My mom has been staying at my house for the past several days, and I HAVE to rant a bit. Here are the top ten things I've noticed since Friday:
1. So that she has transportation and shelter during the day, my mom has to drive me to work in my car and unlock my back door for me when I get home. The loss of control I'm experiencing is affecting me greatly.
2. I field complaints about my house being too cold as I eye the front porch door she left flapping open in the winter wind. "It's only a heat pump..." I remind her.
3. There is an inexplicable amount of long hair left in the toilet each day. I'm not going to touch that one.
4. Cigarette butts are stabbed out in the kitchen sink and left to steep in the dishwater and/or sit in the drain catch. She's not smoking inside, so....???
5. Plans for the evening are cancelled because she has had too much to drink and cannot walk without assistance. This really bothers me, and might need to be the topic of another post.
6. Knocking on my bedroom door before entering is a mere courtesy and not really necessary since we’re all family. My naked time is kept at an EXTREME minimum, just in case. EW. And don't get the idea that I clean house in the nude, do jumping jacks in front of my open bedroom window, etc. I'm no exhibitionist!
7. Since neither of us is motivated to cook, we are eating a bunch of junk. By the way, did you know that when you order a bacon cheesburger, fries, and a Whopper combo with Diet Coke(which totals $6.48) at the local Burger King and pay the cashier $6.50, you get $0.08 in change, a chicken sandwich, a Whopper, onion rings and a Coke? I still struggle with lowering expectations sometimes...
8. I keep a running list of items I never expected to touch my couch (e.g. a BK burger patty, a chunk of chocolate cake).
9. I make long personal phone calls to avoid further conversation about life’s transitions and tribulations. Alone time is at a premium...
10. I feel guilty for writing this, and am debating whether or not to post it.
I suppose I’m an impatient, bad son for writing this, but I had to get it off my chest somehow! Despite all of her eccentricities, I love her anyway – but I still hope that she finds a new home soon.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Friday, February 17, 2006
Mon père cool
I realized after talking with my father on the phone last night that I had done something that most gay sons can only dream of doing: I joked about ways that I could still pass on the family name, despite my proclivity for other men. If you use a little imagination, you could probably guess at some of the ridiculous and lewd suggestions – some outrightly vomitous, in my opinion - offered up by both parties, but the importance lies not within the specific topic of conversation but on the simple fact that the conversation took place.
Blessed with open-minded, liberal parents, I remind myself every day of how fortunate I am to be wholly accepted by all of my family members and friends. I feel no shame, nor do I fear what others might think of me. All of this I owe to my parents – and especially my father. As I write this post, I am keeping in mind those sons who, when outed to their fathers, were shunned, excommunicated from the family or church, hated, misunderstood, ignored, kicked out of the house, financially and emotionally cut off, betrayed, beaten, or killed. Oh, yes – it happens; and more often that you think.
Bon courage, mes frères. Someday we will truly be free, but not without hard work and determination. Until then, we are all in my thoughts and prayers.
Blessed with open-minded, liberal parents, I remind myself every day of how fortunate I am to be wholly accepted by all of my family members and friends. I feel no shame, nor do I fear what others might think of me. All of this I owe to my parents – and especially my father. As I write this post, I am keeping in mind those sons who, when outed to their fathers, were shunned, excommunicated from the family or church, hated, misunderstood, ignored, kicked out of the house, financially and emotionally cut off, betrayed, beaten, or killed. Oh, yes – it happens; and more often that you think.
Bon courage, mes frères. Someday we will truly be free, but not without hard work and determination. Until then, we are all in my thoughts and prayers.
Monday, February 13, 2006
La fumée sans feu
I suppose I could have died today. I was participating with my College in a recruiting event specifically geared for honors students and their parents, dressed to the nines, sporting my lovely nametag, making small talk and just selling the University 'til my heart's content. Usually, despite my strong dislike for small talk / party situations, I for some reason excel in these situations. Perhaps because it is rather scripted, and I do not have to make any sort of emotional connection. That could not happen now, even if it was mandatory. I am very closed.
During the "browse session" at the hotel and conference center, where said event took place, I was stationed in one of the meeting rooms along with about ten other representatives from the College, geared up to answer questions about why we did not offer to by the family a boat or send them on a cruise in exchange for their student. It would seem, the way they speak, that this actually happens. Honestly, it is the most bizarre courting ritual I have seen. Nevertheless, we always seem to be able to charm some of the best into a commitment.
