Why My Sister and Mother Yelled At Me Today: Air Conditioning

My mother is currently having lots of problems paying bills and maintaining the house, so I continue to look for ways to save money on a daily basis.  One of the ways to save money, especially when you have an entire house to maintain, is carefully calibrate what temperature you keep your house at, and use ways to keep warm in winter and stay cool in the summer by doing things like wearing the appropriate clothing, taking advantage of fresh air, insulate properly, etc.

My mother always claims she is cold, but my sister wants to keep the house at 74 degrees or lower.  My sister used to claim, when she lived in Miami, that she hated air conditioning.  My mother told me that she claimed to not like air conditioning, because when she used her air conditioner in Miami, she had to pay for it.  My mother was only paying her rent, not her utilities.

So, in these hot summer days, at those times when it's not really hot and sticky out, and especially in the late evening hours, I think it's a good idea to keep the windows open and the A/C off.  I also find the sound of crickets and cicadas at night to be really soothing, it drowns out the sound of Mom blasting episodes of "Dancing With the Stars" and "Columbo" reruns, complete with her whoops of delight and loud, colorful commentary that she is addressing to no one in particular, no matter if I'm sleeping, working, reading, or otherwise engaging in some quiet activity.

Right at this very moment, outside here in East Windsor, NJ, it is 73 degrees outside.  Inside our house, the thermostat is reading 80 degrees, so my mother is running the central air conditioning, to my sister's satisfaction.  I've already been yelled at by both my mother and my sister several times over the past two weeks for opening windows, whether because it affects the ambient temperature or whether it's because my mother is afraid other people can see through the windows and watch us eating lunch, or reading books, or doing chores.  My mother is convinced our neighbors are always watching us, and have a keen interest in observing our activities.

So I just came home from the store, at about 8:30pm, and it's 73 out.  Inside the house, it's stuffy and the thermostat says 80.  So my mother promptly turned on the air conditioning.

So I asked her, "Mom, at what temperature do you like to keep the house?"

Mom: "74 degrees!  I TOLD you already!"
Me: "Mom, it's 73 degrees outside.  Am I allowed to open the windows?"
Mom: "NO!  NO!  I TOLD you, do NOT touch the WINDOWS!  ARGH!  SHIT!"

Not wanting to engage in an argument, I quietly went to "my" room, which is actually a storage room for various crap in the house that Mom and Denise want to store there (there is plenty of storage space in several rooms downstairs and in the garage, I'm not sure why their stuff is in "my" room), but in which they permit me a couple of drawers, some bookshelf space, and part of a closet to put my things.  It doesn't have a bed, just this really crappy, mildewy worn out loveseat my sister bought in Miami made my mother move back into this house.  I've actually been sleeping in the second upstairs bedroom, "Denise's" bedroom, in the house (my mother has the master bedroom, and my sister made up another bedroom for her and her fiancée on the lower level, but keeps her vast collection of dolls, stuffed animals, 60 pairs of crappy shoes, clothes she never wears, old VHS tapes of Tae Bo and other exercise she never does, tubes and bottles of Alfred Sung lotions and perfumes the choking smell of which permeates the entire upper floor of the house), since, well, sleeping is best done in a bed.  It would be nice if I could have a room with a bed in it, but alas, that is not my position in this house right now.  Anyway, I'm being kicked out of the second ("Denise's") bedroom upstairs to make room for my mother's sister, who is supposed to be arriving tonight to stay for two weeks.  Loveseat City it is for me.  I wish highly-powerful sleeping pills were readily available OTC.

I am very much looking forward to seeing my aunt Gloria (and my cousin Monique and her son Christopher, who are dropping off my aunt before they head to PR for vacation), as I haven't seen her in years, and it's fun to watch my mother interact with her younger siblings.  Her presence will also deflect attention from me -- I will merely fade into the background, run errands for them and chauffeur them around, fix them drinks, empty ashtrays and refill their glasses with ice and Carlo Rossi paisano wine, take orders, and observe.  My sister has been expressing her extreme displeasure at the prospect that yet another person is going to come in here and disrupt her control of things, so watching her escalate her passive-aggressive attempts to put everyone in the place she thinks they should be is going to delight me.  Family dynamics are fascinating.

My Sister Gave Me the Finger Seven Times Last Night

My sister has graduated to giving me the finger multiple times during the evening to express her anger and displeasure with my presence.  She did it no less than seven times last night, and these were the events that seemed to spur the adolescent behavior, although I'm not sure why she does what she does at any particular moment in time:

1) After I had emptied the clean dishes from the dishwasher, she expressed dismay at the way I had "rearranged" (as if it were some nefarious plot to upset the order she supposedly has established in storage areas) the cabinet where most of our pyrex and rubbermaid containers go.  I didn't rearrange anything, I simply put the stuff away in the cabinet, which involved having to nest similar containers of certain sizes into one another so they all fit (which is in no way a new system of organization for that cabinet, that's how they were doing things when I got here).  So she proceeded to pull things out of the cabinet and slam them down on the table, and demand I identify certain items.  She pulled a bag of my tea out of the area where all the tea is stored, and demanded I tell her what it was.

