Saturday, February 24th

I know I haven't given you guys anything for a while, and I'm sorry. There's only so much I can write about when my aunt's failed suicide attempt left her puking for weeks on end. My uncle really should have taken her to get her stomach pumped, but she's alive now so whatever. Yes, my uncle told me that my aunt did in fact take 30 muscle relaxers with the deliberate intention of ending her life. After we got the notice from the post office about the registered letter, my aunt kind of lost it. My cousin told my uncle that she never wants to come home because she's not speaking to my aunt ever again. This poor girl is 13 years old!

My uncle talked to my cousin for a few hours earlier this week, and she spent the entire conversation bawling her eyes out. She told him that she hates her mom, and that the registered letter at the post office isn't court papers for her custody, but a letter she wrote to him, telling him everything she's been keeping from him about her mom. She had it sent through registered mail so that he would have to sign for it, and there would be no chance of her mom ever reading it. The letter even told him about her mom's affair with Sugar Daddy.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "How could he not know about the affairs?"

My guess is that he does, but is in denial about it because a big part of him still loves her...despite how she treats him.

In other news, the refrigerator is still as interesting to come home to as ever. Sometimes I like to add something to it or move something around just to see how quickly he fixes it. He's become more punctual about how the fridge should be arranged. I came home a few nights ago to find the (fake) milk cartons not only arranged by size, but alphabetically also. For example, I had my large carton of chocolate soy milk, small carton of vanilla soy milk, a small bottle of vanilla coffee creamer, a small bottle of chai coffee creamer, and my aunt had a large carton of Lactaid. My uncle, once again, had them lined up on the middle of the shelf, and arranged like so: large 'Silk', large 'Lactaid', small 'Silk', chai creamer, vanilla creamer.

When I came home a few nights ago, my aunt was sleeping on the recliner in our living room and wearing a pair of my tube socks. Now, okay...if your feet are cold and you don't feel like getting off your lazy, drunk, unemployed ass to do some laundry and want to go into my room and take a pair of my not cheap socks to wear, that's fine. But wear some fucking slippers or something! They looked like she went for a shoe-less stroll through the neighborhood in them! I mean, the bottoms were black. I can't imagine the hell she would have raised with me if I had done that to her.

Last but not least, last weekend I went to get some Italian food and brought it home to eat. Eggplant parmigiana. Yum! So, I can hear in my head exactly what my uncle is going to say when I get home. "What'd you get me? Oh...none for me? Hahaha just kidding, sweetie. So what did you get? Oh, that looks good! Where'd you get it?" Yes...I know my uncle very well. He pries. A lot. And he talks to me in a little kindergarten teacher voice like I'm a baby. (example: "Awww are you all cozy with your blankie?" when I'm watching movies in the living room)

So I come into the kitchen, and my uncle says exactly what I thought he'd say. As if that weren't already bad enough (hello, I'm trying to eat! Quit asking me questions, kthx!), The Lapdog (who was visiting for the bazillionth time this week) comes into the kitchen, and he and my uncle proceed to begin a conversation about how the neighbors, who run a daycare center from their house, always overfill their trash bins with diapers, and so every time the trash gets picked up, my uncle has to go outside and pick up all these shitty, smelly diapers from in front of our house. I thought I was going to puke. I quietly got up, covered my food, put it in the fridge, and slammed the fridge door shut.

Alphabetize that!