Gather 'Round
I've got a story to tell...I'm going to let all of my anger out here, and just hopefully let it go, but if I don't scream it out to someone I'm afraid I will try to do bodily harm to someone which is not good given my present state.
So...I know you all have heard me mention my demon spawn cousin, who is 8 BTW. Well I don't think I have ever talked about her idiot parents who make her that way. Instead of this being about Demon Spawn, it will be about them...I'll save her for another post...
What is it that has my panties all in a bunch...these fucking, filthy, piggy, people. That's all I can call them. First a little back-story...
My grandmothers house was built for her by my grandfather, and at that time was the biggest one here on the hill. It took him a long time to build it and put all the stone on the outside, but he built it exactly the way she wanted it, nothing left out. The house has 5 bedrooms, two bathrooms, 2 kitchens, 2 family rooms, formal dining room, a canning room, a wine cellar that she used to store coal in for the heat back then, and two rooms that are just there. When she was alive one was for us kids to play in and the other was her sewing room. As a child I remember Thanksgiving at her house the most, because that was when us kids were finally allowed upstairs. If you look at the house from the outside it looks small, because it sits on a small incline, and you only see the top, but if you go around you see the bottom. That is where she spent most of her time, the upstairs was for "special times" or "special guests". She never even had a TV up there till she could not walk down the stairs anymore. The upstairs at Thanksgiving and Christmas was like walking into another world for us kiddos. The formal dining room had a huge table that seated 12, the most glorious china cabinet, and a chandelier that hung from the ceiling. I remember her taking each piece off of that and lovingly washing it by hand after each gathering. The living room was antiques that had been in the family for years. The only things that were new was the seating. She had two couches, and three chairs custom made to fit in that room to match her drapes. Each bedroom upstairs was themed. The one off of the living room was simply gorgeous. She saw the furniture in a Country living magazine and set out to obtain it, and she did. And kept that room open for anyone to see. It was her pride and joy. As a little girl I would always love to sneak in there and just run my hand over the Oak vanity table, or sit in front of the book cabinet and look at all the first editions she had. Her kitchen upstairs had a smoked glass table, and everything you would need to make a gourmet dinner. There was a red bedroom, a yellow bedroom, and hers...which was done in all pure white. Her room was decorated of pictures painted of her holding each of her 12 kids as they were babies. One that I remember the most was of my uncle Dallas. He died of still birth and she had the picture done shortly after. At the time I thought it was crude, but it was her way, she never left anyone out. Still to this day, when we have our family reunion every year, my part of the family meets at the graveyard to put flowers on his little grave with the lamb marker. To include him you see. Because that is what she wanted.
If the upstairs was splendor then the downstairs could only be called comfort...you could run in with your muddy shoes on from the backdoor, eat in the family room, and just play. As long as you cleaned it up. The bedrooms down there got turned into havens for us grand kids. It was like our own little world down there, and before she got sick she spent her time there as well. I remember walking from my dads to her house when I was about 14, walking in the backdoor, and seeing flour and chicken EVERYWHERE in the kitchen. She was making chicken and dumplings and just had a blast doing it. There were times when we would just sit on the couch down there and cuddle up watching the TV, or her telling me stories of when she was little.
I cherished those times in her house. Hearing her laughter, seeing her smile. Knowing no matter what I had done, I could come there for refuge. Then she got sick. The upstairs became an opulent hospital so to speak. Everything was the same, but lots of hospitally things.
After she passed, my dad and my uncle bought the house from the estate. They could not see it going to someone else who would just sell it, or someone not here who would just let it go. My grandfather built it for her, and they wanted to keep it within the family.
So...now we are to the present and why I could just kill someone right now.
Last year my cousin got his discharge papers after serving in Iraq for PTSD. His dad and mom at that time were my next door neighbors. My cousin and his demon wife have three kids. I have posted pics of them before and in that little thing over there, the blonde little girl is McKayla. They asked my dad if they could rent it, as the new renters had just moved out. Dad reluctantly said yes. The entire family was calling him telling him he should because of the kids...blah blah blah. I'll say right now at least two wish they had stayed out of it.
My dad took three weeks to get it ready for them. He put back in the 14k gold and crystal light fixture my uncle had given her, put the drapes back up and pretty much just brought back an essence of her. For them. My cousin was the closest to her growing up, before she got sick, so he thought it would be nice to have little reminders around. They seemed very excited knowing dad did this.