Me: "Look at it, sis, it says right there on the front what it is"
Denise:  "I DON'T WANT TO READ IT, I WANT YOU TO TELL ME".
Me: "It's tea, Denise.  It says right there on the front on the label, Rishi Tea."
Denise: "Yes, BUT I TOLD YOU TO TELL ME WHAT IT IS."
Me: "OK, now you know.  In the future, feel free to just look at the label to determine what something sitting there with all the rest of the tea is."
Denise: [finger]

She continued to root through the cabinet, accusing me of having taken or wrongfully placed things.

Denise: "WHERE IS MY VITAMIN CONTAINER???"
Diane: "You're what?"
Denise: "MY VITAMIN CONTAINER.  I KEEP MY VITAMINS IN A CONTAINER, AND I DON'T SEE IT HERE.  WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT?"
Diane: "Denise, this is like the fifth time since I got here that either you or Mom has accused me of messing with your vitamins.  I don't use vitamins, I haven't touched your vitamins, perhaps each of you is moving the other person's vitamins around.  Stop asking me about your vitamins.  I had no idea you even have a 'vitamin container'."
Denise: "I CAN'T FIND MY VITAMIN CONTAINER!  YOU MUST HAVE MOVED IT!"  [finger]

Denise then started to dig into my mother, who had pointed out that Denise had defrosted raw chicken that morning, left it on the kitchen counter all day, announcing she was making dinner that evening (Mom had, a few moments earlier, asked me if she should go ahead and cook the chicken, as it probably shouldn't remain there another day).  Denise had even made a special run to the grocery store to buy the shape of pasta she wanted (we had elbow and penne, she wanted spaghetti), despite the fact that she has repeatedly told me that household groceries are only to be purchased once a the month, at the beginning of each month, when Mom receives her social-security check.  Denise had just woken up from a 5-hour nap, and declared it was "too late" and she was "too tired" to cook the chicken.  Um, we whispered to ourselves, no problem, as I had already prepared some salad with feta and olives and had some cooked shrimp in the freezer.  Denise then proceeded to order delivery from a local Italian restaurant, and neglected to ask us if we wanted to order anything, so it was a bit of a surprise when the food arrived, and she skirted it downstairs to keep to herself and her fiancée, Tony.  "That's pretty rude," I thought to myself, and, as she headed down the stairs.
Diane: "Oh, did you get pizza?"
Denise: "NO." (turned out they had gotten ravioli and meatballs, and something that was in a pizza box but perhaps was not pizza)
Diane: "Ah, well, um, bon appetit!"
Denise: [finger]

After feasting on her exclusive dinner and several glasses of the wine I had bought and put in the Designated Wine-Storage Area, she stomped back up the stairs, threw the dishes in the sink, and then came out to the living room to lecture Mom about how Mom leaves raw chicken in the refrigerator for days all the time.  She then glares at me, I suppose expecting me to chime in to agree that Mom does this, even though I have no idea if she does.
Denise: "I'm COOKING the CHICKEN TOMORROW!"
Diane: [shrugs] "Um, OK, sure."
Denise: "TOMORROW!  IT'S TOO LATE NOW TO COOK THE CHICKEN."
Diane: "Ok, Denise, cook the chicken whenever you see fit to cook the chicken.  Don't worry about me, I'm not big on chicken in any case."
Denise: [finger]

She then stomps into the bathroom.  I had lit a candle in there, as the area was smelling less-than-fresh.
Denise: "There's a lit candle in here!'
Diane: "Yes, I lit it after the last time I was in there."
Denise: "YOU SHOULD PUT IT OUT NOW."
Diane: "Sure, I'll make sure to put it out."
Denise: "PUT IT OUT NOW."
Diane: [no reaction]
Denise: "I'M GOING TO PUT THIS CANDLE OUT RIGHT NOW."
Diane: "Knock yourself out, Big Sis."
Denise: [finger]

By this time, I had resorted to watching TV on my laptop with my earbuds in, because she kept stomping around, talking to herself, but clearly with the intention of making me listen to her complaints about me on an endless loop without taking the time to confront me directly.  She kept pacing around, picking things up and slamming them down, and exclaiming, in a Tourette's-style manner, "Rearranging!" {mumble mumble mumble} "Consignment! (for some reason, my efforts to sell my wedding gown is bothering her, I think because I had previously recommended when I was still in California that she could try selling it to raise some funds for the household, which she eschewed)" {mumble mumble mumble, "Candles!" {mumble mumble mumble}  "Chicken!" {growl}

She stomped back downstairs, and started to tear into Tony.  Now, I don't make a point of attempting to overhear their conversations, but it is inevitable that much of their conversation wafts upstairs, and a lot of times, Denise is nagging the guy, and Tony inevitably says, "You're being mean."  So, a couple of times in the past day or so, whenever she starts yelling at me, I say, "You're being mean," in an effort to help her realize she needs to dial the Anger-Meter down a few notches.  You know the saying, I think it goes something like this, "If one person calls you a horse's ass, you thank them.  If 10 people call you a horse's ass, it's time to get yourself a saddle."  She stomps back up, and starts barking at me, at which point I remove my earbuds to try to listen to her, because she seemed genuinely in need to engage with me again at THAT VERY MINUTE.

