Yeah, so I haven't written in some time. I keep meaning to, but I've had my parents in town and blah blah blah they want me to talk to them instead of hiding in here, typing on my computer. Whatever. One day I'll get around to posting those fat pictures you've all been dreaming about, as well as a very now-out-of-date accounting of our St. Patrick's Day festivities. But for now, I'm going to post about last night's adventures.
A few of us got together last night to celebrate the fact that Stephanie is finally moving. For those of you who were not invited to this get-together, rest assured it was probably my fault that you weren't. And for the rest of you who were invited and then summarily uninvited, that was definitely my fault. Walk it off.
My father went back home several days ago because he has to work, but my mother being workless has stayed on until this coming weekend. Now, I will warn you now that the incident that I am about to recount made me so completely furious that I lay awake last night thinking that this morning I would gladly pack my mother's bags and call her a cab to the airport. But then I thought better of it after I awoke and decided that writing about it instead would be better. Or at least it would be cheaper anyway, because honestly, cabfare is way too expensive.
As I was leaving my house last night I happened to walk past the home of Melissa Who Lives Three Doors Down From Me at the precise moment she was coming out of her door to race to the same party. Sidenote: Stephanie and I have this running joke about driving ridiculously short distances (mostly her mocking me I should point out). When Melissa had a get-together at her home last month I told Stephanie that I was going to drive to it, and more importantly I was going to park in Melissa's parking spot, too. Unfortunately I left too late to pull that off so I had to walk all 20 feet to get there instead (bummer!). Anyway, Stephanie asked if I was going to drive to her nextdoor neighbor's house for the party last night and even asked if I was going to carpool with Melissa to get there, but we decided in the end it would probably be better if we drove separately in case we wanted to leave at different times. Remember, we were joking. Because Stephanie lives two blocks away from us. So as I was walking past Melissa's house I jokingly asked to bum a ride, assuming she was also walking; as it turns out she was actually going to drive. Seeing me walking guilted her into walking as well ("Well, now I have to walk, too!"). Seriously folks, the closest parking spot we could have gotten would have been halfway between our houses.
As it turns out, it's fortunate that Melissa felt guilty enough to walk with me, what with all the dangers lurking around every lamppost, or at least according to my ever-paranoid mother. "It'll be dark and you're pregnant and you could get mugged! It could be a moonless night and someone could pop up out of NOWHERE and KILL YOU DEAD." By the very grace of the saints in heaven above, we made it safely there.
And we stayed for hours and hours and hours. Now, I don't normally go to functions. Probably because of you. Anyway, I have no clue how long these things last. I definitely had no idea they would last four hours. I was perfectly entertained the entire time, don't get me wrong. It just didn't occur to me that I would need to call anyone to let them know what time I'd be home since I clearly had no clue myself. When the party broke up around midnight and Melissa and I were headed out the door on our dangerous mission home, Stephanie got a call on her cell from my house. We didn't get it in time but I knew it was my freaked out mother wondering if I was facedown in a gutter somewhere. We hurried home (I am a fast walker, sorry Melissa), all while my traveling companion amazed me with horror stories of the crime that goes on in our very own neighborhood. I had no idea I'd moved inside an 18th century London prison, but apparently so. We were just rounding the corner onto our street and I was retelling the story of some freak who I caught stalking my house (if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times: I'm irresistable) when Melissa says, "Is that your mom?" And I look towards the sidewalk ahead to see my mother stomping towards us at a clipped pace. "*sigh* Yes." "Are you in trouble?" And given the look on my mother's face it was easy to reply, "It would appear so, yes." When my mother came within speaking/yelling distance she proceeded to chide me for staying out so late and intentionally trying to get myself killed. And I introduced her to Melissa and bid her goodnight as she giggled up to her front door (I'm glad at least someone finds my mother amusing).
For the next 30 minutes my mother bawled me out for being irresponsible. Admittedly, I am actually a stupid seven-year-old child posing as an idiotic 32-year-old woman so she had every right to be concerned about my being kidnapped within the confines of a two-block section of our neighborhood. But as it turns out she had not just been upset for the last hour or so, but for three hours straight. THREE HOURS. When my husband got home from work one hour after the party had started she was already waiting at the front door with the door wide open, waiting for me. He said when he got inside that she lectured him for those three hours about the obvious need for keeping me on a tighter leash (...excuse me, what? Don't worry, he found it funny, too) and even called my father to complain that this was his fault for being the lenient one when they were raising me. No I am most certainly NOT kidding. I will be kind and say that she was merely "temporarily" insane, although in all honesty, there is nothing temporary about her freaking the hell out about this sort of thing. Did she really think I would die? Really? Yes. Yes she did.
So given my horrificly immature and irresponsible behavior, I'd like to issue the following apologies to My Neighbor Melissa Who Lives Three Doors Down From Me:
1) I hereby apologize for forcing you into danger by making you walk with me to and from the party. That shotgun I had at your back was probably fairly uncomfortable and it admittedly made it very difficult to carry on a conversation. And I apologize for my itchy trigger finger, too.
2) I hereby apologize on behalf of my mother who did not introduce herself properly last evening as she was too busy shaking with rage and swearing oaths against me. It was rude of her to be so impolite.
3) Finally, I hereby apologize for exposing you to the following dangers last evening: murder, rape, decapitation, kidnapping, robbery, incest, IRS tax evasion, treason, insurance fraud, suicide, shoplifting, breaking and entering, ritual sacrifice, grave robbery, human trafficking, auto theft, genocide, identity theft, money laundering, conspiracy, drug trafficking, disorderly conduct, perjury, arson, bigamy, terrorism, espionage, extortion, bribery, forgery, highjacking, slander, trespassing, driving under the influence, indecent exposure, telemarking fraud, prostitution, hate crimes, pyramid schemes, and embezzlement. Oh, and to me. Because I'm really very irresponsible.
Post Script: today my mother acts as if nothing out of the ordinary ever occurred last evening, which I believe is her way of acknowledging that she had perhaps "gone round the bend" as it were. However, if you asked her this she would deny it it vehemently. But she's normal now otherwise. Which is fortunate since she does handmake the best Chicago deepdish pizza I've ever tasted. Despite this, the Husband commented, "Perhaps we shouldn't have your mother stay for so long in the future. 'Cause she really seems to get uptight after a while. You know, just a suggestion...." Poor, patient Husband.