So this is what it�s come to. Drinking with the parents. Is it possible that my extended winter vacation -- the one originally scheduled to be full of ribald adventures and high drama -- has been reduced to a string of nights in front of the television, imbibing liquor with (gasp!) mom and dad, each night undistinguishable from the last, or the next?
In a word: yes.
Lest you start thinking I�m totally pathetic (which, let�s be honest, isn�t such an unlikely conclusion in the face of the evidence), it�s not like I�m just all unpopular and/or plagued with bad hygiene, or something. The fact is that most of my hometown friends have drifted, literally and figuratively, since those halcyon days of high school when these were our hallowed stomping grounds.
And what of Pussy Galore?, you might ask, remembering my best friend from those days of yore. Well, funny you should ask. I tried her cell phone for almost two days before discovering she�d switched carriers. I tracked her brother down at his place of employ and got her new number, successfully reaching her on Monday night. She told me to call her on Tuesday and we would get together�but by the time I did call, a mere twenty-four hours later, her new phone had been disconnected. I tried her mother, and there was no answer. I tried going after her brother again, and he wasn�t working. Is this a message? Should I be taking a hint of some kind?
Anyway, she called once, on Christmas Eve, and my dad gave her my cell number, which she has yet to use, so I don�t really know where to go from here. Well, that�s not entirely true. From here, it is but a short walk to the couch, with a tumbler full of fine Scotch, for an evening of channel-flipping with the parental units. I�m not sure if that�s extremely sad, or extremely cool. Just to be on the safe side, I�m going to act cool while trying desperately to find something else to do. How will it look for me to be spending New Year�s trapped in the house, while even my parents are out living it up?
I don�t want to think about that. I�ve been having a good time hanging out with my brother, KillerWorkout, and my sister, The Jones, but they�re only available every now and then. The Jones is married, and goes to bed at the official Married Bedtime Hour of 10:00, and KillerWorkout has moved out of the house, and prefers to spend his time now with his girlfriend and his personal space.
So most days have been not unlike today: I went for a run, we all caught a movie together (21 Grams, for those of you who are curious --- and let me just take this moment to totally not recommend this film, unless you�re actually looking for a reason to become depressed and suicidal around the holidays), after which we returned home so my brother could leave to be with his friends, and I could�get a glass of Scotch with my mom and sit down in front of the tube.
So it�s nice to bond with my folks, and nicer still that they consider me adult enough to drink with me, but I can�t shake this feeling of lameitude that pervades my evenings after 10:00, when my Married parents trundle off to bed and I plop down in front of the telly with a rental or two.
Anyway, I�m not awash in hopelessness or anything. Even if this is all my vacation amounts to, I�ll manage not to get all dramatic about it. I�m still on vacation, after all, and have no problem enjoying personal time away from work.
All that being said, of course, WHERE THE HELL IS MY LIFE???
Someone Got Here By Searching For: Lon Cheney, Jr., And: �look at the sweat� I�m Watching: The Bond movie marathon on Spike TV And Feeling: Lame. And a trifle tipsy!