skibigsky's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ugh. The MIL leaves tomorrow at 1:30, and not a month too soon. I love the woman dearly, but gah. Between her and her son, there is a harmonic vibration created that would drive even Mother Theresa to heavy drink. There is just no way to describe this woman. Again, I love her dearly, but there are times when I'd like to throttle her. Fr'instance. Yesterday we went to play this fancy 'resort' golf course east of us. Mrs. V. is really only up for 9 holes, so we split a round - she plays the first nine and I play the back nine. Fine. We use my clubs (she got a fantastic driver, so I have been using her new driver - sweet!), and it works out fine. I drive the cart for her for the first nine (she doesn't walk - hell, she's older than Methuselah - and still playing golf...), and she informs me that a) I start the cart before she's got both feet in the cart, and I'm hurting her back, b) I didn't offer her an 'appropriate' rain suit (uh - I've got cross country ski gear - as close as it gets) and c) somehow interpreted that I said that we had sandwiches in the car for the drive home as a statement that she shouldn't get something for lunch (at least 2 hours between the turn-around and the drive home). Uh-huh. And she got all freaked out because Mr. V. and I were bickering at each other Friday night because we have this fancy-schmancy SkyCaddy (this GPS golf thing that tells you exactly how far you are from the flag), that someone (*cough*Mr.V.*cough) left in the cart at a local country club that we are considering joining. We were picking at each other - not a serious argument, but we were snarking at each other, and she gets all freaked out, and takes this attitude that we are unhappy with each other. Whatever. And then. (Why yes. I'm venting. How could you tell?) We go to this golf course that Mr. V. and I love, but haven't played in over 2 years. First she doesn't want to go because it's too far way (it's an hour away - get a grip). Then she doesn't want to go because 60+ mph winds are forecasted for the area. We ignore her protests and get in the car. About an hour out from out tee time, Mr. V. starts stressing thinking that we aren't going to make our tee time. I assure him we will. Until we hit an unexpected detour that throughs our MapQ@est directions out the window. And Mrs. V. has been on edge all drive because of all the trucks with trailers that remind her of her dead brother. So, when we get lost, and Mr. V. is panicked about missing the tee time, and Mrs. V. is just being weird, I get frustrated. I toss the directions to Mr. V., and he ignores them. I reach back for them, and start to dial the golf course just as Mrs. V. states that I (meaning me) can't handle this and she'll deal with it. It took all the diazep@m in our med-kit from strangling the woman. Calling the course and getting directions is No Big Deal. Mr. V. calms down, but his mother has this chip on her shoulder, and carries it with her. To the point that I shared a cart with Mr. V., just to get away from her. Yesterday, when we got home, she and Mr. V. watched golf on our TV (in the bed room), and because I couldn't handle any more harmonic Volitilizations, I sat in the living room and started reading Eragon (had watched the movie 2 nights before, and was all set to move on to book 2, until read the book 1 synopsis, and saw how much I missed) until I fell asleep. I just couldn't handle any more Mrs. V. Again, she's a sweet woman, but she can absolutely push my buttons (this woman is passive aggressive beyond words, and I don't deal well with that. At. all.) We play tomorrow at the airport, and then she is gone again. I was hoping that I might be able to bond with her a bit this trip, but I was too busy trying not to throttle her to work on bonding. Ugh. Tuesday we'll get back to biking and actually (maybe) losing body fat. Back to our lives for a couple of weeks. Gods, I am looking forward to it. 10:47 p.m. - 19 August 2007 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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