Monday, August 8, 2011

My Feet Have Been Sticky For Two Straight Months

So yeah. It's hot outside. I know just about everyone is having a rough summer. But it's particularly bad in the Dallas area because a) we've had more than a month straight of over 100 degree days and b) I live here so therefore it's worse than anywhere else.

I spend all my time running from my house, to my car, to my office, back to my car and back to my house. I only go outside in the early morning or late evening, and only for like 10 minutes at a time. And then I spend an hour bitching about how fucking sweaty I am. My grass is brown and my skin is white.

The good news is that I am going home to Minnesota in less than three weeks, where I will promptly begin working on my tan. Nobody believes that I live in Texas when I go up there because I'm so pale. It's just too hot to be outside here. I mean, the fucking train tracks are warping, people.

Okay, so the Kiddo came home for the summer after his first year in college. I haven't been blogging about him lately on account of some issues he's been having that I don't really want to discuss here. Let's just say it involves a bong in the shape of a skull and mandatory drug testing.

Turns out it's hard when your kid comes home from college. Because he's been gone for 9 months doing stupid shit and feeling all adult and totally the boss of himself and then he comes home in June and doesn't get why his parents make him follow rules. Rules like, "hey, how about you don't treat your bedroom like a trash dump?" and "just because you're 19 doesn't mean you don't have to empty the dishwasher anymore." and my favorite, "maybe don't forget to take your house key with you when you go out on a Tuesday night and then when you come home drunk at 1:30am, don't climb on my roof trying to break into your bedroom and then yell at me when I hear you and call your cell to ask why in the hell you're up there. ASSHOLE."

Please God, don't let him get suspended from college. Or quit. Or whatever. Because I don't think I can handle him living here all year.

And to make things even more special, the Kiddo asked us in June if his buddy could rent one of our bedrooms for the summer. His friend...let's call him Huey...had decided he didn't want to live at home anymore because...guess why? His mom had too many rules. Hot damn, I hope I wasn't this ridiculous when I was 19. I probably was, right? I need to call my mom and apologize.

Me: I don't know about this.
Captain Carl: Oh, it won't be so bad.
Me: Yes it will.
Captain Carl: Nah, it'll be fine.
Me: It'll be a never ending cycle of bad decisions, dirty socks and weird smells.
Captain Carl: He's a nice boy, I feel bad for him.
Me: I feel bad too. For his mother.
Captain Carl: It's only for a couple of months. And we could use the extra cash.

And so I let the Captain talk me into it. I agreed to let Huey rent a room with us on a weekly basis. I was pretty sure it was a bad idea that I would live to regret.

But surprisingly, I've really enjoyed having Huey around. He's a big, dumb, sweet kid. And he's not my kid, so it's easier to deal with his stupidity somehow. And he just might be staying after the summer is over. Which makes me a little nervous, since this means he will be alone in our house while we're in another state for a week. I'm envisioning wild parties...Huey filling my house with slutty girls and booze and my cat cowering in the laundry room behind her litter box.

This is the part where the Captain rolls his eyes and tells me I'm being overly dramatic.

And this is the part where I tell him to shut his face.

At the very least, my floors are gonna be soooo dirty when we get home. Because not one single day goes by where I don't walk through the house and step into something sticky. Seriously, what is it about boys and spilling shit? Yesterday there was a trail from the kitchen table to the other side of the house. And they both stood there staring blankly at me and saying "It wasn't me." No shit. It wasn't me. If I had squinted my eyes, I would have sworn I was talking to 3 year olds.


I should never have let them bring that giant can of Country Time Lemonade mix into the house.


Anonymous said...

Considering you have two college boys living at your house, I think you're lucky the floor is only sticky due to spilled beverages.

May the force be with you, and if it gets too rough, confiscate "alleged" paraphernalia and check for quality control. You are the parent, after all.

Eva Gallant said...

I don't envy you. I am sooooo glad those days are way behind me! (My "boys" are now 38 and 40 and now have their own homes and families! yay!)

Angie said...

My daughter decided when she turned 18 that I didn't need to "nag her like a kid" about doing the dishes. I reminded her that adults in my house pay rent and until she's ready to fork over the cash, she had better get her ass to the kitchen to do HER dishes.

You're brave to invite in another kid! Fortunately, other kids never think our rules are as harsh as our own kids do.

Vinny C said...

I was going to say something... but then I noticed my word verification is "liknub".

By chance the doorknobs in your house aren't sticky too, are they?

I recommend hand sanitizer! STAT!

Vinny C said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Nadine said...

When you said your floors are sticky and you live with two teen boys, I automatically thought this was going to be a post about wading through a sea of cum-rags and the like. Boys are disgusting

Nina Patricia @ The Adventures of Nina Patricia said...

I have 2 boys and a husband, the oldest kid is 19...yeah, I totally feel your pain! How about sticky sheets? LOL

Nicole said...

Ah fucking ah! I can't read about bongs and sticky and bongs and college and not want to ship the little ones off to the orphanage. I have teen angst. Meaning I'm angsty about my kids ever become teens *and living in the same house with them.* Aaaaahhhhh!

Ed said...

They're boys.

That's NOT Country Time you're stepping in.

It's Wanky Time.

Same reason the floors in adult cinemas are sticky.

Or so I've been told.

Logical Libby said...

At least the bong was festive?

Moooooog35 said...

My feet have been sticky, too. But mainly because of what I do in the shower.

Perhaps I've said too much.

Left Coast Guy said...

I'm sure we all love our children. Its hard to see them go. We adjust. We slowly live our lives again and commit to...ourselves.

And then they come home again.

Why god, whyyyyyyyyyyy?????

Caveat Emptor: I am speaking for my mother here ;-)


Slyde said...

you, my dear, have just described my nightmare scenario with my son. he's 8 now, and a sweet little boy who does whatever i say. I fear the college years...

The Blue Faerie said...

Ha! When I first read the title of your post I thought, "Does she need to finally mop the kitchen floor?" :P I hope our weather stays nice long enough for you to get here and enjoy it. I'm over in Wisconsin and here we're getting a week of early fall (mid 70'S!).

And yes, we all were like that at 19. My first summer home I decided that since I was only staying 3 months there was no reason to unpack. It drove my mom nuts that I lived out of boxes and suitcases all that time. But it is only 3 months. Good luck getting through. :)

Joanna Jenkins said...

I don't know how you do it with TWO college guys in your home. Oy. I'd be in the nut house by now ;-)

So happy to hear you're going back home for vacation. What a treat.

And if your guys are like most teens-- they WILL "break the rules" and have a gigantic party while you're away but that usually means the house will get extra cleaned up afterwards to hide the smoke and beer smells so you might get lucky.... A girl can hope.

xo jj

Kristine said...

I am awarding you the Versatile Blogger Award!
See my blog for details!

Houston (aka) Tots said...

I completely sympathize. The Boy in the Box is not unlivable yet, but he is not understanding rules.

For example: Driver controls the radio.

This isn't even a Mom Dad thing, this is A LAW OF MANKIND!

TBITB gets in and quickly turns it to KRAP. THE WIFE turns it back. He turns it back to KRAP. THE WIFE turns it back. He then has the nerve to complain about the crappy music we make him listen to.

My response.

Walk your happy A** to work instead of making me drive you and you can listen to whatever you desire.

Kids, seriously? WTF?

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