Tag Archives: day drinking

dirty ramblings

One of the many, many problems of living with one’s Olds is that one no longer has much choice about certain things. Although they are always very clear that this is my house too, and that I belong here and all of that, when it comes down to decisions about the house and its contents, I have no say.

Which is probably for the best most of the time, because I hated owning a home and having to do things like mow the yard and call plumbers and vacuum. It was all a lot of energy that I could have been putting somewhere more valuable, such as learning to get along with other people in a professional environment—-HA! Oh, that was a good one.

I have already mentioned the Olds’ new furniture idea. Nothing has changed yet, but at any moment a large truck could roar up and start unloading things. Because it is clear now that I will not be getting any warning about future home improvement products. For instance, a week ago, the Olds went out for the afternoon, and came back with a gleam in their eyes and expressions of utter satisfaction on their smug little faces.

“What did you do?” I demanded, breaking up their little whisper and giggle fest.
(I am not kidding when I say it is like living with 4th graders. Ones that drink vodka instead of juiceboxes, but still)

They both sit up straight, mentally smoothing down their straightjackets, and one of them says, in a not particularly friendly way:

“WE bought a washer and dryer!”

The other Old nodded and glared at me as if to say “YEAH WE DID, MOTHERFUCKER!!”

They seemed very defensive about it. “Oh, good” I said, carefully. “When is it being delivered?”

“On SATURDAY!!!!”, they crowed, arms crossed, with, I swear to god, some hair tossing. Well. Head tossing, to be more precise. Not a lot of hair to toss on one of them.

I looked from the burning gaze of one to the barely concealed eye rolls of the other. Unable to think of any safe reply, I backed away with what I intended to be a pleasant look on my face, and shot down the stairs to my lair. I listened intently for any explosions upstairs but heard only some slapping…..which was disturbing until, I realized they were high five-ing each other.
Which, was still disturbing. It was just the least upsetting thing that such a sound could ha—-ANYWAY.

I will not recount the actual delivery and installation of the new appliances, for it is too annoying and too early for vodka. But it is here, and apparently, it works. For everyone but me. I have now tried to do three loads of laundry and I have a feeling they will be my last. I could probably figure out all of the seventy million different settings if I tried; that’s not really the point. What is going to drive me the rest of the way out of my mind is how one of the Olds keeps trying to help me. She does this from a different floor of the house, by yelling instructions which I cannot hear and which make no sense anyway, and then she threatens, I mean, offers, to come up and “help” me. This counts as technology instruction and is therefore unacceptable.
I’m either going to have to start going to the laundromat or just wearing my clothes in the shower to get them clean.

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They’re [almost] heeeeere……

It is Mother’s Day this weekend, and that means one thing here at Oldenhome. The siblings are coming. BOTH of them.

When the three of us are together, our lifelong Contest goes on warp speed. This is the Contest in which we compete for the title of Number One. Technically, I am Number One, since I am the oldest. My brother is then Number Two [heh heh heh I said number two] and the youngest, our sister, is Number Three. Except chronology is not at issue here. The numbers instead denote which child is currently the favorite one. The Olds usually have different favorites at different times, but the object of this Contest is to be the overall favorite. My brother, for instance, is always Number One with one of the Olds. She pretends that this is not so, but it is. When I emerged from my studio yesterday, I came upstairs to lots of delighted chatter and giggling and then the announcement: “HAVE YOU HEARD THE GOOD NEWS?!”

Me: No–did someone die?
Old: M— is coming for Mother’s Day!!!
[I swear to God: then she did a little dance of joy. It was scary.]
Me: Oh, good!
[Remind myself to remove needles from sewing machines, as once when brother was here, he thought it would be fun to “sew” and ended up sewing parts of his own shirt together. While he was wearing it.]
Other Old [morose]: You know what this means?
Me: Shit.
Other Old: Yes.
[the two of us make runs for our respective lairs]
Joyful Old, who has been twittering and humming to herself: Where are you going? I HAVE TASKS FOR YOU!!!!
Me & Other Old, from above and below: I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

The Joyful Old was in such a good mood yesterday that we were able to avoid being Tasked for the most part. But. She has now completed what she views as her own list of tasks–moving around stacks of cookbooks, which she calls “organizing”, and disposing of about 12 magazines from 2012 on the living room coffee table so that there is room enough to set a single coffee cup. All remaining Tasks, most of which involve actual work, will be outsourced to the other Old and me.

Therefore, I must leave the house immediately. This may affect my standing and drop me down to Number Three, but that is a risk I am willing to take compared to the diseases I could contract from cleaning out the refrigerator. The other Old will not be pleased, but at times like this, it is everyone for themselves.

Ominous footsteps are overhead as I write this. I may have left my escape too late. PRAY FOR ME.

