sick of foo yung and moo yoo guy pan

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It’s funny, because when I was finishing up school I longed for the days when I would be back to working some soulless corporate job, and could come home from a long day at work and be free to do whatever I wanted – no studying, no papers, no boring policy books to read. I could fill my evenings with anything I wanted, and make plans at the drop of a hat. It would be awesome.

Reality has come close… I’ve traveled, hosted guests, and found myself with nothing stopping me from joining friends at the bar, but there is still a mountain of laundry to be done, errands to run, and I’m still reading the same two books I was in May. I’m up at 5:30 most mornings and as a result should really be in bed around 10 but can’t give up the idea that only old people do that. (No offense BG). But I’m happy. Busy, but happy… overall… for the most part.

Last Thursday, as you know, was a busy evening for me. Had a blast at the concert despite spending a grand total of ten minutes tops actually in the venue proper. Conversation of the evening, courtesy of G, who I met just prior to the show –

Me: “I like guys with computer science degrees.”
G: “No you don’t. That just looks good on your Facebook profile.”
*much laughter*
Me: “That may be blogworthy.”
G: “I can only hope.”

There you go, G. Now you’re famous. [Though to be fair, that exchange is much funnier after a few beers and right before a falling-down]

From the concert I headed to the lovely home of Ex-Wife #1’s fiance #4 (it’s not hard to keep up; take notes if you have to) to pick up my stepson for the Simpsons movie. This was my first time out to the new house and I was warned it was difficult to get to, though the directions seemed pretty straightforward – left, right, left. Still, it was night time, there had been a little bit to drink, and I don’t care if you Westlake assholes are used to driving the dark windy roads at speeds in excess of 50 mph; I have little idea where I’m going and you driving behind me with your gotdamn brights on IS SO NOT HELPING.

With only one wrong turn, I made it to the house and pulled in to the rocky drive where I saw #1’s car parked. To my left, a 3-car garage with apartment unit on top. To my right, a smallish house with a barn door entrance. In front, hidden behind some trees and tucked away in the dark, I could make out a small little house. The presence of the car assured me I was in the right place, but um… where the fuck was the front door? I opted to go with the door to my right, and choosing wrong, met #4’s business partner who pointed out to me a little path that led down to the house I needed. Now mind you, while I’m still in Austin proper, I’m a good 20 minutes from the highway and the modern conveniences it brings. You can actually look up and see the moon and the stars and the go inbetweens*. The nearest streetlight is literally miles away. I’ve been sent down this dark wooded path with no light source other than the glow from my Sidekick screen, wearing flimsy little sandals and did I mention I might have had a beer? All was well until I reached the rock steps. The very wet rock steps, because of course it’s been raining FOREVER and of course, after successfully navigating my way down three of them I slip and fall on my ass once I reach number four. It takes me a second to confirm that I’m okay, and that more importantly, the Sidekick is okay, and then I’m up and off in search of the front door. (The leg pain would come later that night, with the back pain catching up the next day.)

Which I find. (the front door) Kinda. Because again, it’s dark as hell, there is no doorbell – unless I’m supposed to take the nearby Buddha statue and throw it against the door – and while I know I’m in fact at a door, I’m not 100% sure I’m actually at the right house. A quick phone call to the kid confirms that I am at the right house, but not the right door, and a rescue party is dispatched. “Your directions were excellent, really, but in the future you might want to give people tips on what to do once they reach the driveway.” Though after 13 years experience, I did know better.

The reason for the confusion is soon explained. The house proper was a little on the small side, so #4 (a carpenter by trade) built a 3-story addition with roommates in mind. Each level is huge and is designed so that none of the inhabitants really ever need see each other. There are floor to ceiling windows everywhere, top of the line fixtures and closets the size of my current bedroom. The kid has the ground floor to himself and his suite is a teenagers dream with concrete floors, granite counter tops in the bathroom, and a leather couch parked in front of a giant plasma screen; all a few feet away from the bed. It’s larger than my last apartment. The 2nd floor is similar, but with larger closet and sparse furnishings. I offered to move in. The top floor has a fireplace in the master bedroom and a gigantic shower that puts most 4-star hotels to shame. It’s absolutely amazing, and while I am envious of it, I don’t envy the drive to it. Still, if we both had the same starter husband, my #4 should be at the same level of success, right? Assuming all other things are equal, of course. Which means I need a quickie marriage #2 for appearance’s sake, and need to find an ambiguous gay for #3. I might know one

Tour over and kid acquired, we headed off to the movie. Which, speaking of being into computer science majors… there is quite possibly no better place to meet them than a midnight showing of The Simpsons (Linux conventions and Comic-Con notwithstanding). Only problem is they’re generally more concerned with winning the trivia contest than with anything having to do with pretty girls. 😉

But I was there for some quality time with my main man. I met him when he was 3 years old, obsessed with the Lion King, the color pink, and always wanting to spend time with his dad. Now he’s 15, making plans for the video game he and his cousin are going to design this summer, coming up with a name for his rock band, and rarely getting so much as an email from his father. [Which, btw, if you still read this, you absolutely suck and should be ashamed of yourself.] He is the reason I committed myself at 19, and the reason I hung on for longer than I should. We chat via IM and we text; it amazes me at how mature he’s become. His words, his phrases… at times it’s like talking to a mirror image. It’s freaky and has been known to make me cry. In person he drops curse words and smart-ass remarks with ease; a trait that leads me to remark “I have no fucking idea where you got that from.” I may not have given birth to him, but he’s mine in so many ways; sometimes more mine than anyone else’s. I always wanted nothing but the best for him and went through a fair amount of hell to ensure it. And I may never do anything else in my life right, but I did do that.

It’s something I should remind myself of more often.

__________________________________________
*For Gus 😀

Song title via OX Miss Idaho
(one of my all-time favorite songs)

Comments coming soon, I promise. But for now, I have to be up in 5 hours, the Giants and Dodgers are tied in the 9th (op! not anymore!) and this bottle of wine ain’t gonna finish itself…