I have worked with my mother on several occasions. As her assistant in the Bridal Biz, I found Drema’s withering glares and extreme impatience to be more than I could handle. So I quit. As co-coordinator of fashion shows at the local shopping mall, I realized that my go-with-the-flow, see what happens next attitude did not mesh with Mom’s manic level of organization and micromanaging. So I quit. When I left my mother’s employ I was, on both occasions, happily and gratefully replaced by a pair of strictly organized, hyper-focused college –aged sisters whose give-and-take-charge personalities were much more compatible with my mother’s own Dictator-esque manner of management.

So when Mom asked me earlier this week to help her coordinate an upcoming wedding, I panicked. “Is Lauren out of town that weekend?” I asked, referring to her Bridal Assistant. Drema reminded me that this wedding was on the same day as Lauren’s own bridal shower. “Right. So I guess Jenn (Mom’s fashion show cohort and Lauren’s younger sis) will be with Lauren that day.” SIIGGGHHHHHH. “Sure.” I conceded. “I’ll do it. But I wanna get paid whatever you normally pay them. Even if I do suck more than they do at taking your orders.” Okay, I left that last part off, but I was thinkin it!

Upon accepting the job, I began negotiating my one-day contract. And I mean ONE DAY. I was not going to attend any pre-wedding meetings with The Bride. Mom would not give The Bride my home/work/cell phone numbers. I was not going to wear a head-set/microphone combo of any sort the day of the wedding (not that she had ever used anything technological like that before, but who knows what Lauren has thrown into the mix since I left!!). No name tags (I just hate them as a rule). Drema would not discuss with me any details of the wedding before the day of –except the night before as to the time I was to be there for the wedding. I was not going to attend the rehearsal. Surprisingly, Mom agreed to all of my demands. Then she presented me with the portfolio of the wedding.

Alarms, bells, sirens, and heart palpitations set in. Damn. I should have added the codicil that if The Bride turned out to be someone wretched, I could be excused from my duties. Holy Blushing Bride, I HATE this girl like Miley Cyrus hates Perez Hilton. She is, by all accounts a very sweet and charming girl. I just don’t like her. Which is my prerogative as a woman? I can hate another female simply because I feel like it.

Luckily, the wedding isn’t until August. Whether a rant about how I will vow to never again (yet again)work for/with my mother or about The Bride herself I am sure I will have an interesting tale to tell about that day!! Siigggghhhhhh…

House in Revolt

My cute lil 50’s era single story 3 BR, 1 BA brick box house is revolting against me. Less than three years ago,I rescued the damn thing from complete abandonment. When I saw the house from the street, I felt nothing special. Set too far back fromt the road, the curbide appeal consisted of a monstrous dead thorn bush and a dirt box front porch. But my mom talked me into a viewing and once inside, I was beyond charmed. Bigger than it looked from the outside, the buttery wam color on the walls and the new, plush carpet won me over. Not to mention the price! Amazed that it was within my budget and in a great neighborhood, I signed the mortgage 2 weeks later.

Within months of claiming ownership, the coat closet-sized bathroom flooded itself numerous times leading to a now-spongy subfloor. The roof was lifted off in sheets during a couple of awesome spring storms along with some siding around the eaves. Then there’s the lamp post in the front yard. It has been taken down by the amazing power of Mother Nature. A GORGEOUS and Buffy-strong "Chlamydia" (clemvidia? clamata?)vine has taken hold of it. We can’t remove the post because it is still hooked up to the electricity of the house. The decrepit fuse box is no help as the decades-old, barely legible hand-penciled writing on it has no ‘lamp post’ assignment. So there it is, a veritable Leaning Tower of White Trash. This week, the A/C went out. Seeing as how the unit is the original piece from the late 1970’s (and it is a BEAR! It takes up the entire kitchen pantry!). When I had a friend in the heating/cooling biz look at our furnace a few years ago, he said that it AND the a/c were built to last 15-20 years. *Siiigggggh* There is probably another Ozone hole above our house from all the chemicals that thing has been spitting out over the years.

I am not sure what I have done to incur the wrath of the spirit of this house. No one was living there when I bought it. You would think the house would be happy to have a family again. Too many beings (Mom, dad, kid, dog, cat, fish) harmoniously (mostly) cohabitating in a once desolate building. We have torn down the thorn bush, replaced it with a thriving pear tree sapling. In the back yard there is a swing set, new blueberry and raspberry bushes. We plant a veggie garden every year. We feed the birds, chipmunks and squirrels.

Maybe that is the problem. Maybe the house is a cranky geriatric who just wants to be left alone. Well, I got a KILLER APR as a new homeowner and I am locked into a 30 year mortgage. I like the neighborhood. I have the space in the front AND backyard to add on. So we are staying put. You hear that, House? You can be cranky all you want. I will still love you and take care of you as best I can. And I appreciate all you can do for us by keeping us safe, sleeping, playing and living under what is left of your roof.