December 26, 2007
She does all sorts of things that annoy me.
Walking along in Disney, she pulls out a set of nail clippers and starts clipping her nails. Later during our vacation, we're in the elevator returning to our condo and she pulls out the clippers again and starts clipping her nails AGAIN. When I stared at her, she acted as if I was annoyed because she was leaving her nails all over the place, so she picked up the clippings. She doesn't seem to realize how just weird it is to do that in an elevator... or walking down the street.
She's also a knuckle-cracker. She's one of the most graceless women I've ever known and there are few things that illustrate it more than her meticulous popping of her joints.
Usually, when I'm walking down the street and I see someone dressed in a way that I don't appreciate, I just figure they were raised by wolves and they don't know better. My sister wasn't raised by wolves, though. Her sense of fashion actually offends me. Most of the time I spent with her since Wednesday, she was wearing ill-fitting, high-waisted jeans that I call "Control-top jeans" and others call "mom jeans." SNL has a skit about them. She's not fat; she's a firefighter, so she's actually reasonably fit. She also wore these shirts that aren't really tank tops, but they aren't really sleeveless t-shirts, either.
We went shopping and I picked out lots of nice outfits that would suit her very well, but she wouldn't even try any of them on.
In conversation, she often interjects non sequitur statements about people and situations that no one else understands. She likes to use jargon from her job, which forces people to ask what they mean. She will reference people she works with, people we don't know, so she has to go into lengthy, meandering descriptions of who they are and what they do. She likes to share her office gossip.
But those things are just irritating things that make it annoying to be around here even when she isn't being a unreasonable, moody thug.
She's the sort of person who is argumentative about everything. No matter how minute or small the topic, she begins sneering, using sarcasm, and shouting.
Example: She told our group -- for a reason that I don't recall, but it was in line with the conversation -- that she "couldn't rent a movie in Savannah."
That, of course, prompted a surprised inquiry from me.
She explained that at the time, she had a roommate and all of the utilities were in her roommate's name, so she couldn't bring a copy of the phone bill as proof of residence and all that. The video store offered the alternative of allowing her to present a credit card, but she refused to give them a credit card.
"Why?" I asked.
"I'm going to pay for the video with cash. They don't need my credit card," was the answer she provided.
"They don't need it to pay for the movie. They want it so they can track you down."
"They can't track me down with my credit card."
"Yes, they can. And with your credit card, they don't need to find you, because it's connected directly to your credit history."
But she insisted that a credit card was not the best way to do that. She also insisted that they should use her driver's license instead -- even though that isn't proof of residence, either, and it's not tied to any credit information.
She wouldn't listen to reason.
She just flatly insisted that there was no reason why the video store should have her credit card.
Obviously, her refusal to present a credit card means that she is choosing not to fulfill the requirements necessary for a membership at the video rental store. It is simply not the case that she cannot rent a movie in Savannah, it is the case that she chooses not to do so.
In another situation, we all decided to eat at a Cuban restaurant for dinner. After being seated and ordering our drinks, we settled in to consider what to order for our entrees.
After a few minutes she announced, "I feel bad sitting in a restaurant when I can't eat their food," and she sat back with a deep sigh.
As a child, she loved eating ham. She practically subsisted on bologna sandwiches and hot dogs. But in college, or some time soon after, she decided that she "can't eat pork." Again, the truth is that she chooses not to eat pork. There isn't any reason for it other than her rather sudden claim of distaste for pork. That's her business, though.
Knowing her dislike for pork, I asked, "What do you mean? There are plenty of non-pork dishes here." I gestured to a half page of dishes primarily composed of chicken. "Arroz con pollo is just chicken and rice. You can't get more basic than that. It's also pretty bland, so you don't have to worry about any strange spices."
She decided to order chicken noodle soup, but made clear that she was miserable and dissatisfied with the meal. You'll recall that she pulled this same sort of pig-headed unwillingness when she visited New York and ordered a hamburger from my favorite Cuban-Mexican spot and then refused to eat it.
There's an crass Southern expression to describe a person like her: she can find shit in ice cream. It means that she's bound and determined to be miserable no matter what. She could be put in the best of conditions and she'd find something to gripe about.
And her misery is arbitrary and of her own making.
She nearly declined free tickets to Cirque du Soliel on our vacation because at some point in college, she also decided that she "doesn't like clowns." There was no traumatic incident with clowns. She never had such a fear prior to college. She just made it up.
As a child, I was a sectional eater. I would get upset if my food touched and I would only eat things one at a time. To this day, I still eat sectionally, although I make much less of a production about it. It's not a compulsion; I sometimes eat in order and sometimes I don't. I prefer my food not to mix, but if it does, that's life. We move on. I don't know why I did this and to this day the original motive for the habit is a mystery to me.
Again, at some point in college, she decided that she's a sectional eater. She will turn down a meal if it is presented to her with the various servings touching. Or, if not that, make a huge production of separating the parts.
Her misery isn't the only thing arbitrary, either. So are her pleasures. She can rarely explain exactly why she wants what she wants.
You want examples? Readily.
When asked what time she wanted to eat dinner on Christmas Eve, she said, "4 o'clock." Why? She said, "Because no one else was choosing a time." Forget that 4 o'clock is an insanely early hour for eating dinner. I practically had to twist her arm to get her to admit that she just wanted to get home early and even then she wouldn't come right out and say why she wanted to get home early.
