The Worst News Roundup Ever Written

The Worst News Roundup Ever Written

I don't know why people apologize for taking breaks from blogging. After all, absence only makes the heart grow fonder, and you bitches need to learn to love me.

So, following an appropriate period of withholding, I am returning at just the right time, much in the way your genital warts resurface when you've met "the one."

For real, though, I know I've been a bit removed lately.

I tried to remedy this situation by showering you with kickass guest posts from some super rad peeps. If my blog stats can be trusted, you actually liked those writers better than you like me, as their stories have been the most viewed in my blog's history. So, I want to thank y'all for that self-esteem booster.

Nah. I'm glad you enjoyed them. That was the whole point. That and distracting you from the fact that I wasn't doing shit here. When I started this blog, I promised myself I'd maintain a posting schedule, and thus far, I've done a bang up job producing regular content, if I do say so myself.

However, I've hinted that the last few weeks have been a particular breed of hell for me, and I've promised you twice now that I'd fill you in on the details. I've also sworn to provide regular(ish) news roundups. I was hoping that y'all would be generous and allow me to mash the two concepts together, because I don't have it in me to write two separate posts right now.

Instead of detailing every news event that I missed in the past few weeks, I'll do a news roundup from my own recent history. Deal?

Okay.

Well, if you've got some hard liquor or Prozac nearby, now's the time to down those goodies, because, truly, some of this shit is going to be straight-up unpleasant, which I know is exactly the phrase you want to see before you dive into this reading adventure.

News Fact 1: My sister, Audrey, who you know best for contracting herpes from her ex-convict husband, (most likely) lied about being drugged and gang-raped.

According to her, she stepped outside her apartment to smoke and met three guys, who she determined were safe because (and I literally quote) "they were white." She had two beers with them and found herself incapacitated as a result of the roofies they put in her beverages. The men dragged her kicking and screaming into her apartment where they proceeded to violently violate her... in front of my 6-year-old nephew.

Actual goddamned tears are streaming down my face as I write this next sentence: In my heart of hearts, I don't believe her. To the very marrow of my bone, I feel like such a shitty woman/human/feminist for even verbalizing that I doubt her. But I do.

Here's the thing(s): She's made false accusations in the past, her story contains holes as gaping as the widest part of the Grand Canyon, her version of events grows more spectacularly dramatic with each retelling, and I've caught her lying about numerous key aspects of the assault.

Maybe I could move past all of that and give her the benefit of the doubt, but my 6-year-old nephew who supposedly saw all of this has contradicted everything Audrey said.

When she reported the rape (at the forcible insistence of her second ex-husband/father of the nephew witness), the Department of Human Services swooped in and took my nephew for counseling. He casually told them that he saw three men put his mother in bed and that the men promptly left the apartment after only a few fleeting minutes. In the clearest of terms, this kid (who has no reason to lie) confirmed the accused rapists' story: They drank with Audrey, she got tipsy, they walked her into her apartment, and they vamoosed.

News Fact 2: Audrey told us about the rape at the same time that she announced she was moving in with her new boyfriend.

Perhaps that doesn't seem like much, but to my evangelical Christian parents, living together before marriage is a B.F.D. And to any normal person, deciding to move in with a new guy three weeks after separating from your second husband is just a bad move. When Audrey told me that she was moving in with Mr. Yet Another Guy, I told her that I thought it seemed rushed. She basically told me that I should be more understanding, since she had just been raped.

I still don't know how I should have responded to that. I just told her as calmly as I could that I wasn't talking about the rape but was talking about a living situation that would be best for her and her children.

News Fact 3: When Audrey realized nobody in the family was excited about her new romantic relationship, she sent my father a suicide message via text.

This was particularly painful for my parents.

Thirteen years ago, my oldest sister told my parents that she didn't think anybody in the family loved her. Shortly after, she aspirated on her own vomit while passed out from drinking too much. The situation still haunts my entire family.

So, we take death seriously. When my parents received Audrey's text, they were hysterical, certain that this was my oldest sister all over again. They called and called and called and called Audrey. They texted her and Facebook messaged her. They were met with silence.

Then they called me.