Well...they built a house between me and my uncle, my cousins dad, and moved out...owing three months rent. We finally got into the house yesterday. I literally cried. There is more than $5000 worth of damage. The cream carpets are black from coal dust, you can see where the pictures hung on the white walls, because of the dingy grey that surrounds the squares. The furnace is ruined, because all the returns were blocked with dust and grime, the fridge upstairs had so much mold in it that it actually has made holes in the fiber glass. The demon spawns room has holes in the walls. The bathroom upstairs had tile from the floor halfway up the walls. There is so many pieces broken or missing that all of it needs to be redone. The bathtub has black mold surrounding it. The downstairs commode overflowed sometime and they NEVER cleaned it up...so there is literally shit in the bathroom downstairs. Shit and old toilet paper that has hardened into the floor. The door was shut and had a lock on it that dad had to cut off...now we know why. The stove downstairs had something made in it that looks like it exploded about three centuries ago. The fridge down there does not even work. The only room in the house without any damage at all is McKayla...and honestly hers should have the most...shes three...you know 3 yr olds, they like to write, and scribble, and color. There is not a mark on any of her walls, her carpet, or nothing. The drapes are in shreds, and were hidden in the canning room downstairs.
And that light fixture that my dad put back in, the one my uncle gave her right before she fell sick, is gone. Replaced with a cheap dome from Kmart or some-such. Most of the light switch and electrical outlet covers are gone.
Each time I walk in there...I just cry. It is almost like they disrespected my grandmother. Her home. The one OUR grandfather built exactly for her.
Two of my aunts have now been there, and they both are furious. One, the one I would never expect to just break down, sat in the middle of my grandmothers old room, and cried...telling my dad had she known that they would do this to mommys house she would have never begged him to let them move in.
My dad is 68 yrs old. My step mom is 65. Today, they are over there scrubbing walls and shampooing carpets. But nothing is coming off the walls, nothing is coming out of the carpet. My uncle who is the other owner will come in next week and redo the upstairs bathroom, and try to get up in the ceiling to figure out where the mold on the front bedroom ceiling is coming from.
I want to help, but right now I can't. But what I really want to do...is for 10 minutes not be pregnant. That is all the time I would need to walk the 20 or so steps to Missy's front door, and drag her out into the yard and kick the living shit out of her.
But everything comes back to you when you harm someone...that is all I keep thinking. It will come back to them.
But I also keep thinking...that was my grammys house, the one my grandfather built...and it has shit in it. Shit they were to fucking lazy to clean up.
So...I know you all have heard me mention my demon spawn cousin, who is 8 BTW. Well I don't think I have ever talked about her idiot parents who make her that way. Instead of this being about Demon Spawn, it will be about them...I'll save her for another post...
What is it that has my panties all in a bunch...these fucking, filthy, piggy, people. That's all I can call them. First a little back-story...
My grandmothers house was built for her by my grandfather, and at that time was the biggest one here on the hill. It took him a long time to build it and put all the stone on the outside, but he built it exactly the way she wanted it, nothing left out. The house has 5 bedrooms, two bathrooms, 2 kitchens, 2 family rooms, formal dining room, a canning room, a wine cellar that she used to store coal in for the heat back then, and two rooms that are just there. When she was alive one was for us kids to play in and the other was her sewing room. As a child I remember Thanksgiving at her house the most, because that was when us kids were finally allowed upstairs. If you look at the house from the outside it looks small, because it sits on a small incline, and you only see the top, but if you go around you see the bottom. That is where she spent most of her time, the upstairs was for "special times" or "special guests". She never even had a TV up there till she could not walk down the stairs anymore. The upstairs at Thanksgiving and Christmas was like walking into another world for us kiddos. The formal dining room had a huge table that seated 12, the most glorious china cabinet, and a chandelier that hung from the ceiling. I remember her taking each piece off of that and lovingly washing it by hand after each gathering. The living room was antiques that had been in the family for years. The only things that were new was the seating. She had two couches, and three chairs custom made to fit in that room to match her drapes. Each bedroom upstairs was themed. The one off of the living room was simply gorgeous. She saw the furniture in a Country living magazine and set out to obtain it, and she did. And kept that room open for anyone to see. It was her pride and joy. As a little girl I would always love to sneak in there and just run my hand over the Oak vanity table, or sit in front of the book cabinet and look at all the first editions she had. Her kitchen upstairs had a smoked glass table, and everything you would need to make a gourmet dinner. There was a red bedroom, a yellow bedroom, and hers...which was done in all pure white. Her room was decorated of pictures painted of her holding each of her 12 kids as they were babies. One that I remember the most was of my uncle Dallas. He died of still birth and she had the picture done shortly after. At the time I thought it was crude, but it was her way, she never left anyone out. Still to this day, when we have our family reunion every year, my part of the family meets at the graveyard to put flowers on his little grave with the lamb marker. To include him you see. Because that is what she wanted.
