Family Business
I'M ON A PLANE
I'M ON A PLANE
EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME 'CAUSE I'M POSTING FROM A PLANE
And what will I post about from tens of thousands of feet in the damn sky? Why, my family, of course! Because...they flew on a plane to come to California?
This why I love my brother: when I told him to bring me back a redhead with an adorable accent from Ireland, he responded thusly:
i promise to get you a redhead who wont be written out of your life randomly when they decide to leave her in an alternate future for no reason
Also, he knew exactly why I told my sister that I wanted a shillelagh, and he even remembered what we named our shillelagh in Beyond Zork.
This is why I love my sister: she brought me JAFFA CAKES. Now I can totally HAVE SOME FUCKING JAFFA CAKES IN MY COAT POCKET. She also brought me roasted chicken and thyme potato chips, which were, uh....strange.
On Tuesday night, Jigna (my sister) curled up with me on the couch as we watched Hitman. We fell asleep together.
On Wednesday morning, I discovered that my mom had put in the backseat of my car the things she'd brought for me to take, like chutney cream cheese and cologne; some had been at the other house, and I was supposed to have retrieved them before I went to sleep. "You're the best!" I said of her in the parking garage when I discovered this.
She then ruined the goodwill by calling me four times in a row and sending a text message while I was at an off-site just to ask me whether I knew anything about the Jelly Belly factory.
Wednesday night, the family paid me a surprise visit on my night off from the family. I was busy preparing for my Boston trip and packing and looking forward to watching Leverage, but no, I was not to get a night to myself. Predictably, my mom didn't think my apartment was clean enough. Which is true, but I am doing just fine living in it.
Thursday night, Kiran (my brother) and I played Fat Princess and Unreal Tournament. We bond over video games.
On Friday, I picked up my cousin Nidhi from the Emeryville Amtrak station after work; she had just gotten back from orientation at UC-Davis and was wide-eyed about what a different world college was. I took her with me to my comic book store since I needed to take advantage of the 25% sale. I asked one of the women who worked there to recommend something to her. Since Nidhi liked manga and fairy tales, she recommended Chronicles of the Grim Peddler. I got it for her and then realized it would totally make a good Raksha Bandhan gift. Clever, clever. Nidhi thought it was a good idea as well.
I also picked up volume 2 of Scott Pilgrim for my brother, having already given him a signed copy of volume 1. In addition to the hardcover The Name of the Wind Ravi had given me. He was currently reading Good Omens.
Friday night, my not-dead grandfather asked me if there was some policy at my company that forbade ironing my clothes. Yes, I said, there was. (Actually, I didn't know exactly what he was saying, but I assumed it was some knock on my clothing, and it was the only knock I could think of since I was generally well dressed. My dad confirmed my suspicions.)
We went out to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Jigna wanted to sit next to me. She was tired and rested her head on my shoulder. Also, I scared her during the zombie scene.
Even though I was having a good time with my brother and cousin after we got back, I was immediately forced to come down and sit with the adults. To my surprise, The Topic That Shall Not Be Named never came up. Instead, I learned that the passive-aggressiveness in my family runs deep, which came as no surprise.
(The Topic That Shall Not Be Named came up with my dad earlier, though. For the record, and all.)
Both my brother and sister wore shirts I had bought them.
Saturday, we took a trip down to Monterey with a stop in Santa Cruz. My aunt gave my cousin twenty bucks to spend on the Boardwalk, and he used said cash to buy garlic fries for all of us. Afterward, I was strongly scolded by my parents since I was supposed to have paid, being the oldest and employed...despite the fact that my aunt had given that money for the express purpose of being spent. Of course I would have paid if one of the kids was going to be spending their own money, but apparently I am just supposed to pay for everyone for everything all the time or something. No one has told me the goddamn rules.
My dad made a big deal about the fact that I didn't feel like having a second family picture on my camera when it was already being taken with Jigna's camera. Take a picture with your camera, he would say. The operative word being your. It is my fucking camera, and if I don't want to take a fucking picture with it, that is none of your fucking concern. Some people treat digital cameras as excuses to take pictures willy-nilly, but I'm not like that. I still take pictures with a purpose, even though I don't have to worry about finishing a roll.
On the way back, my brother and I shared earbuds and listened to music. On Last.fm, our compatibility is SUPER.
Before I left, my sister tied her rakhi on me. My mom whispered in my ear that I was to give her fifty-one dollars, which was almost all I had in my wallet, but I had to give it to her or else there would be *~drama~*.
When I left, my mom gave me a brown paper bag and told me to open it in the car. And then she told me to throw away the washcloth by my sink and railed on me for not cleaning my bathroom enough and not vacuuming and not tidying up enough, and my dad said I could look for another apartment if there was something better. But I am fine where I am. I am doing fine. As a person. I have a job that pays me more than I deserve, and I have friends, and I gain enjoyment from media consumption, and I THINK MY LIFE IS KIND OF PRETTY OKAY. But my parents have a way of making me feel like a failure. I make declarations that I will no longer give a fuck what they think and stop trying to gain their approval, but then they disapprove yet again and I can't help giving a fuck with they think and wanting to gain their fucking approval if only so they will SHUT UP. Except I will never get their goddamn approval. But that doesn't deter me, apparently.
I opened the brown paper bag. It was full of washcloths.
