Hating the hoarders

The other night, I was on the phone with Sil1x. As is usually the case, we ended up talking about at least a dozen different topics. One that we landed on was that show, "Hoarders." I have never, ever watched "Hoarders". Sure, it's gross, and they find dead animals, and there's some b.s. therapy and some crying, and a nasty-assed yard sale - "HI!!! This table was under 54 pounds of garbage!! Wanna buy it for $10?", and I guess all of that can be entertaining to some people. Not to me. But not for the reasons you'd think. Here's my thing. I get mad (jealous?) at the people for one simple, silly reason. Those bastards have HOUSES. AND THEY MESS THEM UP AND MAKE THEM UNLIVABLE. Um, yeah. Let me remind the reader, I live in Chicago. This means that my apartment is so small, I have to choose one thing every day to throw away. I mean, if I let it go a week, I'd probably be a borderline hoarder. Closets? I have ONE. So for me it's more like one new article of clothing in? Six old ones must be given away. Immediately, like same day. None of this building a bag to donate, NO ROOM for that. The only place I do not feel cluttered is my fridge. Because it's huge and new and pretty. I could jam more and more cheese, produce, beer, whipped cream all the time. And I can KEEP things. Like condiments. I have some. I don't have to throw those away. Sad thing is, I don't cook. Freezer full of Lean Cuisine's and caramel Drumstiks, fridge full of cheese, salsa, milk and beer. Just writing this post makes me want to make a list of what I should go through, clean out, throw away today. There may be something under my bed that lies there mocking me. Back to my point. I want a house. I want a house more than I want anything, more than I've ever wanted anything. And I know this is NOT going to happen if I choose to continue to live in my major metropolitan city. At best, I'll get a condo. Which will just mean what? Maybe another closet, but likely not much more space? And yet there's Mabel, or Billy Bob, or BettySue on Hoarders with these old, big, once lovely HOUSES. Real houses, with yards, and stairs, and stuff. And they fucked it up. And it'll probably have to be torn down. Or if not, the cameras will go away and the asshole will go back to hoarding more crap all over again. Much better to watch "Married to Rock", I told Sil1x. There's nothing at all to get mad at that show about!!

Here they are!

These mah kidz.

Vince, Erica, Andrew, Angela.

My kids

I get attached to people very, very easily. Sure, I'm a venom-spewing, people-hating misanthrope most of the time, but when I like people, I really like them. So, there's my kids. I've written about them here before, but it's been a while, so humor me. Plus, I'm on cold meds, so humor me more. My kids. Ok, not really kids anymore. The youngest is 22. They can drink. They plan on drinking tonight, when I see them. Tonight.When.I.See.Them. See, I had let my kids go. Or so I thought. It's been over three years since I stopped working at the Teen Center. While I don't miss the place, I always miss what good we were doing there. I'm proud of my seven years there, even though some days were the hardest days of my life. But my kids made that job easy. There is a core four of them, and an extended pile of about a dozen or more all together. I saw the core four last year. Probably around Christmas. We agreed we'd see each other over the summer. Didn't happen. So, I let them go. They are all my friends on teh fb now, so I just figured I'd keep up with them there, and that would be enough for me. They are growing up, they have lives, and more important things to do than to catch up with me. Then, one day early November, I got an email from one of them. He wanted us all to get together at Thanksgiving. We made plans - that I eventually and unfortunately had to break. They sent more emails. December 20th was agreed on, and even my kid who now lives in Los Angeles would be able to go. Today is December 20th. These kids have family and friends to see, and they are all coming downtown to have dinner with me. We'll eat and *sigh* drink and be very merry. We have years and years of memories to recall, and they have loads and loads of new stories for me, with their college lives, and real lives and all. And I will smile like I haven't smiled in a while. And I will hug them all, because even the boys (men?) let me hug them. And I will tear up a little on my train home. Because I know, now, that no matter how old my kids get, and however far they travel, and whatever they end up doing, I will always occupy a little corner in their brains, a part of their good memories from their high school days. Because I am theirs' and they are mine. Hopefully for many many years to come.

Fridge Note:

I'm sick. Like porcupine in my throat sick. I hate sore throats, they can lead to other bad things. So, I have nothing witty nor bitchy to say. Who wants to bring me a venti vanilla roobois tea latte? This seems to be the only thing that helps me...... boo hiss, I say.

Gack

Words I don't like at this time of year: Wintery Mix Feels Like Measurable Snowfall Wind Chill Is-it-cold-enough-for-you-? Sleet Ok, sleet is a very cool word, just when it happens not in Chicago.

MAN!

Wow. That last post was sooo much better in my head. Sorry about that lords and ladies. I'll try better next time. F*ck me for trying to write a decent post while I'm pretty busy at work. On a totally unrelated note: Welcoming Consider the Source to my blogroll. Because, you see, he's HIlarious, and an all around good guy.

By perspective

For no reason in particular, I've had a few conversations with women I went to high school with, and still am friends with. The topic of popularity came up each time. I find it really hard to define popularity in our school, as it was a Catholic, all girls school. So, not the norm, I think. Interestingly enough, I had not one, not two, but four different thoughts on who the popular girls were. My hairdresser went so far as to point to herself and say "We were". I gave her a blank stare. "Well, we were the athletes." Um, no - athletes did not equal popular at a smallish all girls school. I had to tell her no, they weren't. Also, that no one I had talked to about it had named her group as the popular ones. There was one group that was mentioned that back in high school I might have deemed popular simply based on a few criteria - they were cool, they were beautiful, they were fashion forward, and they had the hottest boyfriend. But in hind-sight, they weren't actually popular. I think the best answer I got was the simplest. Chris looked at me, paused, and said "Well, we were. You and I." I was about to correct her, but then I paused. We then discussed that even though she was all skater girl, and I was all black converse high tops and new wave music, and we were in plays and no we didn't play sports, and yes we got into trouble - lots and lots and lots of trouble we got along with just about everyone. The one thing that made Chris' statement true is that we knew and were friends with everyone. I mean everyone. And if I didn't like someone, Chris might and vice versa. So that being said, we really did know EVERYONE in our class. And the classes above and below us. The main point is who cares? Who cares now? Does this affect any of us in any way shape or form? Does the fact that I field and deny many friend requests on teh fb on a regular basis make me any more of a person? Probably because I don't care now, and I never cared then is why I was popular. I have no idea why I even wrote about this - it was just on my mind. Sorry for the rant.