Well, I kept my cool for as long as I could. Day 4 over here, and the parentals are irking the shit out of me. By some strange miracle, I have not had my usual deafening blowup, but fuck, I have def raised my voice and had to walk away several times. As you know, I’m juggling CL, Ebay, and Freecycle and then contacting vendors for various things. This morning, I called a second estate liquidator as well as the dumpster people. I sent the liquidator, who runs a consignment shop, auction house, and eBay store, some pictures. He called back and said the Asian era is long gone, like ten years too late. And they can’t move any of that or any of the Queen Anne Chippendale shit. Everyone now wants Ikea, modern style stuff. We’re a disposal Walmart society, he explains. So out of everything, maybe the maroon leather chairs and some rugs. Won’t even touch anything else. Well shit, now I’m really screwed. Tomorrow, I’m meeting with an estate sales lady, who runs 2-3 day onsite sales. We’ll see what she says. Dad also thinks his friends will want his shit. Whatever.
Meanwhile, I did manage to get rid of some items via Freecycle and this evening, someone is coming to measure the flatbed space needed for the 20+ y/o lawn mower. Yes, it has only been used a handful of times, so it’s in pretty good shape. That said though, it’s still more than 20 y/o with a dead battery and deflated front tires. Before our meeting today with the realtor at the townhouse, I started schlepping all my parents’ old medical office waiting room chairs (my dad had saved them when his office was remodeled back when I was a kid) from the basement to the garage, for a lady who wants them. Now these chairs are, again in decent shape, but the fabric on most is worn. And they are WAITING ROOM chairs. So I’m sweating up a storm doing it all alone bc 1) mom is weak 2) dad hurt his back on Saturday, bc he INSISTED on carrying my heavy-ass tote bag from the flight. I’m getting so irritated with his bullshit obstinance. I told you I had it and you insisted on taking the bag from me, and now look what happened! Totally out of commission. Anyway, dad starts telling me that he wants to save some chairs in case if his friend (his former nurse) wants it for her house. Ok, 1) this shit has been sitting in the garage gathering dust since I was in high school. Remember, I just turned fucking 40. 2) No person is going to want your waiting room chairs for their residence. WTF people? Get out of my way.
While all of this is going on, mom is in her perpetual state of confusion. I’m having a conversation about the townhouse, and she thinks I’m talking about the main house. I’m talking about the leather desk chair, and she thinks I’m talking about the waiting room chair. Never ever on the same fucking page. I’m talking about the Comcast cable modem, and she thinks I’m talking about her goddamn Laserdisc system. Jesus Christ, are you listening??? Then, my parents are obsessed with artificial flowers. Some have been sitting in the garage gathering dust and dirt, like a pair of yellow rose pots that are visibly dirty, like even from far away. I wanted to Freecycle or trash them, and mom kept giving me pushback. Then, there was a rusty suitcase trolley and while I was organizing my piles in the garage, I turned around and she dug that POS out of the pile for her to “use.” I mean, hello. Your suitcases have built-in wheels. WTF are you talking about? The last straw was this afternoon. I had taken a picture of a fake tabletop topiary, with a cracked base. Someone on Freeycle wanted it. I set it outside and then she was giving me all this lip. This thing has been in the basement seeing zero daylight and now suddenly, mom insists that she wants to use it in Taiwan. She wants to put it in a fucking backpack and take it as her carry on. Are you out of your mind? Holy shit, they are insane.
Then there’s all this ongoing extraneous commentary:
1. I’m driving them around. Dad says I drive too fast. We’re not in a hurry, so I need to slow down. This is a school zone, and I’m going to get a ticket.
2. Later, we need to get gas. The gas station is right there in the same goddamn parking lot, but no, Dad insists I go to the other one bc it’s 10 cents/gal cheaper. We get there and it’s like 5 cents cheaper, all of which amounts to $1 in savings.
3. I punch in an address on Google Maps and he wants me to ignore Google and use his directions.
4. The garbage service emptied his trash bins today, and I wanted to put the bin in the trunk and drive up the winding, hilly driveway, esp bc one of the bins has a busted wheel. No, he insists on walking it up the driveway bc the container is smelly and he doesn’t want to get his car dirty. Um, look at your house: it’s a hot mess. Thirty seconds in your trunk will be fine.
The recurring theme here? Why must you insist on making every damn thing so fucking complicated and difficult??? Keep it up, and the volcano is going to blow real soon!!