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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Lamenting the usual bullshit Petite Annonce: If anyone out there in Diaryland has a spare Parisian apartment to let or knows of one, please let me know. We are two extremely tidy non-smoking trilingual designers who need an affordable pet-free place to stay for a week in March. We will water plants, remove trash and recycling, do windows� whatever it takes! We just can�t take care of birds, cats, dogs, rabbits, hedgehogs or other household animals no matter how cute and snuggly. As you know, I am deathly allergic. I thought I would send feelers out into the Diaryland ether, in case there�s a 6 Degree of a Kevin Bacon chance that someone knows someone knows someone with a vacant Parisian pad. I checked Friendster yesterday (the first time in months!) and maybe I should snoop around on that thing, too. Anyway. I asked for two, ok three, things! (Converse, pjs, Chanel 19 refill.) I knew everyone would go overboard. I really wish there were a way to stop the holiday insanity, but in my family, NOT asking for anything is seen as faux martyrdom, and nobody believes you. There were other presents, but the item that broke my heart was a ginormous (larger than 8 x 10) framed portrait of my parents, taken when they were on their Argentinian cruise last year. It was hard for me to look at without conjuring an image of the parents from The Corrections. If you�ve read the book, then you can see where this is going. Downhill (or overboard.) What upset me is not that it is a supremely unflattering picture of my father (he looks startled and red) or that my mother looks like she�s got him in a headlock, and her smile is forced. No, what upset me is the feeling I got that this was yet another desperate attempt by my mother to foist a relationship on me, to insinuate herself into my heart and life. Maybe I�m overthinking it, but it made me so, so sad. My mother still doesn�t understand that the way to have a relationship is to actually nurture and develop one; you can�t buy it at a store, or capture it in a photo and give it away. You can�t constantly criticize and judge then expect a gift to make the browbeating disappear. It�s like dealing with an emotionally needy kid, and in many ways, that�s what she is. It would be so much easier for me to cope if I could get it through my thick skull that I am the adult and she is the child in the relationship. Perhaps tensions arise because I am unwilling to play my part as the grownup? Because I am stubbornly hoping that she will one day adopt the role she is supposed to play? Overall, it was a nice visit. I spent a lot of time at my parents� house, eating and hanging out (but I drew the line at watching this show, which just blows. Not even Enrique CutiePie What�sHisNose can make it better.) I discovered that my MexicanMuchoMacho cousin (who now lives at my parents� house because a) he lost his job, and b) he is separating from his gringa wife) loves The OC and is not half bad. It�s not just The OC watching that has elevated him in my estimation; he is now a registered Democrat. Ok, so The OC? What the fuck with that stupid storyline with Seth and the skank from the club? And the club? A transparent rip-off of Buffy�s Bronze! And 90210�s PeachPit After Dark! Lame lame lame! I really need to get some hobbies. 9:55 a.m. - 2005-01-21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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