![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Home again
Aug. 3rd, 2003 03:34 amI decided to come home mainly because Saturday was my dad's birthday. The big dude hit the half-century mark, and I felt it my duty to be there to mark the occasion. And get in a few rubs. Also left so I could spend some time away from the roommate (whom I will not even give the honor of a name anymore...did I even give her a name before? oh well).
Met with the usual sketchiness in the Providence terminal (the start of my sojourn to Seattle began with me witnessing two overweight hos fighting over their pimp and a young lady macing a redneck) and rode in the very back of a totally full bus, right next to a young Indian (?) man who spent the entire ride chattering away on a cellphone. Between constantly being bombarded by the cloying lavatory smell (something between lavender and pissed-on lilacs) and having to deal with the human radio, it was a long four hours.
Came home and was greeted by two smiling younger siblings. See, that's what makes coming home for a day or two tolerable. My bros are happy to see me initially, and then they start taking me for granted again. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Krishna was happy to see me too, but her greeting involved much less licking and pawing than I was used to (yes, she's a dog). I suppose it had to do with the stink that was coming from her. I'd be sort of reluctant to jump up on people too, if I knew I smelled like dirt and dog poop. Mumsy and dadsy (are mom and dad supposed to be capitalized? I never did get the memo about that one) were home as well. Mom said dad was worried and one step away from calling the cops (I got home late due to the ever-present weekend rush hour traffic that plagues the 95 right outside of the city), leading to an "aww! they really *do* care!" moment, but I think I spoiled it a bit when I told them that you pretty much have to wait 24 hours before the 5-0 do anything for missing persons. Mom made a slight noise, dad rolled his eyes, and then everything was back to normal.
Per usual, the house was filthy. I felt compelled to start cleaning. Can't help it; I get home and see everything in disarray and I just want to make everything right. It's frustrating and very draining, and I guess part of the reason I've avoided coming home in the first place. Just part. I held back for a bit and sat down with the folks to watch television. Again, what's cool about the first few days after I come home is that people seem to hang on my words. That seems really shallow and conceited, and it probably is, but when you spend 98% of your time either cloistered away or feeling like a pariah any bit of attention is welcome. Funny thing is that I really don't do much talking when I come home. The folks do the usual asking of how everything is, my response is generally a brief and perfunctory "fine", my brothers tease me and/or add colorful commentary, and then they all start up on what's going on in their lives. I suppose I feel like the center of attention when I come home because I feel so out-of-the-loop everywhere else and during most other times.
After some familial bonding in the living room (sans the oldest brother), I had to deal with my other bros nagging me to play Super Mario Party. Okay, one of the coolest things about living in a household with three other siblings? Playing 4-player video games! I'm such a child (a really really weird-feeling child at the moment). For some reason I really suck at fighter games, so my brothers usually play Smash Brothers (which I bought with the expressed purpose of all four of us playing...but they routinely hand my ass to me, so I've given that one up) and whatever other quick-button pressing, combo-learning games we have as I watch. Heh. I'm always asked to watch them play games. Not that I mind, of course. Although if I'm watching them play RPGs (my specialty) I'm usually coerced into being the guide (reading the players guide for them if we have one and/or pointing out the obvious clues; I spend a lot of time saying "dammit, would you *read* the words that are on the screen! go back to town, you dolt!"). Mario Party, while fun, takes a while to get through and I really wasn't up to it, especially since Darwent wasn't home yet and I'd have to deal with the other two's infantile sense of humor (lots of fart jokes and lots of annoying giggling) by myself.
