Shrug

Mom's friend: So, what are you working on now?
A.: [Explain what I'm working on]
Mom's other friend: She's all grown up.
A., not out loud: [Ya think?]
Mom: Yes, she's always done her own thing and come out okay... except...
A., to Jay: I know what's coming: she can't talk about my career without talking about how my degree in psychology was a complete waste and big mistake.
Mom: What?
A.: Psychology.
Mom: Yes! Exactly! And do you know how much that degree cost??
Dad: [Says a few things in defense of the field of psychology]
Mom's friend: Do you think it's helpful to what you're doing now?
A.: Absolutely.
Mom's other friend: Really?
A.: Absolutely.

***
Earlier, when mom has me try on various thing she bought at an estate sale

A.: Eh.
Mom: You need to go on a fast.
Jay: You need to get this taken in here. [Pause] Could I be more your gay husband?

***
One of mom's friends is really, really annoying.

Mom's annoying friend, indicating a New Yorker cartoon: When you have a minute, would you explain this drawing to me?
A.: It's a NYer cartoon; you're kind of supposed to not get it.

later

Mom's annoying friend's wife: I still remember, many years ago, you were packing for college, and your mom tried to convince you that one box of something would be enough...
A.: Now it's so the other way around. She's constantly trying to stick me with crap.
Mom: You make me want to vomit.
A.: [Shrug]
Mom's annoying friend: What's changed?
A.: I've learned that less is more. I don't want to fill my house with crap.
Mom's annoying friend: You should have bought a bigger house.
A.: [Shrug]

Storagegate

I opened the door to the hall closet area, in search of some cookies to put on the table for tea.

Jay: What the shit?? Every door in this house opens to more storage! There was a hallway but they turned it into storage.
A.: C'm'ere, you have to see this...
Jay: I'm afraid...

[A. opens another door]

Jay: What the f*???
A.: I know, right? Did I show you the dog food? Follow me into the kitchen.
Jay: [Shrug] At least she only spent seventy cents on it.
A.: Let's take a trip to the basement...

Jay: Is this the Seige of Leningrad all over again?
A.: I know they lived it, but it's time to move on.

I don't mean that meanly. I know it sucked. But it really is time to move on.

anyone else want to add their two cents?

Mom insists that I try on a blazer.

Mom: You're fat! You should fast!
A.: [Shrug]
Mom: I fit into that not ten years ago.
A.: [Shrug]

***
later

Mom's friend: You know what it is? Your face is rounder. There's more stuff around your face.
Mom: Not just around her face!
Mom's friend: Yeah. You've gotten more solid. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Cold, unfeeling...

Mom: I'm calling the ___s.
A.: [Sigh].
Mom: They're wonderful people.
A.: I'm not disputing that. I'm just tired.
Mom: They love you.
A.: Mom, it's not personal; I'm just not up for a big social gathering. I actually thought we were in agreement on that.

Five minutes later

Mom: Oh, we have so much food. I'm calling the ___s too.
A.: [Sigh.]
Mom: They care about you.
A.: Mom. I have nothing against your friends. I care about them, too. I'm just tired.
Mom: I'm more tired.
A.: It's not a contest.
Mom: They're wonderful. All our friends love you, for some reason.
A.: They're entitled to their feelings.
Mom: You're such a jerk. I would be grateful.
A.: I am. I just don't need to see them all tonight.
Mom: You're so cold, unfeeling, [word I don't know], [other word I don't know].
A.: What does that mean?
Mom: It means... you think you know everything better than everyone else.
A.: What does that have to do with anything?
Mom: I know you'll fight me on this, but you're just so harsh and without warmth.
A.: Why would I fight you on this? When have I fought you on any accusationsagainst my character? It's not worth my breath.
Mom: Fine! Be that way.
A.: I am.

I got a 'Hagrid Hair'

Mom: Your hairstyle... it's like that guy in Harry Potter.
A.: What guy in Harry Potter?
Mom: The one with all the hair.

Saturday morning

Mom: What time are you getting back?
A.: I don't know. Do you need me back at a certain time, before [family friends] get here [at 5ish]?
Mom: No. But what time are you getting back?
A.: I. don't. know.
Mom: Why the tone?
A.: Because you've asked me already, and I've answered the question.
Mom: Why don't you know?
A.: Mom!
Mom: I don't understand why you can't decide right now what time you'll get back.
A.: Because I don't want to operate my weekend hike on a schedule.

