Perpetually Peeved


So there I was…

Let me start this post by saying thank you all for missing me.  Apparently, my blog gets just as many hits when I don’t post as when I do… I don’t know exactly how to feel about that.  Maybe absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

So, I need a vacation from my vacation.  Every time I go back “home” I swear I’m never going back.  There’s just too much to do and see and eat – too much trying to make everyone happy and only succeeding in making no one happy.  Know what I mean?  I’m making you all t-shirts:  Perpetually Peeved went to NY and all I got were these lousy rants.  There’s that at least.  And, the fried clams.  Those were amazing. 

These were not too shabby either... Cheesesteak/Pizza steak from Jim's in Philly

Let’s start with the Peeved family reunion.  Family reunions are always fun. My big, Italian side of the family has a reunion every July 4th.  This year was the 37th annual picnic.  I hadn’t been to one in about 10 years.  So, it was nice to see everyone again even if I couldn’t recognize half of my cousins.  

What I did recognize were the stories.  You know what I’m talking about.  Every family has them.  The stories that are told every time you get together, no matter how many times you’ve gotten together.  Now, hearing these stories made me come to a realization.  There are those who are meant to tell stories and there are those who are meant to listen.  It should be apparent who is who.  If you are telling the story of the time Grandma left the pits in the cherries when she cooked the pie and find yourself off on a tangent about the exact shade of purple you wore to Aunt Matilda’s wedding, then you should not be telling the story.  Leave it to the professionals. 

All stories in my family require a complete ensemble cast to tell the tale.  You have the STORY TELLER, the FACT CHECKER, the CORRECTOR, the INSTIGATOR, the UNDERMINER, the TANGENTIAL CONVERSER, the TOPPER, the POSER, and the VIRTUAL CENTER OF ATTENTION.  Let’s review: 

INSTIGATOR:  Remember that time that Grandma left the pits in the cherry pie?  STORY TELLER, tell that story you tell it best. 

STORY TELLER:  Oh, gosh.  That was great.  So, we were all sitting around the table, and mom had been baking this pie all afternoon.  We wolfed down dinner and were all set to eat this pie that we had been smelling for hours.  So, mom brings out the dessert plates and puts them in front of us and then sets down a little bowl next to each dessert plate. 

FACT CHECKER:  No, CORRECTOR would have gotten the bowls, that was always his job.  

CORRECTOR:  Yes, I put out the bowls, and it wasn’t a bowl for every plate.  Mom would never want to do that many dishes.  She would have only had me put out two bowls – one for each side of the table. 

STORY TELLER:  Well, it’s funnier when there’s a bowl for every plate. 

UNDERMINER:  Oh, don’t tell me… the bowls were for the pits that she forgot to take out of the pie. 

STORY TELLER:  Am I telling this story here, or what? 

TANGENTIAL CONVERSER: Grandma totally wouldn’t have put out a bowl for every plate.  She used to make us drink out of disposable dixie cups.  Do you remember that?  I think I was still drinking out of those cups when I was 22. 

TOPPER:  Yeah, that was a funny story, but remember that time that Grandpa pretended to hate the cat for years and then cried like a baby when it died?  Tell that story. 

STORY TELLER:  Okay, so one year your uncle Stanley brings home this stray cat. 

CORRECTOR:  Actually, it was Merle.  Merle brought the cat home. 

STORY TELLER:  What difference does it make?  One of us kids brought the stupid cat home.  We begged Ma to keep it. 

POSER: Yeah, then when she said yes, a couple of years later it died and Grandpa cried like a baby. 

STORY TELLER:  Well, there you have it.  There was the story. 

VIRTUAL CENTER OF ATTENTION:  Oh, I remember that, he cried like a baby it was, like, so funny. 

STORY TELLER:  You weren’t even born yet. 

VIRTUAL CENTER OF ATTENTION: Oh, I wasn’t?  Why are we telling stories that don’t involve me? 

FACT CHECKER:  Well, actually, it was in 1981 because I was in 12th grade and had just taken my SAT the night that Merle brought home the cat.  So, technically VCoA was born, but not old enough to remember it. 

STORY TELLER:  Oh, for the love of Pete, where’s my beer? 

Moral of the story (pun intended): 

  • If you don’t know how to tell a story, don’t.
  • If you want someone else to tell the story, don’t give away the punch line in your introduction.
  • Don’t correct or fact check the storyteller.  Remember, the storyteller knows what they are doing and is probably embellishing or omitting depending on what makes for a good story.  It’s called creative license and editing.
  • Don’t interrupt the story.
  • Don’t ask the storyteller to tell the story just so you can interject and tell the story yourself anyway.
  • Don’t wait for a break in the story to interject with your own.
  • Don’t try to make the story yours if it isn’t.
  • Don’t try to “top” stories.
  • Don’t forget to take the pits out of the cherries before you cook the pie!