Hung out in the computer room (DSL in the house! yes! it's like crack!) and looked in my comic box for the first time in forever. Still surprised at how many comics I have in my possession. Lots of money spent on reading about freaks with issues. Mom actually used to be supportive of my comic obsession, at one point indulging me and driving 40 minutes out of the way at the end of every month so I could go to a comic show. I'm not sure if she really believed that buying the comics was an "investment" , as my uncle put it (he actually had a number of comics, but he didn't take care of them at all; pages yellowed, binds bent and creased...I'm sure he was lucky to get $10 for his X-Men Annual #4 when he tried selling it), or she just took pity on me as I was a rather quiet, non-socializing girl. Maybe a little bit of both. The only line I seriously followed was X-Men (Uncanny), and that was all because of Storm. Every black girl needs a role model, even if she does have caucasian features and blue eyes. Also picked up the occasional She-Hulk (until they stopped it...damn them all to hell, but the latter She-Hulk comics were hilarious), Spiderman, and Wonder Woman. Stopped hard-core collecting comics in HS, when Marvel started getting ridiculous with the splinter groups and the cross-over storylines. I recall one month in particular, during the Executioner Saga (remember that piece of Scott Summers/Jean Grey powered tripe?), when I spent something like $20 on comics. Waay way too much, IMO. But I'm going off on a tangent. I tried to figure out how much it would cost to ship that heavy-ass crate cross-country...and wondered if it was even worth it at this point. I guess it is, but I don't know. Yeah, like that makes sense. Sorry, it's late.
Next day was dad's b-day. However, the lucky lad wasn't home. For some odd reason he decided to work instead of taking a V-day. I suppose it had something to do with the upcoming strike; he wanted to get as much money home as possible before he was forced to hit the picket lines (my dad works as a technician and is a union steward, while my mom's twin is actually management, although in a different department and part of the city watch the sparks fly!, sez I). I don't blame him: the last strike he took part in (I think it was back when Verizon was actually Bell Atlantic) took 6 months to end. Mom was home and awake, seeing as she took Friday night off, so we went about deciding what do cook for the big dude's dinner (basically, what I do when I come home: cook and clean up, play video games, watch tv; horrible, I know).
The two youngest bros had baseball games, and (of course) Dwayne wanted me to go to his. Darryl (the odd-man in our family), didn't ask me directly but that's just his way. Managed to see parts of both games. Darryl played a team that was all-white, and (sadly, per usual), in situations like that you can cut the tension with a knife, especially if something bad happens. Like pitchers losing control on the mound. Coaches are a lot more likely to get vocal. Luckily things were resolved quickly and no drama arose. Darryl's team lost, although (to their cred), they did attempt a pretty good comeback at the end. Dwayne's team played a bunch of minor leaguers. I took out a picture of the two teams when they were lining up at the end to shake hands because it was so hilarious. My bro's maybe 5'7" and weighs in around...180? he's built like a brick-shit house; very solid, but I'd hesitate to say fat. The kids he was playing against came up to maybe his mid-chest (that's probably pusing it), and weighed, on average...95 lbs? You think I'm kidding? They were playing 7 and 8 year olds for whatever reason (he said something about the league not having enough teams so they had to bring up some young kids) and nearly got their asses handed to them. They won by only 2 runs. I don't know if that says more about the suckiness of Dwayne's summer league team or the skills of the other team. (Again), probably both. The sight of it...piss-your-pants funny. No other way to describe it.
After the ballgame watching was done, it was time to meet up with the B-day boy. Dad looked okay when we saw him. I mean, he seemed sort of "blah" - as in not happy happy but not sad. Sort of like I felt on my birthday. We didn't end up getting him a present (my idea, climbing lessons, turned out to be way more expensive than I originally thought) and I wonder if he was expecting more hoopla than what we gave him. Ha. If so, I *totally* sympathize. He couldn't really settle down and do anything, seeing as he had to report to the union meeting place (?) at midnight (just in case they did strike). I thought I felt old, and I have a problem with turning/being 23. Dude's 50. Must hit you like a ton of bricks. That's what I got from his face anyway. Some fam came over (aunt and fam), we cut cake and ate dinner...it was all good.
