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Monday,
April 12, 2004
AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I GOT INTO TEACH FOR AMERICA! HUZZAH HUZZAH HUZZAH!!!! I'M GOING TO HAVE A JOB 1)WITH MORALLY REDEEMING VALUE AND 2)WITH WHICH I CAN FEED MYSELF AND LIVE INDOORS!!!! AIEEEEEE! Okay, more later, when I can restrain myself from jumping around the room squealing long enough to actually type something! Aieeeeeee! - declared by Liusia @ 5:41 PM Sunday,
April 11, 2004
Khristos Voskrese! Voistinu Voskrese! Easter was nice. I spent it with (the maternal side) of my family, as per the usual. Decidedly NOT per the usual, there was no drama, even though my little sister and my niece, Kiki, came over to the farm for dinner. For those of you not in the know, this whole thing with my sister has been a fiasco from the start. The problem wasn't so much that she got pregnant (although that, of course, caused my capital-C Catholic mom and stepdad some serious consternation) but that she acted like such an irresponsible jerk thoroughout the pregnancy. She disappeared several times, running off with various skeezy guys to various cities; failed to get proper health care, even though my mom was willing to pay for it; and then she'd show up on our doorsteps expecting to be saved every time she got in over her head with her illegal and/or dangerous passtimes. Last year, during my spring semester finals, she tried to move into my apartment. I was willing to help her out, but she wasn't willing to take into account a)the fact that I had three roommates b)my insistence that she get a job and not just mooch off me or c)that I was leaving for Vermont in a few weeks. She ended up leaving into the blue again, in a huff, after about a week. During that week, she REALLY disappeared, going missing for days despite leaving all her belongings at my apartment, missing a lunch date we'd set; the kind cop Jessica talked to turned her up at the local homeless shelter, just hanging out, and totally not understanding why I was so worried. Or so angry. Lacking the balls to just kick her out, I let her come back. In the end she took off of her own accord, furiously angry at me for not cooking dinner for a random, really creepy middle-aged homeless guy she'd met in the street and invited back to my apartment. For real. Dude, I want to help the homeless as much as the next bleeding-heart liberal. But I don't want to let unknown men, especially unknown men that wig me the hell out, into my home. The conversation went something like this: intercom: Yo, it's Simba. me: Who the #%!& is Simba? my sister: I told you about Simba! You know Simba! You said I could have him over for dinner. What are you cooking, anyway? me: Simba the guy? Simba the guy you met on the street yesterday? my sister: Yeah. I'm going to go let him in. me: Like hell you are. (sometimes, I fail to quietly diffuse situations that call for quiet diffusion. This was one of those times.) my sister: You said he could come over! me: When the %$^* did I say he could come over? Am I in the habit of inviting over strange men? Do I look like an idiot bimbo from a Lifetime, Television for Women movie? I did NOT invite him over, and I would definitely REMEMBER inviting him over, because I would have IMMEDIATELY THEREAFTER engaged in extreme self-flagellation to punish myself for that kind of idiocy, and the marks would still be visible on my body! my sister: So you're saying you're not going to cook Simba dinner. Jessica: Even if she would, I wouldn't let him in, and I live here too. my sister: It's him or me. me: This is stupid. my sister: It's him or me! me: But that's STUPID. my sister: (glare) me: This is stupid. No. my sister: Then I'm leaving! (throws all her belongings into duffels, ranting. Leaves.) me: This is stupid! (cries) Of course, considering that she hit my mom with the telephone when she left my parents' house, I guess I got off easy. Yeah. So it was a major step in the right direction to have a nice family dinner with only one incidence of screaming: the baby Kiki, after she wet her diaper. My mom and I actually got into one, and exactly one, argument. It was over which Steve Martin movie is best. I said The Jerk. Mom (inexplicably) said Father of the Bride. Naturally this required heated debate. Heh. Pax vobiscum, y'all. - declared by Liusia @ 11:17 PM |
