sister’s son, had taken it to drive to LA from Vegas, and it had had mechanical problems. He bitched to me about the break down and what a lousy car it was. Like he did with the mountain bike I bought him. Or when I wouldn’t give him $7000 for a new computer out of a life insurance policy from my dead partner.
Because that’s what families are for. To take a free car, break it, and then bitch to the donor about it. He’d totaled five other cars in his reckless youth, including my grandfather’s turbo-charged 60’s era Volkswagen that he’d left to my mom.
He almost totaled her Avanti, a car made of fiberglass, that she liked very, very much. My older brother used to sneer at her fondness for it as being nothing more than an “ego boost.” Well, yeah. That sells a lot of cars. My father, on the other hand, never came in for disapprobation because he loved his jets, or his helicopter, or whatever. Things change from person to person within a family. I’ve noticed this a lot.
I also gave brother Danny my Toyota station wagon, which was stolen out of his driveway not long after, found later on the highway stripped of its radiator, and towed. He didn’t bother to pay the tow company and that car is now someone else’s great, reliable car. I still regret giving it to him. I had it for 14 years and it turned over like a top every time with over 100k miles on its odometer.
My, it feels good to rat these people out in public!
Blair, that rascally nephew, and the same last name as everyone else in this educational story, lived with my son and I for a time after my mother died, abused him a couple of times when I was gone (not sexually, thank goodness, just throwing things at him in fits of temper), and then moved out on the sly in the middle of the night, taking a lot of my things with him. Now that’s “disappearing to wherever you went dot, dot, dot.”
By way of explanation and resolution, he left me a scrawled message written in lipstick on the bathroom mirror that said, “Pray to God you never see me again.” Lipsticks are expensive and that really ticked me off. Use your own lipstick, dude.
We haven’t spoken since, but you knew that, didn’t you?
This same nephew was like a little brother, who I helped raise to adulthood and to whom I gave housing, money, and food throughout his teens and 20s when he was in college. He never had to worry whether he had a place to live. But my son, who was ten at the time, wasn’t worthy of being treated with the same love and devotion. Nuh-uh.
Do NOT use my nephew’s babysitting services. Word to the wise.
And no, Sarah’s father, my younger brother Herbie, isn’t here. He died 20 years ago, so I don’t see the relevance in mentioning it. When he was 15, he was pretty much out of the house and running wild on his motorcycle with a group of friends. My father, who had separated from my mom, blamed my mother for his behavior, because being an absent dad doesn’t count. The inconvenience of still having kids at home interfered with his pursuits of women who were my age, so my brother running wild had to have been my mother’s fault.
Eventually, my brother married and had Ryan and a few years later, Sarah. In between, he settled in and had a business fixing windshields.
I tried multiple times over the years to stay in touch with them, sending letters and gifts that were never acknowledged, and in fact, he disdained the ten page letters I’d sent to family members in order to stay in touch with everyone. This was before the internet. He showed zero interest in us, and never called, not even after my mother became ill. His kids never called my mom, the woman who was their grandmother, even after they were old enough to use a phone on their very own. Not even after she died did they call. Not one word.
But as you will see, that minor fact does not mean they shouldn’t profit when a grandparent dies. Hang in there, because later in this post, Sarah enlightens us on the finer points of inheritance.
I understand the appeal of a close knit family when it belongs to the spouse, but you don’t turn your back on your original family. Particularly when they still care about you. My brother was the baby of the family and everyone loved him. He wasn’t abused or neglected; none of us were.
But we were dysfunctional; no doubt about it. It is anti-American NOT to be from a dysfunctional family. And I am nothing if not a patriot.
I let go trying to keep in touch after a few years, as not being a productive expense of time with people who didn’t reciprocate.
As my friend, David, put it: “There is a difference between saying, “I choose to hold a grudge against that person” and saying, “My door is open, but my efforts have ended. I am turning them loose, no more space in my mind or heart is allocated to them.” The latter is very okay, I think, and necessary.”
Further, Sarah states that “my behavior was the reason her dad (my brother) didn’t want me around.” I never heard that he didn’t, it was just my impression that he wasn’t interested in us. Which is fine. We aren’t rootin’, tootin’, motorcycle riding hooligans, so we aren’t super interesting.
