This past weekend I spent an inordinate amount of time with my parents and older sister. (That's not actually true... It was about the same amount of time that I normally spend with them but I didn't want you to think I'm a loser who always hangs out with her parents/older sister. But I guess I just told you I am so there's that.)
On Friday night, I think I slept over there but I can't really remember so moving on. On Saturday, I woke up and got dressed and went straight to the eye doctor, where my sister works, and picked out new glasses. Then I went to my parents house and helped my dad track down his birth certificate so he could finally get his passport. Then my mom and sister came home and all four of us, Mom, Dad, Sister and I went to Bob Evans for lunch. Sunday I woke up, drove around looking for some place with a drive through that would sell me a frozen coke (Burger King, yippee!) and then, on account of the beautiful sunshine and 75+ degree temps, decided to cruise on over to my parents house. There I spent the remainder of the afternoon: I went to the driving range with my Dad, helped my mom prepare dinner, watched some of the Cavs game, etc. I finally went home around 10:00 PM and went to bed. I’m cool.
Where I was going with this, I’m not really sure. Clearly I need a boyfriend but we’re not going to open up that can of worms right now, (or ever, trust me, you don’t want me to get started on this rant). The interesting (read: depressing) realization that I came to this weekend though is how little I’ve moved on since college. This reasoning is two fold.
1. Overall dependence on my parents is nearing an all time high. As evidenced by the preceding, I still rely on my parents a lot. Not quite to the extent as I did in college, when they basically supported me 100% financially, (believe it or not I’m almost completely financially independent at this point, save for the cell phone but I think they’re only still paying for that through some sort of clerical oversight on their part so let's not bring that to their attention, OK?) There's only one thing I need to say to prove this point to you. It's not something I should be proud of but I am and here it is: My Mom packs my lunch for me. We're talking Turkey Sandwich/Grapes/Carrot Sticks/Change for the pop machine, in a brown paper lunch bag, with my name written on it. We do work in the same building (different companies, I'm not that pathetic) so it's not like she drops it off every day (although she does on her days off) but she does pack it for me nonetheless. I think that's all I have to say here, moving on.
2. I still really like to go out and drink heavily. Michelle and I were just talking about this very thing the other day. I forget why we were talking about this as opposed to our usual arsenal of conversational topics such as the merits of side-bangs, why we wish the media would leave poor Britney Spears alone, and who clogged the toilet, but somehow we got on the topic of our drinking habits post-college. Michelle and I both assumed that once we reached a certain age, maybe 24, certainly 25, we would no longer be going out almost every weekend and getting shit-can drunk. Maybe we thought this because we figured we would have settled down and gotten married by now or maybe we just figured it would get old (blasphemous I know!). When it comes right down to it though, we’re just not ready to give up on binge drinking. (I mean I have no life so alcoholism is an obvious choice for me and although Michelle has a BF and therefore a much more extensive social life, said BF is somewhat of a drunk himself so it works out perfectly!) As evidence to prove this point- I went out Saturday night and after several Irish car bombs at Cleats (courtesy of former Browns player Hanford Dixon no less) I went to a party and drank a 40 of Bud heavy and then went to a bar where I stood by the exit and proceeded to smack everyone on the ass as they were leaving. (This went over well with the gentlemen, the ladies not so much...) Now I ask you; do these sound like the actions of a responsible 25 year old professional or a drunk college co-ed???
I’m not normally one for this type of introspection; there was something that spurred it. It was my Mom and her own silly feelings of nostalgia for my glory days. You see, our senior year, when I was living with 5 other girls, mostly all best friends of mine to this day, we decided to have our own little “Mom’s Weekend” spring semester, much in the same vain as a sorority Mom’s weekend (except way fucking better). We had all our Mom’s come in, mostly from parts of Ohio but some making the trip from Michigan and even New Jersey! We went out to dinner and shopped and did the normal Mom/Daughter stuff but then on Saturday night we cut them loose on the town.
And loose they did go.
I don’t want to exaggerate this but it was honestly one of the most fun nights of our senior year. Each mother/daughter pair had their own matching Miami t-shirts on and at first this was a joke for the Moms like, “Oh man Maryanne (or June, or Jan, or Vicki, or Pat), now we won’t be able to separate ourselves from the stupid things our daughters get into!” hahaha gay laughter all around, you get it. Funny, except it ended up being the complete opposite, where all the co-eds were embarrassed to be associated with our respective Mothers because they all got drunk and rowdy and did a ton of stupid shit. I’m not going to get into the specifics here because I don’t want to defame any of our lovely Moms and put their PTA memberships in jeopardy or whatever but suffice it to say it was HILARIOUS.
And as it turns out, this past weekend was the three year anniversary of when the “Tipsy Moms took over Oxford” as my Mom put it… reminding me like three times… within the span of one hour sitting at Bob Evans. And then she says something like, “wow, I really miss that place”, like she was the one who spent four years having a ball there, rather than four years funding it.
So anyways, that’s what got me to thinking about how little I’ve grown since the good old days at MU. It’s a sad, sad commentary on my life to see that I’m still just a loser, pining after my college days.