Another example: After we opened presents, she announced that she was "holding more presents hostage at her house" which is 50 miles away from my parents' house. Why? No reason. We had already announced our intention to go to her apartment the next day to pick her up for lunch or even to eat lunch there. The reason we were going to her apartment was actually to see her apartment. But she still "held gifts hostage" which prevented me from being able to pack my bags completely for my trip. I had to finish packing at her house only minutes before leaving for the airport.
While she expects to be allowed to do what she pleases when she pleases (even if it means sleeping all day when we have plans to go somewhere) she expects everyone else to wait on her while she does it and even help her in her efforts, no matter how pointless or silly.
If ever a situation arises where she didn't do something or she didn't do something correctly, she refuses to admit her mistake. When asked if she got something at the Disney store, she sneered at us, "No! I didn't because everyone else wanted to go to dinner." Blaming us for her ineffective use of time and lack of independence in decision making, she thinks that because we indicated that we were ready to move on, that she couldn't do something she wanted.
Everything is someone else's fault. The entire universe is out to get her.
Logic holds no sway in her mind.
Playing a board game to which none of us know the rules, she reads the rules and recommends one course of action between two options. I point out that logically, the alternative option grants more possibilities. She argues to the contrary presenting rules about situations that do not apply to the present conditions.
At least three other situations like that which resulted in rather loud arguments and long, uncomfortable silences happened in the three days of our trip to Florida. That's more than one "confrontation" a day.
Even though she's in her late 20's, she behaves like a teenager.
And I'm sick of it.
I am honestly at the point where I don't want to be around her. Ever. I'm absolutely furious with her.
I don't know if I will have Christmas with my family next year. I enjoy Christmas. I like celebrating wealth and prosperity with people I like. I do not like her. I don't care about my dad. My mom is the only one of the bunch I'm fond of. Christmas with my mom isn't really of value if it means putting up with them, too, if it means coming back to my home and being angry and irritated over the whole experience for days afterward.
Posted by: Flibbertigibbet at
09:42 PM
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Tell it, brother!
I have so many stories this year from other friends that are just like your story... except they've never made the identification, as you have, that maybe they shouldn't be spending Christmas with their family. The torture that people put themselves through year after year at Chirstmastime is kind of mind boggling.
In Christmas of 1999 I planned to stay at my parents' house on Christmas Eve. I brought my dog, who always stayed in a crate in their unheated garage. My parents don't like dogs in the house. Actually, they have a dog and they just don't like anyone else's dog in their house because they always have to own territorial little ankle biting non-dogs like chihuahuas and pomeranians. Whatever.
After several hours of Christmas-ing that evening, I realized that my dog, Moses, was really not going to be able to spend the night in the garage. The temperature had dropped to -20F without wind chills. I asked if I could bring his dog crate in the laundry room, which is at the entry to the house. He didn't need to roam the house; I just wanted him to be warm. My Dad said no.
So I said that if I couldn't bring the dog in, I'd have to drive back to my house, because I couldn't possibly let my dog (who was far more important to me than my father) freeze to death in the garage. He got mad at that suggestion, and told me I was exaggerating and made up all sorts of excuses why I should stay. He complained about dog smell (I gave my dog a bath every week), that the dog would be fine with more blankets (it was -20F), etc., despite the fact that my dog was not an outdoor dog and was not accustomed to such weather. In other words, as you say, logic holds no sway in these peoples' minds.
So, I guess I decided right then and there that it was really the last straw with my father and he was an irredeemable human being. Without much fuss, and with my mother standing there sobbing because she doesn't have the good sense to leave my evil, childish father, I packed myself and my dog in the car and made the long drive home to spend Christmas Eve with my best friend in my own apartment.
I've spent maybe two meaningless Christmases with my parents since, when I didn't feel like it was putting me too much out of my way. It took me years to recover from that and start to actually enjoy Christmas again. They pretend as if the whole episode never happened, because they don't want to admit they were wrong. In fact, I don't believe I have heard my father utter the words, "I'm sorry."
Sometimes, the whole hassle of family just really isn't worth it. I hope you can make some sense out of the situation and come to a conclusion as to how you can most happily spend your Christmas next year.
Posted by: Monica at December 27, 2007 11:42 AM (m6uPR)
The problem, I think, stems from the fact that I do not place any value on "family" as such, but they do. They think -- my mom in particular has expressed this to me -- that just because we share some DNA, then we're obliged to get together and have a good time together. I do not agree with that.
I get together with my mom because she is a pleasant person of good sense and good taste and that makes having a good time with her possible.
My dad has a reasonably good sense of humor and a strong sense of adventure, so getting together and having a good time with him is not a struggle -- even though he has other qualities that diminish my affections.
My sister, however, has little that I see in the way of redeeming qualities. When they visited me in New York in May of 2006, I made it clear to my mother than my sister is not welcome to visit me. I have little interest in sharing the city I love with someone who doesn't appreciate it, someone who is going to sneer at it.
I don't want a confrontation or unpleasantness, but I also don't want to waste my vacation days, time, money, and energy putting up with someone about whom I have very few nice things to say!
Posted by: Flibbertigibbet at December 27, 2007 01:49 PM (ErOeR)
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