She said the word “behavior” as if I regularly went to their house and embarrassed everyone by wearing fishnet stockings, stiletto heels, a leather mini skirt, and walked their street soliciting the neighbors.
That happened ONE time, for crying out loud.
The word comes out as if she is chastising one of her unfortunate children and as if she isn’t speaking to her 67 year-old aunt, an aunt she doesn’t know, but an aunt who has forgotten more than these two twits combined know right now. These people are raising other people.
And I want it known right here and now about my behavior as a guest–I do not belch, leave used Kleenex around, criticize my host’s choice of interior decor, chew with my mouth open, or neglect to flush the potty. I was raised right.
Ryan, as his sister is sending her missive: “Wow Gigi! Your incredible! I don’t need it. I was close with my grandfather. If you recall he lived here for many years while I was growing up. This has nothing to do with you and your want. What you just said is the most morbid and selfish thing I’ve heard. I don’t need any of his things. I have the great memories and he is the reason I served. Enjoy the jacket and your life Gigi.”
I think he just said that I should enjoy the jacket. Did you hear that, too? And I’m not sure what was so “morbid and selfish” about what I said. These two leave me shaking my head at the state of our schools.
(I would fix all his grammar mistakes, but who has time for that?)
To Sarah I responded (truncated by removing redundancies): “I have no clue why he didn’t. If I felt more like going into it with you, I have my opinions. Since he never responded to gifts or letters from me, nor could be bothered to get in touch with us, that might have something to do with why I never saw him…He never expressed a desire or interest in seeing me or Brandon. And you must take after him. You wanted to see me while you were in Vegas ten years ago, but then couldn’t be bothered to spare 30 minutes getting coffee or calling. Ergo, I don’t know any of you, as per your wishes, n’cest-pas? Expressing the desire to have a memento of MY father’s is not “behavior.” My. Isn’t it fun arguing over dead relatives’ belongings and pointing fingers?”
Me to Ryan: “Thank you, Ryan. I do and I will enjoy my life. I fail to see what is so “incredible” about wanting this memento of my father’s. I don’t think that I am the one being selfish. Notice people call names when they don’t get what they want? You and your sis are two peas in a pod. I haven’t called anyone names, nor have I been nasty about this. Just said what I wanted.”
Ryan: “That is true. But you want his military jacket that was willed to me…Im not gonna argue about it, That’s what I just said….just because you don’t know us doesn’t mean your father did not. Your (the grammar is killing me, but I’m leaving it in for authenticity) the one arguing about it. I merely said it was willed to me and was supposed to be shipped to me, but Blair never got around to it. The Will is the wishes of the deceased. You should have some respect for that. But if it means that much to you, you can have it.”
Did you hear it again? He keeps giving me the jacket and pretending what a noble gesture he’s making, but then, he takes it away! I wonder if he does that with his kids? And what’s with the Will? If there is one, why hasn’t anyone seen it? That would have negated this whole question wouldn’t it?
(Oh, God. Here’s Sarah again. I don’t even know her and I am sick to death of her mouth and stupid remarks. I didn’t really address her in this conversation to begin with. Sigh.)
Sarah: “Gigi, I was working while I was in Vegas, attending work functions in the evening and had very little time to spare consistently for any amount of time. It’s funny, I don’t ever remember anything coming from you. All I remember is letters and phone calls from Danny and grandpa. We lived our whole lives without you. And Ryan is right, we have the memories and that counts more than physical things ever could. It’s sad, after my dad died none of you could be bothered. Only Danny has attempted to keep or restart a relationship with us. And we didn’t get anything from our grandparents… meaning pictures or mementos of any kind. If you had bothered to know us while growing up or even as adults, beyond assuming things, you would know what kind and compassionate people we are, just like our father and my father was the least selfish person I have ever met in my life. He would have given his last penny to a stranger on the street, such as yourself, if it meant it would help you. I know enough as an adult to know who my father was. Make digs at your dead brother and his surviving children all you want.”
Now, I’m “making digs”? Because I responded to her accusations of “behavior” and disappearing into somewhere….We haven’t established where we disappeared yet, although I am sticking with “home.”