Photo from: thelunacafe.com



Mission: Accomplished

 

OFFICIAL MEMORANDUM 

****************************************** 

TO:           Special Torture Agent II, Code Name: Sister 

FROM:     Bureau of Familial Torture 

RE:            Mission #753, Project Ego Destruction, Target: Perpetually Peeved 

******************************************* 

Special Agent Sister, your new mission is to completely crush the ego of Target.  Advanced weaponry will be provided, including but not limited to: Suburban Mall, Florescent Lighting, Rude Salespeople, and Honda Pilot.  Please be advised that Target is armed and dangerous.  Be prepared for: Biting Sarcasm, Rolling Eyeballs of Exasperation and the usually lethal Laser Beam Look of Death.  As Target’s sister, you are the only one with the qualifications to complete this mission. You are her sister, she must love you even if she would like to pop the auto locks and physically eject you from the Honda Pilot.  

May the (familial torture) force be with you.  This message will self-destruct in 5…4…3…2… 

******************************************* 

Photo from: themortgagereports.com

In preparation of our vacation together (yeah, I’m SURE that won’t end up in a post), my sister and I have been going on some shopping sprees. 

Overheard in the dressing room at store #1: 

PERPETUALLY PEEVED (PP): I need some shorts.  I have none that fit me. 

SECRET AGENT SISTER (SAS):  You need to lay out.  I can’t wear shorts, look, I’m getting varicose veins. 

PP:  Yeah, well I turned around in the mirror the other day and look… cellulite. 

SAS: That’s not cellulite.  Tell me that’s not cellulite.  If that’s cellulite, then I’m covered in it. 

PP:  Oh, yeah, it’s cellulite.  When the *&@! did that happen? 

Overheard in the dressing room at store #2: 

SAS: You know what?  That’s not cellulite. 

PP: What do you mean? 

SAS: On your legs.  You and I do not have cellulite.  I googled it. 

PP: You googled it? 

SAS:  Yes.  It’s not cellulite.  Cellulite is when it looks all cottage-cheesy. 

PP: It’s cellulite…  I can’t believe you googled it and looked at pictures. 

Overheard in the car after leaving store #3: 

PP:  I can’t believe I just spent $50 on bras.  I needed them both, right? 

SAS:  Yes, and they are usually $50 each – so you got a good deal.  You are just going to have to accept the fact that you need to spend that much on bras. 

PP: It’s a lot though – did they really look that good? 

SAS: Yes!  You need them.  Just look at it this way, it’s your lot in life.  It’s the dues you have to pay for being blessed with big boobs.  Think about the membership dues of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee – they spend a fortune trying to make theirs look like yours.  You have to spend a fortune to fix yours so they don’t make you look heavy. 

PP: Really?  Membership dues to the Itty Bitty Titty Committee? 

SAS: Yes.  Shut Up.  What I’m saying is, it’s your lot in life. 

PP: Great.  So I just have to have boobs that are each the size of my head that I need to spend $200 a year on so they don’t droop down and make me look like I’m about to give birth to twins.  Great fecking lot.  Stop at Target on the way home so I can pick up some Thank You cards for the life lot distributors. 

SAS: Well, you could have to dye your hair. Do you know how much I spend on hair dye? 

PP:  Yes, I do.  Because inherited the same premature grays from mommy. I have to dye my hair every month too, remember? 

SAS:  Oh. Yeah. Bad example. 

[contemplative silence] 

SAS: You know what? 

PP: No, what? 

SAS: I was serious before.  That’s not cellulite on our legs. 

PP: Yes, it is.  You are just in denial. 

SAS: No, really.  It’s not.  It’s just a little chubba. 

PP: So, what you’re telling me is that I don’t have cellulite, but I’m fat. 

SAS: No!  What I’m saying is that you don’t have cellulite, it’s just a little chubba. 

[Rolling Eyeballs of Exasperation] 

SAS:  Well, cellulite you can’t get rid of.  You could work out all day long and be skinny and still have cellulite.  A little chubba you could get rid of.  See…  I’m trying to make you feel better here. 

PP: So, now I have freak-like boobs, mommy’s genes for early grays and I’m fat. Thanks. 

SAS: Sorry. 

PP: Just. Stop. 

[mutual ignoring each other and looking out the window] 

PP: That’s a pretty house, wonder what it is. 

SAS: [reading sign] It’s the home of Mary and William Simmons.  Whoever they are. 

PP: No, it’s not.  It’s the home of Major William Simmons.  You need to stop living your life in denial and get some glasses. 

SAS:  Oh. ha ha.  Well, it could be worse, you could have ginormous boobs that make you look pregnant, mommy’s gray hairs, chubba thighs AND need glasses! 

PP:  [Laser Beam Look of Death (through my GLASSES!) 

That's not me, I looked much more pissed. But, those kind of look like my glasses. mccormickeye.com

SAS: Doh.




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