I used to be a journalist on the cops beat, and they wanted to know how to file a missing person's report. My parents live in France most of the year, and they were there when this happened, so they weren't able to do anything in person. Even though I live halfway across the country from my sister, my parents figured it was better for someone stateside to handle the issue.

So, I called the police, asked for a welfare check at Audrey's apartment, and then proceeded to call every hospital in the surrounding five counties. In the meantime, I sent Audrey several messages via text and social media, saying such things as, "We're worried about you," "We've called the police," "The police are searching your apartment," and "I'm calling the hospitals now."

For four hours, I heard nothing.

News Fact 4: Audrey only responded to me after police tracked down her new boyfriend and told him about the suicide text.

She then sent me a short text, saying, "I'm fine. Leave me be."

Let me remind you that four hours had passed since my parents had told me that they hadn't heard from Audrey. Before they called me, they hadn't heard from her for several additional hours. As we waited for word from the police, my parents (convinced that another one of their children had just died) were contemplating booking airplane tickets back to the states. My husband and I were also searching for the soonest flight back to our hometown in the Midwest.

So, a curt message didn't cut it.

I told Audrey I wouldn't call off the police until I heard her voice.

News Fact 5: Audrey finally called me.

At that point, I was so relieved she was alive that I wasn't even mad. I would have gladly believed her if she had told me that she had misplaced her phone, that she was in a region with no phone service, that her phone had died, that she was in a place with no Internet.

Instead, she told me that she saw all the texts and voice messages and Facebook conversations, but she didn't want to talk to any of us, so she just didn't feel like responding. She then said that I never have loved her enough and told me to leave her alone.

News Fact 6: That didn't go well.

We fought.

News Fact 7: Audrey then left for a vacation with her new boyfriend, and after three weeks of dating, she's already talking about getting married.

I am exhausted.

Perhaps this whole post seems like one gigantic bitch fest, and maybe it is. I feel like I'm just whining at you. I feel like I'm letting you down by not entertaining you with tales of fat vaginas or butt plugs shaped like cat tails. I should be telling you stories about how my parents met a furry at brunch or how my ex-fiance contacted me a decade after cheating on me to see if I wanted to hook up and threatened to eat my cats when I declined his offer.

We can all agree that life would be swell if everything was funny all the time, but this time, Audrey's antics just aren't humorous. I know that I warned you in my first post that because my life is based on a true story, this blog will sometimes be sad. I just didn't want to get to this point so quickly. It's only been 10 weeks, y'all.

But then this happened last night:

My husband and I were discussing whether or not we should travel cross-country for Audrey's anticipated third wedding, and I found myself overcome with emotion. I excused myself to use the restroom, closed the door, collapsed on the toilet, and proceeded to bawl.

A few seconds later, a voice seeped through the door.

Chris: "Are you crying on the toilet?"
Me: "No?"
Chris: "Babe, you've got to stop crying on the toilet. That's just sad."
Me: "Okay. So, where do you suggest I cry?"
Chris: "Um, maybe the bed? Or the couch? It's nice outside, if you want to go on the deck. Just get off the pot, okay? Unless you're actually shitting, in which case, you stay put until you're done."

In that moment, I remembered that I've paid a lot of money to a hypnotherapist who advised me to embrace the cathartic process of writing, and since I wasn't dropping any metaphorical kids off at any metaphorical pools, I got off the crapper and typed this damn post.

Then, as a reward to myself, I turned to YouTube to find the one person who understands exactly what it feels like to face your emotions.

That's right. I sought out Tony Fucking Soprano.

That is what it feels like to share with y'all my family drama llama, whom I've named Pathetic Patty.

But I've done it. I've flushed it out of my system and will follow up with proper hygiene and wash my hands of the whole deal.

Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go binge-watch "Murder, She Wrote." I'm hoping my spirit guide, Jessica Fletcher, will provide me with inspiration on how to off Audrey without casting suspicion on myself.

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Yesterday was Caturday!

Booger is big enough that he can just hide his head in his tummy instead of the proverbial sand. How I envy that fat cat.

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True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. If you were me, how, exactly, would you murder my sister? Seriously, though, how would you do it? Just kidding. Unless I'm not. For real, y'all, if you have any funny stories to share, now's the time. I'm in some desperate need of being cheered up. Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.