is a misconception I've fallen for a few too many times. Last night was no exception. I'm rarely one to feel embarrassment, or shame, or whatever that sensation is that makes one blush, but last night I got pwned. By my mother. And it was all my fault too, which makes it even worse. To put things into perspective, though, if it were anything far too embarrassing, you all know I'd rather take it to my grave than to express it here.
It's about 5:30 PM
"I'm bored," I say to no one in particular, but you know, to everyone at the same time. "It's friggin friday night, and I don't have anyone to go out with" *Awful, awful thing to blurt out within my mom's hearing distance, which can extend much further than one might guess* So I'm there, eating dinner, watching House of Saddam II on HBOoD, not quite DYING of boredom, though momma somehow got the idea I was. And, let me interject real quick, you know when you were little like up to fourth or fifth grade, and your parents would call your friend's parents and set up a play date, and then drive you over there? Well this only happened because we were so young, so naive, and hadn't quite developed the social/telephone skills that we are now so adept with. When you're 21, your mother is NOT supposed to call other adults, and say, "Cyrus is bored here, and he... he doesn't really have any friends here," Jesus H, like I can't hear this clearly, and painfully so. And if you knew my mom, trying to stop this snowball is like trying to knock Manny Paciauo out with your hands tied behind your back. So I'm left there, watching, hearing, this horrendous act happen before me, wondering how pathetic this 30 year-old, kinda-cute, FEMALE grad student they somehow know, thinks I am. She couldn't have just given me her number and have me call her. Nooo, my mom had to take her cell phone and verbally castrate me in front of someone I barely know, and will have to apply social bandages to tomorrow night at the party we're all going to. (At least there's a hot tub there, and a guarantee of all-Cyrus-can-drink). Ah, the things we can only dwell on and sigh about, right? I try to be one of those people who can look back at something and laugh at it. Right away.
But the phone conversation was only the beginning, folks. "They're going to Indigo around 6:30, Cyrus. You wanna go?" Well, sweet baby Jesus missing his pacifier, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Look like an even bigger fag by not going? "Fine," I say. "Okay, Dad can take you," she replies. And I gag a little bit in my throat, eyes watering ever so slightly, what is this woman trying to do to me? Is she serious? Of course, you moron, you're the one who was whining about what a bored little bitch you was. So around 7, I'm like, "Dad, let's go." I don't know whether I'm anxious, excited, still bored slightly, or just plain pissed off. Well that's taken care of when my mom, ah yes, my dear mother, decides to come along. "We're just going to drop you off. We not going in. Cy Ruussss, come on, stop being gay." Yes, my mom says "gay." Call me a bad influence, but let me defend myself when I say I'm not the one who made her inherently racist. That's another issue. Anyway, I don't know if it were a struck of luck or bad luck, but a series of major lightening strikes blacked out the entire island (except for some buildings with back up generators, including Obama's compound), and the restaurant/bar they're at has to close. So on the one hand, I didn't have to be seen getting dropped off at an adult Chuckie Cheese's, yet on the other, I get to wait to try explaining how not pathetic I am, and how insane my mother is. Moral of the story? Don't let your hella Asian mom try to "help" in situations like this. And let me worry about making the mistakes, you just try learning from 'em. Hang loose brodaz n sistaz.
It's about 5:30 PM
"I'm bored," I say to no one in particular, but you know, to everyone at the same time. "It's friggin friday night, and I don't have anyone to go out with" *Awful, awful thing to blurt out within my mom's hearing distance, which can extend much further than one might guess* So I'm there, eating dinner, watching House of Saddam II on HBOoD, not quite DYING of boredom, though momma somehow got the idea I was. And, let me interject real quick, you know when you were little like up to fourth or fifth grade, and your parents would call your friend's parents and set up a play date, and then drive you over there? Well this only happened because we were so young, so naive, and hadn't quite developed the social/telephone skills that we are now so adept with. When you're 21, your mother is NOT supposed to call other adults, and say, "Cyrus is bored here, and he... he doesn't really have any friends here," Jesus H, like I can't hear this clearly, and painfully so. And if you knew my mom, trying to stop this snowball is like trying to knock Manny Paciauo out with your hands tied behind your back. So I'm left there, watching, hearing, this horrendous act happen before me, wondering how pathetic this 30 year-old, kinda-cute, FEMALE grad student they somehow know, thinks I am. She couldn't have just given me her number and have me call her. Nooo, my mom had to take her cell phone and verbally castrate me in front of someone I barely know, and will have to apply social bandages to tomorrow night at the party we're all going to. (At least there's a hot tub there, and a guarantee of all-Cyrus-can-drink). Ah, the things we can only dwell on and sigh about, right? I try to be one of those people who can look back at something and laugh at it. Right away.
But the phone conversation was only the beginning, folks. "They're going to Indigo around 6:30, Cyrus. You wanna go?" Well, sweet baby Jesus missing his pacifier, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Look like an even bigger fag by not going? "Fine," I say. "Okay, Dad can take you," she replies. And I gag a little bit in my throat, eyes watering ever so slightly, what is this woman trying to do to me? Is she serious? Of course, you moron, you're the one who was whining about what a bored little bitch you was. So around 7, I'm like, "Dad, let's go." I don't know whether I'm anxious, excited, still bored slightly, or just plain pissed off. Well that's taken care of when my mom, ah yes, my dear mother, decides to come along. "We're just going to drop you off. We not going in. Cy Ruussss, come on, stop being gay." Yes, my mom says "gay." Call me a bad influence, but let me defend myself when I say I'm not the one who made her inherently racist. That's another issue. Anyway, I don't know if it were a struck of luck or bad luck, but a series of major lightening strikes blacked out the entire island (except for some buildings with back up generators, including Obama's compound), and the restaurant/bar they're at has to close. So on the one hand, I didn't have to be seen getting dropped off at an adult Chuckie Cheese's, yet on the other, I get to wait to try explaining how not pathetic I am, and how insane my mother is. Moral of the story? Don't let your hella Asian mom try to "help" in situations like this. And let me worry about making the mistakes, you just try learning from 'em. Hang loose brodaz n sistaz.
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