Notice how it is perfectly okay for twits to spit on you with “digs” and innuendo, but if you defend yourself against attack, you’re the bad guy? And how do facts become “digs”? They call this the Millennial Princess Argument. As in, they are whining little toads.
Ergo and It Shall Follow Thus: “Make remarks all you want, you meanie, about my dead father and his orphaned children. Just because I accused you of horrible acts and behavior, you have no right to talk to me like that!”
Yeah, this ain’t my first rodeo, honey. Asshats and Adult Children, just like Our Sarah and Ryan, are hiding under every bush and standing on every corner waiting to jump on you. Dealing with them is part of life.
On examining this more closely, it is my observation that my older brother made the effort with S and R, but hasn’t once, in the 12 years we’ve lived in Vegas, emailed or called my son, who is also, if I remember the family tree correctly, his nephew.
She needs to take this issue up of “it being so sad” with her mom. I think she’ll find a few answers there as to why we supposedly “couldn’t be bothered.”
I could have expressed the facts more politely, I s’pose, but what the hell. If she’s old enough to be nasty to people, she’s old enough to handle the truth. And the truth wasn’t all that terrible. We’re not talking murderer here, for cripe’s sake.
She doesn’t remember “anything coming from us,” because I gave up. She doesn’t remember much of note anyway, such as my dad dying in a car accident on the way to her wedding, when she was 19. A marriage that lasted approximately five minutes. So worth dying for.
Ten years ago, she was not “busy in Vegas with business and functions.” She had just turned 21, was already divorced–I’m assuming–had asked to meet me, had not bothered to follow through, and then–she gives herself away here–she has been back to Vegas and never bothered to call then, either.
I should have been a detective. This stuff is so obvious to anyone with half a brain. What bugs me is that they think other people only have half a brain and won’t pick up on it. Or they forget their own faults and lies and it’s a big surprise that other people remember them.
And kind and compassionate? Where? I keep missing that part of her personality.
Me: “Sarah, who made “digs”? You blasted me with recriminations without having any history or facts at your fingertips, and without provocation. Simply because I responded to Ryan. He’s an adult; you should have let he and I hash it out. Instead, I have a bad taste in my mouth now for your “behavior”. Speaking that way to an aunt you don’t even know. “Compassion” indeed. Told me Herbie “didn’t want me around.” Told me my “behavior” of which you know less than nothing, was the reason. You were the one who told me you were coming down here and would like to get together. I messaged you, never got a response, and that was it. I doubt “business” kept you that busy, particularly at the age of what? 20? Thereabouts? And why would you remember anything coming from me in the way of letters or phone calls? You were a child. In fact, I can pinpoint when I gave up corresponding with Herbie. I used to write 10 page letters and round robin them, because before the internet it wasn’t easy to find time to work, take care of my sick mother–who never received anything in the way of calls even from her son–AND write letters. Neither Theresa or he ever acknowledged gifts or whether they’d received them. If a person sends things into the void, they eventually give up. Further, as I already stated, Herbie had zero interest in us. Theresa did not respond to voice mails left for her after he died, not from us or from Aunt Pat. As for me, I was a single mom taking care of her mom. Never heard from anyone when your grandmother died, either then or after. It’s funny how things work both ways, isn’t it? And what would you have people do? Bust into the house? You both were autonomous after you grew up and were perfectly capable of contacting me. I expressed a desire to see you when you were here, and got nothing. Again, what would you have people do? Yes, you lived your whole lives without me. That’s just what I said in my messages, isn’t it? And the blame for that cannot be laid solely at my door.
Parents need to know right now, that if they want their kids to have ties with relatives, it is up to them to establish the bridgehead. It is not the responsibility of relatives to try to break through barriers at a distance of hundreds of miles, or try to circumnavigate voice mail, or unanswered texts or emails.
No one ever told me to write my grandparents when I was growing up, other than thank you notes. But I did. From the age of 12 on. No one told me to write to my great-aunts, or my Aunt Pat, my mother’s sister. But I did. Particularly after the internet was ubiquitous.