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The Returning

Lo, as I type these very words, the Olds are on their way back home. After an exhausting week of relaxation, sunshine, ocean, eating cake for breakfast and lunch, lounging by the pool, day drinking, evening drinking, night drinking, drunk dialing/texting all of their offspring with blurry photos of what appear to be flamingos and old women in various stages of inebriation, sober-texting me requests not to dispose of rotten produce and helpful housekeeping tips (No. I am not cleaning the caper closet. Assholes), eating at gourmet restaurants while I subsist on dry cereal and peanut butter eaten from a spoon (ran out of milk and bread around Tuesday), and ignoring any of my texts that need answers–
“Out of silverware. Please advise”
“Bread has ended; no spoons, no way to consume peanut butter please send help NOW”
“The dog has been stolen” (Didn’t actually send that–although that one they would have responded to, but there would have been no need to worry, since no one would keep her for more than an hour without paying us to take her back)
–after all of that, they are, right now, traveling from Florida to Indianapolis.

Since I have had the misfortune to make this journey with them in the past, not to mention all of the other trips I have taken with them as a freeloading adult, I would now like to describe what it is like to Travel With the Olds, so that everyone can understand why staying at home, doing laundry, cleaning the refrigerator, and eating bits of leftover stale food for a week is preferable to a week in Florida. For me, at least.

5:00 AM: Oldest Old wakes up in panic. MUST GET TO AIRPORT ASAP!! FLIGHT LEAVES AT 10am!!! HURRY HURRY HURRY! (falls back asleep)
5:32 AM: Oldest Old wakes up again. Hears other Old and her sister, Aunt Old, in other room having coffee, not having the hangovers they deserve, and cackling.
5:33-6:49: General rushing around of all three Olds. Lots of asking each other if have seen this or that while trying to eat all the leftovers in the fridge and putting whatever leftover liquor they have into leftover orange juice which they purchased to drink for breakfast and which has in fact only been used as a mixer all week
6:50: Oldest Old shoos other two Olds out of condo, so he can do a last walkthrough to check for anything they have forgotten.
6:51: Other Olds stand in parking lot giggling and making hurtful but honest observations about the absolute ridiculosity that the Oldest Old thinks he can find ANYTHING.
6:55: Oldest Old reappears and asks why the hell they aren’t in the car yet.
6:56: Aunt Old cunningly says that her coffee has kicked in, and can she have the key for a minute as she has something to attend to.
7:05: Aunt Old opens door of (already running) car, gets in, hands Oldest Old his wallet and iPad, and does not look at the other Old so as to prevent unladylike whoopings of laughter.
7:06: Oldest Old peels out of parking lot and refuses to speak until they reach the airport 30 minutes later.
7:56: After stressful job of returning rental car and having to go back and search it twice, once for his wallet and once for his suitcase, the Oldest Old is once again not speaking to the other Olds, who are positively bursting at the seams with mirth and delight at how unhungover they are, how annoyed the Oldest Old is with everything in general right now, and how so much of that annoyance is directed at them in particular.
8:04: He continues not speaking to them while they check in at the counter. Within seconds, he disappears into a crowd of other Olds all wearing khaki old man sunhats and Blue Blocker sunglasses, who, like him, are racing towards their gates to catch flights which will not leave for several hours yet.  Since he is tall, sometimes his old man hat can be seen bobbing above the crowd, but eventually it is impossible to tell which pastel pink hatband is his in the distance.
8:28: Other Olds arrive, panting and exhausted, at gate, to find Oldest Old calmly reading a newspaper and finishing some kind of delicious breakfast pastry, of which he has pointedly purchased only one. He nods in greeting and stiffly returns to his paper.
8:29: Other Olds take seats near him whispering and giggling, and then ask him loud questions about how long until they are supposed to board and do they have time to get coffee and does he want anything even though he must be full after eating whatever that was that he didn’t share
8:30 Oldest old mumbles something about having plenty of time and turns down offers of anything.
(Fun fact: Flight does not leave til 11:00am, not 10:00 as previously thought. All this means to Other Olds is more time to find a bar serving Bloody Marys before 9:00am)
8:31-10:20 Consumption of Bloody Marys. Approximately 19 trips to bathroom. Continued pouting from Oldest Old. More giggling and whispering from other Olds, punctuated by incredibly loud text alerts from their phones, as they have just discovered how hilarious it is to text each other things about the Oldest Old while sitting right behind him.
10:21 Boarding announced. Oldest Old immediately apparates to the front of the line, while the Other Old and Aunt Old take tearful leave of one another.
10:23  My Olds disappear into plane.   Aunt Old collapses into wild, uncontrollable laughter and goes in search of bar.

Right now, they are still in the air. This means I have approximately 2, maybe 3 hours during which I must clean the entire house, procure groceries I lied about getting two days ago, and also find the dog.

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