Bob
Monday, November 29, 2004
I moved in with my grandmother (Grammy) at the end of October. I expected some loving hassles like where have you been, why didn't you clean the bathroom, that kind of thing. Well, just when you think you're right about everything all the time always no questions, your grammy gets a boyfriend. Oh yeah, that's right, I said it. A boyfriend. Now, my grandfather pasted away five years ago and Grammy has lived an active life since then traveling and dancing and everything so her dating is not too unexpected. Shocking maybe, but not out of the realm of possibility. But Bob (his actual name, so generic) is, well, Bob. You have to say it with annoyance and contempt for it to work. Now, I'm not going to post my laundry list of why he's not good enough for my Grammy (list is too long), but I will say that talking to Bob is like slowly grinding your teeth one at a time into a fine powder with a power sander trying to balance on one foot so you don't fall over asleep from the dull, continuous pain. Even if I liked talking about engine specks on WWII fighters, I wouldn't want to for an hour and a half at a time. The bad part is I don't like talking about engine specks at all, so knowing the different oil pressure requirements to prevent stall outs on a P-32 and a P-51 only make me dumber by taking up much needed space in my brain.
Did I mention the breakfast shake? Take Oatmeal (raw or cooked, doesn't seem to make a difference), Almonds, Bananas, Ice, Raisins, Prunes (and any other dried fruit you can find), throw it in a blender and pretend it doesn't taste bad. On second thought, I'd take bad, this is like the funk rain collects in the gutter or a gas station bathroom floor, beyond nasty. In Greek, it's Scubalon.
Gone are the days of where were you and clean your room. Now I am woken up with midnight phone calls and music playing too loud. I didn't know that you could play Sinatra took loud, but it's possible. Tonight, I was on my way home and I saw that white minivan. "Bob" I thought (with annoyance and contempt, remember) as I drove by without stopping, wondering if I would wake the Girl up by dropping by. It's that bad.
I moved in with my grandmother (Grammy) at the end of October. I expected some loving hassles like where have you been, why didn't you clean the bathroom, that kind of thing. Well, just when you think you're right about everything all the time always no questions, your grammy gets a boyfriend. Oh yeah, that's right, I said it. A boyfriend. Now, my grandfather pasted away five years ago and Grammy has lived an active life since then traveling and dancing and everything so her dating is not too unexpected. Shocking maybe, but not out of the realm of possibility. But Bob (his actual name, so generic) is, well, Bob. You have to say it with annoyance and contempt for it to work. Now, I'm not going to post my laundry list of why he's not good enough for my Grammy (list is too long), but I will say that talking to Bob is like slowly grinding your teeth one at a time into a fine powder with a power sander trying to balance on one foot so you don't fall over asleep from the dull, continuous pain. Even if I liked talking about engine specks on WWII fighters, I wouldn't want to for an hour and a half at a time. The bad part is I don't like talking about engine specks at all, so knowing the different oil pressure requirements to prevent stall outs on a P-32 and a P-51 only make me dumber by taking up much needed space in my brain.
Did I mention the breakfast shake? Take Oatmeal (raw or cooked, doesn't seem to make a difference), Almonds, Bananas, Ice, Raisins, Prunes (and any other dried fruit you can find), throw it in a blender and pretend it doesn't taste bad. On second thought, I'd take bad, this is like the funk rain collects in the gutter or a gas station bathroom floor, beyond nasty. In Greek, it's Scubalon.
Gone are the days of where were you and clean your room. Now I am woken up with midnight phone calls and music playing too loud. I didn't know that you could play Sinatra took loud, but it's possible. Tonight, I was on my way home and I saw that white minivan. "Bob" I thought (with annoyance and contempt, remember) as I drove by without stopping, wondering if I would wake the Girl up by dropping by. It's that bad.