Chaos Attraction

Florida- Day Seven

2008-09-19, 8:05 a.m.


Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
As part of whatever stupid deal Mom got with the Hilton, she had to sit through a sales presentation "for an hour and a half," starting at 8 a.m. She booked it early "so we can still have time to do something." Fine, as long as I don't have to go, because these things make me want to stab people. So she goes, and I sleep in, and I get up and have a nice quiet time and...around 10...

She calls. THEY ARE SENDING A CAR FOR ME IN FIVE MINUTES. WTF?!

Okay, I have to explain this...I seriously, no joke, no exaggeration, am starting to think my mother is getting early-onset Alzheimer's or something like that. She can't remember shit. A lot of shit. I mean, beyond what can be justified by age and menopause and widowhood and lack of sleep. She forced me to go to this because she couldn't comprehend what was going on.

You know what? I wish these fuckers would just say something honest like, "Look, we're gonna lock the door and not let you out until you give us money." That would be more honest and I'd feel less dirty. Instead, I had to make polite conversation with extortionists. It took them FIVE HOURS to get Mom to cave in and give them money to go away. (And then another 35 minutes to get them to let us out.) I felt like it was back in the day when Granddaddy used to buy a bunch of crap and how he was being taken advantage of. Nor do I appreciate being asked for the money myself.

I was sooooooo mad. (Still kinda am.) It was also a waste of a fucking day that I could have spent elsewhere. I was quite angry with her, not that that ever makes a difference.

Eventually we just went shopping at Downtown Disney and City Walk, 'cause what else can you start doing in the afternoon? I got some bath bombs to use in the huge tub. You know, I love that tub, but for the price we paid for it, I would have rather stayed in Motel 6.

Also went to the world's biggest Hard Rock Cafe for dinner, where I got asked four times in 30 seconds if I needed help. Pity the poor bastard who was #4...oh well, he seemed to take it pretty well.


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