I'M ON A PLANE
EVERYBODY LOOK AT ME 'CAUSE I'M POSTING FROM A PLANE
And what will I post about from tens of thousands of feet in the damn sky? Why, my family, of course! Because...they flew on a plane to come to California?
This why I love my brother: when I told him to bring me back a redhead with an adorable accent from Ireland, he responded thusly:
i promise to get you a redhead who wont be written out of your life randomly when they decide to leave her in an alternate future for no reason
Also, he knew exactly why I told my sister that I wanted a shillelagh, and he even remembered what we named our shillelagh in Beyond Zork.
This is why I love my sister: she brought me JAFFA CAKES. Now I can totally HAVE SOME FUCKING JAFFA CAKES IN MY COAT POCKET. She also brought me roasted chicken and thyme potato chips, which were, uh....strange.
On Tuesday night, Jigna (my sister) curled up with me on the couch as we watched Hitman. We fell asleep together.
On Wednesday morning, I discovered that my mom had put in the backseat of my car the things she'd brought for me to take, like chutney cream cheese and cologne; some had been at the other house, and I was supposed to have retrieved them before I went to sleep. "You're the best!" I said of her in the parking garage when I discovered this.
She then ruined the goodwill by calling me four times in a row and sending a text message while I was at an off-site just to ask me whether I knew anything about the Jelly Belly factory.
Wednesday night, the family paid me a surprise visit on my night off from the family. I was busy preparing for my Boston trip and packing and looking forward to watching Leverage, but no, I was not to get a night to myself. Predictably, my mom didn't think my apartment was clean enough. Which is true, but I am doing just fine living in it.
Thursday night, Kiran (my brother) and I played Fat Princess and Unreal Tournament. We bond over video games.
On Friday, I picked up my cousin Nidhi from the Emeryville Amtrak station after work; she had just gotten back from orientation at UC-Davis and was wide-eyed about what a different world college was. I took her with me to my comic book store since I needed to take advantage of the 25% sale. I asked one of the women who worked there to recommend something to her. Since Nidhi liked manga and fairy tales, she recommended Chronicles of the Grim Peddler. I got it for her and then realized it would totally make a good Raksha Bandhan gift. Clever, clever. Nidhi thought it was a good idea as well.
I also picked up volume 2 of Scott Pilgrim for my brother, having already given him a signed copy of volume 1. In addition to the hardcover The Name of the Wind Ravi had given me. He was currently reading Good Omens.
Friday night, my not-dead grandfather asked me if there was some policy at my company that forbade ironing my clothes. Yes, I said, there was. (Actually, I didn't know exactly what he was saying, but I assumed it was some knock on my clothing, and it was the only knock I could think of since I was generally well dressed. My dad confirmed my suspicions.)
We went out to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Jigna wanted to sit next to me. She was tired and rested her head on my shoulder. Also, I scared her during the zombie scene.
Even though I was having a good time with my brother and cousin after we got back, I was immediately forced to come down and sit with the adults. To my surprise, The Topic That Shall Not Be Named never came up. Instead, I learned that the passive-aggressiveness in my family runs deep, which came as no surprise.
(The Topic That Shall Not Be Named came up with my dad earlier, though. For the record, and all.)
Both my brother and sister wore shirts I had bought them.
Saturday, we took a trip down to Monterey with a stop in Santa Cruz. My aunt gave my cousin twenty bucks to spend on the Boardwalk, and he used said cash to buy garlic fries for all of us. Afterward, I was strongly scolded by my parents since I was supposed to have paid, being the oldest and employed...despite the fact that my aunt had given that money for the express purpose of being spent. Of course I would have paid if one of the kids was going to be spending their own money, but apparently I am just supposed to pay for everyone for everything all the time or something. No one has told me the goddamn rules.
My dad made a big deal about the fact that I didn't feel like having a second family picture on my camera when it was already being taken with Jigna's camera. Take a picture with your camera, he would say. The operative word being your. It is my fucking camera, and if I don't want to take a fucking picture with it, that is none of your fucking concern. Some people treat digital cameras as excuses to take pictures willy-nilly, but I'm not like that. I still take pictures with a purpose, even though I don't have to worry about finishing a roll.
On the way back, my brother and I shared earbuds and listened to music. On Last.fm, our compatibility is SUPER.
Before I left, my sister tied her rakhi on me. My mom whispered in my ear that I was to give her fifty-one dollars, which was almost all I had in my wallet, but I had to give it to her or else there would be *~drama~*.
When I left, my mom gave me a brown paper bag and told me to open it in the car. And then she told me to throw away the washcloth by my sink and railed on me for not cleaning my bathroom enough and not vacuuming and not tidying up enough, and my dad said I could look for another apartment if there was something better. But I am fine where I am. I am doing fine. As a person. I have a job that pays me more than I deserve, and I have friends, and I gain enjoyment from media consumption, and I THINK MY LIFE IS KIND OF PRETTY OKAY. But my parents have a way of making me feel like a failure. I make declarations that I will no longer give a fuck what they think and stop trying to gain their approval, but then they disapprove yet again and I can't help giving a fuck with they think and wanting to gain their fucking approval if only so they will SHUT UP. Except I will never get their goddamn approval. But that doesn't deter me, apparently.
I opened the brown paper bag. It was full of washcloths.