Two weeks with your parents, anyone?


So I’ve nearly put in 2 weeks with my family.

2 weeks.

I’m returning to london for a couple of days but I’m not quite sure I’ll make it to the end of my time here without having a Christmas- style breakdown.

Now I remember why I was such a moody bitch as a teenager.


Oh god.

They’re being as nice as they can to me, but it’s unbearable.

My mother is driving me insane with her orgasmic eating sounds.

I swear she is doing this on purpose- yesterday she was having a salad and I was enjoying (in silence) a steak and chips.

She began with the “mmmmm mmmmmm oooohhhh mmmm” and actually worked up to an “Oooooh YEAHH!”

Like, seriously? I’m sitting at the dinner table with my mother and I’m trying to enjoy a juicy steak, my favoritest food in the world, and I can’t even fucking open my pleasure receptors because I’ll let in the sounds of my mother orgasming to a fucking bowl of leaves. If I enjoy my steak properly, it’ll mingle with my mother’s nasty noises in a way that I am definitely not comfortable with.

When she said “Oooh yeah!” I just flung down my knife and excused myself, went to the bathroom, looked at my hands for signs of shaking, didn’t find any, calmed the fuck down and went back to mechanically chew and swallow what should have been a really nice steak.

I stare hatred at my mother as she eats. Is she completely oblivious that her offspring doesn’t want to hear her make those noises? It’s unreasonable. I don’t make those sounds when i eat- I don’t even make those sounds when I have a dick in me.

It’s not normal “yumming”, so don’t think I’m being ridiculous. It’s sex noises. Ok.

So that’s me pushed to breaking point from one side.

Then we have my stepdad.

My stepdad taught me sarcasm and introduced me to about 80% of the music I like now.

I appreciate that.

But he’s an alcoholic, and it’s ridiculous how much alcohol he manages to incorporate into his life. Coffee with whiskey, and he doesn’t even offer that shit around. So because I’m over, it’s a special occasion and this means he drinks all day, and my mother potters around shooting him begrudging looks while flinging suggestions of booze in my direction. I’m offered wine and beer all day long. I’m actually sick of drinking. My mother takes “no, thanks” to mean “no, keep guessing, there’s bound to be one alcoholic beverage I’m hankering after” so I’m constantly bombarded with creative drinks suggestions with every meal, and coffee, and in the evening…


But there have been a few good nights.

It’s just that, I’m 23, my mum and stepdad are a tad older. My body is dealing with the alcohol overdose by being grouchy and sprouting a big spot under my nose, and my lovely flat belly has bulged out again reminding me cruelly how much starvation it cost me in the first place.

The price the oldies pay is a little harsher.

My stepdad, last night, had that smell coming out of his pores. The alcohol smell, that doesn’t remind you of any one drink, just of sad old men taking buses to stay out of the rain. It would probably disgust me a lot more if he wasn’t family.

And he’s being very depressing.

He talks of the bad shit happening in the world these days as “the world is revolting, throwing us off its back, we’ve fucked it up and now we’re paying the price” and I’m like, fuck that shit, there were always hurricanes, when they say “coldest winter since 1903” that means that 1903 was even colder, so stop blaming the global warming, K?

Then he starts on the smart phones. The government taking millions of photos of you every day and tapping your phones and nothing is private any more.

I’m like, yeah, I don’t doubt it, but there aren’t enough people on earth to actually watch the surveillance of everyone. And to be honest I’m kind of happy if the chances of crimes being witnessed is greater. I don’t have shit to hide, really.

This he takes as evidence that I love the government. I don’t LOVE them, but fuck, I prefer there to be bad cops than no cops. I prefer to be taxed on shit than for there to be no hospitals. I prefer ministers taking limos to meetings about nothing than for there to actually not be any roads, and shit. This suggests to my parents, that I’m a right wing capitalist monster. Really, I consider myself a-political.

But it’s depressing. Everything he says is depressing and sodden with drink.

He goes on, that we are all going to choke on carbon monoxide… it doesn’t even make sense, but it’s depressing as fuck. I tell him to stop being a dick, and listen to these fun facts I found online. Did you know that in ancient Peru, when a woman found an ugly potato, it was customary to push it in the face of the nearest man?

I’m feeling the darkness pulling down at my corners. I try to scramble up, keep buoyant. It’s hard. The tendency for misery is in me too, I’m just fighting it.

My mother keeps nagging him to stop drinking, or at least not drink whiskey in his tea, because it’s ridiculous, but she still drinks like a fish. I want to bang their heads together and be like, you’re BOTH freaking alcoholics, if you want him to quit, mother, why don’t YOU fucking quit first?

Anyway. I’m at the end of my tether.

I have had good times. I have had, wink wink, good times.

But I have also spent too long here in my old bedroom, in my single bed, with those shitty curtains that don’t block out the daylight when you need hangover sleep, but when you open them, the light is still too shitty to do makeup properly.

I’m also narky because I still haven’t emerged from the hormonal bullshit aftermath of being fucked.

Like, he said he was going to call over, and I was all excited, and then he didn’t.

I don’t know what I was expecting, and I don’t know what i even want. More sex? I have my period.

A hug?

Eck. I don’t know.

I think my own mood may be somewhat coloured by the drainage of alcohol from my body.

All the more reason I don’t want to keep drinking.

Anyway, I’m remembering all the old shit that annoyed me and how it always felt like I was more sensible than the two of them, and how GOOD I was as a teenager, I mean as far as they knew… they had no idea of what I was really up to. I was, as far as they knew, a really good girl. And I got so much shit about everything.

Now I go home and it’s hugely frustrating. The other day I managed to almost convince my mother that homeopathy is bullshit, but I know she only thinks it is on the surface. She still believes in the magic of it all. I just don’t bother, usually.

But I’ve been here for like 2 weeks and oh man, everything just grates on me.

I love them, I do…

But man I just want to bang their heads together.

My stepdad buys loads of alcohol.. Loads.

When we had a party recently, he probably spent about 100 euros on drink for other people to help themselves to.

But when he makes tea, he insists on using one teabag for two cups.

It makes piss-weak tea and I’m like, seriously, let me have my own teabag.

No, it’s lovely like this! He says.

And I’m like, you spend so much money on other shit but you can’t afford to give me one teabag for myself?

Anyway. I think I’m still a little moody from the alcohol over a series of days.

And the not being sure where I stand with my one night stand.

And the fact that I am tolerating constant orgasm noises from my mother when she eats so much as a baby rocket leaf.

And the fact that I am sleeping in a single bed and it’s my old bedroom and it puts me off masturbating.

And various other things.

I’m sick of being in my family’s house.

End of rant.


2 responses to “Two weeks with your parents, anyone?

  1. You know, just throwing it out there, maybe your Mom and Step dad have a kinky thing going that whenever your Mom moans over her food he cranks up the remote control vibrator to 3. Just putting it out there. Sorry for potentially breaking your brain.

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