Another GAF crosspost cunt
So my dad died about 3 years ago, a solid 6 months or so before I moved to Seattle. A handful of months back, I received word that my mom was dating again. Cool beans, I figured, it was good that she's found someone she could be happy with again, especially considering that her marriage to my now-deceased dad had devolved into this horribly unhappy stay together for the kids thing in the early 80s.
So I fly home and I meet the dude for the first time. He's not bad, kinda goofy, somewhere between 5 and 10 years younger than my mom. Nice enough. Seems smart. And things were fine; I figured my superior intelligence and way large reasoning ability had allowed me to leap the "OMG my mom is dating" hurdle. And I did. For like 2 days.
He's always around, and even more unsettling is that my mom stays at his house every night. Now, normally I'd be absolutely kosher with my mom leaving me the hell alone as I go through myy horrible trials in PA, but there was something patently unwholesome about all of this, as if I were learning a life lesson that they did not cover ona very special episode of Blossum. If it was covered, I blame my relatively frequent chemical abuse, which was also not covered in a very special episode of blossum. If it was covered, I blame my parent's loveless marriage for making me suppress said episode on chemical abuse.
Anyway, the awkwardness leapt to center stage today as my mom made me spend time with the dude, going shopping with him for last minute christmas gifts. This was the first time I had to spend time with him without the buffer field of my mom, and it did not go well. He kept talking, trying to make small take, and I felt nervous and awkward and all wrong. My mouth kept salivating and I couldn't stop thinking that my 60 year old mom was getting more ass than me. And now I've realized that I just wrote about salivation and my mom getting ass in the same sentence. All I could think about when I got to the mall was cold medicine and wiimotes and dehydration. I think I said about 5 words during the entire car ride, and they were all okay. I definitely needed dramamine.
Eventually I got home and say my mom and decided I need to take a nap and hopefully forget everything horrible in the world, like me salivating at the thought of my mom getting ass. Am I Jim Morrison or something?
So now basically Christmas has been ruined forever. This box of wine sucks ass (the attractive adjective used to lure in sellers on the box is "approachable," as in "We strive to make an approachable wine;" the honest version of which is "We strive to make a wine that does not taste totally like piss") and I could barely put down a third of the box. It's almost NyQuil time but all the cold medicine in the world can't wash the dirt off my hands or can't make me forget the disturbing salivations of this morning. Nobody knows my pain and I wish I had more than the first two episodes of Dexter. I am about to begin watching season 2 of entourage and drinking NyQuil, but there will be no satisfaction.
