godtoldmetokilltheenglish

kksf 103.7

My father, a moment after he gets on the phone with my grandmother:

    "What? Jennie, it's not my birthday."

We’re more than a little hungover here at Ventura Way.

My mom is now trying to explain to my dad how the fanny pack she got him for Christmas isn’t really a fanny pack. He’s holding the phone pretty far away from his ear now.

Merry Christmas.

nathan j laney.

schweppes bitter lemon.

Never tell grandma that you’ve not feeling well. Tylenol, seltzer water, and a thermometer appear out of NOWHERE. Fever: 101, but that’s not the point.

I swear to god she’s about to take me to the pediatrician.

What am I even doing home?

She automatically rounded it up to 102 when she called my mother, by the way.

the west coast delay.

When announcing my phone’s death to my parents, I really did not expect them to use it as a forum to give me shit.

And that’s not even the really disturbing thing about this. “May” be their son? WTF?

njl

it's raining in indian wells.

First instant message of the day.

Today’s going to be a hoot.

::yawn::

the psychology of it.

    <Tony> dick
    <Jay> WHAT

(… 10 minutes later …)

    <Jay> no really
    <Jay> can I help you in some way
    <Jay> I'm all about helping

(… Tony says some stuff that Jay doesn’t respond to …)

(… one hour later …)

    <Tony> dick
    <Jay> STOP SWEARING

(… Tony says some more stuff that Jay doesn’t respond to …)

(… two hours later …)

    <Tony> what do you think?
    <Tony> dick
    <Jay> I'M BACK
    <Tony> i don't want to get too much into the psychology of it
    <Tony> but you go crazy for dick
    <Tony> it's the only way to get your attention

know your betters.

Mom’s Birthday
2006.06.03

Grandpa told the story of Fat Irene. Don’t ask.

breakaway.

This week, your local medical professional will tattoo little dots on my grandfather’s cancerous naughty bits.

Why?

So that during Chemo time fun time, they can find his cancerous naughty bits.

LITTLE DOTS.

WHISKY TANGO FOXTROT.

THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE.

Every time my mother gives me an update on these items I start a fight.

Why?

Because I tirelessly contend that these people who are IN CHARGE OF MY GRANDPARENTS HEALTH did not even go to medical school.

Mom doesn’t like that.

In other news, my cream cheese was frozen this morning.

Which do you think I’m more pissed about?

jay
gotta get away
living the same old shit
each and every damn day.

you're what happens when two substances collide.

So my grandfather has the upcoming pleasure of going to chemotherapy five days a week. For something like three months.

OH THIS IS GREAT NEWS.

My grandmother was on the every other week plan for her chemotherapy. She pretty much failed chemo by almost dying.

So hopefully grandpa will fare better.

My grandmother has yet to retake her chemo, by the way. Her and I share a bond, because I never retook that art history class I failed.

Don’t you judge me.

jay who feels alright as long as something’s happening.

a pink slip for the whole family.

    MOM: Are you hungry?
    JAY: Not really.
    MOM: You're not hungry?
    JAY: Not really.
    MOM: How can you not want to eat?
    JAY: MY GOD.

Every time I come over, my mom lays out a fresh towel, a fresh washcloth, and a still boxed bar of soap.

Never mind the fact that I have not used a washcloth since- well, since I learned to wash myself. I bring this up almost every time.

Never mind the fact that there are already towels on the towel rack to fill the towel rack (it holds two towels). Never mind the fact that those towels are probably unused since the last time I was here.

My mother must have clean towels for her son!

Yes, I love my crazy mother. Yes, my family only gets odder the more stressed they are.

To quote my totem animal: I AM DEFINITELY FLIRTING WITH FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW.

n j l

tempting the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing.

    MOM: Is this my coffee?
    JAY: No, that's mine.
    MOM: Where is my coffee?
    JAY: I dumped it out.
    MOM: I was enjoying that coffee! Why did you dump it out?
    JAY: ... you left the house.
    MOM: That doesn't matter! I was enjoying my coffee!
    JAY: Yeah, but then you left the house. You drove away.
    MOM: Oh! Yeah, I see it now. You got coffee all over my dish towel!
    JAY: WHY IS THE DISH TOWEL IN THE SINK THEN
    MOM: I AM GOING TO KILL YOU FOR DUMPING MY COFFEE.

My family is in the “information sharing” phase. They think that the more I know about my grandparents’ cancers, the more- hell, I don’t know what their intended result is. What happens is I start seriously thinking about calling my old bosom buddy named PANIC.

For my homecoming, my mother made Salsbury steak. I’m still not entirely sure you can legally make Salsbury steak. Swanson and seventeen other industrial frozen food manufacturers seem to have cornered the market on it. But, my genius mother, inspired by nothing in particular (but very possibly inspired by the salsbury steak I enjoyed as a boy when my grandmother was in the hospital for Other Illness #7), now makes salsbury steak on something like a quarterly basis.

So not only do I have to defend my grandparents against the cancer, I have to defend my mother against Industrial Food Assassins sent to make sure no natural salsbury steak ever gets cooked. These operatives have names like Hungry Man and Healthy Choice. Fuck you, it’s my fantasy.

Even the choice Angus beef my mom is cooking is either really confused or really, really insulted. “Why me?” it wonders as it’s covered with Cream of Whatever.

My family is a set of some of the most amazing Italian cooks I’ve ever been in a room with. But, Salsbury steak.

My mom puts the Cream of Whatever on the noodles she serves at the side, which results in this conversation:

    GRANDMA: Why did you put sauce on my noodles?
    MOM: It's good!
    GRANDMA: I don't like the sauce on my noodles!
    MOM: It's how the recipe says to serve it!
    JAY: THERE AIN'T NO RECIPE FOR THIS DISASTER.
    GRANDMA: I am old enough to be able to say that I do not want this sauce on my noodles.
    MOM: EAT.

I would like it on record that I’ve been saying shit like THERE AIN’T NO RECIPE FOR THIS DISASTER at the dinner table since I was like eight and that’s like the only thing I can do at the dinner table that they don’t react to.

Then my father calls me. Drunk. From South Carolina.

nathaniel j. laney.