At first, our room had the sort of odor gotten from vacuuming up something a little too large or inappropriate (e.g. an electrical cord, a tapestry, a small child, the family dog) - that smell that emanates from the underside of the machine, where once spinning brushes have ground to a halt and caused the motor to squeal in pain and the rubber belt to speed hotly against the still brush cylinder. You know exactly what I'm talking about. We all succomb to vacuum inpropriety at some point. (On a side note, it is especially fun to suck the tassels off of a Persian rug - preferably one not yours.) We successfully played off the smell for about fifteen minutes, chalking it up to burning dust as the heat kicked in for the first time this winter (as if!) or stale faculty farts. "Man, did you smell that one Professor Robbins dropped over there?" I wanted to say. "You might consider a new major... something less poopy."
Just as I had mulled over whether actually saying that would cause a ruckus, I was brought back to the vacuum cleaner odor simile. Dark smoke began to billow out from the ceiling air vents at an amazing rate. The room began to fill with smoke from the top down, and the smell became overwhelming. As the fire alarm sounded, we staff members worked to usher people to the nearest exits in time for the fire engines to pull up in a magnificent show of promptness. I will not digress to talk about the strapping firefighters - use your imagination. The entire scene brought me back to the old "Stop, Drop and Roll" movies we used to watch in grade school. It's true - the smoke really does fill a room in only a few seconds.
Having given up on the opportunity for a free lunch, a colleague and I decided to leave for our offices, just in time to be beckoned back to the building. The ballroom had been vented and was free of smoke, so we sat down to an impressive meal of a mixed greens salad, zesty lasagne, French cut green beans sautéed in butter, soft rolls, and cheesecake for dessert. Bravo, team of chefs! I am sure that all of us will check our smoke detectors before slipping under the covers tonight.
Oh, in case you were wondering, there was an actual fire - on the roof, in the particular heating unit that served our wing of the conference center. Hélas, bad luck follows me!
During the "browse session" at the hotel and conference center, where said event took place, I was stationed in one of the meeting rooms along with about ten other representatives from the College, geared up to answer questions about why we did not offer to by the family a boat or send them on a cruise in exchange for their student. It would seem, the way they speak, that this actually happens. Honestly, it is the most bizarre courting ritual I have seen. Nevertheless, we always seem to be able to charm some of the best into a commitment.
At first, our room had the sort of odor gotten from vacuuming up something a little too large or inappropriate (e.g. an electrical cord, a tapestry, a small child, the family dog) - that smell that emanates from the underside of the machine, where once spinning brushes have ground to a halt and caused the motor to squeal in pain and the rubber belt to speed hotly against the still brush cylinder. You know exactly what I'm talking about. We all succomb to vacuum inpropriety at some point. (On a side note, it is especially fun to suck the tassels off of a Persian rug - preferably one not yours.) We successfully played off the smell for about fifteen minutes, chalking it up to burning dust as the heat kicked in for the first time this winter (as if!) or stale faculty farts. "Man, did you smell that one Professor Robbins dropped over there?" I wanted to say. "You might consider a new major... something less poopy."
Just as I had mulled over whether actually saying that would cause a ruckus, I was brought back to the vacuum cleaner odor simile. Dark smoke began to billow out from the ceiling air vents at an amazing rate. The room began to fill with smoke from the top down, and the smell became overwhelming. As the fire alarm sounded, we staff members worked to usher people to the nearest exits in time for the fire engines to pull up in a magnificent show of promptness. I will not digress to talk about the strapping firefighters - use your imagination. The entire scene brought me back to the old "Stop, Drop and Roll" movies we used to watch in grade school. It's true - the smoke really does fill a room in only a few seconds.
Having given up on the opportunity for a free lunch, a colleague and I decided to leave for our offices, just in time to be beckoned back to the building. The ballroom had been vented and was free of smoke, so we sat down to an impressive meal of a mixed greens salad, zesty lasagne, French cut green beans sautéed in butter, soft rolls, and cheesecake for dessert. Bravo, team of chefs! I am sure that all of us will check our smoke detectors before slipping under the covers tonight.
Oh, in case you were wondering, there was an actual fire - on the roof, in the particular heating unit that served our wing of the conference center. Hélas, bad luck follows me!
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Speak of the Devil
So here I am on another Sunday morning, sitting in front of the computer, wondering what the day will bring. I have taken to intentionally not making plans on Sundays in an effort to “be with myself,” as Anita puts it. Not that I won’t end up calling a friend or getting a call from a friend and going out somewhere, but today is set aside for focusing on myself. Several of my good friends have intimated to me that in this time, I can work on some sort of rediscovery of myself, but I rather look at it like an exploration of what I know is already there.
I have always loved tinkering with computers, and haven’t really done much with mine since a) I moved to my current abode and am again on a shitty dial-up connection (sorry, AOL, it’s not really your fault), and b) I haven’t spent that much time on it lately because I only play games on the Nintendo anymore, and that’s rare. A couple of weeks ago, while I was checking my email and listening to some music to fit my melancholic mood (Boulevard of Broken Dreams – Green Day, fits perfectly now*), my speakers emitted a bit of growly flatulence. “A thousand pardons to you!” I thought. The first outburst was followed only seconds later by a spray of explosive, unbridled speaker farts – the sound being such that I actually turned red at the thought of my neighbor confusing the event with my being on the toilet, begging for mercy and easy cleanup.