***
Mom: I don't understand how he knew.
A.: ??
Dad: She's talking about the movie.

We watched "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" last night. The only way I was going to watch it and get it back to Netflix was to bring it here. And I thought my parents might enjoy it.

Mom: The father. How'd he know the baby was going to age backwards?
A.: He didn't.
Mom: He knew something.
A.: He knew the baby was ugly/funny-looking.
Mom: All babies are ugly/funny-looking.

At least she's consistent. She has told me that I was hideous as a newborn.

A.: Most don't make you recoil. There was clearly something not right about this one.
Mom: I think he knew.
A.: Okay.
Mom: And how did he know where to take him?
A.: He didn't.
Mom: I think he did.
A.: I'm not going to argue with you about your interpretation, but I also can't explain it to you.

I'd somehow forgotten the realities of watching a movie with my mother. There were lots of "why" questions during and after.

***
Mom: I got some great dishwashing liquid at the dollar store. I bought several bottles--I can give you some to take home. Oh, wait--you can't carry them on.
A.: Thanks, but I'm not going to travel with dishwashing liquid in any case, mom.
Mom: I don't know what you do without all these great stores.
A.: [shrug]

I did not say:
(1) pay thirty cents more for less watered down dish liquid;
(2) buy dish liquid on sale at one of the many stores within walking distance;
(3) get in my car to drive to the dollar store to pay a dollar for dish liquid.

***
Early yesterday

Mom, extending a slice of peach: Here, try this.
A.: No, thank you.
Mom: Just try it.
A.: I don't want it, mom.
Mom: What's the harm, just try it!
A.: (1) I'm stuffed; and (2) I just brushed my teeth.
Mom: Big deal! Brush them again.
A.: I don't want to eat anything right now, much less something that's going to taste like toothpaste.

Last night, after dinner

Mom: Have a peach!
A.: No, thanks, mom.
Mom: What's wrong with peaches?
A.: I'm just really full. I might have one later.
Mom: They're good.
A.: I believe you.

heard ya the first few times

Dad: You look less tired than you did last night.
Mom: But she has gotten very solid.
Dad: ??
Mom: You know--she used to be very thin, and now she's solid.

later

Mom: What is with your stomach?
A.: I had a meal. My stomach expands when I eat.
Mom: [Shakes head in disbelief]

still solid after all these years

Mom: Have you... put on weight?
A.: [Shrug]
Mom: You've gotten... solid.
A.: Solid?
Mom: You know... solid. ["plotniya" was her exact word. The literal translation is something between "solid" and "dense"]. I mean, you used to be thin. And now you're solid/dense.
A.: [shrug]

Friday afternoon roundup

More on what some language have to express. I don't know whether y'all checked out Ian Frazier's article about Siberian prison camps, but he talks about the animism he sees in the Russian language. I don't know if it's that, but he has a point: it's a very active language. Nothing's over "done," really; a more common construction is that a pro-dropped 'they' do whatever it is. But animals do get genders, usually, and you would say, about an insect, that "someone" rather than "something" bit you.

Alas, as suspected, Christwire is satire. That only makes it slightly less hilarious.

Crisis: a gallon of milk

I got some milk this morning--we stopped at the market after our walk--and I'm still hearing about it.

We were in the checkout line when she first noticed it. I mean, she knew I was getting milk, but she balked at the size.

Mom: That won't even fit in the fridge!
A.: Sure it will.
Mom: It will put too much pressure on the shelves!
A.: What??
Mom: It's too heavy.
A.: Your year-old, state-of-the-art fridge can't handle a gallon of milk?
Mom: What are you going to do with so much milk?
A.: Make oatmeal. Besides, I'm not the only one in the house who drinks milk.

We got home. I put it in the fridge.

Mom: You're going to break the shelves!
A.: No, I'm not.

Periodically, every time she opened the fridge, mom would say, "I can't believe you got that much milk! Why get so much milk??"

Then, mom noticed that it was 1 percent milk, and all hell broke loose.

