The scene: The day before my final(s) frantically typing a late paper, outside Leavey Library.
So there I am, by the gorgeous reflecting pool, chugging Rock Star (oh, 'SC, remember RedBull? I do. And fondly. Wha happened?) and pounding away on my laptop like Colin Farrell with a sorority girl. A blandly beautiful, vaguely familiar looking girl passes and waves to me.
So I look up and kinda, sorta acknowledge her prescence - because I have taken a leave of abscence (or two) in my time and could have easily blanked on recognizing a former classmate/acquaintance/whatever.
Unfortunately, my semi-acknowledgment of her existence leads to this: A too-sweet like saccharine smile and "Just remember, Jesus loves you."
A beat. No real response on my end. I half-glance at my laptop again and dread the work I have to do.
"Well, I'm praying for you!"
Again, a beat, no movement on my part. I have basically 20ish pages to type in the next 24 hours, so that's where my priorities are. She walks away and delivers the parting shot - "You're a very self-absorbed person, you know that?"
Oh. Dear. Fuck. You. Bitch.
I don't say that of course, just sit sorta stunned and nonplussed. Okay, yes, I am. I never denied that. I know I can be shallow and self-absorbed, but it's a defense mechanism and an ironic choice. And my self-absorption has NOTHING to do with the fact that I won't join your Jesus Brigade considering I am obviously working on something for finals and don't want to be interrupted by people who act like they know me but are just trying to win the Conversion Toaster. Seriously, who does that? Yes, it's a campus. But it is still one in a major city. Learn some boundaries, fool. Or else some crazed homeless person is gonna stab you because you didn't just keep walking and chose to listen to their sob story about the car breaking down and do you have 40 dollars or a cigarette or some crystal meth? No, well, enjoy this knife in your stomach.
SPEAKING OF...
The scene: Post-graduation, mom in town highlights.
Is it (a): Fully stopping, holding up the rest of the group walking in front of her, while she proceeds to listen intensely to said crazed homeless woman's need for a Triple A card due to the car breakage. Mom, if you can't understand what they're saying due to a faulty grasp of English or teh crazy, that doesn't mean you should try to decipher it. My mom isn't good with the accents -- evidenced when she tried to convince us that a waiter's misunderstanding at a fantastically upscale restaurant was due to the fact that they can't speak English as opposed to the gesture being vague.
(b) Being a fucking split Nazi, once again. Granted, it is mother's day brunch, but just ORDER YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD! She does this at every meal. Rather than order what she wants and live with the consequences, she FORCES us to split things with her so that she won't deal with the failure/responsibility if she doesn't like it. I chose Hungry Cat specifically because I wanted the burger, with blue cheese.
At first, she opts for the "oh, i'll just scrape it off option." Then it becomes blue cheese on the side. Even though the melty goodness is the whole point. I don't get it. Order your own. That way, you can control your order like the insane control freak that you are rather than having everyone else compromise to please you. I think my favorite was when she said that we shouldn't order the shrimp (though I was asking Krystal if she wanted some shrimp) because her stomach was upset and she's trying to save money. Okay, well, I don't understand why the rest of the table can't have shrimp because your stomach's off. (Which it is apparently ALL THE DAMN TIME). Don't talk to me about money when you spent the entire two days before my graduation buying expensive things at Nordstrom's, Fred Segal and god knows where else rather than asking what I - the graduate, remember? the reason you came to LA? -- wanted to do while my family was here. (Hint: not watch you and Mollie shop for 6 days straight).
Needless to say, she ate the shrimp and proclaimed it a good choice.
(c) The reason for all this anger? Hmm, while at her friends in Sherman Oaks, she debates whether their mutual friend loves her daughter or son more. Mom says that the son is going through a tough time or something so it's "easier to love" the daughter. I make some comment, not too snarky. Without prompting, this causes the conversation to turn to me - namely, mom telling me to my face that "Mollie (my sister) is easy to love. You're not easy to love." And somehow, when I get pissed off and sulky at this, she has the audacity to act as though she did nothing wrong and I'm crazy to be offended all how dare you! not take this insult with a smile.
No, Mom, it's great. That's just the perfect thing to say to someone who believes that they don't deserve love, will never find love and are going to die alone. Thanks a lot, love you too.
