Oooooh, DRAMA.

Alright so here it is.
The inevitable rant-a-thon post.
Today's topic; Grandparents, tile, and lots of dust.
So first you should know; My mom's parents live a mile from us. I am currently staying at their house. More on why later.
My dad's parents live in New Jersey, along with my dad's two living sisters. My dad's two brothers also live in Florida. Mom's side of the family has nothing to do with this, so don't hurt yourself straining to find something about them.
Anyway.
When we moved into our house, we had tile in the kitchen and bathrooms, and carpet throughout the rest of the house. Then we got my yorkie, who was a very, very 'normal' puppy. If you understand the term 'accidents' you'll get what I mean. On top of that, my whole family had horrible allergies when we moved here. So eventually, we tore up all the carpet. But unfortunately, tile costs money. Our house is only the slightly larger side, so quite a bit of tile would be necessary. And we'd have to rip up the existing tile to do all of that.
Mhm. So since then, every time my dad's parents come to visit, there's always some mention of the floors. We're all fine with it - I painted stuff onto the concrete in my bedroom. We're used to it. But my grandparents apparently, were not.
So they went out and bought us tile to do the whole house. Came in with samples, let us pick, bought it all. Which was nice, obviously. But do keep in mind, we never asked for it. They did it by their choice.
Aaaand then it went downhill.
[Inane ranting appearing soon. Beware.]
My grandfather [otherwise known as Pop. Dad's side is Grammy and Pop, and mom's is Grandmom and Grandpop. So we don't get confused and whatnot. FYI.] decides he's going to help my dad lay the new tile.
-sigh-
I'm not putting every single detail because that would take years. Either way, those two cannot work together for anything. For one, my parents [and the rest of us] thought everything would be good if they waited for my dad's friend to come check out/tear up the old tile in the kitchen/bathrooms. [Harry. He's nice, but kind of...well, instead of Larry the Cable Guy, it's Harry the Tile Guy.] But no. Pop insists upon starting in the living room.
Uhm...excuse me? WTF do you think you're doing starting in the MIDDLE OF THE BUILDING?
Then there were the baseboards. Dad wanted to take them off, but was afraid they'd break. Pop had the bright idea to cut them. So him, my dad, and my mom's dad are all working on cutting out the bottom piece of baseboard.
You'd think they'd be sliding the tiles underneath, right? No. They get placed like an inch away. Why? Don't ask me.
On top of that, there's the fact that somehow or another, Pop was going crazy and rushing through it, so whatever he decided to do, most of the tiles in the living room [which, thank god, is the only room they got to] are hollow and will more than likely wind up cracking.
Through all of this, remember both my grandfathers are in their 70's, and my dad has a severely whacked-out Thyroid condition. If he goes into what they call Thyroid Storm, he could have a massive heart attack and probably die. Stress brings this on. So you can imagine how we've been getting on the last week. Not well. He goes for a test tomorrow [er, today? Tuesday.] and should get the results back on Thursday or Friday. My mom asked Grammy about waiting a week to do more tile until we got the results. She nodded a bit and changed the subject. The next day they're back at it moving stuff out of our rooms.
Heeeeeere we go.
That was the day we were coming over here - Friday. We had packed all of our stuff earlier, and had taken round 1 to my mom's parents' house. Then Rachel, mom and I went over to Hair Cuttery to get my hair trimmed, and then back home to pick up the last load of stuff. When we get home, Pop's loading up their van. We all kind of looked at each other and got out, knowing something must have happened. Dad's in the garage. Pop's saying something along the lines of 'we're going to get going. I can't help him, he's impossible to help.' I was seriously about ready to go off on him there. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing it would upset my mom and not wanting to make things worse. So dad says something back, and we go inside, leaving them on our drive way. Grammy's bringing more of her bags out. Says goodbye to us, crying, of course, mom's losing it, I'm in the bathroom crying my eyes out.
She didn't say goodbye to my dad. Just left.
Care to guess more?
My cousin's crazy into baseball, kay? He's Rachel's age, been playing little league for years. So through one of his friends, he got to be one of the bat boys for a game on Thursday. My grandparents, dad, Pop's sister Anita and her boyfriend Leo all went. And drove together. My dad was driving. [Anita' insane and I always thought Leo was quite. -shrug-]
Doesn't have a great day there, and on the way back all hell breaks lose when he misses an exit. They have to go all the way to St. Petersburg, to Sarasota, and then all the way back to get on I-4. And gets incessantly yelled at by everyone the whole way. Naturally yells back. So apparently Grammy didn't talk to him from that night on. Lovely.