Right now it's entirely too late. I indulged in a cup of very strong coffee and it's running out of my system entirely too slow for my tastes. I hate meeting the rising sun when I'm trying to fall asleep. And, wouldn't you know it, I'm being wrangled into going to church with my bros for 8. Oh yes, tomorrow should be tons and tons of fun.
Met with the usual sketchiness in the Providence terminal (the start of my sojourn to Seattle began with me witnessing two overweight hos fighting over their pimp and a young lady macing a redneck) and rode in the very back of a totally full bus, right next to a young Indian (?) man who spent the entire ride chattering away on a cellphone. Between constantly being bombarded by the cloying lavatory smell (something between lavender and pissed-on lilacs) and having to deal with the human radio, it was a long four hours.
Came home and was greeted by two smiling younger siblings. See, that's what makes coming home for a day or two tolerable. My bros are happy to see me initially, and then they start taking me for granted again. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Krishna was happy to see me too, but her greeting involved much less licking and pawing than I was used to (yes, she's a dog). I suppose it had to do with the stink that was coming from her. I'd be sort of reluctant to jump up on people too, if I knew I smelled like dirt and dog poop. Mumsy and dadsy (are mom and dad supposed to be capitalized? I never did get the memo about that one) were home as well. Mom said dad was worried and one step away from calling the cops (I got home late due to the ever-present weekend rush hour traffic that plagues the 95 right outside of the city), leading to an "aww! they really *do* care!" moment, but I think I spoiled it a bit when I told them that you pretty much have to wait 24 hours before the 5-0 do anything for missing persons. Mom made a slight noise, dad rolled his eyes, and then everything was back to normal.
Per usual, the house was filthy. I felt compelled to start cleaning. Can't help it; I get home and see everything in disarray and I just want to make everything right. It's frustrating and very draining, and I guess part of the reason I've avoided coming home in the first place. Just part. I held back for a bit and sat down with the folks to watch television. Again, what's cool about the first few days after I come home is that people seem to hang on my words. That seems really shallow and conceited, and it probably is, but when you spend 98% of your time either cloistered away or feeling like a pariah any bit of attention is welcome. Funny thing is that I really don't do much talking when I come home. The folks do the usual asking of how everything is, my response is generally a brief and perfunctory "fine", my brothers tease me and/or add colorful commentary, and then they all start up on what's going on in their lives. I suppose I feel like the center of attention when I come home because I feel so out-of-the-loop everywhere else and during most other times.
After some familial bonding in the living room (sans the oldest brother), I had to deal with my other bros nagging me to play Super Mario Party. Okay, one of the coolest things about living in a household with three other siblings? Playing 4-player video games! I'm such a child (a really really weird-feeling child at the moment). For some reason I really suck at fighter games, so my brothers usually play Smash Brothers (which I bought with the expressed purpose of all four of us playing...but they routinely hand my ass to me, so I've given that one up) and whatever other quick-button pressing, combo-learning games we have as I watch. Heh. I'm always asked to watch them play games. Not that I mind, of course. Although if I'm watching them play RPGs (my specialty) I'm usually coerced into being the guide (reading the players guide for them if we have one and/or pointing out the obvious clues; I spend a lot of time saying "dammit, would you *read* the words that are on the screen! go back to town, you dolt!"). Mario Party, while fun, takes a while to get through and I really wasn't up to it, especially since Darwent wasn't home yet and I'd have to deal with the other two's infantile sense of humor (lots of fart jokes and lots of annoying giggling) by myself.
