Stick a Fork in Me

I don’t think my Zoloft is working. Does anyone know whether it’s the kind of drug to which one builds up a tolerance? Granted, there are days when I forget to take it, but more than not, I’m pretty regular with it.

Erica tells me that it’s not supposed to cut off all emotions. And if that’s true, what exactly is the point?

Of course, it’s been a trying few weeks for me. The whole family found the blog (Hi everyone!) and the word from my sister is that I have been anointed with the end-all, be-all punishment of Southerners.

Susan. They all read it. And they are done with you.

My family has always had their ways of being done with someone — none of which involves direct confrontation (except the year I ruined Christmas — I’ll tell you that one later).

Perhaps the most infamous of the line of the “Done With” in our family was my great Uncle Elzie. As a young boy, Elzie decided to run off to California in search of his dream to be a movie star. Family rumor has it that he actually made it into a couple of films, though I couldn’t find him on IMDB. I am, however, pretty sure that this rumor is the only reason the family kept talking about him during holidays after he was done with.

You know, we’ve got kin who was in the movies

That and as a warning to the youngsters to not betray the family lest you become done with as well.

Uncle Elzie’s most vicious crime was that after he left for California he reportedly never returned. Not for Christmas, Easter, Homecoming at the Baptist Church. Nothing. He deserted his Mama and Fitzgerald completely. All because that selfish bastard wanted a life of his own. The only acceptable way you can move away from home in my family is if you return for visits as often as humanly possible. (Because it’s always so pleasant when we all get together.) And, more importantly, you should never succeed too much, lest you become uppity or think you’re better than everyone else.

Now. My take on Uncle Elzie is this: I don’t know him, or his Mama, so I’m not sure what the deal is there. Maybe she sucked. Or, maybe they loved each other and they talked on the phone twice a day and enjoyed their wonderful long-distance relationship. What I do know is that Elzie had a loving wife who visited us once with photos and stories and did her best to get Elzie back into the fold. The family was super nice and sat through the stories and photos and as soon as she left the conversation went straight to how Elzie betrayed everyone.

I secretly envied Uncle Elzie. His story seemed so exotic and exciting. And for me, in a world where the only options I knew I had were to either teach, type or raise babies, Uncle Elzie gave me hope.

Uncle Elzie, if you’re out there, know that even though I never met you, I loved you. Thanks for the inspiration.

I made it.

Fitzgerald Found Me.

The following blog post was originally posted on
Written by The Princess

It’s happened. I’ve been found out by my family.

I recently received a comment on my “How It Happens” post from a mysterious Misty B.

My first thought was, “Yay! Another reader who isn’t guilted into it by just knowing me or HRH.”
Then I read her comments and she made these cryptic allusions to my hometown, Fitzgerald. She called it FishWorld — a nickname only used by locals. In my day it was FishBarrel. I think it was probably started by some Northerner who got lost taking an exit off of I-75 and stopped at the Suwanee Swifty to ask for directions.

Lost Yankee: Could you tell me where I am?
Fitzgeraldian: Fuhitzgeerald
LY: Fish Barrel?
F: Fitzgurald
LY: Fish World?


So, I get this comment from Misty B who is obviously from Fitzgerald and I freak a little. In my hometown not only does everyone know everyone else, they know everyone who has ever lived in Fitzgerald and are usually related to most of them. I immediately edited every blog in which I wrote about my family, changing names to initials and deleting photos, and I went back to my email. Misty B is my cousin. She used to be Misty F which is what caused the confusion. I learned this because I had an email from her.

She briefly caught me up on life through some small talk then this:

Anyways I also wanted to tell you that I have read your blogs…And I think you and mama should talk…you both have some of the same opinions about your mamas…haha….and also I read this…

tell my mother that she is in control of her life and that her current situation is the result of decisions she made for her life. I discuss my life openly regarding my domestic partner, Erica, the new home we’re buying, the fact that my family is so separate from my life because Mom doesn’t want me to be out to them.