Found out yesterday that Leo was going off about homeschooling and how homeschoolers are antisocial and whatnot. Assholes. They might all want to know where my mom found out about homeschooling in the first place - which was from my dad's mother. Anita, on the other hand, is a purely annoying, self-centered crazy and no one exists in her eyes but my cousin. I don't think she even remotely knows our names. I don't care, I honestly cannot stand the woman. The only reason dad went to the stupid thing was because my uncle gave him a ticket for his birthday. Did he invite us? Oh, of course not. He's exactly like his father. Stubborn, mean, and a pure jerk. They're okay when they're being nice, but give it a second. It'll be gone.
So fast forward again to the departing scene. I'm out of the bathroom, sitting on the couch with my dogs. Rampant screaming from the driveway. Didn't sound pretty. So they left, mom takes Rae and I back to Grandmom and Grandpop's. Goes back to see how dad is. Upset, obviously.
Yesterday Harry came over and ripped up all the tile for us. We were still at my grandparents, so when we called, dad told us to come over and check it out. [He's like a 12 year old, always gets so excited.] So we do. It's a mess, of course, a disaster zone, but it's all up. Which is good. Still have to take up some of the concrete they used to put it down [you're supposed to use thin set morons] but other than that, it's up. When we went over, we found out that Grammy and Pop had left a bag of their's here. They have a key to the house, so I don't know if he just let himself in or rang the doorbell, but he came in, went back to get the bag, and left. Never said a word to anyone. Turns out they drove up to my aunt and uncles. [Which wasn't a long drive. They live in the same subdivision as us, a street up. Literally can walk to their house in about five seconds.]
Now they're in south Florida visiting some friends. Dad did what Grandmom thought might be a good idea if he was upset and didn't want to fight. Which was apologize, even though he didn't do anything. So, he called them. Talked to my grandfather for half an hour.
Aww. Big happy ending right?
Wrong.
Heaven forbid my grandfather accept the unnecessary apology, say 'okay, it's done' and move on, no. They have to have another 30-minute long screaming fight over the phone. I can only imagine what their friends must have been thinking. But then, anyone who knows my grandfather knows he can be utter hell.
Aaand that's it thus far. They also forgot a battery cable for something, but we'll be mailing that too them. Grandmom and I were talking about it when she got off the phone with my mom earlier. At least he tried. Pop, obviously, cannot be mature about it and stop being an asshole, so it sucks for everyone involved, but my dad did what he could do.
He doesn't think they'll ever come back.
I hate to say it, but it almost doesn't bother me. I don't get along with either of them. Grammy's super-holy, and you all know my view on that. I'm not religious, but I'm not going to bash other people for it. I respect your opinion, but I don't always agree with it. I even covered over the Sex Pistols and Marilyn Manson paintings [just band names] in my room so she didn't freak out too much. I try to be understanding, but then, whoopsy, I do something a little too Meg-like. I have absolutely nothing to talk about with the woman.
And Pop. Oi. He's okay sometimes, but then goes and does something. For instance, when Rae and I got our hair cut the other day, Grammy went with us and our mom. [And insisted, for whatever twisted reason, on taking pictures throughout the whole ordeal. I was shooting daggers when she asked us to stand in front of the door for 'before and after pictures."] She bought Rae the hair-cut for her birthday, which was in January. [Wanted to get her something while they were here.] When we get home, Grammy asks Pop if he saw our haircuts. By the way, my bangs are too long. I had side-bangs, then I cut them myself into blunt bangs. I liked them, but they need a trim. I let the hairstylist leave them alone because I was going to trim them myself. Pop says nothing but something about taking the scissors to them. Uhuh, gee thanks. You couldn't even pretend to not be a jerk, for like a second? Geez.
They mean well, I know, but it only lasts for about a millisecond before they're mad.
Oooh, forgive me for forgetting. While my dad was on the phone with Pop tonight, he 'found out' why they bought us the tile. Edited version, since I'm not sure what he actually said, but translated from my dad to my mom to my Grandmom to me, it was something along the lines of us living in a pigsty.
Just because we don't have tile? Really? You're really that vain?
It sucks for everyone, because obviously fighting with your family isn't fun, but I swear I'll be fine if they don't come back. I mean, I don't want them to keep fighting, obviously, I just won't really miss them. The only family members I really like are my parents and sisters [even though they all drive me nuts at times, I love 'em], my mom's parents, and my Grammy's sister Stella. Everyone else....I either dislike them or don't know them well enough to like them. I like my mom's side of the family, but I just really don't know any of them. I don't remember anyone from when we lived up north, and the few times people have visited...well, that's all I really know of them. Which isn't much.
Nyeft. And I've been thinking. What's all this garbage about 'family'? Stuff like 'you can't pick your family but in the end they're all you've got'. Bull. Just because you share blood with someone doesn't mean they're you're last strand of hope. I have friends. I guarantee each and everyone know me and like me more than the majority of my family.
Either way. Dunno exactly how all this is going to play out, but my ranting is over. Shall update if things change, I guess.