Fighting the Urge to be Emo at 24

Emo swoop, frat swoop, it's all the same right?

I love my parents, and I’m not ashamed that I currently live with them.  Okay, I take that back, I AM ashamed that I live with them. But I’m not afraid to admit that I live with them. The economy sucked for a long time blah blah blah you don’t give a fuck.

Living at home hasn’t been too bad. You take the good with the bad.  For example there is lots of free food, which is good.  On the other hand I have to be sneaky when I’m having an intimate moment alone. Making noise isn’t a problem since I’m into choking myself, but the amount of concealer it takes to cover up leather burn marks on my neck is costing me a fortune.  That and you have to get pretty creative explaining all the broken belts.

All this time living at home has led me to realize something though.  Parental resentment is not limited to angst filled teenagers. I don’t show it, but my parents are starting to get on my nerves. It’s not their fault. The longer you live with someone, the more likely they are to annoy you.  When you’re thirteen you don’t realize this, because you haven’t lived with anyone else.  It leads you to believe that your parents are the most awful, annoying, embarrassing people in the world.  They aren’t, you’re just being shortsighted, and a whiny little bitch.

Your parents are, in fact, still parents though.  Their annoying traits are often exclusive to parents. For example, watching TV with my mom is awful, God fucking awful. I’d rather spend a week reading the novelizations of the last 5 Adam Sandler movies…because reading sucks (see what I did there? You were looking left and I went right BOOM!).

My mom, after the age of 50, apparently lost all ability to comprehend plot and character traits.  It’s like trying to explain “The Usual Suspects” to an ADHD seven year old who doesn’t speak English.  Except we’re not watching “The Usual “Suspects”, we’re watching “Glee.” I’m not trying to explain who Keyser Soze is, I’m answering the question “which one’s the gay one?”, for the tenth time. To be fair she misses so much story development after her first six questions that the rest become necessary.  I don’t hold it against her though, it’s just what moms do. Even if it does still make me want to scream “UUUUUGHHHHHHH MOOOOOOOOOM OH.MY.GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!! UUUUUUUUUUUUUHHH!”

I don’t do that now though, because I’m older and have perspective. That perspective? That I don’t care anymore, mostly. I do get a little of that old teenage angst from situations like that. And it is a little disconcerting that I’m starting to relate to this song…again.

My dad doesn’t actually do any annoying “dad things”.  Anything he does that would annoy me is done by him strictly as an individual human being. Is that better? I don’t really know. The one thing that always gets to me is that he won’t start to put his seatbelt on until after the car is moving.  The problem is that he isn’t very good at it. The car will roll slowly down the street as my dad struggles to use his left hand the buckle his belt while the car careens to the right.  This lasts about a minute.

Again, if I were thirteen this would wear my nerves thin.  I’d run home to my room, get on my computer and start writing about it online… … …shit. Really though as a young teenager you’d let all this stuff build up and it would drive you insane.  Now? I just let it slide because they’re supportive, good people who love me and give me free things.   Really what more can you ask for from parents (you know, other than more free things).

 

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