The New and Improved Cynical Idealist

Kids...

In the beginning I was cursed with supersonic hearing.

I just arrived home from my fiancé's mother's house. As such, I can only describe such a visit as the type of misery which begets such a profound lousy mood that I don't want to type like this. I want to type like this:

aodsijfipoahgoiuerwhpoqihwegfahsiuodghpsiahgewiupoqhugiopehaiuogfvh!!!!

At any rate, I'm home now, but the screaming, thumping, bumping and horseplay is still ringing in my ears. Her mother has 8 grand-children. 5 of which were there tonight. Before I go into this I want to say, I love kids. I love the funny stuff that they say, and I love the way they play around. I hate all the horrible, gut wrenching, nose scrunching sounds that they make whilst playing however, and her grandkids have mastered these sounds.

I can only describe it as nails on a chalk-board, combined with a fork screeching against a plate, combined with crows cawing, combined with the lady standing in line, talking on her phone, who ends every sentence with a question mark and begins every sentence with "like." Does that paint the picture well enough? If it does not I'll simply say it's unnaturally irritating.

I've been pushed to the brink of such agitation that I just want to cover my head up with a pillow and yell until my throat is hoarse. Yeah.

I've never been a particular fan of visits with her mother. Don't get me wrong, I do like her, she's a very hospitable woman, and she's generally fun to talk to. I just don't like their house. It's a decent house, but it's not my house, it's an alien world for me, wherein I suffer from this strange affliction that I just can't use the restroom in another person's house. Therefore, I'd rather stay at home. I'd rather stay at home where I can sit around in my underwear if I want to, watch football, and drink unnatural amounts of coffee. Yeah they don't even have a coffee pot at their house... Let me just ask... WHAT THE HELL?!

Ok, anyway, now that you know I hate visiting there, I'll add that my fiancé expects me to tag along each time she goes, which is generally every day. I just can't do it. Their house is not mine! My biggest and only real argument is I spent 100,000 dollars on this house of mine, why would I not spend my time here whenever I can? I'm gone roughly 6-9 months out of the year, so when I'm home, I want to get my money's worth. Well, I went today, if anything just so my fiancé wouldn't sigh... I hate it when she does that.

I knew there would be kids there, which I really don't mind, but they were in a particularly robust mood today. At first it was nothing, I don't mind the running back and forth between rooms and door slamming. They're not my doors. Once the screaming and the shouting and the yelling starts however, I become a silent Mr. Hyde and Monty Cristo. I get this brute force anger and agitation inside me while at the same time going over thousands of ways I might make my escape. I never do though... I just sit there and take the abuse, and if you've been around this type of screaming, you know what kind of abuse I'm talking about.

In the middle of all this chaos we were presented with one of those 8 year old awkward moment things. The Fiancé's brother has two sons. One is 11 and the other is 8, and that 8 year old had just spent the last half hour with a Sharpie drawing nipples on all his sister's Barbie dolls. While I think it's outrageously and wholesomely hilarious, it's pretty awkward... I mean, how exactly do you handle that situation, and where in the hell did he get that idea? He's probably a bit like me, I would have remarked that they aren't anatomically correct and done the same thing at 8... but I didn't. Still, I can't help but chuckle a bit at the notion.

All this ruckus and high energy of course ignites the fuse in my daughter and she starts partaking in the uproar. The only problem there is she doesn't wind down so easily. She's home now, and running around the coffee table screaming "KITTY," I swear these poor cats must have the strongest legs on the planet.

We're going to find out the sex of our next child within a few weeks, and I find myself wondering, If I ended up having a nipple drawing 8 year old boy, how would I handle that situation? I find myself wondering a lot of things actually. Scary when you think about it.

And now, she just got back from K-Mart and I'm going to be forced to decorate this obnoxious Christmas tree... Yeah among other things, I'm also a Grinch. Have a nice evening folks.