12:23 a.m.

[ Father's Day 2002 ]

There must be something inherently wrong with my psyche, something that causes me to react with such panic at the thought of having more than a few members of my family together in my house. Everything went well, fantastic in fact, but when my father called me this afternoon, with three hours to spare before showtime (my term for family get togethers, because when this group gets all gathered in the same place, a show is what you get, by golly - as my mother will no doubt attest), to tell me he was bringing yet another person to my house I nearly hyperventilated. Let's push aside the fact that this guy, who has been my dad's friend for over forty years, annoys the hell out of me. I honestly didn't think we could fit more people in here. My house, though beautiful, comfortable and just big enough to house my family of five, was now going to be bursting at the seams with my parents, my brother's family, my cousin and my dad's friend. I'll do the breakdown.

That's thirteen people.

:: breathe, dammit! breathe!! ::

Oddly, it went off without a hitch and we all had a wonderful time.

Therefore I have decided that there is something seriously wrong with me. These people make me way too panicky and it has to stop because my blood pressure skyrockets at the thought of putting us all together in the same place and that can't be good. The answer is obvious.

I'm more psychotic than I thought and I was already sure I'd lost my mental bearings years ago. But these family-generated panic attacks are definitely new stuff.

Stuff I could do without. And I had better find a way to get past them and push my anxiety down because an event is coming this year that is so sinister, so dyfunctional it will surely make the Exorcist look like a fucking Disney short.

What could it be?

Well, this year is my turn to have the most major of all holidays with J so there will be no (thankfully, oh thank you Goddess), holiday traveling. My folks will be staying home and so will we. That could only mean one thing:

A ho-ho-happy christmas featuring the dysfunctional family circus!

Someone please do me a favor and slip some cyanide in my egg nog.

Maybe I'll just do myself a favor and increase my meds now. Because the last two times this group have all gotten together have gone wonderfully and there really is no reason to be going apeshit about an even that is six months away. The only reason to even be thinking about it is so I can get a head start on my shopping, which I have decided I will definitely not put off until November this year. Nope, not again. This time I'm going to get as much of it done early as I can and be at least 90% finished by December 1.

And I'm baking this year, even if it's only a little, holiday blues be damned. And I'm going to show my boobs to strangers -

Well...maybe not that, but I'm determined to have a better holiday and allow myself to enjoy it. I don't have to travel 800 miles this year with two babies screaming to be let out of their car seats for the last ninety minutes of the drive, that alone makes Shann a very happy girl.

I think I'll have to give the clan a break too. They've never behaved this long before so maybe there's hope. The reason I get so worked up is that it has become a conditioned response from a lifetime spent in their company, much the way a convict starts having to pee at the same time every morning because for years and years, 6:17 was his time at the urninal. The best way to describe them is to say that anyone who has seen the show Titus would recognise them immediately. They're a cross between Chris' family and Erin's family, sort of the halfway house at the corner of Titus Lane and Fitzpatrick Street. So many and close are the similarities that I have actually cringed at times while watching the show, even as I was laughing hysterically.

It's like Jeff Foxworthy says, "True stuff is the funniest stuff."

Touche'.

And sometimes we have to laugh to keep from screaming.

So I am determined to give them the benefit of the doubt and enjoy as much of the holiday as my anxious, panic stricken psyche will allow.

My brother and I discussed his sudden change of heart regarding me and my husband this evening but I'm too spent from all of the other fucktard (a big thank you goes out to MamieRock, for introducing that colorful term into my vocabulary - I first saw it in your journal a few days ago and have been giggling like...well...a fucktard ever since), bullshit I typed to get into it right now. I'm getting a major typing cramp that's turning my hands into deformed claws. Ah well, if my butt gets itchy they're in the right position already.

Good thing I stopped referring to my brother as Bro-Zilla already. He's been really nice and he no longer deserves the title.

Could it be that...

:: gasp! ::

I'm actually starting to like him again?

I think so. I really do.

:: gasp again!! ::

Okay, that's it. I'm officially over-tired and ready to hang it up.

G'night.

...?

G'day.

That reminds me...The Crocodile Hunter has his own movie now. I am so psyched! I can't wait to see it. But I have to see Scooby Doo first. Scooby takes priority as my must-see movie until Signs comes out later this summer. So I must be witness to the greatness that is the Scooby Doo movie before I can go on with my life and see other movies. It's just that fucking important.

:o)

Dammit, when the hell are we going to be able to insert smilies in our entries? Live Journal sucks and they can do it.

Okay, for real now.

G'night!