Permission to vent

I hate my oldest friend's cousin, Sharon. There, I said it. And it felt gooood.

My oldest friend moved to California -- more than 2000 miles away -- to be near her only blood relative. That's how important Sharon is to her. The move has been a disaster, for a variety of reasons that I've chronicled on my blog but simply don't have the stomach to revisit right now.

Anyway, Sharon, who originally encouraged this badly-planned move and was so happy about she wept, has been no support whatsoever to my oldest friend now that she's there.

My friend has had two major surgeries on her elbow this past year, and her cousin hasn't once driven in to see her during her recuperation, much less visited her in the hospital. My friend is depressed and unemployed (well, on disability) and she needs encouragement and support!

Sharon has also refused to watch my friend's troubled daughter, even for a few days, to give my friend a break. I'm not kidding -- my friend has asked her cousin to help with her daughter and Sharon has actually said, "no."

Sure, Sharon goes on the occasional shopping trip with my friend and has her over for a late lunch/early dinner every Sunday. But everything has to be in her neighborhood, which is 90 miles away from Beverly Hills, where my friend lives.
Most telling, I checked Sharon's Facebook page and saw lots of pictures labeled, "Family." My oldest friend and her two kids don't appear in any of them.

I am so sorely tempted to call the bitch and say, "Yes, my oldest friend is a neurotic mess and her kids can be completely awful. But she's your cousin and she needs you! Time to step up! You're not only her only living relative, you're all she has within 2000 miles and you encouraged her to make this move. Do the right thing!"