A quick check of the cables revealed good connections, although the speakers belched otherwise. The farts turned to sounds more like microwave popcorn, until POP – they actually blew. No one thinks about blowing out computer speakers, and I am just not surprised that it happened to me. Of course, this prompted me to have to run to Best Buy and pick up a new pair – this time with subwoofer – to replace the gaseous, popping ones.
*I really need to download the lyrics and make sure that I have not again mistaken the meaning of the song for something else – I have a tendency to do that.
I have always loved tinkering with computers, and haven’t really done much with mine since a) I moved to my current abode and am again on a shitty dial-up connection (sorry, AOL, it’s not really your fault), and b) I haven’t spent that much time on it lately because I only play games on the Nintendo anymore, and that’s rare. A couple of weeks ago, while I was checking my email and listening to some music to fit my melancholic mood (Boulevard of Broken Dreams – Green Day, fits perfectly now*), my speakers emitted a bit of growly flatulence. “A thousand pardons to you!” I thought. The first outburst was followed only seconds later by a spray of explosive, unbridled speaker farts – the sound being such that I actually turned red at the thought of my neighbor confusing the event with my being on the toilet, begging for mercy and easy cleanup.
A quick check of the cables revealed good connections, although the speakers belched otherwise. The farts turned to sounds more like microwave popcorn, until POP – they actually blew. No one thinks about blowing out computer speakers, and I am just not surprised that it happened to me. Of course, this prompted me to have to run to Best Buy and pick up a new pair – this time with subwoofer – to replace the gaseous, popping ones.
*I really need to download the lyrics and make sure that I have not again mistaken the meaning of the song for something else – I have a tendency to do that.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
The Apocalypse
"This isn't supposed to happen. Something is cosmically misaligned," I told myself, as my face slipped into a position of, "Say it ain't so." But it was so: McDonald's was out of fries. While I've always thought (believe it or not) that if this ever happened, something spectacular and totally destructive (or worldwide anarchy) would follow, all the manger was capable of muttering was a long, drawly "Shiiiit..." Surprisingly, the windows didn't implode, the roof didn't collapse, no one drove their car into the building, the arches did not spontaneously combust, no guns were drawn, nor did a riotous crowd amass and block the doors and break the drive-thru menu. In fact, no one muttered a word.
It seems that when the utterly unexpected comes to pass, there is indeed nothing to do or say - except "Shiiiit..." What I did not anticipate, however, was the latency of the crew's response. Literally two by two, eyebrows were raised as each employee passed the empty fryers. What they were on their way to doing escapes me. How long does it take for a McDonald's to grind to a halt once it is discovered that the signature item was actually available for a limited time only (like the McRib - Hurry in!)? Seventeen minutes. Seventeen minutes later, I walked away with two cheeseburgers, a medium Diet Coke, and a dollar and change more from the partial refund. Amazing.
If the Cheesecake Factory served its last slice, would there be any more patrons? I would definitely dump my spaghetti on the floor in quiet disgust. My McDonald's did not close; instead of "Welcome-to-McDonald's-may-I-take-your-order?" the greeting morphed into "Welcome-to-McDonald's-may-I-take-your-order-oh-yeah-we-outta-fries." I love capitalism.
It would destroy my point to say that the customers continued to stream in and buy tepid meals, sans frites. Let me revise: I love consumers. ;-)
It seems that when the utterly unexpected comes to pass, there is indeed nothing to do or say - except "Shiiiit..." What I did not anticipate, however, was the latency of the crew's response. Literally two by two, eyebrows were raised as each employee passed the empty fryers. What they were on their way to doing escapes me. How long does it take for a McDonald's to grind to a halt once it is discovered that the signature item was actually available for a limited time only (like the McRib - Hurry in!)? Seventeen minutes. Seventeen minutes later, I walked away with two cheeseburgers, a medium Diet Coke, and a dollar and change more from the partial refund. Amazing.
If the Cheesecake Factory served its last slice, would there be any more patrons? I would definitely dump my spaghetti on the floor in quiet disgust. My McDonald's did not close; instead of "Welcome-to-McDonald's-may-I-take-your-order?" the greeting morphed into "Welcome-to-McDonald's-may-I-take-your-order-oh-yeah-we-outta-fries." I love capitalism.
It would destroy my point to say that the customers continued to stream in and buy tepid meals, sans frites. Let me revise: I love consumers. ;-)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
