The other day my family decided to have a little night out on the town. So, we loaded up the van and headed for the hopping retirement town of Florence OR.
Upon arriving in said town, we made a bee line for the popular pizza joint. Well, not really a bee line. It was more like a 90 degree turn with a half moon on the end of it. We pulled in the parking lot and hastily made our way inside. As could be expected of a Friday night, the place was doing record business (I think I counted eight people inside). Not at all deterred by the throng of late night bingo players, we managed to find one of the 20 unused tables, and promptly doubled the relatively fast pace of the place.
As always when we come to this restaurant, we amused ourselves with the trivia that is provided on the table. You learn all kinds of strange and sometimes interesting facts, be they general (Q: what is a lion ant? A: a bug) or specific (Q: what was Tom Hanks in the movie toy story? A: a cowboy).
After devouring the delicious pizza, we ran out of the restaurant like it was a bad date. Well not a bad date, just an old one. And with making only a few stops to pick up a couple of old guys that we happened to hit and to yell at a chap begging on a corner (it had something to do with getting a job), we ended up at our destination. THE DOLLAR TREE! Yay!
Is there another store whose employs are so creepy looking or so un-helpful? If so then surely it must be yet another dollar tree. What a wonderful store, what a magnificent waste of cash. What a bizarre candy selection. If you asked, yes, this young man’s family’s idea of fun is going to a store where everything is so cheap, that if it is not eatable, it will not make it home in working order. How sad you must think we are. But, as I had said to my mother earlier in the evening, “I would rather think I am smart, than to know I am stupid.” Therefore, I forbid any negative input on this matter, lest you burst my bubble and cast me into “the depths of despair”*.
On with the party; this time to the movie store. As we were running a little behind at this point, we elected two members of the family to enter said movie store (you should see 8 people getting out of a van, when three are in car seats) and rent only movies which ruined anyone working on them, from the producers, to the poor bloke that had to deliver them the hate mail that they got after the movie was released.
As you can see, it is a charmed life I live.
*who ever guessed what this quote is from gets to buy me lunch.
Good evening. Well, not really, (it is, in fact, shortly after noon) I just like to say “good evening”.
That being said, I would like to move on to say that I am in an infinitely happier, and all together better state of mind than in recent (or not so recent) posts. In fact, I would go so far as to say, that I am feeling quite optimistic about the future (mine at least).
Now, on to stuff that actually matters (in truth, I don’t really think any of what I am about to say matters, but if you are reading this I don’t think you are going to care)
First off, as most of you should know (because most of you are readers of my sister’s blog, and only read mine because you are doing it as a favor to her (Yes, I know what’s really going on.)) my sister is getting married an a few weeks. As you can imagine, the whole world is not only revolving around her, it is revolving for her. I find my self driving my sister somewhere, listening to all I did not want to know about Victorian style weddings, what kind of moving van they are going to have to rent to get all their stuff across the country, and how she “just loves all the dresses that the brides maids have” (that last part is suppose to be read in a falsetto voice).
Also, I am unexplainably accumulating jobs (that I am not getting paid for) that involve me doing stuff, for reasons I don’t understand. It does not really bother me to not know why I am doing something (it’s really my life story), but I don’t know why I am doing it.
Anyway, my sister (the one getting married) told me the other day that she was worried that I was not taking my brother-in-law duty seriously. Read this:
Sister: “Rainor, I am worried about you being a good brother-in-law.”
Me: “What’s that suppose to mean?”
Sister: “You know, being a brother to Silas.”
Me: “Look, if he wants to play video games together, I am fine with that."
Sister: *looks at me like I am a dog, stuck in a puddle about half an inch deep*
The up shots of all this (the sister getting hitched and moving away) is that:
1: there will be more room at the dinner table
2: there will be more room in the car
3: there will be more room on the couch
4: I got a really cool new hat
5: I don’t have to wait as long to get into the bathroom
Well, it looks like you could lump 1-3 all together and just say “more room”, but it looks like more things are going to be better the way it is.
Expounding on up shot #4, I got a really cool new hat. It is a black fedora, with a black band, and a really gay feather in it. To understand why this hat is so cool, I have to tell you the story of how I got the suit I wear it with.
A couple of months ago, my sister and I (the one that is going to tie the knot) where in a second hand store, looking at dresses for her. As can happen easily, I got tired of her exclamations of terror, horror, and elation at some of the ugliest clothing I have ever seen. So, in a desperate attempt to save my sanity, I walked over to men’s clothing and took a look a suit coats. I did not need one (I had a decent one already) but I was getting bored with the one I had. Also, I knew a guy that just got a three piece suit, for $45, so I was on the lookout to find a better deal than that, just to rankle him.
Anyway, I was looking at some old coats that seemed to me, to fit a traveling sales man to a T, when I came across a gray, pinstripe, two piece suit. In utter astonishment, I grabbed it, and ran over to show my sister, still exclaiming over ugly dresses. As her eyes laid upon it, her jaw bounced off the clothing rack, off the roof of her mouth, and came to rest on the floor. For a moment she said nothing, then, regaining control of her mouth, said “Does it fit you?”
