Pimp-in-training

The Boy, a university student, picked up a job at a local pizza place in the town where he resides – as much to pass the time as to make some cash.  This isn’t a chain pizza parlor, rather a family run business.  After a few months, he’s starting to get better acquainted with his co-workers.

There are only a few non-family members on the payroll.  The Boy has befriended one of the young ladies, an attractive woman in her mid-20’s.  Last weekend, he shared his attempts to help this woman improve her financial standing by teaching her some “Manage The Boss” skills.

It seems his co-worker is being aggressively pursued by the restaurant owner.  The Boy has pointed out to her that it would be in her best interests to think this through carefully before getting more involved. 

The Boy:  I told her that she’s got to be ready to walk away from the job before giving in to him.   I also recommnded that she hold out before putting out.  She didn’t realize that she could actually use the power over him for personal benefit.

daisyfae:  This sounds awful.  Why are you in the middle of this?

The Boy:  Well, I wanted Monday off, but the boss said “No”.  So I suggested that she test her powers with the boss – just ask him on my behalf for the day off to see what happens.  I’m trying to empower her!

daisyfae:  You got Monday off?

The Boy:  Precisely.  So now she’s working on getting us both a raise.  Once i turn it into financial gain, I can officially claim “Pimp” status.

Am i proud?  Sort of… i mean, he’s using the powers for good, and he’s imparting a valuable lesson on this young lady.  i think…. Then again, this is the kid that was trying to loan shark his sister when he was 5 years old. 

We Wuz Robbed!

          From the kitchen the last time The Boy was home:

                 The Boy:  Mom!  You need to call the police…

                 daisyfae:  What happened?

                 The Boy:  Someone stole all our fucking food*.

 

__________

* Shopping for one is depressing.  Buying an apple, a banana, a box of Orville’s “Smart Pop”, some low fat yogurt, a few frozen entrees and a 12 pack of Diet Coke just screams “i’m preparing to die alone”.  He’s got a car, a job and my credit card.  He won’t starve.

Another conversational snippet…

The Boy has finished his exams for Winter quarter, and returned to the auxilliary trailer park home for Spring Break.  We were catching up on odds and ends, and he dropped this on me.  Well, it’s more like he dropped a big ol’ steamer on my living room floor.

The kid definitely has my genes.  And is uniquely qualified at the art of leaving me speechless…

Last weekend while visiting his sister, he was snowed in due to the blizzard.  He spent the weekend camped out at her apartment, drinking her beer and annoying her neighbors.  Sufficiently bored, he decided to post a comment on my “glamour of motherhood” post. 

The Boy:  Did you like the link I used? 

daisyfae:  It was pretty brilliant – very well done!  Where did you find it?

The Boy:  I needed a recipe for “hootch”…

daisyfae:   [blink, blink…]

The Boy:  Yeah.  I need to learn how to make hootch.  It’s an important skill…

daisyfae: [glaring… waiting…]

The Boy:  When I end up in prison, I better be good at something.  I could learn to do tattoos, but that requires talent.  I’ll never be the tough guy.  And I sure don’t want to end up being someone’s bitch.  This way, if I’ve got a valuable skill, like Brewmaster, they’ll leave me alone… 

daisyfae:  Well?

The Boy:  The first batch sucked.  I made the second with a white grape juice base.  It was better…

daisyfae: [scowling…]

The Boy:  What?!?  Relax, woman.  I didn’t make it in the toilet…

And the award for “Best Mother…”

…will not be making an appearance in my trophy case.

The Girl and i are pretty comfortable getting on the phone and yakking a couple times a week.  She’ll also send me text messages at 5am, asking for a 9 am wake up call. 

The Boy and i, however, communicate frequently by text message.  He says he just doesn’t like talking to people, and prefers the cold, impersonal nature of text messaging.

So i adapt…

daisyfae:  i deposited more cash into your rent account

The Boy: thanks but there was enough there to cover the month

daisyfae: ok.  go buy yourself a hooker i guess…

The Boy: said and done

daisyfae: that was quick.  you keeping one in the closet, or did the widow lady downstairs get entrepreneurial?

The Boy: the one in the closet died.  who knew they need food?

daisyfae:  Truce!  i quit!  you win – i’m sending you off to live with upset waitress*

The Boy: do waitresses need food?

daisyfae: i think they can get by on scraps from the kitchen floor

The Boy: then that might work, as long as she likes four day old pizza crusts

daisyfae:  don’t you have homework or something? 

The Boy: no, class was cancelled so i’ll study when i feel like it.  damn, woman, get off my back.

daisyfae: don’t get smart with me, nimrod.  i can take that money back outta the account…

The Boy: if you do i’ll start using crystal meth.  yeah.  that’s what i’ll do…

daisyfae:  fine.  cheaper than your fucking tuition.

The Boy: touche.  you win this round.

_______________

* The Boy thinks the upset waitress is brilliant, and is quite smitten with her…

and they said it couldn’t be done…

brief comments from my children over the weekend, in regard to my on-stage antics…

The Girl:  i’m going to make The Boy go with me to see the show tonight.  i figure if we’re going to suffer retinal damage, we should do it together.

