So I’m in my mom’s room talking with her tonight, and she says, “What’s Milo doing?” I said, “Oh, he’s in his room memorizing a speech.”
“You know…your father and sister are real anxious for him to move out,” she said.
I knew it. I knew it! Didn’t I say it was the two of them!?
I said, “Of course they are! And you know why, don’t you!?”
I explained it to her. She didn’t deny the possibility. They are trying to push me into depression and insanity, and at the same time, by doing the same thing, they are trying to eliminate my ally.
I finally realized what it reminds me of (besides that children’s book I read in 4th grade—Wait ‘Til Helen Comes). It reminds me of the story in the Bible about Jacob and Esau (with a complete gender role reversal).
Jacob’s mother wanted him to have the father’s blessing instead of Esau. She wanted him to have everything, and she helped him plot to ruin Esau, and for what reason? Just because he was older?
I’m telling you; there are conspiracies and dirty work afoot in our house. I suspect my dad is the one who turned the thermostat to emergency heat; I suspect him of turning off the Christmas lights on the house; I suspect him of stealing the $60 from Brother’s wallet (which he keeps out in the garage). He does all of these things in order to blame Milo (or sometimes me, just for the fun of it). I’m sorry, but that is how I feel.
On the one hand, it makes me feel sort of…sick…but on the other, why should I care? I’ll be gone soon.
No…I care because my mom and my brother still have to put up with it; and there’s nothing I can really do. The only way I can protect myself even is by leaving.
I saw an article the other day in USA Today about life expectancy in America being the highest it’s been…I think ever. Something like…76.7 years, average. For women it’s about 80 years.
So…on Saturday, my life will be approximately one-quarter over. I guess I’m experiencing my quarter-life crisis, or something. I felt sort of panicked when the idea first hit me…I wanted to run and jump around, do something, because standing there thinking didn’t seem to be productive enough. I felt like I was wasting precious moments, and that, all of a sudden, I could feel all twenty years of my life, and I could see every instant of them all at once, I could sense their being there, I could feel exactly how long it had been and how long twenty years lasted, and I could feel that multiplied times four and see my life at its end…it was a weird sensation.
And now for something completely different….
I need to talk about some cheery stuff, here.
The other night, I came home from work and told my mom about discovering Patrick’s name, and she said, “Well, that is a Cornish Pixie—well, no, that’s more of a Shamrock Pixie name, isn’t it?” And then we both just started giggling; it was hilarious. I asked, “And how many glasses of wine did you drink?” which just made us laugh even harder. It was really great.
Speaking of Cornish Pixies (that, by the way, is how Tinny and I have been referring to all the Brits going through our line), tonight this guy came through my line who had this whole Gary Oldman look to him. I don’t know how to explain that, exactly…the casually elegant style of clothes, his short, graying dark hair, his goatee…he looked like he was about 45 years old, and just had that look to him.
Well, anyway, he was standing in front of me, and he said something that I didn’t hear, so I said, “What was that?”
He said, with an English accent, “Could I have some carrots, please?”
And I said, with an English accent, “Ohh, carrots.”
I didn’t mean to speak in the English accent. I seriously didn’t mean to. It just came out of my mouth. I was astonished; I hope that Bizarro Gary Oldman either did not hear, or at least did not think that I was making fun of him.
At any rate, he was very polite and friendly and…well…um….
As much as I go for the older guys, I can’t say I’ve ever been seriously attracted to one who wasn’t famous. Not that much older. I mean, I don’t generally go walking around looking for men in their 40s and up; I’m normally checking out the ones around my own age. It’s just happenstance that I always like the older ones.
Anyway…I was seriously attracted to this guy. Like, really. Is that disturbing? It’s not like I’ve never been attracted to a 40-something-year-old before…just never one in this close proximity. And…wow….
Okay, I’ll change the subject now. So a total of four Cornish Pixies (including Patrick) came through our line tonight. How great is that? Then there was this other guy that I could have sworn said something with an English accent…and when I looked up at him, he was wearing British-y clothes, and then Tinny leaned over and said, “Is he a Cornish Pixie?” and I said, “Yeah,” because he had to be, right?
So I looked at the guy and said, “Are you in the play?”
He looked me in the eye and said, “What? What are you talking about?”
I said, “Oh…well, never mind, then….”
See, a group of actors are here from London to perform Othello. That’s why there are so many Cornish Pixies about.
Anyway, I said, “I guess he wasn’t one. And I was so sure that he was!”
Tinny said, “Yeah, so was I!”
Later, said guy walked by to a table, and as he was passing us, he turned and gave me what I swore was a sly smile. I turned to Tinny, alarmed, and said, “I think he is a Cornish Pixie! He’s an actor and he’s just messing with us! Come on—we both heard the accent! We both saw the clothes!”
Never found out for sure, though.
This just in: TiNY tells me she found a note we had written during class. I was apparently being silly as usual while she was really trying to tell me something. She had written, “Guess what!” I said, “Wait, let me guess: I wrote, ‘Chicken butt.'” TiNY said, “You know yourself all too well.”
Tinny and I (and Jasper, and even Glen in his absence) celebrated our birthdays in the café tonight. Bob made us a cake, and Cort and Drew and Frank and almost everybody who worked there, it seemed, came over to sing to us. It was hilarious—“Happy birthday, dear TeshuraGinnyJasperandGlen….”
And then they told us to blow out the candles, and we both took deep breaths, leaned wayyy over….
And then it seemed the entire cafeteria yelled out, “NOT OVER THE FOOD!”
We were like, “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” And we stepped to the side a bit.
Combining both our efforts, we were able to blow out, in one breath, a total of four of the five candles on the cake. Go us.
We also got candy and hilarious birthday cards signed by all our work buddies.
Oh! And Bryan has been re-hired! Callooh! Callay! (I would link to the “Save Bryan!” entry, but, whatever. He’s back.)
And I think that’s enough news for one night!