Sometimes I Just Really Love My Mother
So my mom walks into my room to tell me to email her something. Then she glances around and goes, your room looks beautiful. I'm all, I know, it looks awesome when it's clean (finally). And she goes, no, it's just very eclectic and pretty. Which yes, it is- I have stuff from all over the world (statues of Kali and Shiva, caved boxes from Jamaica, a gazillion books, twenties flapper beads and fans from Hong Kong and masks from Venice, tiny canvases with art from Rockport, an eskimo doll from Alaska, dried flowers from boys, rosaries from Westminster Abbey and the Vatican, etc, etc, etc), and I'm kind of a master at using random ledges and rungs to store shit since I have SO MUCH shit.
Then she turns to my closet. I have exactly one poster in my room hidden away (the rest is pictures of my friends, cutouts from magazines- like the Smirnoff ad that rocked, and postcards...and an endless summer tin thing), which I'm ashamed to say- it's not even a full poster- it's one of those magazine foldouts from Rolling Stone of the Jonas Brothers. :shame: Okay, you know what. Shush. All of you. It's a joke thing (kind of). That IS not the point of the story.
And it's so much better than my shrine to Leonardo DiCaprio when I was twelve. Not quite as good as my Asian/Devart/friend art collages from my dorm rooms.
The point of the story is she turns to me and goes, "That's actually a really hot picture. Which one is the one in the middle? He's hot."
Me: "-blink- -blink- -blink- Um, Joe Jonas?"
Mom: "I like him. Is he the one you like?"
Me: "I like him and Nick...the other one's ugly." (silently thinking I only like him and Nick together, and Kevin with Zefron)
Mom: "Hunh. Hot picture. -walks away-"
Then she turns to my closet. I have exactly one poster in my room hidden away (the rest is pictures of my friends, cutouts from magazines- like the Smirnoff ad that rocked, and postcards...and an endless summer tin thing), which I'm ashamed to say- it's not even a full poster- it's one of those magazine foldouts from Rolling Stone of the Jonas Brothers. :shame: Okay, you know what. Shush. All of you. It's a joke thing (kind of). That IS not the point of the story.
And it's so much better than my shrine to Leonardo DiCaprio when I was twelve. Not quite as good as my Asian/Devart/friend art collages from my dorm rooms.
The point of the story is she turns to me and goes, "That's actually a really hot picture. Which one is the one in the middle? He's hot."
Me: "-blink- -blink- -blink- Um, Joe Jonas?"
Mom: "I like him. Is he the one you like?"
Me: "I like him and Nick...the other one's ugly." (silently thinking I only like him and Nick together, and Kevin with Zefron)
Mom: "Hunh. Hot picture. -walks away-"