 |
| https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatso_%281980_film%29 |
Like I've written before, my mom and her siblings like to hide their addictions and use them against one another, like watching mentally-challenged adults freak out over a hand of "Go Fish" played with peanuts that they steal from each other all game long. It hurts their group even more when they use their addictions against each other as a ploy, hence the cover-ups and deceit. They divert their compulsive obsessive addictive disorders into weirder and weirder stuff, in their unending war with each other to secure some coveted higher ground that has all the leverage and power they need to escape healthcare, which is about as opposite to a real family as one can get, and I suppose that's part of the point with being evil in secret, like a woman who prostitutes herself to hide her heroin addiction: it's done for the cheap illicit thrill.
Having closeted disorders is hard to prove in any court of law (one of my mom's siblings finally managed to pass the bar after several very expensive tries while living at home, totally funded by my grandfather and ConEd), without describing something so bizarre to a sober judge in the bright light of day that it seems like you made it up, which is part of the point, too: throw suspicion onto one other in an insane game of "Round-Robin" until someone gets bored, grows tired, or just leaves. They sit clenched to their kitchen chairs working each over like it's lunchtime in a prison cafeteria, which is alternately scary/dull, and that's another "fun" facet of it, as well. It's another "Contest of the Wills", like schoolchildren holding their breath in a playground competition held during recess, in a bid for dominance that's also my lifelong stress test. Who is the weakest link? Not it!
And so I'm left out of the daily details that haunt the rest of my family, lucid as I am. You don't want witnesses around the scene of a crime, especially tricky law-abiding people like me, which is silly, because I already knew the jig was up many years ago. My mom described her upbringing as "schizophrenic" because her mother was an Italian Norman and her father was a French Swiss/Irish Norman. So... Norman on both sides of a European merchant family who traded widely around Europe? Oh...Sensing a rip in "The Force" that was more like trying to eat one decent meal with my mother without a violently hysterical drama of "high-highs" and "low-lows" accompanied with laughter that dissolved into tears (because I'm not manic depressive, which one can easily prove nowadays with all sorts of handy medical exams), my mom would poke at my questions to her like she was doing laundry for three days straight, in an order that only she can possibly navigate with her extreme brand of hypervigilance. Neat!
She'd go on to describe different cultural rituals to me that she had to toggle between growing up, like funeral services between the two clans. Uh huh. "Very strange to me! The Italians eat and cry, and the Irish drink and laugh!", which is pretty much lifting a scene straight out of Dom DeLuise's movie "Fatso" that her and her sisters approved of as appropriate dinner table conversation, because they found it funny to be portrayed as food addicts in a real movie, while totally missing the point that being sick is not the same as being famous, even for the dubious distinction of eating like there's no tomorrow. They each have variations of the same eating disorder, which they colorize as being "completely different" from one another, when it's obviously the same genetic disease spread around them as immediate siblings.
My mom is a food hoarder like her siblings, but she "controls it" with yet another nifty game of vigilance, through the constant monitoring of exactly how many boxes of crackers and cookies she has, and if you touch one without asking, she MUST replace it in a never-ending cycle that I disembark from as soon as possible because, once again, I do not share their cheerful problems with food. Haha! It's funny, right? Her youngest sister complained about caring for my beautiful grandmother who supported her all of her lazy life, until we all sent her free food that she promptly rejected as "too healthy", which she hid in closets stuffed with clothes and papers. That's one way to create a sick house for the elderly: being sick yourself! Needless, I had a professional healthcare worker tend to my lovely grandmama, who can attest to this day about her beauty and grace that I've told you about already.
My mom's middle sister has the worst food addiction, which she is very proud of, like she won the top blue-ribbon prize at a country fair pie-eating contest. Much like a drunk doesn't really give a shit about what type of beer he/she drinks, my mom's sister "gets off" on making horrible food (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2015/12/swap.html), so she can monitor you eating it and then ask you a sneaky series of oddly intense questions about it that you have to avoid like a live minefield, or she explodes into a psychotic fit of barely suppressed rage. My grandparents called her "Harpo" after the famous "Marx Brothers" character who can't speak, because she becomes mute with shock around normal people, and she looks like a man. Attractive, right? No! Wrong! That's why she pretends to us that her disgusting bland food is like having sex (to have a good story to tell in group therapy, like auditioning for "Dr. Phil", duh. Lots of competition in New York for top t.v. spots!), except without any pleasure to be had from it whatsoever, unless you are the exact same kind of weird closet case as her, which changes upon exposure of it with a big handy bunch of lies at the ready, like the fork she HAS TO eat with.
The prize pig in the bunch is my mom's youngest sister who (last I heard) wanted to die from the cheap chemical filler Aspartame and its subsequent poisoning (http://aspartame.mercola.com/), because she also has an anxiety disorder that makes her a total chickenshit, which is an ironic Hell I could have never designed for her. She's too scared to commit suicide! Oh, dear. She's addicted to fast food and that's not a new trend, which is unfortunate in her t.v.-addict world that blurs the line with reality, greatly assisted by a bunch of prison/welfare queen lesbians who like to drink, do drugs, fight, and...well, they can't show you the sex, unless you pay extra somewhere else for it, because every stripper/hooker has a cheap porno site on the side to supplement her "baby daddy" child support. Again: duh. You're sooo naive!
She also likes to huff plastic and hoard dollar store crap, which is also not an original thing for Wal-Mart addicts/shoppers who got the jump on their "lifestyle choices" out in the MidWest many many years ago, without benefit of the two hip, smart, native New York parents she had, the very same people who helped raise me. Isn't that ironic? Or don't you think? I call it a "Guinea" foul! What do you call it with your family? Let's discuss it amongst ourselves.