And no one told me you should try to spare 30 minutes to visit an aunt WHEN YOU ARE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD. But I did. I can’t even imagine being within 20 miles of a relative and not calling to see if a visit can be arranged. What horseshit her entire comment is.
I have the email addresses of a slew of people I’ve never met, and have spoken to only on the internet. I received one yesterday from a teen in China who is leaving Quora and wanted to make sure we didn’t lose touch with each other.
People from all over the world and different corners of this country have exchanged emails and phone numbers with me and I may never meet them in person. But I don’t have even the emails of either of these two “relatives,” because it was not important to them to reach out, and when one did, she didn’t follow through.
I’ve actually met many of these “strangers,” who made it a point to meet up for dinner even if they were strapped for time with “meetings” and “business.” I’ve spoken on the phone with others. The last few I met were a friend from Texas, in town for a bridge tournament, and a young Indian couple from the east coast on vacation.
Oh, we mustn’t forget the Noble Ryan.
Here he is again: “And what is so incredible about it is, it was willed to me and I am supposed to be in possession of it. But somehow because you want it, I must allow you to have it. That’s the incredible thing here. I used to see those items daily as a child at grandpas house. He would tell me the stories, then later in my teens your father, drove out to help me enlist in the Air Force 20 years ago. The last time I saw grandpa was my graduation weekend from the Air Force. I have life, history, and ties to that jacket more than just being a relative. In my eyes, as it was willed to me I’m gonna ask for it. But I’m not gonna argue over it. I will take the high road.”
I think the high road is moot at this point. The “will” is mentioned again, but no one has seen it, and his “rights” keep coming up. Rights as a what? A visitor who heard stories from my dad at his house? Or as someone who went into the Air Force?
Me: “Ryan, you may take any road you wish. You first state his kids have first rights, then out of the other side of your mouth, start reaming me with names, calling me selfish, and hypocritically wishing me “a happy life.” I was not arguing, was I? Simply stating what I wanted, if it was in storage, as per instructions, and not written in a will. Seems like if you wanted the “high road,” then agreeing on you having the helmets and me the jacket would have been more than fair. And how do YOU know what something means to me? Do you know anything about how I remember going to airfields, and loving the smell of jet exhaust to this day, and saying goodbye to my father with my mom and siblings? Or living in the Philippines on Clark Air Force base? Or seeing him in the hospital with a broken leg when I was 1? The “high road” is moot, at this point. You have both taken the low road, jumping all over me, calling me names, insisting on your “rights” and dredging up a history that never happened.”
Ryan: “Well, your messages seems pretty harsh and straight forward. I just don’t need that stuff in my life. Gigi you started the attacks. Don’t play the whos is me game. (What is the whos is me game? Anyone?) Like I said. I would love the things that were willed to me 15 years ago. That’s all I’m saying. From what I’ve been told, even from Blair his late wife, grandpa wanted me to have those things. That’s all.”
I think he just took the jacket away again. The man waffles like a short order cook at an IHOP at breakfast time.
“The Millennial Princess Tactic again. If someone disagrees with you, you stamp your tiny foot, pout, and claim a headache. Is that how he makes an arrest? “I just don’t need this stuff in my life. You’re under arrest!”
Me: “Ryan, quit attributing argumentativeness to me. I am NOT arguing. Arguing implies relationship. You and I have none. Simply put, if a will states something, so be it. Otherwise, I do not have to accept your dictates. And agreeing that Danny be a moderator is not something I agree to. I don’t roll over just because you or anyone else says I should. Case closed. But kudos for ignoring everything I said and focusing only on yourself. And kudos for saying I am harsh, after both of you called ME names. What is that? What kind of backhanded technique is that for any adult to use? Straightforward, however, is a compliment. Don’t message me again, either of you.”
The last line of mine is the one to which Sarah left a laughing emoji. Because her maturity is second only to her much vaunted “compassion”.
At this point, Blair Wolf, erstwhile nephew, exhibiting the same treachery we saw for the first time ever in the Garden of Eden in the “person” of a snake (AKA: A Danger Noodle), chimes in and tells S and R that our messages were TLDR, that “he wants no part of this,” but that “they should message him outside of the group when they are ready.” To which Our Ryan responded, “Yes! That is a great idea, Blair!”