“I don’t know” I replied “there is no way it could”
“Well let’s try anyway” said she, almost in a wispier, as if someone might see we had a something of value and steal it.
We made our way over to the dressing room, using every bit of concealment we could, lest we find out that an employee had misplaced their personal clothing, and stole into a stall. Moments later I emerged, wearing a perfectly fitted suit, from the pants, to the sleeves, to the chest, it fitted me like bat man fitted those crazy under pants that he wore on the outside of his pants. That is to say, it was marvelous.
As you can see, all that it lacked was a hat, and I had been on watching for the right one. But with wedding fast approaching, I thought I had better do more then watch out for one. It was then that I started my search in earnest. About a half hour later, I had discovered the hat of which I have spoken, in one of those skateboarder clothing stores in the mall, sitting on a hat rack.
It is important to note, that I had also purchased a dark gray shirt, and black tie for the wedding, and that I was wearing them while I was shopping for a hat, so I could see how it would look altogether.
Soon after I had entered the store, and begun to view the hats, one of the ladies who worked there asked me why I was all dressed up. So I told her “I am going to a wedding, and am looking for a hat”. She was very excited that I would be doing such a thing and was very helpful with the selection process.
After finding the hat, I then had to walk to the other end of the mall which, ordinarily, would not have made me happy, except that I had donned my new piece wonder, and now reassembled a 1930s gangster/2009 pimp. Take your pick, but either way, people stared at me all the way to my car. No joke. And it gets even better. I had been have a really good time, right up until I walked out to the parking lot, and got into my 1993 Chevy Corsica. For those of you that don’t know, a 1993 Chevy Corsica is a drug dealer car. As you can imagine that put my fire out pretty fast.
PS. I though you might want to know, the hat cost five times as much as the suit.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Today I walked into the kitchen make myself a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. Upon entering said room, I found my sister. It is not important what she was doing only that she was there.
Anyway, I walked in and discovered the bread knife in drawer where it was suppose to be. With the happiness that comes from something being as it should, I removed the knife from its resting place.
As I did this, my sister, eyeing me with a kind of sideways wariness, picks up one of those all purpose kitchen knifes. Once we had eyed each other thoroughly the following dialog ensued.
Little sister: my knife is bigger. Me: no, yours is only wider. If you were to make them the same height they would be the equal. Little sister: yeah, but mine would hurt more. Me: how do you know that? I think a bread knife would hurt pretty bad. Little sister: Well, if a bread knife hurts more, why didn’t scream use one then?
Along time ago on the other side of the country, I made a promise. It is not a complicated promise with bells and whistle, but an uncomfortable one to keep all the same. What is this thing that causes me to take key board under hand, you may ask. Well, I will tell you the distress that has haunted me for the past two or three years.
Like I said, when I was about nine or ten, I made a promise to my mother. That promise being as follows. I said “Mom, I promise you, that when I turn 18, then I will move out”.
That’s it. The greatest fear I have ever possessed, the sum total of all my worries, the thing I have worked against since I had realized that that day was nigh upon me. I cower away from the thought, I cringe at the mention of it, I curse myself, and my un-understanding childish ways. I am my own worst enemy, and the one I have to consult on what to do.
When I made this stupid promise, I had the same problem that I do now. That is that, I think I will be ready when the time comes. I mean, at the time 18 was along time away. That was the age of tall people, mature people, the age that I would know it all. But the opposite is true. I feel like I am less prepared now than I though I was at ten. It’s kind of disturbing to think that I thought I know more then, than I know now.
I realize that I have a choice. I could do as promised and move out, or I could just pretend that it never happened and do what I really want to do (that is, live at home and be a loser my whole life). But that would do two things that I don’t like to do.
First off, I know the reason that I don’t want to move out, it’s because I am scared. I am afraid of leave what I know. What’s more, I am content here at home. I never understood people that are all fired up to run off and start their own life away from their parents. Also I am lazy. Why should I go out of my way to get something that I already have? I ask myself that question to fool myself into breaking my promise. And if I do not move out, I would prove to myself (if to no one else) that I was a coward.
Secondly, I hate liars. I can not stand a person that dose not tell the truth. So if I were to break my promise and throw away all my cares, I would become which I hate (sort of like the dilemma that Luke Skywalker had if you ask me). I would become not only my worst enemy, but also that which I hate. Kind of interesting is it not? I mean how many people are what they hate, and there own worst enemy, because they tried to help someone.
The more and more I think about it, the more and more I have come to the conclusion, growing up stinks. Its way overrated. I don’t really like the whole grown up thing. And what really makes it so distasteful is that I am being forced into it. I was forced to get a checking account, forced to get a job, forced to get my drivers license.
Its not that I want to be 17 forever, I just I don’t want to have all the responsibility that goes along we adulthood.
I really do not doubt that I will grow up and become a “responsible adult”, and become as boring as the best of them, it’s just, that like being a child.
Just what I was thinking when I woke up this morning. Its kind of depressing, sorry that you read the whole thing. I would fell kind of bad if I made someone even more unhappy than they already were. So if I did, don’t tell me. Thanks.