The Boy:  nothing personal, Mom.  but i’d rather be punched in the nuts than see you topless on stage.  i’m gonna have to pass on this one…

The Girl: [via text message after Act I] nice rack

The Boy: [when i suggested that he just look away during that scene] but there would be naked chicks up there!  i’d have to look…

The Girl: [after the show] where the hell did you get that wig?  why do you have it?  oh, god… don’t tell me.  i don’t want to know…

…. and they said there’s nothing i can do to embarass them! ha!

From the mouths of babes…

Yet another conversation with The Boy from last weekend.  Talking with both critters about the “middle-aged chick emo” genre…

The Boy:  You’re not really middle-aged.  You’re halfway dead.

daisyfae:  nice… doing wondrous things for my mood here, kid.

The Boy:  Think about it.  “Halfway” dead is probably optimistic.  That presumes you’ll live to be 90.

daisyfae: always the optimist…

The Boy: Someone once said, ‘glass full / glass empty — whether you’re an optimist or a pessimist depends on what’s in the glass.’  let’s say the glass is partially filled with shit.  then saying it’s ‘half empty’ is being optimistic. 

daisyfae: “halfway dead”…  i suppose there are worse things… [frowns, thinking deep thoughts… ]

i do not recall

The Boy and The Girl were home last weekend.  I had just returned from a week of travel, and the three of us were drinking catching up, while tormenting the dog.  (Note to the “Mother Of The Year” Award Nominating Committee Members?  Move along… there’s nothing to see here…)

Around midnight, the doorbell rang.  The Boy looked out the window, and said “oh, that’s D…”, and went downstairs to open the door.  Since most of his friends have been banished from the house (due to a series of incidents last summer), he stepped out on the porch to chat.

Less than 5 minutes later, he came back upstairs, looking a little rattled and confused.  “That was awkward…”

“Who was it?  What was that about?”

“It was D and his brother.  Wanting to know if I’d slept with his brothers’ girlfriend.”

Frame of reference

When i married in 1984, it was obvious that my in-laws were not ‘of The Park’.  Dignified, smart, hard-working and quiet people — they also had this annoying tendency to mate for life.  Celebrations of 60th wedding anniversaries are routine, and there are only whispered stories regarding divorces of more distant family members.

Over the years, our children quickly learned to expect different types of holiday gatherings, depending on which side of the family was involved. 

When visiting the in-laws:  Quiet dinners at beautiful tables, set with real linens and silverware made of actual metal.  Candles.  Many helping hands in the kitchen.  The eagerly anticipated arrival of vans full of tired, happy people who had traveled great distances to be with family for the holidays.  Holding hands at the table while someone says grace.  Thoughtful, tasteful and practical gifts.

When visiting The Park:  Chaos.  Too many people crammed into a too-cluttered house, with smoke so thick you can’t see the dining room from the kitchen.  Sandwiches and metric tons of cookies for dinner, with big, plastic 2-liter bottles of soda on the table.  Boisterous conversation, while gifts and food are thrown across the room — mainly because there is no clear path to walk without stepping on a screaming toddler.  People racing in to collect holiday loot, then racing off to go transfer the kids to the other parent to meet terms of custody agreements.  Gifts that vibrate, sing or both…

One Christmas, after a nearly side-by-side comparison of these disparate environments, my children made the following observation:

“Mom, how come on Dad’s side of the family, you are considered the wild, free-spirited, crazy member of the family, but on your side, you’re the one who handles every crisis and all the important stuff?”

“Relativity…”

[sigh]

Wii Smack talk

Both of the kids home for the weekend, and we ended up having a Sunday afternoon Wii moment.  Well, they had the moment – i was curled up under a blanket on the couch semi-dozing and amused.

The Girl is rather skilled at Wii bowling.  This annoys The Boy, who has been practicing to beat her.  They grabbed their favorite bowling Mii’s – Ernest Hemingway for The Girl, and Iggy Pop for The Boy.

(needless to say, watching cartoon characters of “ol’ ernest” and iggy in a bowling alley amuses me endlessly…)

After The Girl nailed yet another three strike series (known as a ‘turkey’ for those unfamiliar with bowling lingo), she decided to talk some Wii Smack.

The Girl:  So, if you’re hungry for some turkey, give me a call.

The Boy:  That is the worst smack talk ever.  If you’re going to do it, do it right… 

after another beating by The Girl, he drops the following:

The Boy:  Your mother is a whore…

from under the blanket on the couch: “hey…. leave me outta this”

Conversational snippet

The Boy returned last night from his first week of classes after christmas break – finding his mother in her boxers, drinking whiskey and wearing christmas lights around her neck.  He was unphased…  

I asked how things were going so far… and he said he’d been more sociable in the first few days of classes than he had been all last quarter, mentioning that an attractive young woman in one of his classes seemed keen to chat him up…

daisyfae:  Did you tell her that you’re from out of town?  Talk about your courses at the local college before you went there?

The Boy:  No.  I didn’t say much of anything.  Chicks just want to talk.  I just let ’em talk.  I listen.

daisyfae: But you always come back at me with a smart-assed remark, always have to get in the last word…

The Boy:  I meant “chicks i want to bone”.

daisyfae: […..]