I know, it's been almost a week. I'm digging out. Bear with me. Sometimes I feel a bit foolish going public with emotional downswings, sometimes I want to delete a post that looks bitter or weepy in hindsight, but I try to uphold the law of No Regrets here. So the pity party's over but I'm not getting rid of the evidence. (You sweet blog people who wrote to see if I was okay -- thank you so much for asking. I am feeling much better.) Little Mary Sunshine will be back with you shortly. Thank you for your patience and please enjoy some fresh snark while you wait. It's on The House.
I've spent the last six days at my family's home, making sure my 15-year-old sister didn't get knocked up or burn the place down while Mom and Dad were on vacation. It's been said (again and again and again) that you can't go home again. And you know, it really is true. My parents live in a beautiful house with a gourmet kitchen and big-screen TV, huge laundry machines, buttery leather living room sofa, my beloved piano... luxury upon luxury that my cozy little apartment could never hold. And you know what? I'm uncomfortable there. Really uncomfortable. The beds are unforgiving. The water takes an eternity to heat up and the pressure is weak. (My shower in the city will wash your nipples off if you forget to face away from the stream; back in the 'burbs it takes the better part of an hour to wash my hair.) The cats are annoying -- one of them shits on the doormats and the other is too neurotic to sit in a room by himself. The kitchen's overwhelmingly large and I don't know where the coffee filters are hiding. And it's FREEZING in there. I think there's something wrong with my family, they're like pod people -- something's just a little bit off... Who the hell keeps a house at 67 degrees? It isn't right, people. I'm telling you, it's just. not. right. Normally I'd touch the thermostat on pain of death, but I figured there wasn't much Dad could do to me from Florida (though he might just be anal enough to sense the temperature shift from 1,000 miles away and send a neighbor to enforce the law). I bumped that baby up to 70 degrees. That's right! Try and stop me! Anybody need help with a dirty deed? Scamming your dealer? Robbing a bank? Get me while I'm hot! I made sure to drop the temperature back to Arctic Tundra before I left the house this morning; maybe I should've left a window open for good measure. I don't think my father will know what I did. Y'know, until he reads this, or gets the gas bill, whichever comes first. Then I'm Dead Meat. Which is no big deal, really, 'cause they can hang me up pretty much anywhere in that house and I'll keep for a month at least.