My Fucking Mother Flipped Out

All I wanted to do was get a Coke from downstairs.  With My Father taking a shower, I could smuggle up a Coke to my room without him admonishing me.

Too goddamn bad for me that I was ensnared -- ambushed even -- by My Fucking Mother.

"Come here, I want to talk to you," she said, innocently enough.  She's been good lately, not batty like Father.  She showed me a letter from my parents' accountant about renewing their limited-liability company's license in Minnesota, and he billed them $300.

Then, here comes the boom: After we went back-and-forth about how long the license was renewed, a silly questions since it didn't matter and, more importantly, she didn't look at the date correctly and saw it was for two years instead of one, she finally came around to what she wanted to do, which was yell at me.  She was angry at me for not being on top of renewing the license.  And then she really started to insult me: "Talking to you is like talking to a baby!"

Usually after such a gutless comment like that I would just let her have it.  Unlike My Fucking Father, who seems to have his spats every other day, My Fucking Mother usually holds it in until it comes bursting out in an avalanche of threats and shit-talking, and I try to match her intensity, especially since she holds a grunge even worse than My Fucking Father.  But given the poor situation I am in, I just had to shrug and stumble away to Father, who also wanted me to do something.  I guess she ain't talking to me for the next month.

I felt my blood boiling only once when My Fucking Mother was berating me, when she called me a baby.  The rest of the time I was stunned, maybe even confused.  As I was laying upstairs trying to catch the first episode of Scandal I've ever seen (and to see what the hubbub was all about -- OK, I can see the show has potential), I was thinking.  I told My Fucking Mother that the fee was going to be the same whichever state they incorporated in, a point she seems to be angry with me for.  I have no idea about that, but I was worried about something else when I looked up Minnesota license fees online: Turns out that the reinstatement fee is a lot more expensive than a renewal fee.  However, assuming that you can renew for two years, and that the license lapsed all the way back to 2008, and that the renewal rate is ... wait a second ... oh, fucking Christ, never mind, it's a hell of a lot less than $300.

I wasn't aware.  OK?  I was not aware that the Minnesota license had to be renewed.  Some day several years ago My Father and I just went to some place to set up a corporation, and that's it.  Yes, I have done the same thing to corporations that have established in Nevada, and I was always aware that they had to pay money to renew there every year.  Should I have thought the same thing had to happen here?  I guess so.  But I didn't.  Why?  I'll trot out the excuse that real estate ain't my fucking business, and it's wholly goddamn unfair that My Fucking Mother thinks I should be on top of it.

On the other hand ... I feel a little guilty for not being on top of it.  My Fucking Mother says it was one thing she entrusted me to do.  And because I "forgot" about renewing for about four years, my folks now have to pay $300.  I didn't mean to make her pay $300.  This is all foreign to me, this corporation stuff.  And I don't think they were using this license until the thing with The Store.

There are a lot of things my parents tell me that I forget.  With this flap I reminded of another: Instructions My Fucking Father told me to write down regarding ... something about another corporation.  I wasn't told to do anything right away; if so, I would've bitched and complained and then I would've done it.  But it has been sitting in my hip pocket since I wrote it down.  Actually, I don't really know where it is now, but since last night I guess it's important.  Hell, it might have something to do with what My Fucking Mother was talking about.  And if so, that was, for lack of a better word, a warning sign that I missed.

When My Fucking Mother gets into these bad moods, she can get so angry that she can actually plan something -- in this case, because I'm "useless" to her, she probably is thinking up ways to get me to leave the house for good.  I've been up for a half-hour now completing this blog post with my parents working just outside the bedroom door.  I have no idea what's in store for me once I walk out.  No fucking idea.