If the upstairs was splendor then the downstairs could only be called comfort...you could run in with your muddy shoes on from the backdoor, eat in the family room, and just play. As long as you cleaned it up. The bedrooms down there got turned into havens for us grand kids. It was like our own little world down there, and before she got sick she spent her time there as well. I remember walking from my dads to her house when I was about 14, walking in the backdoor, and seeing flour and chicken EVERYWHERE in the kitchen. She was making chicken and dumplings and just had a blast doing it. There were times when we would just sit on the couch down there and cuddle up watching the TV, or her telling me stories of when she was little.
I cherished those times in her house. Hearing her laughter, seeing her smile. Knowing no matter what I had done, I could come there for refuge. Then she got sick. The upstairs became an opulent hospital so to speak. Everything was the same, but lots of hospitally things.
After she passed, my dad and my uncle bought the house from the estate. They could not see it going to someone else who would just sell it, or someone not here who would just let it go. My grandfather built it for her, and they wanted to keep it within the family.
So...now we are to the present and why I could just kill someone right now.
Last year my cousin got his discharge papers after serving in Iraq for PTSD. His dad and mom at that time were my next door neighbors. My cousin and his demon wife have three kids. I have posted pics of them before and in that little thing over there, the blonde little girl is McKayla. They asked my dad if they could rent it, as the new renters had just moved out. Dad reluctantly said yes. The entire family was calling him telling him he should because of the kids...blah blah blah. I'll say right now at least two wish they had stayed out of it.
My dad took three weeks to get it ready for them. He put back in the 14k gold and crystal light fixture my uncle had given her, put the drapes back up and pretty much just brought back an essence of her. For them. My cousin was the closest to her growing up, before she got sick, so he thought it would be nice to have little reminders around. They seemed very excited knowing dad did this.
Well...they built a house between me and my uncle, my cousins dad, and moved out...owing three months rent. We finally got into the house yesterday. I literally cried. There is more than $5000 worth of damage. The cream carpets are black from coal dust, you can see where the pictures hung on the white walls, because of the dingy grey that surrounds the squares. The furnace is ruined, because all the returns were blocked with dust and grime, the fridge upstairs had so much mold in it that it actually has made holes in the fiber glass. The demon spawns room has holes in the walls. The bathroom upstairs had tile from the floor halfway up the walls. There is so many pieces broken or missing that all of it needs to be redone. The bathtub has black mold surrounding it. The downstairs commode overflowed sometime and they NEVER cleaned it up...so there is literally shit in the bathroom downstairs. Shit and old toilet paper that has hardened into the floor. The door was shut and had a lock on it that dad had to cut off...now we know why. The stove downstairs had something made in it that looks like it exploded about three centuries ago. The fridge down there does not even work. The only room in the house without any damage at all is McKayla...and honestly hers should have the most...shes three...you know 3 yr olds, they like to write, and scribble, and color. There is not a mark on any of her walls, her carpet, or nothing. The drapes are in shreds, and were hidden in the canning room downstairs.
And that light fixture that my dad put back in, the one my uncle gave her right before she fell sick, is gone. Replaced with a cheap dome from Kmart or some-such. Most of the light switch and electrical outlet covers are gone.
Each time I walk in there...I just cry. It is almost like they disrespected my grandmother. Her home. The one OUR grandfather built exactly for her.
Two of my aunts have now been there, and they both are furious. One, the one I would never expect to just break down, sat in the middle of my grandmothers old room, and cried...telling my dad had she known that they would do this to mommys house she would have never begged him to let them move in.
My dad is 68 yrs old. My step mom is 65. Today, they are over there scrubbing walls and shampooing carpets. But nothing is coming off the walls, nothing is coming out of the carpet. My uncle who is the other owner will come in next week and redo the upstairs bathroom, and try to get up in the ceiling to figure out where the mold on the front bedroom ceiling is coming from.
I want to help, but right now I can't. But what I really want to do...is for 10 minutes not be pregnant. That is all the time I would need to walk the 20 or so steps to Missy's front door, and drag her out into the yard and kick the living shit out of her.
But everything comes back to you when you harm someone...that is all I keep thinking. It will come back to them.
But I also keep thinking...that was my grammys house, the one my grandfather built...and it has shit in it. Shit they were to fucking lazy to clean up.
posted by Syren
at 12:22 PM
