Psychological Inventory
Psychologically, I'm a pretty easy guy to figure out. Pretty much anything my mom said I couldn't do when I was a kid I take perverse pleasure in doing now. A few examples:
The window on Chris's car doesn't work, so the passenger side window is permanently down. During my childhood, the presence of an open window- be it in a car or house- instantly made the use of Air Coniditioning a seriously Forbidden Act. "What, you think I should air condition the whold neighborhood?" So, naturually, whenever I drive Chris's car I turn the AC on full blast and lower all the windows. And I smile the entire time.
This morning I woke up, freezing, and realized the Air Conditioning in the apartment had been going full blast all night. It was frigid in my room, like 58 degrees or something stupid. I thought briefly, then padded to the thermostat, determined. You see, it's the middle of summer here, and though it's chilly outside this morning, the temperature will climb steadily all morning - inside and out- as long as I just turned the AC off, and let the temperature slowly normalize. But fuck that. I want it 10 degrees warmer now. So I turned the heat on for a few minutes. In the middle of summer. Put THAT in your rigid, uncompromising pipe and smoke it, Maw.
I have never, not ONCE, made my bed since I moved out of my parents' house. It's a badge of pride.
I almost never fold my clothing. I do a load of laundry 3 hours before I need the items contained therein, and then put them on right out of the dryer. The nicer shirts and jeans and khakis and slacks get hung up; everything else goes in the "clean pile." Ocassionally articles from the "dirty pile" migrate 2 feet to their left (my left?) and work their way back into the rotation sooner than planned. For that reason, I always check myself in a mirror right before stepping out of the house to check for too-obvious coffee or pizza stains. Two words: Can't miss.
I swear an ungodly amount. Never again shall I suffer the indignities of explaining to my mother that I said "shin" and not "shit." She didn't buy it for a second...
There's more, but I'm sure you get the picture. Imagine how much different my life would be if I'd had a terrible mother... I'd probably be a 10-times better person.
The window on Chris's car doesn't work, so the passenger side window is permanently down. During my childhood, the presence of an open window- be it in a car or house- instantly made the use of Air Coniditioning a seriously Forbidden Act. "What, you think I should air condition the whold neighborhood?" So, naturually, whenever I drive Chris's car I turn the AC on full blast and lower all the windows. And I smile the entire time.
This morning I woke up, freezing, and realized the Air Conditioning in the apartment had been going full blast all night. It was frigid in my room, like 58 degrees or something stupid. I thought briefly, then padded to the thermostat, determined. You see, it's the middle of summer here, and though it's chilly outside this morning, the temperature will climb steadily all morning - inside and out- as long as I just turned the AC off, and let the temperature slowly normalize. But fuck that. I want it 10 degrees warmer now. So I turned the heat on for a few minutes. In the middle of summer. Put THAT in your rigid, uncompromising pipe and smoke it, Maw.
I have never, not ONCE, made my bed since I moved out of my parents' house. It's a badge of pride.
I almost never fold my clothing. I do a load of laundry 3 hours before I need the items contained therein, and then put them on right out of the dryer. The nicer shirts and jeans and khakis and slacks get hung up; everything else goes in the "clean pile." Ocassionally articles from the "dirty pile" migrate 2 feet to their left (my left?) and work their way back into the rotation sooner than planned. For that reason, I always check myself in a mirror right before stepping out of the house to check for too-obvious coffee or pizza stains. Two words: Can't miss.
I swear an ungodly amount. Never again shall I suffer the indignities of explaining to my mother that I said "shin" and not "shit." She didn't buy it for a second...
There's more, but I'm sure you get the picture. Imagine how much different my life would be if I'd had a terrible mother... I'd probably be a 10-times better person.
posted by Derek at 4:31 AM
1 Comments:
Sometimes I poop and don't flush, especially when I have DADS - Day After Drinking Shits - just because it pisses off the roommates.
Good Times you momma's boy,
Jeepster
Post a Comment
<< Home