Mom’s little problem

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My poor mother. She stays in a shitty marriage for twenty seven years, only to be dumped for a physiotherapist. And now her best friend pulled some infantile, queenbitch shtuff on her.

Having been single for the past three years after she gave my father the boot, (woot!) my mother was thrilled when this chap, Biff, (I will not make fun of his name. I will not make fun of his name) took a shine to her.

He is good looking, very nice, (if a little bitter about his divorce five years ago) and has a great job. And before anyone bites my head off for that last point, let it be known that Up North, many a feller would rather collect social assistance than work.

Anyhow, so Mom’s all stoked, and calls her friend Monica that she has been recently hit on. Monica, instead of being happy for Mom, however, pulls a hissy fit, claiming that even though Monica never mentioned a word on the subject, my mom should have known that Monica liked Burt, and how my mother should have known that Monica’s feelings would be hurt, and how could Mom steal the guy she was interested in? She rounds off her brilliant diatribe by stating that should my mom ever go out with this guy, their friendship would be over.

First of all: Are we still in highschool? What the hell is all this ‘stealing’ crap?

Second of all: I didn’t realize that friends emotionally blackmail each other. This news to me. I must have missed that memo.

Third: Monica has known this gentleman for years. Before and after his divorce, and he’s never shown the slightest bit of interest in her.

Sigh.

Poor Mom.

I’ve told her she needs to diversify her friend portfolio. Obviously this stock is about to plummet.

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About Angela

My name is Angela. I am a 28 year old psych and criminology graduate, but I'd rather not diagnose you. I am a cuddle-slut. I can recite the entire script of The Princess Bride, (including accents) and believe that the meaning of life is contained within. Polyanna, Snap.com commercials, and Oprah 'reunion shows' make me cry. I can whistle and hum at the same time, but I cannot touch my toes. I am an expert in both listening and talking. I look good in orange. I am a writer. I kick ass in Gin, Hearts, and Cribbage but I don't understand Canasta or Bridge. I can be heard singing Broadway numbers from my shower, and have dressed up as a viking princess, (complete with aluminum foil breast plate) The Phantom of the Opera, and a Ghostbuster for Hallowe'en. I have a bird named Bean. I have a brother named Adam. They are not related. I like vanilla body lotion, peanut butter, saunas, Jim Carrey, broccoli, pets, TheOnion.com, Muppets, Kevin Smith, Corelle dishes, dry erase white-boards, Barenaked Ladies, Philosophy, the letter J, Harry Potter, picture frames, swimming, quilting, Michael Moore, genealogy, Raggedy Anne, tacky 50's tchotchke, 'Idiot's Complete Guide To' books, tweezers, feather pillows, polar dips, aquariums, Martin Luther King Jr., and Dr. Pepper. I don't like meat, gossips, cooked carrots, American Idol, mosquitoes, sweating, politics, public washrooms, tardiness, tuition, hunting, pat answers, pick up lines, brown bananas, cliches, pine scented air freshener, Kevin Costner, bacon, candied apples, pro-wrestling, humidity, and hypocrisy. Books I've read recently The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Dark Tower, When Nietzsche Wept, What's So Amazing About Grace?, Catcher in the Rye, Not Wanted On the Voyage, The Red Tent, The Little Prince, The Way the Crow Flies, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Poisonwood Bible, The Fall, The Knot of Vipers, Calculating God, The Chrysalids, Sick Puppy, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Franny and Zooey, The Brothers Karamazov, and jPod. I am slightly neurotic. No I'm not. Yes I am.

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