![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Apr. 14th, 2008 06:45 pmGrrrrrrr.
I'm still being good and not smoking for the most part. I've sneaked a couple of cigs but I haven't broken down and bought an entire pack, so I'm doing all right with that.
I am, however, thoroughly tired of living with my fiance's family and really wish they would get their shit together and get their own place.
Cliff and I have no privacy except in our room, and he doesn't like to be in the bedroom except to sleep or have sex. I personally would like to be able to have sex wherever in the house we damned well please seeing as it's our house, but we can't exactly do that with two other people around. I would also like to be able to have private conversations with him somewhere besides the bedroom.
Cliff's sister Nancy doesn't have a job and wouldn't be able to keep one if she did get one because she's a spoiled brat with a major attitude problem, so Cliff says she can do housework to pay her way around here.
I asked her to clean the oven, which I admit is quite a chore, because we cook a lot. (We're too broke to eat out much.) I should have just cleaned it myself. I had to practically stand over her and tell her step-by-step how to do it and what constituted clean enough. I wanted to scream by the time she was done.
Cliff's mother Dixie doesn't work either; she's on disability for COPD and she gets widow's benefits since Cliff's dad died six years ago. So she pays us a certain amount to help with the bills and does some light housework. (She cleans the countertops in the kitchen when she notices they need it, and she makes the iced tea, basically.) Which is nice because I don't have to do it, and we do go through some iced tea around here. But she also wants to know what I'm doing every second of the day, and seems continually amazed that I know how to cook. She often tells me that her mother did things the way I do them. That's lovely, but I really don't give a damn. I never met her mother (who has been dead for several years) so why would I care if I do things the same way she did. I do things the way my mother taught me to do them, which is the way her mother taught her to do them. Yes, I cook the old-fashioned way; I take ingredients and make food, not take pre-made food and put it in the microwave and call that cooking supper. Pre-made food is a.) expensive and b.) not as good for you as food cooked at home. Full of preservatives and extra salt and stuff.
But I can tell a difference in our disposable income since they moved in with us. Yes, they help us with the bills, but not much, and I think they cost us more than they help us, because we're slowly drowning financially, which stresses me and Cliff out.
We can't kick them out; they have no place to go and no money either and they're family.
So I just have to put up with them even though they drive me nuts.
And I even agreed to let Nancy be in the handfasting since it's the only time Cliff plans on getting married and I needed a third attendant besides my daughter and my best friend since he's having three attendants. I don't plan on marrying ever again either. If Cliff and I divorce (gods forbid), I'll just stay single, and if he dies on me, hopefully I'll be too old to care about dating again.
I need to sit down with Cliff and show him the catering menu that the one caterer sent me. I think they're a little fancier (read: more expensive) than we really want but I want to discuss it with him before I tell the catering company that we're going with a less expensive caterer.
I also need to sit down with him and do the guest list. He's got friends whose addresses I couldn't tell you if I tried, although I can drive to their houses. And we've got friends who've moved so the addresses we had are now wrong, and all that usual rigamarole.
He's at work today, and I miss him when he's at work, even if we usually do our own thing on his days off. At least I can sneak in while he's gaming and kiss him or distract him off to the bedroom for a quickie or whatever when he's home.
Anyway, I guess I've ranted enough.
I'm still being good and not smoking for the most part. I've sneaked a couple of cigs but I haven't broken down and bought an entire pack, so I'm doing all right with that.
I am, however, thoroughly tired of living with my fiance's family and really wish they would get their shit together and get their own place.
Cliff and I have no privacy except in our room, and he doesn't like to be in the bedroom except to sleep or have sex. I personally would like to be able to have sex wherever in the house we damned well please seeing as it's our house, but we can't exactly do that with two other people around. I would also like to be able to have private conversations with him somewhere besides the bedroom.
Cliff's sister Nancy doesn't have a job and wouldn't be able to keep one if she did get one because she's a spoiled brat with a major attitude problem, so Cliff says she can do housework to pay her way around here.
I asked her to clean the oven, which I admit is quite a chore, because we cook a lot. (We're too broke to eat out much.) I should have just cleaned it myself. I had to practically stand over her and tell her step-by-step how to do it and what constituted clean enough. I wanted to scream by the time she was done.
Cliff's mother Dixie doesn't work either; she's on disability for COPD and she gets widow's benefits since Cliff's dad died six years ago. So she pays us a certain amount to help with the bills and does some light housework. (She cleans the countertops in the kitchen when she notices they need it, and she makes the iced tea, basically.) Which is nice because I don't have to do it, and we do go through some iced tea around here. But she also wants to know what I'm doing every second of the day, and seems continually amazed that I know how to cook. She often tells me that her mother did things the way I do them. That's lovely, but I really don't give a damn. I never met her mother (who has been dead for several years) so why would I care if I do things the same way she did. I do things the way my mother taught me to do them, which is the way her mother taught her to do them. Yes, I cook the old-fashioned way; I take ingredients and make food, not take pre-made food and put it in the microwave and call that cooking supper. Pre-made food is a.) expensive and b.) not as good for you as food cooked at home. Full of preservatives and extra salt and stuff.
But I can tell a difference in our disposable income since they moved in with us. Yes, they help us with the bills, but not much, and I think they cost us more than they help us, because we're slowly drowning financially, which stresses me and Cliff out.
We can't kick them out; they have no place to go and no money either and they're family.
So I just have to put up with them even though they drive me nuts.
And I even agreed to let Nancy be in the handfasting since it's the only time Cliff plans on getting married and I needed a third attendant besides my daughter and my best friend since he's having three attendants. I don't plan on marrying ever again either. If Cliff and I divorce (gods forbid), I'll just stay single, and if he dies on me, hopefully I'll be too old to care about dating again.
I need to sit down with Cliff and show him the catering menu that the one caterer sent me. I think they're a little fancier (read: more expensive) than we really want but I want to discuss it with him before I tell the catering company that we're going with a less expensive caterer.
I also need to sit down with him and do the guest list. He's got friends whose addresses I couldn't tell you if I tried, although I can drive to their houses. And we've got friends who've moved so the addresses we had are now wrong, and all that usual rigamarole.
He's at work today, and I miss him when he's at work, even if we usually do our own thing on his days off. At least I can sneak in while he's gaming and kiss him or distract him off to the bedroom for a quickie or whatever when he's home.
Anyway, I guess I've ranted enough.
