Well the cute little blonde did not work out. And NO I did not kill her…God bless her soul she is alive and well and living in Tualatin. And now I have “Seth”.
Here is a semi-accurate portrayal.
Just kidding. I’m not interested in men under forty. Under 30 is out of the question. But there is something sort of helpful for an empty nesting mama like me to be living with a couple of 20 something year old males. For starters in my head I am a 14 year old boy. For every low brow reference in this blog, there are a dozen things I have filtered through the gutter of my filthy disgusting brain and edited for the faint of heart. Namely my mother. My mother reads this blog. (Damnit…) Once I posted something titled Phantom Boners and my mother commented on the bottom
“Sandra! Will you pick up your phone once in awhile please!”
“For godsakes mother this is NOT email….”
I can’t help it. My dad is The Captain. I am his daughter. I could curl wallpaper by the time I was 8 years old. There were seriously kids on my block that were not allowed to play with me because when they did they came home spewing great blue clouds of clever obscenities.
My dad says shit like this:
“Sister you look busier than a one legged cat tryin’ to bury shit on frozen pond.”
That one is tame and apparently my dad was stealing from the same source as Gary Busey. Anyway I can say stuff to my roommates that would horrify and shock most of the people I know.
The second one is that when they irritate me its like being irritated with my son. I am at least used to that. It is better than living with a bunch of middle aged women and all of the chicken coop hell that that implies, at least in my mind. At least for now. And they are not allowed in my bathroom. They have their own and not only do I not go in there, I don’t even walk by it unless I have to. Some of that shit can jump I’m sure of it.
Just kidding E. I’m sure that the implications of sharing a bathroom with a middle aged woman is no picnic for you either.
Anyway back to Seth. Seth is on the rebound. The rules here are pretty loose.
If you use something up replace it.
Clean up after yourself.
And no one wants to hear you fuck.
Seth has broken that rule twice already. I came home the other night to Seth’s “date” passed out on the bathroom floor after throwing up.
I wanted to grab her and shake her.
“Get up sister! Some of that shit can jump! It was too late. Seth and I drank wine in the garage while his new friend finished heaving and passing out. God bless him he did hold back her hair. Later that night I passed out with my door open.
This will NEVER happen again. EVER. I woke up to the sounds of creaking and groaning. It was like a haunted whore house in here. I seriously didn’t know what to do. And I am not shy. But I felt bad for that poor stupid girl who was having an evening that would leave her cringing in horror for the rest of her life. E on the other hand went ballistic.
“Goddamnit Seth! Did you not hear me yell at you!? Your damn door is open! Are you kidding!? Rule number one! No one wants to hear you fuck! This place is turning into a goddamn trailer park!”
I was actually laughing at this point. Not because this was in any way ok with me, but because E was so over the top that I just couldn’t help it. I feel optimistic that Seth will not do this again. I have no idea why. Mostly because E scared the crap out of him. They are good boys. And they are good to me if I make them Enchiladas once a week. They have hugged me and made me laugh on crappy days.
Seth can only hug me AFTER he’s washed his face though, because I am keenly aware of where it may have been.