Mom: What? I'm going to spill it down the drain!
A.: Could you let it go, mom?
Dad: You were going to take a nap, T.
Mom: Can you imagine the level of derangement that one must attain to be drinking reduced-fat milk??
Dad: Would you stop slamming other people's taste? If she likes it, let her drink it.
Mom: She doesn't like it! She drinks it because it's politically correct! [continues to rant as she walks away]

there's more

me (on IM): so be on the lookout for gargantua when you pick me up tomorrow
have to go in a minute, volunteered to sweep the yard

mom: is he picking u up?
a.: yeah
mom: how are things with his boyfriends?
a: boyfriends?
mom: I mean boyfriend, whatever
mom: I meant boyfriends in general
a.: I don't think he has one right now
mom: oh, well. lots of people don't have a boyfriend.
mom: do you?
a.: no
mom: do you know why? you're very business-like. you emit no warmth.
you're all seriousness.
Jason: You are very serious.
mom: you're not warm, and you think you know everything better than everyone else, which is very intimidating.
a.: did you find me the broom, mom?

early afternoon madness

We're having coffee. Mom asks whether we should go for a walk, asks whether it's going to rain. She turns on the weather channel, and then continues to try to talk about something else.

A.: Mom, I can't hear you over the TV.

Mom takes a few minutes, trying two different remotes, to turn it down. It's still kind of screaming. The commercial ends, weather comes on, but I still have no idea what the weather is going to be. I get up and check accuweather, and see that Jay has IM'd me about plans for tomorrow. I tell mom that the rain is supposed to start at 5pm, and write back to Jay. The phone rings.

A.: Mom, it's [your timeshare]. Do you want me to get it?
Mom: A., would you get the phone?

Meanwhile, the TV is screaming. I get the phone. I ask mom to mute the TV. It's still screaming.

A.: Hello? Hello?

Mom finally manages to mute the TV.

Mom: That phone doesn't work.
A.: How was I supposed to know? [and why is it still there??]
Mom: Check the caller ID.
A.: It's [your timeshare].
Mom: A.! I needed to talk to them!
A.: Well, I didn't know the phone didn't work!
Mom: I guess I'll call them back. Here, hold the coffee.
A.: Um? Could we put it down?
Mom: It's hot.
A.: ??
Mom: Just hold it.

Mom: Okay, it's fine.

***
Meanwhile

Jason: You there?
me: hey
Jason: What are you thinking? Hike? Ice cream?
me: sounds good
blue hills?
Jason: Sure. Prolly in the afternoon so the storm passes?

me: sorry. coffee making crisis
blue hills or did u have something more exotic in mind?
Jason: Well I had thought Monadnock but I think it'll be too wet and too much bother. Blue Hills is good--we can choose our duration there.
me: Monadnock's cool too. whatev.
see, you're a bad influence on me
Jason: Why??
me: "whatev"
Jason: Oh, please. Whatev.
me: anyway, if Monadnock is the hotness...
Jason: I think it'll be the muddy wetness
Jason: Moisture is the essence of wetness
me: LOL
altho lately it's been all about TBL
i.e., to Gracie, "That rug really holds the room together!"
or, "...if you're not into the whole brevity thing." (that one came up at work)
I don't love the Coen brothers
excellent writing but something about the characters just doesn't quite hold it together
altho--have u seen Burn After Reading?
it's always fun to watch something that takes place in DC
but I was ROTFLMAO when BP's character called JM's character in the middle of the night and said, "we have your $hit. we have your secret $hit."
and so on
Jason: Ah. Lol
I really did just chortle out loud
me: btw, my mom's confusion about how you could possibly be single--because you're such a nice guy, with the newly added 'don't you have clubs and stuff'--had me chuckling for days.
Jason: That is funny. I was telling my one gay, jewish quasi-friend about how your mom's more interested in my love life than I am.
me: lol
Jason: He was like, you know how Russian Jews are...
me: well, you do.
I could use a yenta about now.
Jason: Oy vey.

W.T.F.??

Shortly before leaving for our walk

A.: Mom, why do you have dog food?
Mom: Where? Oh, that's dog food? It says "lamb stew."
A.: For dogs. See this silhouette of a dog on the label?
Mom: I don't know where it came from.
A.: It came from... Building 19.
Mom: Oh. [Shrug]. I didn't know it was dog food.

Friday morning

Mom finally sits down to breakfast.

