So Much For Forgiveness And Grace…

, , , , , , , | | Related | June 28, 2019

In 1992, a few months before getting married, my ex-husband wanted me to meet his parents. He did not visit them very often and when I met them, I understood why. He had told me that his mom was a former nun and his dad was a former monk. They were pretty religious people but his mother was a bit over-religious.

We invited them for dinner and when they got to our place, the first thing his mother told me was, “You are both going straight to Hell because you are living in sin!” That set the tone for the rest of this awkward evening. I think that she must have told me at least ten times that night that life is a valley of tears, that I should go confess my sins, and that Jesus died for my sins. His dad barely spoke, only saying yes or no to a few questions.

When we mentioned our upcoming wedding that was supposed to be a civil ceremony at the courthouse — my fiancé and I did not believe in religion — that did not sit well with his mom and she told us, (well, she screamed), “It will not be a real wedding because it’s not a religious one and you will still be living in sin!”

After that evening, my future ex-husband decided it would be best if they did not come to our wedding because he feared that his mother would cause a scene in front of our guests… and I did not even try to make him change his mind!  

I later learned that his Bible-thumper holy Mary of a mother was kicked out of the convent because she was caught, multiple times, having sex with another nun! She had an affair with her husband’s boss and got pregnant by him. Her husband knew because they had stopped having sex years before for religious reasons! His two older brothers had told him the stories and his dad, the one he knew as his dad, confirmed it!

When Did Taco Tuesday Get So Complicated?

, , , , , | | Related | June 28, 2019

(My family of five is eating dinner at my mother’s favorite Mexican restaurant, which has a very limited menu. The standard dinner is served family-style, so while it technically comes with two enchiladas, two small tacos, and so on, they actually just give each person an empty plate and bring out the right number of items on large serving plates. The fajitas are not served family-style.)

Mom: “I usually get the standard dinner, but I think I want to get the fajitas this time. But they’re so big! Does anyone want to split that with me?”

Brother: “Yeah, sure, I’ll do that, but that’s a little small… I’ll take half the fajitas but also order two extra tacos.”

Mom: “Oh, that’s a good idea; I love the tacos here! I’ll do that, too.”

(Everyone else is getting the standard dinner. When the server arrives to take our orders, though, and Mom tries to explain what she wants…)

Mom: “I’m splitting the beef fajitas with him, but we want two tacos, too, so that’s–” *looks around the table* “–ten tacos!”

Server: *confused* “Sorry, you want to split the fajita plate and… what?”

Mom: “We need ten tacos so there’s two for everyone, but the regular dinner comes with two already so we don’t want to add anything to that. We just need two more for two people–”

Brother: “Mom. MOM!”

(She finally stops talking, and my brother gives the server a steady look.)

Brother: “We’re splitting a fajita plate. And we want four extra tacos on the side.”

Server: “Ohh! Okay, no problem.” *leaves*

(Mom scowls at my brother.)

Mom: “I was explaining it!”

The Adventures Of Chucky And Annabelle

, , , , | | Related | June 27, 2019

(My parents buy two baby dolls and my grandmother sews and crochets clothing for one of them. We are told it is to go somewhere as a raffle prize, but on my birthday I am presented with the baby doll as a gift. I love that doll, but eventually, she is given away to my cousins when I grow out of playing with her. Years later, after I have children of my own, Mum discovers she still has the second doll.)

Me: “Can I have it?”

Mum: “Why do you want it?’

Me: “It reminds me of my childhood.”

Mum: “Yeah, sure. Take it. Your brother wanted to put it on eBay.”

(I take it home and put it on my bed. I go back into the room later and take one look at the doll before taking it back to my parents.)

Me: “I was wrong. I don’t want the doll; sell it”

Mum: “What was wrong with it?”

Me: “I put it on my bed, and my first thought when I went back into the room was that it looked like a dead baby. It made my skin crawl and I remembered I don’t like dolls anymore.”

Mum: “What do you mean, you don’t like dolls? You had that favourite one that you took back after finding I gave it to [Niece].”

