- Joined
- Sep 20, 2016
I think he does want to work—it's the one thing he seems to be able to derive anything resembling genuine pride and self-esteem from. Every time he gets a job (or at least one he can feel proud of having), he boasts about it, and how well he's doing.
But he quickly grows resentful of having to take orders from someone else; he's incapable of taking criticism; and he loses his shit when things don't go right. And, unfortunately for him, his skills as a cook—and just as a human in general—are low enough that he's always going to be easily replaceable by somebody who doesn't fly off the handle, or start thinking he's King Shit who should be running the place just because you praised him for doing his job acceptably well.
What the film (which I haven't seen, though I saw the original) did was embody Polissa's fantasy of how she ought to be treated by her family. It's a fantasy she's had floating around in her head all along. And it isn't so much that the movie showed Polissa how things might be, but rather gave her an example of how she believes things (at least regarding how others treat her) ought to be. She's known this all along, and the movie, to her, is just confirmation that she's right.
According to a synopsis of the film, it's the bride's mother from the original film who is having the big, fat, Greek wedding, which is essentially a vow renewal to her husband of 50 years. She goes full Bridezilla about finally having Her Big Day, that she didn't get to have 50 years before, and the entire family pulls out all the stops to make it everything she wanted, even though there's a recession going on and the family is in tight financial straits.
The geriatric, temperamental bride, and all of her wedding drama, is the center of everybody's attention for weeks on end, with everybody else focused upon her desires and her happiness—which pretty much sums up how Polissa really wants to be seen by her family, and why she gets so indignant when they don't pull out all of the stops for her on her Big Days—namely, her birthday and wedding anniversary (and, being a Narc, it's her anniversary).
That the wedding in the film was being prepared for a beloved matriarch who had worked hard all her life to run the family businesses and take care of her kids and grandkids, and who had recently suffered some setbacks, was, of course, totally lost on Polissa. And this was a woman who pulled out all of the stops for her daughter's Big Day in the original movie, because she wanted things to be perfect for her—but since when has Polissa ever done that for anybody else?
Polissa wants the big celebration of herself, but putting in the time, labor, and love to celebrate anybody else? Oh, no, that's for other people to do, because she's poor and disabled, and therefore exempt from having to do any of it, including the things that cost no money and require little effort.
Cat piss crystals are incredibly hard to clean up. They don't dissolve easily in water, you have to scrape them up, and even then it's a tough job. If they're on a plywood or MDF subfloor, forget it—they will remain within the wood fibers, and your choices are to either (ideally) replace that part of the subfloor, or remove as much as you can before sealing the shit out of it with a solvent-based varnish.
The worst example I can recall was when I was a spay/neuter clinic volunteer for a local shelter. On Feline Fix Days, when we'd do 40-50 cats for low-income county residents, part of the job was to clean out each cat's carrier and make sure they had sufficient clean bedding so they could recover post-op in their carriers. Some carriers were seriously filthy, especially when it was a barn cat from rural parts of the county (A lot of them came in filled with straw, and I found bird parts, mummified whole mice, and even a mummified chicken head in one).
One such barn cat arrived in a carrier that was very dusty but didn't look too bad—until I pulled the clean-looking towel out and saw the underside was spotted with thick, dark amber fluid. The entire inside bottom of the pink carrier was dark amber-brown, covered in a thick layer of accumulated, crystallized cat piss, and there were traces of still-wet piss on the top of it, which had soaked into the towel, which the owner had put into the carrier that morning on top of the whole mess, completely oblivious to it.
I don't know how long, or how much piss it took, to build up a crystallized layer 1/4" thick, but god damn, there it was, and solid as concrete. I sprayed that thing out with Rescue, let it sit for 10 minutes while I cleaned other carriers, and when I came back it hadn't budged. I got up some freshly-wet stuff off the top layer, but the rest was just a brick. I had to run downstairs to Facilities to borrow a putty knife—and not a thin one, but the thick kind with a chisel edge—to break that shit up, and it was work.
It took me a full half hour to get it broken up, scraped out of the carrier, and the carrier properly clean and ready for its occupant, a massive tomcat who came off the table just as I finished. I gave him a clean towel from our stash, and tossed the one he arrived with.
I saw his owner at the end of the day, when I was helping with check-outs. He was a scrawny, beat-up looking old man who reeked of cigarettes, but his face lit up like a Christmas tree as I brought his cat out. God bless and keep him; the man loved his cat and drove in from over an hour away and hung out in the city for ten hours to do the right thing and get him snipped. But that carrier, man—that was something else, and I will never forget it.[/spolier]
One such barn cat arrived in a carrier that was very dusty but didn't look too bad—until I pulled the clean-looking towel out and saw the underside was spotted with thick, dark amber fluid. The entire inside bottom of the pink carrier was dark amber-brown, covered in a thick layer of accumulated, crystallized cat piss, and there were traces of still-wet piss on the top of it, which had soaked into the towel, which the owner had put into the carrier that morning on top of the whole mess, completely oblivious to it.
I don't know how long, or how much piss it took, to build up a crystallized layer 1/4" thick, but god damn, there it was, and solid as concrete. I sprayed that thing out with Rescue, let it sit for 10 minutes while I cleaned other carriers, and when I came back it hadn't budged. I got up some freshly-wet stuff off the top layer, but the rest was just a brick. I had to run downstairs to Facilities to borrow a putty knife—and not a thin one, but the thick kind with a chisel edge—to break that shit up, and it was work.
It took me a full half hour to get it broken up, scraped out of the carrier, and the carrier properly clean and ready for its occupant, a massive tomcat who came off the table just as I finished. I gave him a clean towel from our stash, and tossed the one he arrived with.
I saw his owner at the end of the day, when I was helping with check-outs. He was a scrawny, beat-up looking old man who reeked of cigarettes, but his face lit up like a Christmas tree as I brought his cat out. God bless and keep him; the man loved his cat and drove in from over an hour away and hung out in the city for ten hours to do the right thing and get him snipped. But that carrier, man—that was something else, and I will never forget it.[/spolier]
over twenty years! [basically since she got the yeast infection]
