...Mostly My Mom's
I'm sure you've all been quivering with anticipation (My college roommate was right, I should REALLY write erotica!), just waiting for me to continue with the mailman saga. The day has come, readers! We return to My Life is A Joke, to bring you the next installment of The Mailman.
The Mailman, Part II: Bad Moon Rising
Very shortly after I moved back home, which I'm certain you all recall, as we here at Endless Contradictions are nothing if not attentive to detail, was last December. What? You guys don't remember that at all? You forgot I ever lived anywhere other than my parents house? So did my parents! They're all "When are you getting a job? Are you planning on moving out any time in the foreseeable future? Could you at least watch Youtube clips in your room with the door closed? Fine, stay on the couch, but could you turn the volume down?" And I'm like "WHY DON'T I JUST MOVE BACK ACROSS THE STATE AND GO BACK TO JUST TALKING TO YOU GUYS ON THE PHONE?"and they're like "No, please God no, those phone calls were unendurably long and boring! Did you really think we cared about what you learned in your Women's Studies classes?" and I'm like "THAT SHIT WAS FASCINATING!" and then I turn the volume on my laptop up really, really, really loud to drown out the sound of my own failures. Anyway, the point is, back in December the Mailman mentioned to my mother that he and his mother were going on a cruise in the spring and asked if I would take care of his cats while they were out of town. Pause: I. Hate. Animals. I know they're fuzzy and soft and loving blah blah blah but they stink and are annoying and frankly, they can suck it as far as I'm concerned. I like looking at animals from a distance, not sharing a bed with them. I do like specific animals, like Bobby's dog and our duckies, although I'll admit I can only play with them for about a minute and a half before I get bored and creeped out. I'm not an animal person in the least bit. My mother responds that "maybe" I would be interested. When she asks me about it, I reply with a firm, absolute no. "There is zero chance I will ever do that in my life. Helllllllllll no," I answer, and promptly forget the conversation has ever occurred.
If only me forgetting about something meant I wouldn't have to deal with it! Speaking of, there's tons of shit I should be doing right now instead of blogging, but ehhh... So, suddenly it's spring and the cruise is fast approaching, and The Mailman simply informs my Mother that he will be having myself and both of my parents over for dinner on Thursday to "introduce me" to the cats.
Upon receiving this news, I unleash the moody bitch. My mother is all apologies (10 points for Nirvana fans!) and I start sighing repeatedly and refuse to make eye contact with anyone. I'm still a teenager for four months guys, let me get it out of my system while it's still socially acceptable! I leave for the afternoon and upon returning, apologize to my mother for my ludicrous behavior. "I mean it's... honestly, it's totally hilarious," I confess, and suddenly she and I are in laughter-induced tears, totally unable to breathe for a solid five.
As the days pass, my dread for Thursday grows from a slight nag to the smoke monster from LOST. (Speaking of which... I don't even have words. I'm in deep, deep grief, guys. I don't know if I'll ever be okay again. Why why why did it have to end?!) I complain ad nauseam about the cruelty of my fates to anyone who will listen, and anyone who will blatantly not listen and repeatedly beg me to shut up. My father keeps insisting that it "at least will be a story we can tell for years!" He then adds, optimistically, that he "could turn out to be a wonderful cook!" and it might "be a great time!" I shake my head lethargically, emphasizing the single tear sliding down the left side of my face. Okay, okay, so there wasn't a single tear. But it made the story better, didn't it?
I spend Wednesday night awake in bed, sighing loudly to myself, lamenting miserably my unbearable misfortunes. LOST is ending and I still can't find a job and I have to have dinner with the mailman?! And I don't even know where I'm going to college next semester! Why me? What's going to happen to Sawyer? Why can't they just have one more season? What am I going to do on Tuesdays? I eventually fall asleep, but The Mailman keeps interrupting my Josh Holloway dreams right before they get good (Yeah, that is what I mean, you gutter-minds!) to make sure I have his vet on speed dial!
Don't tell Desmond, but I'll miss you the most, you beloved incarnation of sex appeal, you.
Thursday morning, my father "realizes suddenly" he has "a lot of work backed up" and "won't be able to make it." Which leaves just me & Momma to face dinner.
There would be the creepy LOST animation & music playing right now, If I knew how to do that.
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