(I had found her in my niece’s toybox a couple of years before and had taken her home.)

Me: “I know I did, but she’s now somewhere in your shed.”

Mum: “How did she get in my shed?”

Me: “I put her there.”

Mum: “Why and when?”

Me: “It was right after I dreamed she was trying to murder me.”

Mum: “Ooh, now there’s no way I’m giving her back to [Niece].”

Caution: This Story Will Make You Hungry

, , , , , , , | | Related | June 27, 2019

(At this time, I am 15 years old and my family is preparing to spend the weekend in the Santa Clara area — coming from El Dorado — for a father and daughter’s joint Bar Mitzvah. As usual, I wake up early and am showered and dressed before anyone else. My mom comes out of her room while I’m getting a box of cereal out to have breakfast. It’s before 8:00 am.)

Mom: “Don’t eat; we’re going to stop for breakfast before we head out of town.”

(I like the idea of getting a Belgium waffle more than eating cold cereal.)

Me: “Okay, sure!”

(However, it takes my family a long time to get ready. My mother and younger sister particularly enjoy lingering in the showers for quite a while. I end up going to my room and switching on my PS2 for a while. Finally, we leave after 10:15. I notice that when we drive into town we immediately get on to the highway.)

Me: “Wait. Weren’t we going to stop for breakfast?”

Mom: “Oh, no way! We left WAY too late for that. Besides, [Sister] and your father already ate something.”

Me: “Well, you could have said something so I didn’t have to go hungry.”

Mom: “Sorry!” *obviously doesn’t care that much* “We’ll stop for something around lunch time.”

(It’s out of my control, so I try to distract myself from the hunger pangs for the next couple of hours until it is past noon.)

Me: “Hey, are we going to stop for lunch anytime soon?”

Sister: “I’m not hungry.”

Mom: “Neither am I. If we stopped for lunch, it would just be for you.”

Me: “I’m fine with that.”

Dad: “We can just go through a drive-thru for him.”

Mom: “I want to make sure we get checked in to the hotel so we don’t have to rush to the ceremony, so let’s just head straight to the hotel.”

(No amount of complaining or compromising makes a difference. It doesn’t matter that we will be at the hotel in an hour and the ceremony won’t happen for another three hours after that; my mom is dead set against stopping for lunch. We arrive at the hotel and get checked in with plenty of time before the ceremony — far more time than what would have been necessary to get a meal. It’s around 1:30 by this time and I still haven’t eaten.)

Me: “How about I order mini pizza from room service?”

Mom: “No way! The ceremony is in a few hours and they are serving dinner; you can wait until then.”

Me: “That’s still hours away and I’m starving! I haven’t eaten all day!”

Dad: “Honey, we can let him order something small from room service.”

Mom: *as if we are making an absurdly ridiculous request* “No! We are not ordering him room service. They are serving prime rib for dinner and he’s not going to eat it if he has food now.”

(No food for me. The ceremony starts at 4:00 pm, but it’s at a synagogue. Dinner isn’t until later at the reception. I sit through the ceremony while listening to my stomach trying to digest itself. We are dismissed back to the hotel before the reception and we get to the hall by 7:00 pm and dinner is served. For some reason, my family isn’t seated together. My parents are with their friends, my sister is with the daughter being Bat Mitzvah-ed and her friends, and I’m with some adults I’ve never met before. Of course, I’m at one of the last tables served dinner. I see the other tables digging into their prime rib and green beans. FINALLY, my table gets our turn and the waitress plops down in front of me… the fattiest slice of beef I’ve ever seen. There are hardly any traces of meat visible.)

Me: “Excuse me. This is basically a lump of fat. Could I get another piece?”

Waitress: “Sorry, this is all that we have. We made the exact number of plates that there are guests.” *rushes away before I can say anything else.*

(So, I eat my green beans and pick out what little flecks of meat I can find while the other people at the table jokingly keep asking me if I’m enjoying my “prime fat.” Later, dessert is served, and of course, they run out of chocolate cake before they get to me, so I don’t get any dessert, either. Later, after the reception…)

Mom: “I bet you feel better now that you finally got some food.”