Mom: You haven't even showered! Don't most people shower before eating?
A.: I don't know what most people do. I don't shower and get dressed until I'm ready to leave the house. Why shower only to get sweatier, or get dressed just to get food stains or cat hair on your clothes? I stretch, have breakfast, read the paper...
Mom: New York Times? That's the worst paper there is.
A.: ...
Mom: If you lived in Russia for a minute, you would understand.

Mom launches into a really long story about how she took a computer class, which led her to this job, which led her to another job, in which she really understood how government has no role in the economy. The market functions best when left alone.

A.: Most of the time. Have I not been railing against farm subsidies for over a decade? But when the economy needs jolt...
Mom: No. This is socialism! The unions! The corrupt local governments!
A.: The latter two are not unique to the last couple of years.

Anyway, this goes on.

Later, we're getting ready to go for a walk. We come in from outside.

Mom: [Ranting about something...] You know, you've gotten... quite... solid. [...continues the rant].

Uncontrolled chaos

My parents don't have air conditioning. Even 2002, the year I moved away from Boston, it wasn't unusual for people not to have air conditioning. When we got back from the airport, they had a lot of fans going.

A.: You know that fans don't actually chill the air? Just one's skin.
Mom: Well, it circulates air.
A.: Hot air. All I'm saying is, it makes sense to turn them off when you're not home, or even not in that room.

They set up a fan in my guest room, which was hot as Hades. The fan was helpful a third of the time, when it faced me. The button to get it to not rotate was broken. I tried to fall asleep anyway, but half an hour later, around midnight, I came downstairs and asked for another fan.

My parents came upstairs. Mom pointed out the button. I pointed out that it was broken. She started messing with it. I begged her not to. She did anyway. Upon ascertaining for herself that it really was broken, she agreed to another fan. Dad brought one. I said I'd set it up myself, they could go back to whatever they were doing. They insisted on plugging it into various outlets in the room from which the fan wouldn't reach me. Finally, I plugged it into the closest outlet and went back to sleep.

The effect--the prolonged process, which results in a delayed return to sleep--is only partly the issue. It's the disorganization that really gets me. In addition to the disorganized behavior, the disorganized, cluttered house sets off a wariness in me. It's not that my house is spotless--but it's an organized chaos. My parents just don't manage their stuff well, and, yet, they're constantly buying more of it.

A couple of days ago, over the phone, mom asked what I'd eat for breakfast. I asked whether she had oatmeal. She did, she said, but the moths had gotten to it.

Then why does she still *have it*? That would be when you put the oatmeal with the moth larvae in the compost, and say that you don't have oatmeal.

I offered to bring some--I had a ton, since I'd bought some at Costco--and told her she should store it in glass containers. Last night, as I was blogging, she demanded that I come into the kitchen to see how perfectly the oatmeal I'd brought fit into two containers. Then, this morning, she couldn't find the containers. Out of disorganization, not age-related memory loss. She has so much crap--so many cake mixes that she never makes, etc.--that she has no idea where anything is. I asked if she wanted oatmeal, too. She said, of course, it's her favorite grain.

Then breakfast became a saga.

A.: Do you have milk?
Mom: No, I have cream. Do you want that?
A.: No, thanks.
Mom: Just use less of it.
A.: It's not that, I don't like cream (much less in my oatmeal). Flax seeds?
Mom: Somewhere...

This launches a search through various cabinets. I decide to stop asking for things. The oatmeal is ready. Mom's not.

Mom: I'm busy with the flowers! They're most important.
A.: Okay. Well, I'm going to have my oatmeal while it's hot.

I would have waited, but I had no idea when she might be ready. She was still dealing with the flowers when I went to blog. I felt bad, until the weekend, when Dad--a huge proponent of the Whole Family Dining Together--insisted that we don't wait for mom, or we'd never sit down to eat. She'll keep finding other things to do, more plants to water, etc.

Mom: You disrupt my whole routine whenever you're here!
A.: For three days, I think you can handle it.
Mom: We could have had breakfast together!
A.: I thought you were ready for breakfast.
Mom: I thought I would be.

It's just a clash in styles--one that transpires when they visit, as well. I'm an efficiency machine (at least when I need to be, which is usually). I don't f* around. I mean, I do, but even the f*ing around (reading the paper, watching the Daily Show) is scheduled. But I know what needs to get done and I know where everything is. I have to--I work full time and maintain a house and two yards, on my own. I can't afford to dilly-dally.