And I just wanted to let you know that seriously…..I am cool with this…I love you…to me you have always been my cool favorite cousin…that I never get to see…..Your life is your life….whatever you choose and whom ever you choose to spend your life with is your choice..I think it’s great… oh.. mama knows too…she is cool with it too…. she says we all need to meet sometime and hang out…And what happens on the internet….stays on the internet…haha.. Well just wanted to tell you that….write back don’t be a stranger…

And, next to my birthday message from the Universe, this is the best email I’ve ever received.

Mom Strikes again

So I sit down to write and I forget. I had a specific topic in mind and I forgot. Within 35 seconds. I sat. I opened my file. All the while I knew what I wanted to write about. The email opens and I type, “So I sit down to write”.

And thanks to $150 per session therapy, I know that what I’m doing is called avoidance. What I’m going through is apparently too much for me and I can’t mentally handle it.

It’s obviously, about my mother.And as I write more comes back. Like the part about how when I talked to my sister I was discussing how I thought Mom had actually started this whole thing with a Google on what breast cancer metastasizes to. She found pancreas. Then she found the symptoms of pancreatic cancer. Then she imitated those symptoms and took herself in for testing.

She starves herself so that she has the “losing weight” symptom.

She hurts her back lifting a concrete birdbath, but makes sure everyone knows that back pain is a symptom of pancreatic cancer.

She called me to say that she was having a PET scan to look for pancreatic or liver cancer and that she called only because I requested to be informed of all health-related occurrences.

“I hate to ruin your day, but you said you wanted to know.”

I thanked her for keeping me in the loop and asked when she’d get results.

“December 10.”

“Okay. Call me when you find out.”

So, at 8 PM on December 10, I call her to find out what’s going on since I haven’t heard from her all day.
Mom’s not there. She’s at work.
My sister A is picking up pizza.
V – who answered the phone – is on IM with her friend.

I ask V to have A call when she gets home.
An hour passes. (My hometown is 1 mile square in area.) So, I call back.
V answers again.
Me: Did you forget to tell A?
Her: No. She’s getting out of the shower.

I end up on the phone with A and find out that they got the results in the morning and that everything was fine.

I got off the phone and drank until I threw up.

Ho, Bitch, Slut

The following blog post was originally posted on
Written by The Princess

I talked to V, my niece, the other day. We talked after I had a phone conversation with my mom. Mom gave me the update on how she had gotten her shutters installed on the house for $10 a window. He did 3 windows which equaled 3 hours of work. Mom had to force this poor guy to take a $20 tip. Imagine the life situation that would make you feel $10/hour for manual labor was sufficient. Anyway. She went on to explain how she had been Googling to determine whether the pain in her back was from trying to lift the 150 lb. birdbath in my grandmother’s backyard or from a pancreatic tumor.

[Side Note: This past week Mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday and I told her then asked what she wanted. (I’m 12/9 and she’s 12/11.) She said, not sarcastically, “I want to live.” People. If there ain’t drama, it ain’t my mama.]

So, as we’re getting off the phone Mom says, “Oh yeah. Some of V’s friends called her a slut and a ho and a bitch. What do you think I should do?”
Me: Stay out of it, Mom.
Mom (to V in the background): She told me to stay out of it.
V (from the background): Uh!

I asked to speak with V and asked her why the girls were calling her a bitch. She didn’t know. So, I asked if she thought it might be because she was being a bitch.

No. Of course not.

So, I proceed to talk to her about how girls can say mean things and that I was sorry her feelings were hurt and I encouraged her to realize that if these girls were the kind of girls who talked shit behind their friend’s back (in G language, of course) that these were not the girls she wanted to be friends with in the first place.

And then. I swear to God. I hear myself …
quoting Erykah Badu.

Yep.I used the Apple Tree reference.

See I picks my friends like I pick my fruit
My ganny told me that when I was only a youth
I dont walk around trying to be what Im not
I dont waste my time trying to get what you got
I work at pleasin me
Cause I cant please you and thats why I do what I do
My soul flies free like a willow tree
Doo wee doo wee doo wee

I explained the apple analogy. “If you were at Super Wal-Mart picking out an apple, you wouldn’t pick the rotten apple. You’d pick the good apple. Right? So why would you pick the rotten girl to be friends with?”

V said, “Huh?”

I said, “Just try to ignore them, honey.”