Denise: "WE STAGE CONVERSATIONS."
Diane: "Um, what?"
Denise: "WE STAGE CONVERSATIONS, JUST TO TEST YOU, TO SEE IF YOU ARE SPYING ON OUR CONVERSATIONS."
Diane: "Denise, I'm not snooping.  I just inevitably hear them if I'm sitting in the living room and I don't have earbuds in."
Denise: "WE KNOW YOU ARE LISTENING TO US, SO WE STAGE CONVERSATIONS, TO TEST YOU."
Diane: [looks at Mom quizzically, looks back at Sister] "Um, Denise, I'm not sure what you are asking or telling me to do here.  Do you want me to try to listen and tell you if I can hear?"
Mom: [pointing her finger at me] "SHE'S TRYING TO TRICK YOU!"
Diane: "What?  Ok, I'm really confused.  Denise, am I supposed to repeat to you what I hear?  Because, believe me, I'd rather not be hearing, that's why I have these earbuds in."
Denise: [stomps back down stairs raising and waving around her Finger-sporting hand]
Diane: [turns to Mom]  Is this normal behavior for her?  She's been giving me the finger all night now.  What are we, like, 12?  Does Denise realize she's 51 years old?"
Mom: [waves her arms wildly, shushing me]
Denise: [stomps back up to top of stairs so that her hand is visible, with, you guessed it, middle finger raised]

Now, I fully admit that, at this point, I've begun to hit back at her with sarcasm and passive-aggressive remarks, which may be fueling the fire, but it really is in an attempt to tire her out.  When I keep myself open and genuine, say, I'm about to put something away, and ask her if I'm putting it away in the Designated Place For That Thing, she'll agree, thank me, and then a few hours later, move it and demand That Thing Goes Over There.   I think humoring her and not insisting on any boundaries regarding what I'll put up with will encourage her to continue steamrolling.

Maintaining Sanity After Moving Back in with My Mother and Sister

In late July of this year, I had to face the reality that I was not making ends meet in California, I was broke, and therefore had to either become homeless, or move back into my mother's house in New Jersey.  My older sister, Denise, made the move back home from Miami a few years ago for the same reason, although she wasn't broke, as my mother had been paying her rent (to the point where my mother's car was repossessed because she couldn't afford both her car and my sister's rent) for about a year before she packed up and headed back North.  I set out on a cross-country drive in early August, and arrived at the family homestead about 5 days later.  Also in the house is my sister's fiancée, a wonderful guy whose family has been friends with our family since long before I was born, to the point that we call them cousins and aunts and uncles.  Tony is in a somewhat-similar situation of having to find a job after a company he was working for in Hempstead folded, and he had to move out of his place there.  So it's a bit of a crowded house with a mixture of personalities: Tony is very laid back and friendly (my mother says he is, "mas suelto que un caracol"), I'm somewhat laid back but suffer from anxiety and panic attacks at times, and both my mother and my sister have explosive tempers that flare up at the drop of a hat.  I take after my father's side of the family (from Jamaica and Curação) both in looks and temperament (tending towards shy and quiet), my sister takes after my mother's side of the family (from Puerto Rico, loud and boisterous, alcohol-and-tobacco-loving, family-oriented and social, and extremely temperamental to the point where fistfights sometimes break out at family gatherings).

It hasn't been a lot of fun thus far -- I feel very much like Kristen Wiig's character, Imogene, in the movie, "Girl Most Likely".  Depressed, feeling like a failure, and regretting my decision in 2008 to leave New York like I did, when everything seemed to be going great.  The living conditions are even somewhat similar, an old, cluttered house in New Jersey, an extra houseguest, etc, with the added stress of economic duress (only one of us is currently employed, so the bills are hard to pay) and explosive temperaments.

In order to help me cope with my situation, I've been oversharing on social media.  Not advisable, admittedly (some people, even potential employers, may judge me harshly for the things I reveal, but I'm willing to take that risk); however, I find it therapeutic to share my complaints and foibles on my Facebook wall and so I will continue to do so.  Writing is therapeutic for me, especially when I'm exercising my comedic chops to make fun of myself or my situation.  Since I'm verbose, I'll stick to telling the full version of my tales here on my blog, and mentioning the posts on Facebook, and people can click through and read if they are interested, keeping the Facebook post to something crisp and quippy.

So the majority of my posts for the time being are going to be about the clashes between my mother, my sister, and me, because the interactions we've been having since I landed here about two weeks ago have been truly funny, as if they came out of some goofy reality show.  And if I write about them, especially if I manage to make even one person laugh with these posts, I will be able to refrain from banging my head against the wall or stabbing myself in the eye with a pencil.

Enjoy, feel free to comment, especially if you can make as much fun of these situations as I am trying to.  Also feel free to criticize me, admonish me for making fun of my family, if you like.  But I might just be creating material someone could use in a sitcom someday.