Because you know, treachery and side-taking, particularly by someone not directly involved, is a must in these sorts of discussions. Watch the show Justified if you don’t believe me. But don’t accept a refreshing glass of cider from Madge whatever you do.
Ryan, speaking to the moderator about the jacket he keeps giving away and taking back: “My sister talked to Howard. He is apparently going to get in touch with you. Apparently he has some insight into where some of that stuff was initially intended.
Me: “Howie’s word means nothing to me. I haven’t seen him in many years. I am working on this myself outside of this group. A legal will will have to be produced and probate adhered to, or legal steps will be taken by yours truly. Meaning me.”
Sarah(Isn’t she lovely? I made her very small so that her voice squeaks): “Maybe we should do the same regarding Diane’s estate? (Diane is their grandmother–my mother. Notice she never refers to her as “Grandma Diane.”) I don’t remember signing anything off. Not only that, Grandpa died first which means his belongings and things went to Blair and when she passed, whatever was in her possession went to her son. He’s being kind enough to share those items. You have literally lost your damn mind. I am ashamed and embarrassed to share any blood with you. Grow up and quit threatening people.”
She finally said something that had some truth to it! Very exciting. Not about me; I wasn’t threatening anyone, just letting them know a third party’s hearsay means squat, but about the estate and who it belongs to.
As to lost minds, that’s up for debate. How does someone who doesn’t know your mind in any way, know whether you’ve lost it? She’s being a wee bit presumptuous, don’t you think?
Had an attorney or anyone else shown up at my door and told me that Our Sarah needed to sign off on my house, that unfortunate person would have had the pen Our Sarah signed with, and the paper Our Sarah wrote on, shoved right up their keester, followed closely by Our Sarah herself. Tight fit, no?
It is keester, isn’t it? Not keister?
Ryan (On a rootin’ tootin’ motorcycle)“Ok Gigi. Your turning this into something it doesn’t need to be. We will see where the cards fall. I find it odd that you go against anyone and everyone who knows the last wishes of your father. Do you know anyone who claims his last wishes? We would love to hear from him/her. Don’t turn this thread into the same thing as the last thread, which I removed myself from. This does not need to be this way. It is what it is.”
Me: “Whatever, Sarah. Your personal feelings about me mean less than nothing. I suggest you recuse yourself from the proceedings. Look up the word. Since I lived in that house, put the down payment on it, and paid the mortgage, plus went through the probate court in proper fashion after she died, besides being directly related to her for cripe’s sake, whereas you two never even spoke to her on the phone at the minimum, I wish you luck on that.”
Me still: “You and others are taking “steps” outside this group, Ryan. The three, or four, of you brought it to this point. So I am working on my own behalf, too. Would you question my actions or think someone’s hearsay would be sufficient if we were talking about say, a house? “Grampa said I should get the house.” No. Doesn’t work that way. Should this become something you don’t want, a court would do what courts do. You want it all; I want a part, and have as much, if not more rights to it.”
And FINALLY, the last words of the High Priestess of Class and Wisdom, Sarah Wolf! Ta Da!
In this comment, she ruins that impression of intelligence she showed in the previous one. Shame. She has not once, in this entire exchange, stayed out of a conversation that is between Ryan and I only. What a joy she must be in person. Perhaps she is under the assumption that her brother is unable to think or speak for himself. It happens.
She reminds me of those yappy dogs that grab your pants hem and won’t let go. You want to kick the little beast across the room and enjoy the silence afterward. Ahhhh….
Sarah: “An heir is an heir, regardless of anything. (Ms. Attorney for the Prosecution) Why don’t you look up that definition? And I didn’t say I was related to you, simply stated we share “blood”. And same goes to you, should we take your word that Diane didn’t want us to have anything? Probably not. But going through probate and not notifying the heirs properly is a problem. Just saying, we could go that way too. If you think that because you use words to Buffalo people, that we will back down and whimper, you’re wrong. Anyone can use a dictionary and find words . Your actions, choice of words and phrases is what brought us to this point.”
