somewhere more familiar
Last night was Dinner with the Jeanses again. Alex is freaking hysterical. I'm sitting on the couch, wrapped up in an afghan (it was freezing in their house - also, I was wearing a t-shirt and no additional layers) (also, the afghan may have been a wedding present, but Aunt Amy may have been kidding about that) and laughing maniacally at the stories this kid is weaving. And it strikes me that everything my friend the Other Emily and Sarah have told me is true: my stories don't go anywhere.
No, seriously - I tend to tell these long, rambling stories where I think there's a punchline, but then when I get to the end, Emily and Sarah are just staring at me, with "What the Fuck?" faces. It's so bad, that when the three of us were sharing a room the night before Jen's wedding, they couldn't sleep, and Sarah asked me to tell a story that didn't go anywhere. And half-asleep, I managed to, and it was even worse than when I'm awake.
Anyway. Alex is hysterical. Also hysterical? This exchange:
Me: Oh! I remember what I wanted to ask you!
Uncle Jean: Shoot.
Me: Do you remember when I gave you the script for my pilot all those months ago?
Jean: ... Vaguely ...
Me: Did you ever read it? [he thinks] Okay, let me ask you another question: did you even take it out of your backpack?
Jean: Yes! Yes, I did!
Me: Are you sure? Are you telling me that if I go through that backpack right now, my script won't be in there?
Jean: It won't, because I emptied it out last week while I was looking for an important document. I bet - I bet I put it here, on the counter - [points to counter, which has since been cleaned off. I glare] which the kids must have cleaned.
Me: Is it in the den?
Jean: I don't know, but it's in this house somewhere.
[I turn on the stool and glance at the cabinet next to the hallway.]
Me: Found it.
Jean: What?
Me: [pointing] Found it.
Jean: You did not.
Me: Yes, I did. [I get up and take it out of the cabinet]
Jean: Alaina, that is not --
Me: [reading] "Busted Eardrums, by Alaina Patterson."
Jean: Shit.
Uh, time out -- my glasses just broke. My NEW glasses just broke. Fuck. Well, that's just great. Now I have to go to Sears on Tuesday and get them fixed. Fuck! I've only worn them, like, five times. Thank goodness I still have my old pair. Dammit!
Oh, so, I'm not going to be able to complete my Oscar!Watch this year, mainly because I really don't want to. I mean, Precious? Just the trailer fills my stomach with dread. And The Blind Side would probably be okay as a Redbox rental, but ... no. I'm sorry, mo. I don't think the awards are as up in the air (pun not intended, sorry) as they have been in years past, and I can't bring myself to stress out and create a schedule for watching these movies that I really don't want to see. So. Thank goodness I'm not emotionally invested in anything this year.
No, seriously - I tend to tell these long, rambling stories where I think there's a punchline, but then when I get to the end, Emily and Sarah are just staring at me, with "What the Fuck?" faces. It's so bad, that when the three of us were sharing a room the night before Jen's wedding, they couldn't sleep, and Sarah asked me to tell a story that didn't go anywhere. And half-asleep, I managed to, and it was even worse than when I'm awake.
Anyway. Alex is hysterical. Also hysterical? This exchange:
Me: Oh! I remember what I wanted to ask you!
Uncle Jean: Shoot.
Me: Do you remember when I gave you the script for my pilot all those months ago?
Jean: ... Vaguely ...
Me: Did you ever read it? [he thinks] Okay, let me ask you another question: did you even take it out of your backpack?
Jean: Yes! Yes, I did!
Me: Are you sure? Are you telling me that if I go through that backpack right now, my script won't be in there?
Jean: It won't, because I emptied it out last week while I was looking for an important document. I bet - I bet I put it here, on the counter - [points to counter, which has since been cleaned off. I glare] which the kids must have cleaned.
Me: Is it in the den?
Jean: I don't know, but it's in this house somewhere.
[I turn on the stool and glance at the cabinet next to the hallway.]
Me: Found it.
Jean: What?
Me: [pointing] Found it.
Jean: You did not.
Me: Yes, I did. [I get up and take it out of the cabinet]
Jean: Alaina, that is not --
Me: [reading] "Busted Eardrums, by Alaina Patterson."
Jean: Shit.
Uh, time out -- my glasses just broke. My NEW glasses just broke. Fuck. Well, that's just great. Now I have to go to Sears on Tuesday and get them fixed. Fuck! I've only worn them, like, five times. Thank goodness I still have my old pair. Dammit!
Oh, so, I'm not going to be able to complete my Oscar!Watch this year, mainly because I really don't want to. I mean, Precious? Just the trailer fills my stomach with dread. And The Blind Side would probably be okay as a Redbox rental, but ... no. I'm sorry, mo. I don't think the awards are as up in the air (pun not intended, sorry) as they have been in years past, and I can't bring myself to stress out and create a schedule for watching these movies that I really don't want to see. So. Thank goodness I'm not emotionally invested in anything this year.