I awoke this morning to my mom shouting “HELLOOO!!” through my bedroom window.
“Oh my God, MOM! I’m sleeping! Why are you so crazy?”
“I was born into a family with mental problems…” she utters
“Clearly so was I,” I shout back, “and thanks for the honest answer, but this is way to deep for 7 in the morning.”
For some reason Mary takes this as an invitation to hang out in my room and read the paper.
Unprovoked, she proceeds to read me an article about how her friend’s house caught on fire and San Ramon PD and FD saved her cats Balls and Pumpkin by putting oxygen masks on them and rushing them to ER.
Its like perpetually 1950 in San Ramon.
Oh, and BALLS. Seriously.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
First few Hours....
I spent about 3 hours total with Mary and Dick yesterday:
The following is a tally of what I was told in those few, but fine hours
# of times I was told that Northern Cal is in a water ration so I need to take quick showers: 3
# of times my mom said “well I just don’t know what you’re going to eat,” in regards to my being a vegan: 3
# of conversations about the dog and the squirrel: 2
# of times my mom told me to “don’t walk around like a rag bag.”: 1
# of times I’ve been told to stop swearing: 8
# of times I’ve sworn: 67
# of times my dad has said "its great to have you back.": 4, which I take to mean, "you’re not in rehab, and you’re a way better daughter." Finally, the recognition I deserve.
The following is a tally of what I was told in those few, but fine hours
# of times I was told that Northern Cal is in a water ration so I need to take quick showers: 3
# of times my mom said “well I just don’t know what you’re going to eat,” in regards to my being a vegan: 3
# of conversations about the dog and the squirrel: 2
# of times my mom told me to “don’t walk around like a rag bag.”: 1
# of times I’ve been told to stop swearing: 8
# of times I’ve sworn: 67
# of times my dad has said "its great to have you back.": 4, which I take to mean, "you’re not in rehab, and you’re a way better daughter." Finally, the recognition I deserve.
Monday, August 25, 2008
The Dick and Mary Smith Chronicles
I'm moving from NYC to SF, but first, before I find an apt in SF, I'm making a stop off to live/hang with my parents, Dick and Mary Smith. That's literally their names. And my mom's maiden name is SMITH.
If they were really funny, they would have named me Jane and gotten a dog Spot. Or named me Spot and the dog Jane. Spot Smith. hmm. And named my sister White Girl. White Girl Smith.
So, my parents kick off the excitement of me coming home by calling me and telling me that my bat shit crazy sister has "done something good for herself."
"What'd she do?" I say, already pissed off.
"Guess." my mom says
"What?! This is lame, mom, umm she went to a mental institution?"
My mom repeats what I said to my dad, and I hear them both laugh. "No, guess again," she says.
"MOM! This is stupid, I'm never gonna guess! What is it?"
"She went to rehab."
My sister's really into stealing my thunder, so of course, when I'm going back to live in the area I grew up and be close to my family for the first time in 9 years, she has to drama the fuck out and do extreme things like going to rehab. Whenever my next success is, I'm sure she'll suddenly go blind, or become Mormon or discover a new species.
"Fuck!" I say, "How long's she gonna be in there?"
"Karen, DON'T SWEAR! I don't know," my mom says
"Well find out! We got season tickets together (49ers)! And I want hers!"
"Well, your Dad and I can go with you."
"FUCK!"
Perfect timing to choose to go back to CAL. But I guess there's never a better time, just jump into the fire, New York Style.
Oh, and my parents have DIAL UP! and they live in a retirement community where you have to be 55 and older to live there and my mom said they have to hide me, which oddly makes me feel young, but not free.
Also my mom yelled at me that I can't skateboard in the neighborhood. I feel like Dennis the Menace already, and I hope to god there's a Mr. Wilson in the neighborhood. In fact, my sister's married name is Wilson...hmmmmm. This is gonna be fun....stay tuned
If they were really funny, they would have named me Jane and gotten a dog Spot. Or named me Spot and the dog Jane. Spot Smith. hmm. And named my sister White Girl. White Girl Smith.
So, my parents kick off the excitement of me coming home by calling me and telling me that my bat shit crazy sister has "done something good for herself."
"What'd she do?" I say, already pissed off.
"Guess." my mom says
"What?! This is lame, mom, umm she went to a mental institution?"
My mom repeats what I said to my dad, and I hear them both laugh. "No, guess again," she says.
"MOM! This is stupid, I'm never gonna guess! What is it?"
"She went to rehab."
My sister's really into stealing my thunder, so of course, when I'm going back to live in the area I grew up and be close to my family for the first time in 9 years, she has to drama the fuck out and do extreme things like going to rehab. Whenever my next success is, I'm sure she'll suddenly go blind, or become Mormon or discover a new species.
"Fuck!" I say, "How long's she gonna be in there?"
"Karen, DON'T SWEAR! I don't know," my mom says
"Well find out! We got season tickets together (49ers)! And I want hers!"
"Well, your Dad and I can go with you."
"FUCK!"
Perfect timing to choose to go back to CAL. But I guess there's never a better time, just jump into the fire, New York Style.
Oh, and my parents have DIAL UP! and they live in a retirement community where you have to be 55 and older to live there and my mom said they have to hide me, which oddly makes me feel young, but not free.
Also my mom yelled at me that I can't skateboard in the neighborhood. I feel like Dennis the Menace already, and I hope to god there's a Mr. Wilson in the neighborhood. In fact, my sister's married name is Wilson...hmmmmm. This is gonna be fun....stay tuned
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