DATE: 8/02/2002 01:29:00 PM
Living at home is such a drag...
"You weren't supposed to BLEACH it!!"
"I ALWAYS bleach it! What are you talking about?"
"You're messing up my whole system, here."
::Sound of a moist raspberry::
The above is an oft-heard sound in my household: my parents arguing, though somehow managing to argue goodnaturedly and even, at times, affectionately.
I don't know what it is about your parents that makes them cause you such chagrin. It's not like they're the monsters I thought they were when I was a teenager--they've gotten one hell of a lot smarter since I started having to pay some of my own bills--but sometimes...
For one thing, the nagging. Oh, the nagging. I thought my mother and I had worked out a system. We even had a business meeting this week, and she writes me out a list of chores to do. Yet still, the woman just said to me, "Bethy, don't forget to..."
Which I invariably respond to with a disgruntled, teenager-ish, "I know." I often hate myself for doing it but it just gets so irritating sometimes. The most amazing thing about all of this is that I'm the most organized, efficient, detail-oriented, nay, compulsive person any of my friends my own age know. Yet I walk through the doors of my house and it's Beth the Absentminded One, and here's the list of the stuff I still haven't done. It definitely bends my brain around sometimes. I mean, are my parents freakishly organized, or are my friends freakishly disorganized? It puzzles me.
The other thing that gets me about living at home is the Internet. With a twist of delicious irony, my parents still use the AOL software my sister and I campaigned for when we first got the Net, and now both she and I have taken to bugging them to get the broadband connection they argued for at the time. Verrry interesting. My mom also seems to be afraid of the Internet, a little. She refuses to give up the AOL browser, for reasons I don't understand. Just now I was trying to figure out why my enetation links are down, and I said out loud, "Well, K's are down too, so it must be the website." To which my mother responded, "K has a blog?"
"I have a link to it on my blog," I told her, surprised. She reads my blog fairly often.
"Oh, well. Your friends don't want your parents reading their blogs."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Well. They might have private things on there."
That old feeling of impending spontaneous combustion was coming upon me again. "Mom! It's a public webpage!" So, too, apparently, was the teenager voice.
Just now, my mother said of the curtains she was ironing, "These were in Beth's baby room." That wasn't the weird part. The weird part was when my dad howled in a strange voice from his workshop, "Bayyyyyyyybeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!"
I mean...really. One minute, I'm an irresponsible wreck who couldn't balance a checkbook any more than I could balance on a tightrope, and the next it's "Bayyyyyyyyyyyyyyybeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!" Sheesh.
So now my mom's still ironing and my dad is still screeching in his workshop, pausing every once in a while to threaten me with a stirring stick drenched in latex indoor paint. I mentioned to her that I plan to see Signs tonight, to which she replied automatically, "You better go get your tickets early!"