Hung out in the computer room (DSL in the house! yes! it's like crack!) and looked in my comic box for the first time in forever. Still surprised at how many comics I have in my possession. Lots of money spent on reading about freaks with issues. Mom actually used to be supportive of my comic obsession, at one point indulging me and driving 40 minutes out of the way at the end of every month so I could go to a comic show. I'm not sure if she really believed that buying the comics was an "investment" , as my uncle put it (he actually had a number of comics, but he didn't take care of them at all; pages yellowed, binds bent and creased...I'm sure he was lucky to get $10 for his X-Men Annual #4 when he tried selling it), or she just took pity on me as I was a rather quiet, non-socializing girl. Maybe a little bit of both. The only line I seriously followed was X-Men (Uncanny), and that was all because of Storm. Every black girl needs a role model, even if she does have caucasian features and blue eyes. Also picked up the occasional She-Hulk (until they stopped it...damn them all to hell, but the latter She-Hulk comics were hilarious), Spiderman, and Wonder Woman. Stopped hard-core collecting comics in HS, when Marvel started getting ridiculous with the splinter groups and the cross-over storylines. I recall one month in particular, during the Executioner Saga (remember that piece of Scott Summers/Jean Grey powered tripe?), when I spent something like $20 on comics. Waay way too much, IMO. But I'm going off on a tangent. I tried to figure out how much it would cost to ship that heavy-ass crate cross-country...and wondered if it was even worth it at this point. I guess it is, but I don't know. Yeah, like that makes sense. Sorry, it's late.
Next day was dad's b-day. However, the lucky lad wasn't home. For some odd reason he decided to work instead of taking a V-day. I suppose it had something to do with the upcoming strike; he wanted to get as much money home as possible before he was forced to hit the picket lines (my dad works as a technician and is a union steward, while my mom's twin is actually management, although in a different department and part of the city watch the sparks fly!, sez I). I don't blame him: the last strike he took part in (I think it was back when Verizon was actually Bell Atlantic) took 6 months to end. Mom was home and awake, seeing as she took Friday night off, so we went about deciding what do cook for the big dude's dinner (basically, what I do when I come home: cook and clean up, play video games, watch tv; horrible, I know).
The two youngest bros had baseball games, and (of course) Dwayne wanted me to go to his. Darryl (the odd-man in our family), didn't ask me directly but that's just his way. Managed to see parts of both games. Darryl played a team that was all-white, and (sadly, per usual), in situations like that you can cut the tension with a knife, especially if something bad happens. Like pitchers losing control on the mound. Coaches are a lot more likely to get vocal. Luckily things were resolved quickly and no drama arose. Darryl's team lost, although (to their cred), they did attempt a pretty good comeback at the end. Dwayne's team played a bunch of minor leaguers. I took out a picture of the two teams when they were lining up at the end to shake hands because it was so hilarious. My bro's maybe 5'7" and weighs in around...180? he's built like a brick-shit house; very solid, but I'd hesitate to say fat. The kids he was playing against came up to maybe his mid-chest (that's probably pusing it), and weighed, on average...95 lbs? You think I'm kidding? They were playing 7 and 8 year olds for whatever reason (he said something about the league not having enough teams so they had to bring up some young kids) and nearly got their asses handed to them. They won by only 2 runs. I don't know if that says more about the suckiness of Dwayne's summer league team or the skills of the other team. (Again), probably both. The sight of it...piss-your-pants funny. No other way to describe it.
After the ballgame watching was done, it was time to meet up with the B-day boy. Dad looked okay when we saw him. I mean, he seemed sort of "blah" - as in not happy happy but not sad. Sort of like I felt on my birthday. We didn't end up getting him a present (my idea, climbing lessons, turned out to be way more expensive than I originally thought) and I wonder if he was expecting more hoopla than what we gave him. Ha. If so, I *totally* sympathize. He couldn't really settle down and do anything, seeing as he had to report to the union meeting place (?) at midnight (just in case they did strike). I thought I felt old, and I have a problem with turning/being 23. Dude's 50. Must hit you like a ton of bricks. That's what I got from his face anyway. Some fam came over (aunt and fam), we cut cake and ate dinner...it was all good.
Right now it's entirely too late. I indulged in a cup of very strong coffee and it's running out of my system entirely too slow for my tastes. I hate meeting the rising sun when I'm trying to fall asleep. And, wouldn't you know it, I'm being wrangled into going to church with my bros for 8. Oh yes, tomorrow should be tons and tons of fun.
