"No, I'm calling you a product of baboon lovin'. There's a distinction."

Background info, I grew up living with 1 whole sister, 1 half sister, my mom and her piece of shit ex husband, aka my sister’s dad. I also have 1 half sister, 2 step sisters and a step brother that lived with my dad. My half sister that lived with me grew up in the same house, but our lives rarely followed the same paths. There’s 7 years difference in age, different genetics, different sense of humor, not to mention different treatment by the parental units. We aren’t particularly close. I don’t blame her or harbor any grudges at all for her father’s behavior, in fact I’m sad that she had to experience a childhood like she did. It was her dad treating her sisters like that. And while he treated her differently, they certainly could have had a better relationship too I’m sure. The two of us are just from foreign lands. We visit each other occasionally, we’re nice, we love each other, I just spend most of my time with her bewildered that we grew up together. We’re different. It’s fine. In March my sisters surprised my mom and I with a coinciding visit. The last time we were all together was in Nov of 08, my reception. So it’s been a minute. Since then my half sister and I have had children, I’d never met hers, and she’d met G once. It was impossibly awesome. My niece blew me away. I’m so sad that none of G’s cousins or aunties live near her. I wish that she would be raised *with* them and have close relationships. But 1 is a half a country away, another is on the other side of the state, and the others are 3 hours away. She does get to see them, but not very often. We spent as much time as we could together while they were here, allowing of course for nap schedules and that they needed to see other family. On their last night here we decided to go out to dinner. My sister, (M) asked if her dad could join us. My response was of course. We were all at the park trying to decide where to go. There are about 5 restaurants in the town where we were going to eat. Not including Su.bway and Ta.co Bel.l. Which I was about to include because oh my god pick a fucking restaurant already!!! I will find food where ever I go. When we were in Puerto Rico I ordered ‘sandwich with yellow cheese’. Which turned out to be American? like cheese on a greasy hamburger bun. And when dinner arrived, and I looked at what everyone else ordered, I was damn happy with my sandwich with yellow cheese. I’m pretty indifferent about where to eat, just pick already. But there was much hemming and hawing for each suggestion I put out there. They finally decided on a Mexican place I’d never been to. Awesome. M’s husband mentions something about my other sister (B) and I being uncomfortable with M’s dad there. I cut in and inform him we are all Adults; there won’t be any problems at all. After the park they take my niece to M’s dad’s house for her nap. B, G and I go to my friend’s house in town to chain smoke, I mean kill time until dinner. We tell them where we’re going to eat and we’re met with scared faces. That place is the WORST they tell us. I shrug. I’ll order a quesadilla I say, they can’t fuck up heated up cheese on a tortilla. Skeptical looks say they disagree. We leave for dinner and my intentions are in place. I am an Adult. I will small talk and schmooze right to him. I will show him that despite his best efforts, I’m NOT in daily therapy, I am married, happy, and so fucking well adjusted people are jealous. I will look right into his eyes and prove how much of a bigger person I am. (I am married and happy, not to mention the bigger person, but notsomuch on the well adjusted, and I would REALLY benefit from therapy, daily or not, oh fucking well.) We arrive at the restaurant and I immediately wonder if I blew off my friend’s concerns a bit too easily. The floor and menus are well seasoned with food. Usually I let G play with the menus when we’re out to eat; she loves books so they are like new ones to her. But I wanted to wash my hands after touching them so there’s no way she was getting it. He walks in and I look at him fully intending to give a firm and indifferent “Hello”. As my eyes hit his face every cell in my brain shrieked. I’m not even kidding. Now, I don’t want you to think I’m being all dramatic and over reacting. I was not writhing on the ground in the throes of death. But I swear to you, there was audible screams in my head, and I may have jumped. I looked around to see if anyone else noticed. I busy myself with setting up G. Putting her high chair cover on and getting out her ‘keep her entertained so she doesn’t want to get out and touch anything, especially at this dump’ books. He did this grunt of disgust and pointedly introduces himself to my husband. I’m surprised. I’d forgotten they’d never met. J barely knows this man exists. The last time I’d seen Him was at my sister’s wedding. Since then I’d ended a 10 year relationship, married J and gave birth to G. I was very pleased when I came to that realization. I kinda felt like they hadn’t been tainted by him because of this. I also wanted J to wash his hands after they shook hands, but I didn’t request it. We sit down, I order the quesadilla. I get a quesa-taco contraption instead. It was like a taco shell, with melted cheese in the bottom, then chicken, lettuce, and tomato. What? It was all drippy when I picked it up, and I knew I was going to have to concede defeat of my ‘you can’t fuck up a quesadilla’ theory. He is across the table and down from me, next to my mom. I attempt numerous times to get the fuck over my lameness and start a conversation. But, every time I glance in His direction the noise fills my ears again so I look away quickly to make it stop. I try for compromise and look at my mom. She talks to him and rubs his arm. I roll my eyes. Really? He’s remarried to a woman in a foreign country he’s met twice maybe? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just feel that divorced people shouldn’t be over friendly when one of them was a complete douche to you and your young daughters and has a wife elsewhere. But maybe it’s just me. I pick up G and go to the opposite end of the table to play with my niece. We share G’s books and try to hold a conversation as best we can when one of us is 18 months, one is 11 months, and one is 32. I must say, I did a much better job with them then I did with Him. The end comes too quickly and we all stand to get last pictures and say goodbye. I again glance over at Him, my intentions steeled with the break I’d allowed myself with glorious healing baby talk. The screeching resumes and I give up. I admit defeat. Damn it all to hell! I was so self assured in my ability to be a snotty Adult! How could I have been so wrong? After much lollygagging by my husband for reasons I can’t imagine, as he’s usually looking for any excuse to get the hell away from my family, we finally get home. I call up my brother in law (husband’s brother) and my sister and I go up there for ‘holy shit that sucked way worse than I expected it too’ drink(s) and cigarette(s). I tell them about the newly occurring insanity manifesting itself in screaming noises in my head and my sister starts laughing hysterically. I kinda look at her and she says, “The exact same shit was happening to me.” All righty then. It’s genetic. What I learned; Never go to that sucky ass restaurant again. No time can be spent with Him unless I’m trashed. Let’s just say no time ever ever again and leave it at that. Not an Adult yet. Damn.