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july 17, 2000. I'm not in a very good mood right now. The difference between having time off here and having time off anywhere else is that my mom expects me to do something productive with my time. Bah. I'm so sick & tired of my parents saying, "now we have to make up a list..." I'm tired of being bossed around. I'm tired of working to some dumb anxious schedule they've devised. But mostly I'm tired of the stupid guest list politics!!
God. Who's responded, who hasn't. Who wants to bring someone, who's bailing out. The activities of Ian have been reported to me several times over the last weekend: apparently he's sniffing out an address so he can "crash." I'm equally flattered and annoyed. I think I'm going to call him up, ream his ass square for talking about my wedding like a house party, then invite him.
Unfortunately, I don't have that option with my relatives. My uncle has just called on behalf of his daughter; she wants to bring a boyfriend. I'm never liked her, plus she's well below the etiquette cut off age limit, plus they've been going out for 6 months. I have to tell my friends to leave their dates at the door, why should she get off?
As you can tell, I would've refused point blank, but lucky for her it was my mom who fielded the call. This was the cousin, incidentally, who refused to come to my uncle's funeral, but was so upset by his death that she just had to stay home from school for a few days. She's such a delicate flower...if by "delicate flower" I can be permitted to mean bitch.
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Saw Fiddler on the Roof yesterday. Eh. I like the play, but it was really annoying to spend the day listening to my mom play me off against my cousins. She pretends she's beleaguered by my insensitivity and makes a "humorous" play for sympathy. I've spent months listening to her do it with everyone and it pisses me off so bad. As an extra added bonus, my cousin presented me with a little keepsake book of shower pictures. 24 exposures of me looking like shit. At least the tent-like nature of the dress I wore meant that I only looked fat in 2 or 3 shots. Imagine going out with the conviction that you look like an ill-groomed manatee. Is it any wonder that Fiddler left me a bit cold?
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