What are “Buffalo” people? Big, shaggy heads, or what? These peeps don’t live in Buffalo, they live in the environs of Portland, Oregon. Maybe she smokes weed or something.
What’s with the laughing emojis? Are they supposed to convey a casual, devil-may-care attitude among the semi-young, or are they a substitute for an actual word? It’s cross-eyed, too. Perhaps it’s a self-portrait.
My “actions”? What actions? I don’t recall any actions. I think there are some nouns that have gotten out of hand here and need corralling. Because no one is taught critical literacy in school anymore. Remember you heard it here, first.
The part about being “related” and “blood” escapes me. Not only is there little to no difference, but it almost sounds like she said her mom was intimate with the milkman and therefore us being related is incorrect. I never said she and I were related. I said I was related to my mother. Now I’m sure this woman smokes funny cigarettes or takes a tipple now and then.
I never expected anyone to “back down and whimper,” and yes, I’m aware that anyone can use a dictionary and find words. I feel like I’ve been talking to a seventh-grade student, and this woman is in her 30s. Someone actually lets her do business on their behalf in Vegas?
She totally missed the part where I said the house went through probate. I did say that, didn’t I? Perhaps if she’d been a tad more timely with her “compassion” towards her grandmother, her grandmother might have left her something. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? That Our Sarah didn’t get something from a deceased person she didn’t know and didn’t care to know?
Meaning, did Our Sarah know her stuff, that I informed all the heirs listed in the will and then I went to probate court. Heirs are not automatic. She and Ryan were not listed in my mother’s will because they had not bothered to establish a relationship with their grandmother. Apparently, everyone is supposed to go to them if they want a piece of the paradise only Sarah and Ryan can provide with their corporeal beings.
I, on the other hand, had an actual familial relationship with my father, as in lived in the same house, etc. I really don’t think there’s a similarity between us, your honor. I’m a direct descendant of my father’s and my mother’s, whereas the Bobbsey Twins are barely related to him, and now that has been called into question. Because if she and I aren’t related, then neither are she and my father.
Let her get the milkman’s jacket. And do a breathalyzer on her.
So, that’s it, Ladies and Germs. It’s up here on my blog, in its entirety, and if you’ve made it this far, I wish to congratulate you. I’m glad to have archived it permanently, or what passes for permanence in this intemperate age.
*I had taken this post down for a spell as being too weird for public consumption. Don had a heart to heart with me explaining how little these people mean in the scheme of things. I don’t know them, they don’t know me.
But my friend, David (he’s a very valuable friend- I highly recommend him) emailed me this when I asked last night whether I should publish and then didn’t wait for an answer:
I loved reading it, and if it were on the site yet I would respond with the above, and also note that some of the responses to you are typical of current communication and thought patterns. Current social causes for various groups do not address relationships as they exist and are actually practiced today, but instead segue to philosophical language to discuss proposed realities rather than observed ones.
Likewise, in this family conversation, use of words like “behavior” come from the exact same practice, which is designed to win a proxy fight in a virtual reality rather than address a known and fixable thing. IE, she’s been reading too many pop psychology books. In practice, that looks exactly like the conversation you described:
One must not say: “When you did X, I felt Y. Did you intend for that to be the case? Can we do Z instead?” That type of conversation might actually result in a resolution. And who wants that, eh? The purpose of a modern conflict is not to bring understanding between two individuals, but to establish one’s status as oppressed. Resolution? Shit on that.
One must instead say: “Your behavior is indicative of your attitude toward me, and thus the illegitimacy of your perspective.” Nothing is put in objective terms. “Behavior” simply means “you”, and because you are you, the speaker is oppressed and thus has greater rights in this situation. You’re you and I’m me, so I win. Because, you know, behavior.
Change the subject: You asked “Shall I publish?” If it’s okay, I will take that as a literal request and give a quick observation.
The article begins with paragraphs that are pure Gigi-esque observations of life. And throughout the narration of the conversation are vintage Gigi-quips. The purpose and tone of the article does make that change, from a humorous exposition of an actual conversation, to an examination of that conversation with humorous comments as commentary. One perspective is about the humorous irrationality of the selfishness that defines relationships and conversation, while the other is about how that was applied to you. The subject changed.