You're not going to believe this, but for once in my life, I actually have time to be doing this. I have all the god damn time in the world. Because for some reason, I thought I'd spend seven of my twelve days off in Cincinnati.
What a horrible idea that's turned out to be. At least my roommates have pot. At home, I can't have a glass of wine without my mother expressing great concern about me being an alcoholic, which I most seriously am not. I know I reference drinking, and I know [it seems like] I feel the need to constantly clarify that I'm not an alcoholic, but I'm not. Seriously. That's all I'm going to say.
But really. In Cincinnati, there is NOTHING TO DO. I went to the cemetery and took pictures. I went to Mt. Storm and took pictures. I went to the specialty food store and bought specialty foods like black rice and Turkish delight. I watched Transformers, dammit. I drove around my old neighborhood. I took another shower. Again. I taught my parents how to use the iMac I bought the for Christmas, and I'm having trouble telling them how dismayed I am by their reaction. It's like the infertile couple who finally got pregnant and was then like 'We really wanted a boy' but maybe in this case it's more like 'We really wanted Vista'.
NO. YOU DIDN'T WANT VISTA. NOBODY WANTS VISTA. I DIDN'T, AND THAT'S WHY I STOOD IN A FOUR BLOCK LINE TO GET LEOPARD THE DAY IT CAME OUT.
I'm a Mac whore. It happens.
Anyhow, I e-mailed Mary on Tuesday night to see if she wanted to get together for dinner tonight, but no response. That's kind of odd, but she had major foot surgery and is still kind of out of work, so I'm not too worried. Maybe I will call her tomorrow morning.
Did I mention the gifts she got me? Because I'm pretty sure that I mentioned what she's gotten me in years past and how I was kind of like 'Euh What?' at those gifts. This year though, a box arrived and I kind of panicked. The last time she sent me a present of that scale, I had to throw it under my bed to hide it from my boyfriend who was emerging from the bathroom. See, my roommate, Andrew, who has been a massive dickweed as of late, was sitting on our sofa, post bong hit, and I was thinking, "If I open this, and it's something weird or lame, he's going to say something and I'm not going to know if I should cry or punch him in the cock." But I just decided what the fuck, he's high and probably not paying attention, I'll just open it.
In the box was: A bottle of Sangiovese, an Eastern European cookbook (because I'm Eastern European and I love to cook, and, further, I'm fucking amazing at it if you want my personal opinion, but the people who consumed the chicken tetrazzini I made completely from scratch a few weeks ago would likely agree), and this nice little scrapbook/family tree type deal. And really, overall, I liked it. It was a good gift. Even if I wasn't crazy about it, and I only mean that in the sense that I didn't go completely apeshit, I understood the thought, the intent, and the effort behind it, and I appreciated it for what it was and what it was meant to be. The only thing that would have made me go apeshit is a Viking industrial mixer. That's just me.
I guess we're finally 'getting somewhere'. One of the advantages to having a mother who was a teenager when you were born is that if you're still young, and I am, you don't have to worry too much about your mother just up and dying. She's going to be around something like another 40 years. I have so much time.
Honestly, the one thing I'm still having trouble getting past, among other things, is the fact that she is really a complete stranger. It's hard for me to...love her...since it seems to be this sort of contextual love. Like she knows me but I don't know her. I also find it difficult to love much of anybody. I recently ended it with this guy because it wasn't going to be a challenge to get his love. He adored me from the first day he met me and would have married me on the spot if, you know, I was batshit crazy or something. So I broke it off. I have to work for it. Also, I can't date people with no spine, and I can't date people who utter the words, "Yeah, I'd date a girl who wanted to save her virginity for marriage." REALLY? Because if my life was a college credit, deep dicking would be a core requirement.
That's all beside the point because I don't plan on deep dicking my birth mother any time soon.
This is why I should only post when I have something to talk about. Not just when I'm bored in Ohio.