Undone

Once in awhile I get in the mood to hear "Undone" by Robert Earl Keen. It is a good song.

While I was at work, I pulled up Kazaa and clicked on it.

"SHUT YOUR FUCKING FACE, UNCLE FUCKER."

Just for reference, I work out of my parent's house. One of my idiot sisters, knowing that I like that song and play it every so often, decided that it would be a real riot to change the name of Southpark's Uncle Fucker song to Undone by Robert Earl Keen.

My mom was standing right there, and when she was through beating me over the head, I turned it off. So much for my moment of zen.

Family Matters:

My family has a tumultous past and I have a terrible temper. I have been known to pound on my sisters occasionally when they needed it. Don't waste your pity. They are stupid bitches.

Anyway, the last real fist fight I had gotten into with my sisters was about a week before my wedding. I was pregnant (naturally) and sick as a dog. I was lying on my mom's bed trying not to throw up, when my completely obnoxious sisters decided to bounce on it for fun. I asked them to quit it and they proceeded to taunt me and bounce harder. I grabbed them both by the hair and pulled them out of the room. They decided that beating up their pregnant sister was somehow in their best interest, so they did. I had a bruise on the side of my mouth which, fortunately was hidden my makeup for the wedding photos.

In spite of the violence, we aren't exactly a trashy family. Basically I'm the only one who is really violent. It comes from being the oldest and having to maintain order. I am a perfect lamb if you are polite. But if you push that one button, you will wish you hadn't.

My sister Wraith pushed the button yesterday at the Katy Mills mall. She is sixteen and is the worst combination of self-righteous Christian/Punk. She is petulant and selfish and if you hear her whiny voice for more than 10 seconds, you will want to shove her face in the ground until her teeth snap off. She has a special talent for annoying everyone in a room simultaneously. She breaks out into manic screams when she does not get her way, or if she thinks her contestant is going to lose on American Idol, or if a squirrel runs by.

So out of the kindness of our hearts, Jethro and I decide to take her, my two youngest sisters, and our two daughters to the mall. It was a rainy day, the ground at my parent's house was wet, and the car got stuck in the mud. We finally extricated it and left. I was already in a bad mood.

Wraith, started an argument with me in the middle of the mall. I was carrying my youngest and trying to keep everyone together while she argued with me at the top of her moronic lungs. I don't even remember what it was about, I just wanted her to shut up. While she was going on and on, waving her arms and screaming like a lunatic, I snapped and whacked her across the back of the head. Now, I shouldn't have done that, even though it was richly deserved. Even Jethro, who is the most even-tempered, judicious person in the world said his palm was itching to pop her one. But I shouldn't have done it. She let out a yelp like a dog that had been hit by a car and started running away bawling.

I was so close to letting her go and just enjoying time with the other kids, but the thought of having to look for her later and spoil the entire evening for the rest of us was suddenly more than I could handle. I handed the baby to someone, took off after her, and grabbed the back of her shirt. I guess I was angrier than I thought, because when I yanked it back, she let out a gagging noise. I dragged her back to where everyone was, in front of the entire mall, and told her not to fuck up everyone's evening. She was crying like a two year old and screaming to everyone in sight that I had hit her. I figured that if security were going to come, I would give them something to come for. I yanked her into the restrroom, threw her into a stall, told her that if she screwed up everyone's night, I was going to kill her when we got home. I told her that once we were home, I would drag her outside and bang her head into a wall until she was dead. I would bury her at a spot that is about to be cemented over, and I would tell everyone that she'd ran away (she's done it before). She believed me. I think everyone in the restroom believed me. I left the bathroom, the mall patrons parting for me like the red sea, and Jethro calmed her down enough to eat.

Her obnoxiousness continued through the night, and I have decided that I will have nothing more to do with her until she learns better behavior.

Writing about it isn't cathartic. The more I think about it, the more I want to finish the job. God help my own kids if they ever pull that shit.