October is a time that I allow myself to be frightened of things…a time that I let myself get “the willies”.
A few things that frighten me:
1. The possible combination of peanut butter and mint. Have you had it? No, you decidedly have NOT…and there is a reason…
2. The graphic novel (originally a 4 book run)…Stray Toasters by Bill Sinkiewicz being made into a movie. Live action or animated, I am horrified of what they might do to the disturbing story and imagery.
3. Clowns…which is why I am going to be one for Halloween this year. I hope I don’t throw something at my reflection out of fear or have a panic-attack while putting on my make-up. If I had those “whole-eye” contacts in black or royal blue then it would be all over and I would literally die.
4. Slugs, earth-worms and Annelids in general.
5. Turkeys. Whenever I think I have beaten this fear, something happens involving a turkey that brings it all back.
6. Meth-addicts. Meth Addicts and plastic surgery. Meth addicts with plastic surgery.
7. A broken Hollandaise sauce….the Horror!!!!!
8. Migas with queso poured ontop.
9. The idea of not being able to have clean drinking water. I’ve thought about this and how un-nerving it would be to only have access to water that has the scent of sulfur and and at the very least floating particles and cloudiness. For me the question is not “How long could you live under Zombie Attack?” or “How long would you live in that plane crash in the Andes?”…it’s “How long could you live if you had to pull chunks of hair out of your water.”
10. Finally, plaid patterned jackets that do not line up at the seams. If you cannot afford the plaid Chanel jacket, do not buy something that looks like it.
As I write this I am being handed a decaf and a Tramadol by my mother while I sit in bed....smacked in face by the stark white computer screen while I lounge in the middle of a comfy softly lit guestroom.
This is my home for another month as I recover from hip surgery. My place is two stories...with both full baths upstairs. My Man's is a condo near downtown onthe third floor. Oh, and I have a dog that needs walking. All of this leads to me staying with the fam.
It's amazing how little you can appreciate independance until it is gone. Apparently I am STRONGLY independant and was not really that aware of it.
Now, to be fair, my situation with the parents could not be better. I like them and they like eachother....and we laugh alot...except not about the blog "fiction" I wrote the entry before this. Mom was not amused.
Observations during a convalescence:
1. I have worn heels for so much of my adult life that I literally feel as if I am falling backwards when I wear flats. My pants are all dragging on the floor when I don't have the heels on.
2. I have spent a majority of my life making fun of people in flip flops and going on and on about how "if you wore those to a punk show with liberty spikes in my day, you would have had your ass kicked." My most comfy shoes right now are flip flops.
3. Stairs are a luxury. Being able to run up and down my stairs at my place 6 or 7 times in an evening is nothing. "Oh, I need to get an index card." "Oh, I don't want to wear this shirt anymore...I want one from upstairs." "Oh, I don't remember what I need, but it's upstairs." I simply cannot get up there quicker than a minute or two, and can't carry anything in either direction.
4. I want a coffee. I can make it in the kitchen. I can stand there and look at it, because I cannot carry it anywhere to drink it.
5. Food. See number 4.
6. Intimate adult time....if we are talking about watching a movie on my laptop with my special man friend in the guestroom as my Mom continually drops in to bring snacks and tea...then Intimate Adult Time is perfect. If we are talking about anything else...then it's a bust.
7. Doors are hard to open. If they are heavy at all I have to hop in the way after I fling it open and stop it closing with my body.
8. Children are staring at me. I makes me want to do one of two things. First, I should act like a professional athlete would got hurt and have a great attitude and smile and pat the kid on the head and tell them to take their vitamins. Second I want to smack em in the shin with my crutch and then say, 'Oh NOOOOOO....what did I do?????" hehehe
9. If you pick a fight with your captor you cannot get away. Remember that movie Misery...
10. It's only another month....I'll survive. And as soon as I can put on the crazy shoes....oh, I'm putting them on!
I’m pretty sure that Mike get’s never-ending joy over making fun of my name. I wanted a simple name growing up. I wanted a name that helped me blend into the herd instead of one that instantly made a room of nearly comatose children change into a pack of monsters with fake European accents screeching, “Naaaataaaashaaaaa!”
So far it’s been less than a full week since I’ve been trapped at my parents’ house, and I’m not sure if I can handle another one. It seems to be constant chaos here with the folks and my brother, with my parents trying to entertain me in every waking moment, and with this hobbled leg there is no escape. This morning I called out from the bathroom to say, “Don’t come back here! The door is open and I’m naked because the vent isn’t working and it is a million fucking degrees back here!” Within 2 minutes everyone in the house had come back to investigate. “You said what?” “Do you need more towels?” “You are going to regret shaving there….”
One thing I did learn today is that hatching a plan whilst under the influence of Oxycodone, Tramadol and Roxicet is never a good thing. You’re lying there in bed half-asleep, thinking of something that may be a memory, a dream, something from a movie??? Was is funny or tragic…real or imagined? In this dream/memory there was a troubled family on a road trip in some sort of a chartered bus situation.
A pudding fight ensues. Of course, like all food fights, this ended with everyone exhausted and smiling and steeped in an atmosphere that screamed, “Wow guys! We’ve learned so much about eachother and about whimsy and about happiness! We’ll use this day to go forward in the world and in life with a positive attitude and a new purpose to share with humanity!”
Today’s lunch was the first day I’ve been able to get to the table with my walker….and once there, dripping with sweat and beet red, it was all I could do to force a smile and keep my mouth shut.
Out came the Mac and Cheese. Oh…the horror. I’m a bit of a foodie which is a real real problem when staying with Mom. While all I want is the simple and tasty home cooking I grew up with, now Mom insists on trying to wow me with fancy new recipes with Gastro-techniques that should never be eaten…at home or in a restaurant. Parsnip foam? Chive Gelee? Corn-Beef Puree?
I remember Mom’s Mac and Cheese as a kid…never from the box…a beautiful golden baked gooey triumph! What sat in front of me today was an abomination to all cheeses. “It’s melted blue cheese and Oricchiette pasta. That means ‘little ears’ in Italian…because they look like little ears…the pasta.” “Mom, is that just blue cheese? I mean, it’s ALL blue cheese?” “Yes, why?” “You know, Mom, restaurants add a little blue cheese to a regular melted cheese base for a little flavor punch…not all blue cheese.” “Yeah? Well this one goes to Eleven. Mike that’s from Spinal Tap. It’s funny. It’s one louder. Eleven.”
My timing was perfect. I took a spoonful of the mess and flung it at my Mother’s shoulder where it made a more than satisfying “Schmack!” sound. I then waited for the Happiness and goodwill towards mankind “feeling”.
She shrieked. I guess it was really REALLY hot…and viscous. I quietly thought to myself, “Yes, that one went to eleven.”
“What’s wrong with you! Why do you have to be so awful. We’re just trying to help you out while your leg is healing. If you were married now we wouldn’t have to do this. Why aren’t you married again?” “Mom, you should count her pills…I bet she’s taking too many.” Mike looked and me after he said it and mouthed, “DOOFUS” silently.
Mom cleared the table while crying and sniffling. Once she left the room Mike took a reserved spoonful of the Mac and Trash and flung it into the corner, under the curtain, where it would not be found for days and would then be blamed on me. While I gimped back to my room Mike’s bright orange Croc hit me in the back of the head. I turned back to glared at him and all he had to say was, “eleven…”
I'm a Facilities Designer in Austin, TX. I move between many different circles which range from the old Austin hipster guard, to the science geeks, to musicians and artists, political extremists (all ways), the Godless and the God-Filled, and of course...some Asshats.
I'm open minded.