AHHH My Family Drives Me Nuts: Part I

You dont love me, you just love my bloggystyle.

Good evening and welcome to hell.

Tonights topic is my family and how I'm about to kill them all. Okay, I'm not really going to kill them; in all honesty, if I were actually to kill anyone-which im not- it's far more likely that I would just dispatch myself because let's face it: I am far too lazy to commit a quadruple homicide. That shit takes dedication. I mean by the time I planned out the first one I would lose interest and be googling shit like Oprah's boyfriend's last name. (It's Graham).

No, I don't want them to die- I rather like my family. I just want them to go away from me. I want them to hold perfectly still and remain perfectly silent, like any number of glorious inanimate objects including pyramids, furniture, or Catholics during sex. OH SNAP! Wait, im technically Catholic. Damn... i knew i should have gone with the frightened six-year-old. WOW. that was awful. and you loved it. Freak.

Honestly, though, is that so wrong?

[not sex with six year olds. That is SO wrong (and yet SO hilarious).]

But fantasizing that my family will suddenly all realize their lifelong desire to become those British cops with the big fuzzy hats, and just hold still and shut up all day long? That really doesn't seem so unreasonable to me. Granted, I usually feel this way about most people that I interact with on a daily basis. But most people are stupid, and would be more useful holding up a lamp or a nice plate of cheese.

The fam, however, I can usually handle. We all share a few genes, so naturally they are adequately intelligent to converse with. And it's not like my parents are particularly overprotective- my dad's idea of keeping tabs on me in high school was falling asleep on the couch in the living room, where he would consistently fail to stir when i came home wasted at 2am. A vigilant hawk, that one.

And yet, for all of us who have recently or ever moved back home, even for the summer, you know: it isn't about how much you like your family. It doesn't matter how great you've gotten along in the past, how well you've kept in touch, or how much you've missed homecooking, free laundry, and not paying the electric bill. All that matters is that you no longer have your own space, your own domain of over which you reign supreme. Sure, you may have a room, but you reside under someone else's roof. You are a serf to their lordship; a garth to their wayne. Once great barons of our crappy college apartments, we are now reduced to lowly peasants toiling under the parental yoke. And it blows.

So I ask you:
You think its bad, no longer having the freedom to roam about in your underwear as you please?
You think it blows not being able to hold a private conversation without awkwardly hiding in the bathroom/attic/driveway?
Ya think its hard to get your sex on when you're hottest pick up line is 'So, shall we continue this conversation back at...my mom's basement?'

TRY SHARING A SINGLE FUCKING ROOM WITH YOUR PARENTS FOR 9 DAYS. Then you can complain.

This whole California thing seemed like a great idea at first. A week plus out of Massholia at someone else's expense- who could ask for more? But what seemed at first a glorious escape from the parental prison has turned into the hotel room of horrors. Seriously, I think we're staying at the Hyatt Chaperone. Keep your eye on the news, I may be the first person to attempt the daring flight across the icy, shark infested bay INTO Alcatraz.

Okay, this is diatribe is getting lengthy and of course BOTH my parents are sleeping restlessly about 30 feet away. Stay tuned for part deux, where I complain about everyone else in my family except the cat. The real irony is, all of them know about my fabulous blog and will probably read this at some point. And I love you guys...but I like you better when I can't hear you snoring as I type.