But I guess that’s better than being a loser pining after my high school days.
Or being a cripple.
On Friday night, I think I slept over there but I can't really remember so moving on. On Saturday, I woke up and got dressed and went straight to the eye doctor, where my sister works, and picked out new glasses. Then I went to my parents house and helped my dad track down his birth certificate so he could finally get his passport. Then my mom and sister came home and all four of us, Mom, Dad, Sister and I went to Bob Evans for lunch. Sunday I woke up, drove around looking for some place with a drive through that would sell me a frozen coke (Burger King, yippee!) and then, on account of the beautiful sunshine and 75+ degree temps, decided to cruise on over to my parents house. There I spent the remainder of the afternoon: I went to the driving range with my Dad, helped my mom prepare dinner, watched some of the Cavs game, etc. I finally went home around 10:00 PM and went to bed. I’m cool.
Where I was going with this, I’m not really sure. Clearly I need a boyfriend but we’re not going to open up that can of worms right now, (or ever, trust me, you don’t want me to get started on this rant). The interesting (read: depressing) realization that I came to this weekend though is how little I’ve moved on since college. This reasoning is two fold.
1. Overall dependence on my parents is nearing an all time high. As evidenced by the preceding, I still rely on my parents a lot. Not quite to the extent as I did in college, when they basically supported me 100% financially, (believe it or not I’m almost completely financially independent at this point, save for the cell phone but I think they’re only still paying for that through some sort of clerical oversight on their part so let's not bring that to their attention, OK?) There's only one thing I need to say to prove this point to you. It's not something I should be proud of but I am and here it is: My Mom packs my lunch for me. We're talking Turkey Sandwich/Grapes/Carrot Sticks/Change for the pop machine, in a brown paper lunch bag, with my name written on it. We do work in the same building (different companies, I'm not that pathetic) so it's not like she drops it off every day (although she does on her days off) but she does pack it for me nonetheless. I think that's all I have to say here, moving on.
2. I still really like to go out and drink heavily. Michelle and I were just talking about this very thing the other day. I forget why we were talking about this as opposed to our usual arsenal of conversational topics such as the merits of side-bangs, why we wish the media would leave poor Britney Spears alone, and who clogged the toilet, but somehow we got on the topic of our drinking habits post-college. Michelle and I both assumed that once we reached a certain age, maybe 24, certainly 25, we would no longer be going out almost every weekend and getting shit-can drunk. Maybe we thought this because we figured we would have settled down and gotten married by now or maybe we just figured it would get old (blasphemous I know!). When it comes right down to it though, we’re just not ready to give up on binge drinking. (I mean I have no life so alcoholism is an obvious choice for me and although Michelle has a BF and therefore a much more extensive social life, said BF is somewhat of a drunk himself so it works out perfectly!) As evidence to prove this point- I went out Saturday night and after several Irish car bombs at Cleats (courtesy of former Browns player Hanford Dixon no less) I went to a party and drank a 40 of Bud heavy and then went to a bar where I stood by the exit and proceeded to smack everyone on the ass as they were leaving. (This went over well with the gentlemen, the ladies not so much...) Now I ask you; do these sound like the actions of a responsible 25 year old professional or a drunk college co-ed???
I’m not normally one for this type of introspection; there was something that spurred it. It was my Mom and her own silly feelings of nostalgia for my glory days. You see, our senior year, when I was living with 5 other girls, mostly all best friends of mine to this day, we decided to have our own little “Mom’s Weekend” spring semester, much in the same vain as a sorority Mom’s weekend (except way fucking better). We had all our Mom’s come in, mostly from parts of Ohio but some making the trip from Michigan and even New Jersey! We went out to dinner and shopped and did the normal Mom/Daughter stuff but then on Saturday night we cut them loose on the town.
And loose they did go.
I don’t want to exaggerate this but it was honestly one of the most fun nights of our senior year. Each mother/daughter pair had their own matching Miami t-shirts on and at first this was a joke for the Moms like, “Oh man Maryanne (or June, or Jan, or Vicki, or Pat), now we won’t be able to separate ourselves from the stupid things our daughters get into!” hahaha gay laughter all around, you get it. Funny, except it ended up being the complete opposite, where all the co-eds were embarrassed to be associated with our respective Mothers because they all got drunk and rowdy and did a ton of stupid shit. I’m not going to get into the specifics here because I don’t want to defame any of our lovely Moms and put their PTA memberships in jeopardy or whatever but suffice it to say it was HILARIOUS.
And as it turns out, this past weekend was the three year anniversary of when the “Tipsy Moms took over Oxford” as my Mom put it… reminding me like three times… within the span of one hour sitting at Bob Evans. And then she says something like, “wow, I really miss that place”, like she was the one who spent four years having a ball there, rather than four years funding it.
So anyways, that’s what got me to thinking about how little I’ve grown since the good old days at MU. It’s a sad, sad commentary on my life to see that I’m still just a loser, pining after my college days.
But I guess that’s better than being a loser pining after my high school days.
Or being a cripple.
No comments:
Post a Comment