Snapper Snapped

When I mention the insanity woven throughout the genetic makeup of my family, it usually spurs a slaughter of sharp pointed empathies coupled by a slew of "No shits...Welcome to the club." Most of the population battles for the opportunity to reign supreme as having the wackiest bloodline because having a fucked up family is hard enough; coming in second place in anything to Kelly Osborn be damned.

However, when I say my family is insane, I seriously mean it, and with my coming posts, I hope to convince you that praying for my predestined mind is far more important than trying to 'out-do' me. But if you still feel the need to cast sympathy aside and attempt to empathize with me then the King's pawn to E4...let the games begin ;)

I've decided to start with a simple tale that happened a couple of days ago, but just before we get into that fun stuff, some background information, as much of a failure as it makes me seem, is required. Let's start this spiel with me admitting that I am a college graduate with a degree in journalism and minor in english and graduated 2nd in my class. Yeah, the first part of the resume sounds pretty damn good until your eyes scan the employment section. For the past year, I have worked in a media position that continues to rape away my dignity and forever keep me in a financially insecure life.

Okay, all of this danced around the one thing I have been fighting to not have to admit: I live with my grandmother. Blast, that hurts. lol. You may be wondering why I just don't live with my parents. The Answer: my mother is crazier than her mother so choosing between the two shrews is a no brainer. As the insanity increases from one generation to the next, I'm forced to await my depleting mind while living with the constant reminder of how fucked up I might turn out. Be sure to tune in to future postings for proof of my impending doom ;)

Let's talk about the constant reminder I live with. Her name is Donna and her success as a mother has doomed her to always be known as such. None of her children call her mother, mom, ma, mama, madre or any other variation of the title. She is Donna to all but me. I call her Vito. If you remember the television show Viva La Bam then you're sure to remember Don Vito with his slobbery presence coupled by a few hundred pounds of extra fat and a speech impediment to make a hairlip say, "huh?" ...damn, i'm going to hell. lol. Eternity with my mother and grandmother...fuck, maybe I should erase that last comment. haha.

The choice of nickname should adequately express my feelings of my grandmother, but it doesn't explain why I have such beef, and for the most part, it's mainly due to the fact that she's just fucking annoying. As the stereotypical woman, she lives her life nagging and gossiping about anyone who may have crossed her or just anyone who isn't in the room at the time. Her stability with her emotions is like a light switch. One minute she could be laughing to tears and the next be seeking a way to bring that same liquid to another's eyes with a less comical approach. Her desire to meddle in my life and see me married off to a wealthy sexpot makes me clutch my stomach from developing ulcers. And her inability to let the aging process take its course is enough to send me into a frenzy.

I have another nickname for Vito that she isn't aware of even though during our scuffles it burns my tongue like acid to let it fly. For the sake of shelter, Vito will never know that a friend and I call her snapper. In her attempts to hang on to youth and her trim waist, she wears clothes that could've been taken from my closet; of course they're not mine because the fact that she wears a smaller size than me is a constant reminder and part of the competition she continues to ensue with her granddaughter. I come out on top with the knowledge of my generation where the ladies of my time, or at least most of us, realize that tight hiked up pants can produce something commonly known as the camel toe. On more than one occasion, Vito has went out in public without realizing that her snapper is showing and without the knowledge that we all laugh about her behind her back.

Going out in public with her tends to be a chore and an event that I try to avoid. However, on this particular day going to Food Lion with Snappy and her prevalent snapper was unavoidable. Going in for bread and eggs takes the same amount of time as finishing a final exam, sewing a hand-made quilt, or finding a cure for cancer...granted everything rings up correctly at the register and I don't have to hide my face in shame as Snappy snaps at the pimply, doe eyed 16 year old who vows never to forget the Snapper. Bathroom breaks at the sight of her approaching buggy are a part of life's lessons.

After completing every aisle of the grocery store haven seen each product and label at least twice, we finally made our way to the produce, final stop before freedom. A young stocker was tending to the lettuce and made the mistake of attempting to go beyond his call of duty to be a friendly employee. He must have been new, I thought everyone knew to hide they're eyes from the Snapper. She'll turn you to stone and then use you to stone-wash her jeans of suffocation.

I heard the young man say something but didn't recollect it as being anything directed towards me. When he repeated his greeting and asked me how I was doing, I was quick to apologize and return the small talk with a brief smile. When walking away, I was reeled in by the Snapper who hissed in my ear, "That boy was flirting with you." Please, if you're not going to throw me back in the water, toss me aside to suffocate. Don't torture me. I looked at her and explained that he was just doing his job. She replied, "No he was flirting with you and I can prove it." Snapper snapped around and directed her next sentence to the stocker. "Excuse me young man." Run boy run. Save yourself! "I was wondering if you could tell me something. Are you attracted to my granddaughter."

I whipped around and said the first thing to come to mind. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" To which my aunt, who was with us at the time, coupled that with a "Yeah, what the fuck is wrong with you." I tried to explain to the blushing face that he did not have to entertain her with an answer, but Snapper persisted and gave justification for an answer by the fact that she is a paying customer. Bah! The young man admitted defeat and his attraction as Snappy turned to me with a smile. "See, I told you." And in ear shot of the young man continued, "But he won't do. Don't answer to a man who has to answer to a boss. There are more fish in the sea," she said as she followed me to the register with hook and line still attached. I felt my fist knuckle together like the jean taster found in her pants. lol. Snapper had snapped once again, and once again I caught the brunt of her insanity.

Just a small story to give you insight on just one insane member of my flourishingly whacked out family. I'm sure I haven't convinced most that I come from the craziest of the crazies with that tiny tid bit, but stay tuned for more postings. It gets better. Besides, it was just the King's pawn. I've got ballsier moves still up my sleeve ;)