Muggy with a side of slaw

The weather guy said, this morning, that it’ll be “super muggy” outside.  It’s kind’ve funny when a “trained” meterologist refers to the outside weather as “super muggy”…. because you’d THINK there’d be a more official-like term.  Like, “high pressure, 100% humidity.”  Nope.  He said “super muggy.”  Let’s welcome the official start of SUMMA in New Jersey.

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My inlaws are expected to show up sometime after lunch so they can eat dinner (aka “supper”) with us.  One problem… they’re in their 70s… and dinner aka “supper” is usually at 12pm, and lunch is at 5pm.  I’ve always been confused with the reversal of meals.  What’s the sense?  They both mean that we eat… right?  SO, uh what gives?  There’s no explanation, other than that’s “how our people have done it since I can remember.”

Our people? Are we doing that “our ethnicity is more important than YOUR ethnicity” thing again?

Not very long ago… and as a continual pattern since I’ve married my husband… my inlaws’ family have to point out that I’m Italian. (Yes, I’m also part Irish and part Jewish… which is BOTH a religion AND a culture before you start saying, “You can’t be a Jew… You’re not Jewish… You’re a goy…. you CAN’T be a Jew!”  Oh easy there sparkie… my grandmother was a Jew.  Jews are Jews no matter where they’re from… so ethnically, I’m 1/4 JEW… so get over it.)

I think that this whole “Eye-talian,” and “Jew” thing that they just LOVE to talk about (and, personally, its not flattering when they do it), probably stems from super-inflated ego of the scandanavians… courtesy of Hitler.  Supreme Race of blonde-hair-blue-eyed (susceptible to skin cancer) super humans who were intended to take over the world… however, then this mixed-race mutt of a girl marries their pure bread son and breeds Heinz 57 puppies.  *grins*

I’ve HEARD her (not my fil) say, “We’re pure-blood.”

My MOTHER is pure-blooded Italian.  So?  Are we supposed to have a parade and a cupcake party for you everytime you enter a room? No.  So, get over it.

Tonight I’m making turkey meatballs (with my new healthy recipe), gravy (brown, not Eye-talian…as my FIL can’t eat tomatoes anymore), potatoes (to offset the healthy turkey meatballs), and bread (because what’s a meal without 2-3 starches? We need to keep the superior race fed, right?)… with a salad.

I KNOW she’s going to make a comment… in fact, she called me yesterday to ask me if she should bring something.  I told her no, but she could make the salad when she gets here (and then make a HUGE effing mess that I’ll have to clean up)… and that can be her contribution.  I’ve also gotten accustomed to giving her the menu for the evening so I don’t have to listen to the whole “why we can’t eat EYEtalian food anymore” speech… which I can now do by heart.

“We’re having turkey meatballs, potatoes, and salad for dinner,” I jammed this down her throat after she said hello so that I can avoid the “speech.”

“Oh, are you making EY…”

“With brown gravy… I don’t like eating tomato sauce in the summer.”

“Oh that’s goo…”

“And, for desert, an Entenmenn’s pound cake, cantelope, and blueberries.”

“Do you need me to bring anything?”

“You can make the salad.”

“Ok, I can do that,” I can hear her excitement.  Personally, I’d rather EAT a salad than MAKE a salad.  Usually.

And, that’s that.  Now, when will they arrive?  I think after lunch sometime… so I want to make the meatballs in advance and put them into baking dishes so that all I have to do is pop them into the oven, make the mashed taters while she’s making the salad.  POOF!  Viola!  Dinner…

Hopefully nothing derrogatory pops out, intentional or not… like at Easter when she went on this huge tangent about how she met a “Jew” and felt obligated to tell this “Jew” that her daughter-in-law’s grandmother was a “Jew.”

I asked her what this “Jew’s” name was… she couldn’t remember, but it was definitely a Jewish name.

Oi…

My grandmother is rolling in her grave, screaming, “GOY GOY GOY!!”

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The past two days my middle and youngest sons were with my husband while he worked at my sil’s house.  Have I mentioned that my sil’s house is starting to resemble MINE in color pallette?  Oh, yes… apparently my eye for color (“obsessive color eye”, is what I call it… I am very picky with color, so it wouldn’t be unusual to see 5-12 different paint colors on the wall before I decide which I want) has inspired them to use color (as opposed to drab whites)… the SAME colors that I use in my family room and living rooms (currently) and a weird attempt at getting my bathroom colors copied into their bathroom.

Like I don’t see their feeble attempts to duplicate.  It’s kinda hard when herstory doesn’t tell them what the name or company of the color is… I think that leaving them guessing is more entertaining and less aggravating.

“Hey,” they said a few years back after we painted the living room a dark red color, “what’s the name of THAT color?”

“Red.”

“Red?  Really, what’s the name?”

“Red.”

Yes, obviously its red, but I didn’t tell them what TYPE of red.  And, I’m spiteful like that, I’ll admit it.  I just don’t want anymore surprises when I visit… like the yellow in their foyer (which isn’t exactly like, but close to the color pallette in my family room) or the sponge imitation of the ragging we did on one wall… or the sponge beige on ecru that we did in our bedroom EONS ago that they HAD to do in THEIR bedroom and family room as well as my mil doing in HER bedroom.  Geezus, does anyone have their own tastes?

Oh wait… yes they do.  My mil’s taste is: forest green, burgandy, and yellow.  My sil’s taste is: anything someone else has.

I don’t have county ducks… roosters… gentle scenes of the countryside splattered across my walls.  We have ONE Thomas Kincade on the wall.. it was a 2000 piece puzzle that we pain-stakingly put together during Christmas break because it was haunting us.  And, once finished, my husband and #2 son wanted to frame it, to prove that a 2,000-pc puzzle CAN be conquered.  It’s pretty, but not my taste.  I let them hang it in the dining room…

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My good friend is struggling this week and won’t tell me why.  Last night, I texted her, “HEY cupcake, what’s shaking?”  (I dunno, sometimes I want to call people cupcake, is that bad?) “I can’t talk… things are really bad… if I tell you, I’l start crying again.”)

*sighs*

Really bad with… what exactly?  Her kids? Her husband? Her parents?  Her job?  What… is bad?

I won’t pressure her to tell me.  She has a lot of secrets that she chooses to keep to herself and I have secrets that I choose to share with NO ONE (not even you all)… so I understand.

We’ll see if she spills… hopefully things are ok between her and her husband.  I’m worried about her.

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Real Estate Update: *crickets*

Moving Update: *crickets*

Life Update: I have woken up after 8am for the 3rd straight day in a row.  WOOHOO!