7/31/16........AGAIN?!?!

7/31/16

Can we talk about teenagers?  Just for a hot second?

Here’s some information on me:

AF Brat.  Went to 7 schools starting from Kindergarten to Senior.  I now have the most amazing friends EVER!!!  Father, as you know, was super protective:  guns shown (actual shotguns), insults made (go home and take a shower), bouncer like at the front door, etc.  I had a car at 16 which was a present from Deutschland (1973 convertible super beetle—Tabitha).  I learned how to drive her in Shippensburg, PA.  My first job was when I was 17.  At the Log Cabin on Bailey’s Island in Maine, when I was living in an efficiency apartment with my dad.  I was a dishwasher (and a full blown vegetarian) working in a fish restaurant.  I REEKED of fish when I came home.  after a few months I got “promoted” to server…and then that duchebag complained about me “forcing my views on him”…so back to dishwasher and prep-cook (err’one LOVES peeling those intestinal tracks from the shramps!!!).  Then on to working at McDonald’s where I got to use the card of “tell me who your Commanding Officer (CO) is” time and time again.  And trying to get through Senior year in a school where on the first day some dude said, “Jesus, you must be so hot in those clothes!”.  I didn’t realize that Bath, ME was just the same as Shippensburg, PA.  Here’s your gershdern frenchfries jerk face.  Then…Porches.  Brunswick Maine.  

Because at 18 (which I could not WAIT for), I moved out of the house that was loving and caring and meant the word to me, but I needed to “rebel”.  So I did.  And lost RSDI.  And lost EVERY scholarship I gained with that 3.8 (almost kicked out, almost didn’t graduate, said f’you to all the free monies).  I didn’t ask for anything from them.  I got sick.  And thought Menthol cigarettes would heal me.  My rat died because the garage we were living wasn’t warm enough.  My favorite cat (vampire reference, blah blah BLAH) ran away……..and I should have followed him into the woods.  

Become me.  BA in Architecture, living alone, making shit happen.  Because…No one wants to disappoint their parents(?).  Because you never want to disappoint yourself.  EVER.  And at 18 I was making my way to $65,000/yr by placing stickers on CDs and tapes and an efficient manner!  …I had no idea.  

That’s all you need to know about me.

Here’s the other story:

18.  Didn't graduate because there was “too much pressure” from outside forces.  Got kicked out of one home.  Choices of….shelter……..or Panda’s home.  Haven't met the dog, so everything should be ohhhhhhkay!  I gave you a room and space to store your clothes (and a dog bite).  And towels. And said it was okay to “vape” OUTSIDE my house, even though you said you were 18 and you could do WHAT YOU WANT!!  I gave you everything and turned a blind eye.  You don’t have a job.  You don’t have any groceries (stop eating our food!!!).  You’re almost out of toiletries, and then there are the rules that were explained to you before you randomly moved into my guest room.

So here are the rules again:

You will make your bed.

You will buy your own groceries. (ADDENDUM: stop eating our food!!!!!!!!)

You will do your own dishes. 

You will wash your sheets every week.

You will do your own laundry.

Don’t touch my shit.  Ever.

Lock the doors when you leave.

And here’s my question.  Should I have been a part of this decision?  Should someone have sat down with me and said, “I know you never wanted kids, and there was a time that you wanted to foster a 15 yr. old boy, but is this what you really want….right now………..right.  now…..Now.  

And I’m alone tonight with Chris Isaak Pandora and writing stuff, so it seems ok right now.  Maybe.  If you eat ANY of my cheese sticks, Imma punch you in the throat neck.  SRSLY.  You’ve already gotten after my mayonnaise………..Girl got trained by mom who was possibly…nothing (tra-la-la)!!!!!!!!!    

I see you.  Get a job.  Live.  Life.  NOW!!!!!!

7/31/16

This is a venting post.  And you’ve heard it before from me, but SRSLY I need to do it again. 

I.  Am.  So.  Sick.  And.  Tired.  Of.  Your.  Phone.  All y’all.  (I’m included in this too, just in case you thought I was getting up on some horse that was way too tall for it’s own good).  I am tired of hanging out with you and realizing that the device in your hand is more important than the words that are coming out of my face.  I like to tell stories, just as EVERY SINGLE human being since the beginning of time did, and when I’m in the middle of one…you pick up your phone.  When I’m starting one, you pick up your phone.  Just as the story is about to end…f’ you, phone!!!  So, what is it?  What happened to actual human interaction?  Is there truly something so much more important on the other end of that interstellar bandwidth that takes you away from me every time?  Why is it when I explain a scenario that just happened, you have this massive, uncontrollable desire to look at that black rectangular magic maker?  Why is it that at the end of said narrative there is no reaction…because you haven’t honestly heard what I’ve said.  Silence.  And one is left alone in the parking lot, loading groceries, thinking, "Crap.  I was totes just talking to myself this whole time.”  And then you want to reach out and poke the other human in the gut just to make sure they’re real.  Because silence.  And nothingness.  And then frustration.  

No, I don’t need you to drop everything when I walk in the room (JK.  Give me a frackin’ hug, dammit).  No, I don’t need you to stop your business transactions.  No, I don’t need you to halt your life just for me.  But…….guys…..what happened?  Do you remember the website I told you about?  I thought you would really enjoy it…hehloo?  Do you remember the dresses I bought for summer the other day?  I thought you would be excited…hehloo?  Do you remember my tears when I was telling you a story about a child I met, because I thought it was inspirational…hehloo?  Do you remember…me?

Hello?

Irrelevant/Invisible Residence.  I’m sorry, she’s not available right now, may I take a message? 

…(Ps.  she’s prolly writing on a piece of PAPER right now!!!  WHA?!?!?).  Just leave a message.  (eye roll).

Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m 41 and I remember the times of the actual phone.  That one where you couldn’t stalk, stare at, fight with, debate with, “like”, “share”, flirt with, etc. from a box of “anonymity”.  Those times when you were taught that the most important number to know was -911-…BUT!!  Don’t ever dial it until the absolute disaster happens…yea.  Ok, mom.  You know I dialed that just to hear what happened on the other end, right???  …and then profusely apologized to the woman and explained (in a 7 year old way) exactly why I had dialed the emergency number: total mystery on the other side of this mustard colored pushbutton phone hanging on the wall that I can barely reach.  Side note:  first time I was called “hun”.  <3  

Regression.

Ah, shit.  Is THIS why you don’t listen anymore?!?!

Stupid bogs and my rules of not deleting anything that’s not relevant…[HRMPH].

What were we talking about???  Here.  Let me toss in some joke about how stupid I am in order to make you laugh…

Hehloo?

Oh.  That’s right.

The things and stuff happen where plans fall through, people go their separate ways, others get “tired”, dinner fails, drinks out-fizzle, movie dates become single dates, talking…subsides.  Conversation ceases. 

…and I spoke with someone once, in a restaurant and said, “I never want to be that couple over there, not speaking to each other, so thank you!!”  

Life has a weird way of punching you in the face.  Because YOU’RE NOT SPEAKING TO EACH OTHER ANYMORE!!!!!  

Guys!  WTF.  HAPPENED?!?!