changing is slim to none, at least until mom makes me run errands with her. I've exhausted my entertainment options for my room - no good movies on HBO, so reruns of Daria on Logo will have to suffice. I've viewed every webpage that is in my bookmarks yet again, and then I remember that I made sweet tea this morning. I get up, find the cup I had this morning, walk past the doorway into the living room and make a comment about the heat when this ear-piercing voice comes from the couch. I back up and look in to find one of the bratty kids and her mother sitting on out couch while my mother and sister sit in their respective chairs and play on their laptops. I ask my mother a question and can feel the stare coming from Muffy and her daughter Miranda as they survey my current state of dress; what I like to call the "I don't give a fuck so you shouldn't either" ensemble. I go to the fridge, get my glass of iced tea, and feverishly head back to my room so that I won't be surveyed again by the McDuffy's.
I guess my real issue here is - who are you to judge me? You walk into my house toting your talentless kids who would rather be picking their noses and playing video games, and expect my family to entertain you while Margot tries to play the flute and Miranda thinks it's funny to show up sans reed for her clarinet for the third week in a row. Do everyone a favor and take them to the pool so they can hang out with the other preppy kids and their families and we can do our thing. Better yet, sit downstairs, where every other parent goes, and wait for your kid there. This isn't Club Monaco, we are not here to serve your every whim.
My poor mother, bless her heart, always likes having people in the house, but can never say to no unwanted or unwarranted guests. They barge in and sit their asses down and she has no guts to say "There's a couch in the basement if you'd like to wait for your snot-nosed brat down there." God forbid I ever say something to a parent that I don't know - that's like committing a mortal sin in this house. So instead I return to my little corner of the house, drink my tea, watch Daria, and type hurriedly while wearing my best friend's sweatshirt. If you don't like my choices, than you can suck it. Capice?
I guess my real issue here is - who are you to judge me? You walk into my house toting your talentless kids who would rather be picking their noses and playing video games, and expect my family to entertain you while Margot tries to play the flute and Miranda thinks it's funny to show up sans reed for her clarinet for the third week in a row. Do everyone a favor and take them to the pool so they can hang out with the other preppy kids and their families and we can do our thing. Better yet, sit downstairs, where every other parent goes, and wait for your kid there. This isn't Club Monaco, we are not here to serve your every whim.
My poor mother, bless her heart, always likes having people in the house, but can never say to no unwanted or unwarranted guests. They barge in and sit their asses down and she has no guts to say "There's a couch in the basement if you'd like to wait for your snot-nosed brat down there." God forbid I ever say something to a parent that I don't know - that's like committing a mortal sin in this house. So instead I return to my little corner of the house, drink my tea, watch Daria, and type hurriedly while wearing my best friend's sweatshirt. If you don't like my choices, than you can suck it. Capice?