Me: “Not really. The meat I got was almost all fat, so I didn’t eat anything besides green beans.”

Mom: “Seriously?! You should have told us or [Friends]; they would have gotten you a better piece.”

Me: “They said they were all out, anyway. Can I please order room service now?”

Mom: “Sorry, the kitchen is closed by now. You’ll have to wait for breakfast.”

(Nothing else to do but go to bed hungry. We wake up on Sunday morning and I get showered and dressed before everyone else because I’m in a hurry to finally get my first proper meal since Friday night.)

Me: “I’m starving. Can I go downstairs and get breakfast while you guys get ready?”

Mom: “No, you can’t. You will wait for us so we can eat as a family.”

(And wait I do, yet again for more than two hours while they take their time to have some coffee, take long showers, get dressed, and apply makeup. Then, I have to wait until my mom and aunt make sure my grandparents — staying in another room in the hotel — are up and ready to go. Eventually, we make our way downstairs together. Most of my family elects to go to the breakfast buffet to get breakfast quickly. I decide to order a Belgium waffle. It takes a LONG time to get here. My grandparents have already received and finished their eggs and toast and the rest of them have had a couple of rounds at the buffet.)

Mom: “I told you that you should have gone to the buffet.”

Me: “I would have if I’d known they were going to take so long.”

(My waffle does eventually come out. I pour on some syrup and cut into it only for waffle batter to pour out like a lava flow.)

Me: *incredibly frustrated and hangry* “My waffle is completely raw!”

(My parents are in hysterics, laughing at how hard a time I’ve been having finding food this weekend. I send back the waffle and tell them I just want to eat at the buffet. I take my plate and get my first helping of random breakfast foods available and start scarfing down. I get back up to get my next course, happy to finally be able to eat a full meal.)

Mom: “That’s enough. Everyone else is done eating and they don’t want to wait for you.”

Me: *my frustration starts rising again* “No way. I’ll be done when I’m done!”

Dad: “Honey, just let him eat.”

Mom: *chuckles as she again remembers what a miserable time I’ve been having* “All right, all right.”

(I went back to the buffet and had a total of four plates.)

So Scary He Lost Three Years

, , , , , , | | Right | June 25, 2019

(I’m working at a haunted house selling the tickets up front. The manager puts me in charge because he has to make a change run. A young woman who looks like she could be twenty or so and her child who looks like he might be five years old are next in line. We have a rule that no child under seven is allowed inside. Signs are put on the door entrance and on the ticket desk that say this. She puts her money on the table and asks for two tickets.)

Me: “Ma’am, we cannot allow children under the age of seven to enter the haunted house.”

Customer: “He’s fine; don’t worry about it.”

Me: “No, that’s the rule: nobody under seven.”

Customer: “FINE, HE’S SEVEN!”

(It’s already been a long day and I really don’t want to get into it, so I just give her the tickets after taking her money. She snatches the tickets and drags her son into the attraction. The walk in the haunted house usually takes about five minutes. After about two minutes, I hear a child scream and cry very loudly in the house. Shortly after, I see the same lady carrying her son out through the entrance, rushing towards me.)

Customer: “What the f*** is wrong with you people?! You made my f****** kid cry in there! I want my money back, and I’m going to sue this godd*** place for traumatizing a four-year-old!”

(Her ignorance has broken through my tolerance level.)

Me: “Lady, I told you nobody under seven years old! You even said he was seven! If anything, I can call CPS on you for dragging a four-year-old in there!”

Customer: “Stupid b****! How dare you talk to me like that?! Where is your manager? I bet your tone will change once I tell them you’re threatening me!”

Me: “My manager is not here. Right now, I’m in charge. I’m not going to argue on an issue that is clearly your fault. Get out, or I can get security to drag you out!”

(After a few minutes of calling me names and screeching about how she was going to bring her baby-daddy to “f*** me up,” our security guard finally came out of the office after watching the cameras and proceeded to escort her out.)

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