Mom: You might step outside to the fresh air, rather then going to the computer!
A.: Get off my back, mom.
Mom: Don't tell me to get off your back!
A.: Then stop nagging me. I'm busy. I'll step outside if you let me finish reading the paper.

Mom: Here's why it won't work for you to have a garden: your father and I, the first thing we do is see how our flowers are. The first thing you do is go to the computer.

Again with the computer. Am I one of those people who sleeps with a smart phone by my side? I do a number of things in the morning before waking up my computer. And when I get home from work--before waking it up again--I water my plants.

Have you gained weight?

As always, I called my parents when I landed. Half an hour later, they showed up.

We need a new system.

I understand that my mother doesn't want to loop around the airport, but this is ridiculous, even in good weather. I mean, you tell me: am I just an entitled, spoiled brat? Is it too much to ask to request that she leave the house without waiting for me to call her from the tarmac? Could she at least get ready to go, since she knows I'll be calling? I didn't ask how many plants she opted to water before getting in the car. But I did tell her we needed a new system, and that it was one thing to wait half an hour now, but I wasn't going to do it (again) in the freezing cold. Her reply was something like, 'please! then I have to get here and wait for you.' Not really; she just has to get here so I have to wait less.

Besides, she can say what I will about the inconveniences of where I live--how I'm not close to anything (specifically: a river)--but earlier this evening, I left my house at 6:35 for a 7:45 flight. None of this waiting for a ride.

But I digress.

I hopped in the car. Dad turned around.

Dad: Have you put on weight?
A.: So it begins.
Dad: I mean, you look fine... but your face has gotten round.

I figured I wouldn't have to answer--in a few seconds, my parents would be arguing about directions for getting out of the airport (gotta love Boston area signage).

I'm really not interested in discussing my weight this weekend. Just. Not. Interested. And, another thing: I don't understand why my parents continue to be intrigued by my allegedly increasing weight. I can't be so heavy that I've grown in mass between every visit. When I weighed in at the doctor's office, it wasn't at two hundred pounds.

Don't get the impression that I'm sensitive with regard to my body shape--it's much more that I'm sick of it. Let's move on.

Thursday evening roundup

Timothy Egan points out that we all have a summer home in the National Parks.

Holy crap! Cue the "Jaws" music (as did the Post).

Ernessa's right: no article neglects to remind us that Jon Hamm is hot. It's funny to read about the audition process for that role, because I can't imagine anyone else actualizing it. Don Draper is Jon Hamm.

Thursday morning roundup

Somalia continues to spiral to new levels of clusterf*.

Of all the things in Gail Collins' column that make me want to gag, moose chili takes the cake.

The imputed rent from homeownership is not actually tax free. I pay in property taxes more than half (even more than two-thirds) of what I previously paid in rent.

I appreciate the overall point in this article about the region's mixed feelings about its trees, but one part smacks of faulty analysis: hating your neighbor's ginkgo because its (smelly) leaves and berries fall into your yard is not similar, at all, to cutting down half an acre of trees.

Miss Manners reminds her readers why it's best to keep one's observations about other people's appearance to oneself.

Wednesday evening roundup

What can be linked to inequality?

Young, single women are outearning their male counterparts.

Tracking the dumb-@$$ things people say to/about female candidates.

Something for everyone in Miss Manners' column. I can't believe the first letter writer has the audacity to criticize a friend for being invisible on chat; I bet that if that writer had a roommate, she'd drive her/him insane. And let's all agree with the second writer on other people's GPS: if you're not driving, shut the f* up.

Wednesday morning roundup

Kyrgyzstan is going to hell in a handbasket.

It's an interesting question: does one have the right to burn whatever kind of light bulb one wants? I say all this as someone who has plenty of soft white light bulbs in the house. Do people have a responsibility to the planet? Is considering the envoronmental impact of one's actions and purchases merely optional?

Amid the crow's feet and additional gray hairs, we can take comfort in the perks of getting older. Specifically: we can't hear a certain "high-pitched, headache-inducing sound" that Gallery Place is emitting to repel teenagers.

The Times encourages the Oxford English Dictionary to keep up the print edition.