Friday, September 14, 2007

Mr. Right Number Five

[Let me preface this evening's blog with a request for help. When I want to link the text of my blog to another entry to which I'm referring, how do I do that? I notice that most of my buddies in Blogoverse are able to make this happen. Share the knowledge, please.]

The reason I want to do this is that my cousin A. is now staying with us, for better or worse. Since I don't yet know how to make the link, all I can do is invite you to scroll down to "Pushing the Limits of Tact", where the story begins. She arrived on Wednesday night, and she's here for a week. I will say that she's no trouble at all, except that she's...having a little trouble functioning. Please find a job, A. Puh-leeze?

She's willing to do anything. ANYTHING, she says...as long as there is no pre-employment drug screening that will reveal her twice daily toke. My views on this issue are fairly liberal, but opting out of the work-force in order to spend more time with your bong just seems a little excessive to me. S***, at least it isn't meth. You know, A., there are these kits you can buy for about $30; word is that you can be ready for a pristine piss test in only a couple of days....

I would tell her that, except that I don't see her very much. She has signed up for one of those "Get Control of Your Dysfunctional Life: We'll Knock You Down and Rebuild You" seminars. It meets every evening this week, Wednesday through Saturday, from 4 - 10 PM. So she's gone when I get home from work, and she's getting back at about midnight, so our conversation is limited to [whispered], "Hey! How did your day go?" "Good! You?" "Good! Do you need anything?" "No, thanks! Night, night!"

But what is she doing here during the day? She's got the Web, the classifieds, so I figured... Yesterday morning, I asked how the job search was going. She had called me a couple times at work the day before with questions about logging on, etc..

"Well, I didn't actually start looking for a job. I know that sounds really bad, huh? The thing is, I have a lot of homework for this seminar."

"Really?" I keep my voice from squeaking. "What kind of homework?"

"Oh, you know... five things I really like about myself; five things I don't like about myself; five things that happened in the past that have affected who I am today. Stuff like that."

"Hmmm. Well, that sounds interesting." I don't say, "Oh for Chrissakes A., how long did that take you? That took all day? Couldn't you manage to carve out a LITTLE time in your busy list-making to check the want-ads?" I just think it.

Because...and this is good...she's not my responsibility. Not MY kid, not MY spouse, not MY student or staff member. She can f***k around all week and it's NOT MY PROBLEM! I prance around my bedroom, singing this to myself while I put on my jammies. "Not my problem! Nyah, nah, nah, nee, NYAH, nah!" I tell it to my reflection in the bathroom mirror. ("A., you are not my responsibility!" No, no. Try again. Maybe I should emphasize "not". "A... you are not my responsibility.") But then I stand in the shower and think, "OK, job prospects first; then we need to get to work on the resume. Housing after that - it's better if she can find an apartment near her job...NO! STOP! NOT my kid, spouse, student, staff member, remember?"

Oh, yeah.

So... [whispered] "Hey, A. How was the seminar this evening? If I cut up that pineapple in the fridge, will you eat some for breakfast?"

I have been conveniently "forgetting" to call my mother, so she won't find out that I'm not taking her advice, and that A. is here. I'll remember to call home again after A. has moved on.

One thing has ironed itself out, though. Her fifth husband is all lined up and ready to go. Or he would be if he weren't five years old. Nathan has proposed several times in the past and been rejected, but now that the "bad man" she was married to is off the scene, Nathan sees his chance. The age difference is beginning to dawn on him though. The other morning he asked me, "Is A. old?" "Well, she's an adult, if that's what you mean." "Yeah, but is she really old. You know, older than YOU?" (Triassic Period, in case any of you were wondering. I just have a good moisturizer.) "Yeah, she's seven years older." "Oh." This "Oh" was heavily weighted by Nate's consideration of the problem: the 42 year age difference. Love will find a way, though, he's sure.

9 comments:

Anonymous said...

Sounds like a doozy there Kate.

About your link...when you're typing in the post...first click on the post that you want to link up to...copy the url address...then when you're typing the post, type in the title of that post, run the curser over it to highlight it....push the link button at the top of the post..(next to the video download option button i think).then paste in the url address. it should work.... you can do the same when you want to link your blog buddies' posts to your own too.

So, Nathan likes older women eh??

Maria said...

Well...yes. She is not your problem. Unless she asks to stay more than her allotted week, and then...

She needs to find a job. And good hell, STOP with the weed for a while until she gets one. Because even if you want to be counter help at K Mart, you still have to pass a drug test these days. Unless she is a public school teacher in Nebraska. I found out from Bing that new teachers don't have to take a drug test. I find that odd. I mean, if you want to work a cash register at K Mart, you have to be clean as a whistle, but if you want to teach kids, no big deal.

Not that I think a toke a day would matter. I don't...before Liv, I was pretty good at bong maintenance. But, now? God, I have to be a role model or something....

Elizabeth Penmark said...

Kate - I had to smile when I read the part about you doing the dance, singing the "NOT my responsibility" song in your jammies. But then, my image was halted as I was unsure what kind of jammies to picture you in. My mind went to the soft, blue fleecy type with little sheep all over them. Am I close? Hee, hee...

Alice Kildaire said...

Sadly, if she's laid up in your house, she will quickly become your problem....there's absolutely nothing wrong with her laying off the weed long enough to get a job. Bless your patient heart!

The World According To Me said...

42 year age gap, is that all?!

I hope the lists get done and the job hunting starts.

Kate said...

@ Jyankee: Well, Nathan likes women in general. He's kind of a Casanova.
@ Maria: Yes, that's true here, too. The ski resort where Simon works has random drug-testing; but the policies at my school simply state that we can't be under the influence of anything while at work. Except for the bus drivers. They have to piss in a cup every year.
@ Elizabeth: Nothing fluffy until is gets cooler out here! If you're going to picture me in jammies, try a pair of striped bottoms and an oversized T-shirt with an ugly chihuahua on the front saying "BITE ME!" :)That's one of several bizarre sleep options in my jammie drawer.
@ alice and elizabeth: I think she's starting to pull her thumb out, now that the stupid seminar is over. She has some appointments to look at rooms to reant today. At least she says she does. For jobs, I don't know. I'll bet IKEA is hiring...

Gypsy Jane said...

To embed a link in your html:
Copy the URL you want to link to.
Then paste it into the following.
Type what you want the link to say, the title.
Copy the whole thing and paste it into your html.

Type Title Here

Gypsy Jane said...

Oops, I was afraid that would happen. This time I'll put quotations around the whole thing and maybe it won't mistake it for a real link.

"Type Title Here"

Gypsy Jane said...

OK, lets try this again.

(a href="PASTE URL HERE">Type Title Here(/a)

Change both the ( to < and the ) to >