Gawd, I need a weekend to myself. "By myself" translates in this case to "no relatives of mine ANYWHERE in my vicinity whatsoever." Two weekends of this in a row was just too much for me. I honestly do not know how Mom handles it being there with them constantly around day after day after day. I feel so sour and cranky and headachy (Day #2 of that) and like I REALLY need to be left alone in my room for a few days before I can calm down. Unfortunately, I had to go to work. Oh well, at least the people there are nice and sane and don't go around asking me to give them a little love and do you like your job and whine about how old they are.

For those of you wondering how the surprise ambush on Mom went on Sunday... it didn't.

Dave got a message on his voice mail Friday from Scott saying that some kind of family emergency had come up in his family and he and Demma were going to their town, presumably for the weekend. Dave hasn't heard from them since to my knowledge. I believed this at the time, but when I came home last night and checked e-maill, I found a forward from Demma, dated noon on Saturday. Now I'm suspicious. But at any rate, even had they not bailed out for whatever, it wouldn't have happened anyway. Why? Because Grandma and Grandpa, who were supposed to go to a church picnic with D&B, decided they didn't want to be social. They wanted to come to Mom's instead. Oh, and go shopping at the outlets in Vacaville. So at any rate, I wasn't home on Sunday. And oh, how I'd been looking forward to having a day of rest from relatives on Sunday. I NEEDED it. I wanted some time where I could just lounge on the couch or something. But noooooo.

My hair needed redyeing. I hadn't done it since the end of January, roots were abloomin', and I'd gone from redhead to blonde. Since Hill's been too busy to do it and I just don't plain trust myself to not bugger it up, I asked Mom to. We were going to do it Saturday night, but she wanted to do it on Sunday because she was falling behind. Sunday morning hair dyeing might not have been the best idea, because after doing that she wanted to style and curl my hair. Of course, the family showed up while she was doing that.

Also, for reasons unbeknownst to anyone but Mom, she insisted on doing this seven-course meal for lunch for them. A bunch of different salads, relishes, yada yada. We went to the grocery store around 1 p.m., and as we're getting home around 1:30, Mom expresses her determination to get out of the house today by 3. I laughed my head off. "That'll NEVER happen!," I said. "You still have to make lunch, then it's at least a half hour to eat, then we wait around for Dad to get out of the can for at least another half an hour, plus we gotta shuffle Grandma and Grandpa out the door and into the car. The odds are against you, especially given the age of some of the folks you're trying to move." "I've got an hour and a half, I should be able to do it," she said. My estimate was more like 4 p.m., but I was nice and said "At LEAST 3:30." When did we get out? 4 p.m., of course.

I told her that I still suspected deep down she'd make me come home next weekend after all, and she said "No. You've already done your time." Hah, that's exactly how to put it.

After the grocery store, Mom insisted that I help her in the kitchen. BAD, BAD IDEA! Honestly, we just cannot be in the same kitchen at the same time. She kept getting pissed at me for the slightest things. Like she asked me to put some olives in a bowl, and I thought she wanted me to hand those around as appetizers or something. "NO, NO, THOSE ARE FOR THE TABLE! HOW COULD YOU EVER THINK THAT?!" You didn't SAY to put them on the table, Mother. Then she asked me to put grapes in the salad spinner (er, grapes aren't salad...), and then got mad at me for washing them off with the tap water because "WE use the Britta." Uh, for rinsing grapes? In what universe did you recently pick up this technique? 'Cause you sure didn't do that when I was home, nor did you mention it to me beforehand. Last I checked, Britta was for DRINKING water, not for rinsing fruit. This kind of thing went on and on, to the point where when she asked me to crunch up some Ramen for a salad (yes, Mom puts Ramen in salad. It's actually really good) and asked if I knew how, I said no! At least, any way that I would do it would be the completely incorrect way, according to Mom. Turns out that the only holy and correct way to crunch Ramen is about an inch at a time, while in the bag, very precisely. You get the picture. Not to mention why I practically have a phobia about cooking. I felt INCREDIBLY crabby by this point, was screaming in front of the grandparents, etc., and really just needed to be alone by myself for awhile. Of course, that didn't happen for very long. I claimed I had to go pack my clothes and snagged a half hour of non-family time, but that was it. And by then I had a headache aspirin wouldn't help.

I do NOT want to be a hostess. Ever. If Dave wants to have people over for a meal, HE can do it. I'm leaving the house.

Shopping at least was good, I got some pajama pants, a shawl, two necklaces, a skirt, long dress and shoes, which Mom paid for because of my pending unemployment, plus needing clothes that I can wear during hot months at work (assuming I get work). I look gorgeous.

At dinner, Grandma was trying to convince me to come to her house for my honeymoon. (No, she doesn't know, she just talks like that. They all do.) I'm all "Grandma, given what's going to happen on the honeymoon night, I do NOT want to be in the same building as you when that happens." That got a laugh from everyone, including my mother, who said she hoped I wouldn't get up to that in the same building as her either. (Hell, I wouldn't do it in the same TOWN as her.) Grandma's response was that we could sleep in the basement. Which is (a) frigid, (b) has NO door, and (c) has major echo effect. I think not. Oh yeah, and she also wants to be invited to the wedding. Hm. If we elope, maybe we'll just have to bring a small posse of parents, grandparents, and friends or something. Oy.

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