Moving in with and old lady

I returned to my parent's home to find my room was no longer my room. The old furniture from the basement now sat where my bed once reigned for 20 plus years. How could they get rid of my bed like yesterday's leftovers? And what happened to my Bon Jovi posters I'd been collecting for 12 years? My parents were acting like a bunch of birds who were forcing their young out of the nest before they're ready to fly. You know what happens to birds who are pushed from the nest too soon? That's right! They become road pancakes or supper for the neighborhood cat. I'm too young to swim in the stomach juices of a vagrant cat.

"What the hell! Where is all my stuff?" I yelled at my father, who was enjoying his new spot on his lazy boy where my bed once belonged. He sipped his beer and looked at me.

"New plans, sweetheart. You're moving down the street," he said and calmly sipped his beer. He refocused on the television and I turned to my mother.

"What is going on here?" I yelled to my mother.

"You're moving in with Mrs. Haggart down the street."

"Old Mrs. Haggart? The woman who cuts the grass with that old rusty lawnmower? The one with the rotating blade? The one that feeds on old lady power instead of electricity?"

My mother rearranged the flowers in the vase on the table. She then moved the doily underneath to make sure it was perfectly centered beneath the vase. This was just like my mother to be making sure everything in her world was in perfect order. She brushed my fathers toe from the end table because it managed to slip from its spot on the chair's leg rest. everything in her life was perfect and moving her one fault from the house was her solution.

"Mrs. Haggart is senile! Does she even know I'm moving in or am I going to be some stranger she calls the police on every time I try to get a glass of water?"

"Lisa, You're being ridiculous. She's not senile. She's a little old, that's all. We've already moved all your stuff into her attic. She's knows you're coming. She said she'll enjoy the company."

"We're not even related to Mrs. Haggart. What kind of psychotic people would arrange for their daughter to move into a random stranger's attic. This is how horror movies begin, you know?"

"Lisa, it's for the best. All your stuff is already over there."

"You people suck."

I realized my life would never be the same.

Out of the Psych Ward

My breakdowns usually take place over the holidays and it was no surprise when the men with the meds showed up to haul me away. My mother said she'd had enough and setting a few of the Christmas presents ablaze apparently was enough to have her first born locked away for a month.

They didn't allow internet access at the hospital. Something about communicating with outside influences could have negative effects on my recovery. What are you supposed to do with all that free time if internet shopping and online dating are out of the question? Can you imagine - "What do you like to do for fun?" A potential online pursuer may ask. "Oh, nothing much. I like to spend my free time staring out hospital windows, wondering if the bird sitting on a rain soaked branch is enjoying life more than me. I also enjoy being filled with so many meds that constipation becomes as much a part of my life as free time.

They don't let you read books. They don't let you see your family much. Your days are spent staring and talking in therapy. I don't know how many times one person can be asked, "Lisa, what's wrong? What are you thinking?"

I'm thinking. I'm thinking. I want to go home, get off these meds, and get on with my life, and you're holding me back.

A Christmas disaster

Things were supposed to be calm for the holidays, but my mind had different plans. It started at dinner, on Christmas eve. My parents were talking to my little brother about college, and how his grades had better improve or else they'd pull the plug on his financial aid, when I interrupted by asking my mom to pass the mashed potatoes.

"Lisa, I'm talking to your brother."

"I don't give a shit about his grades, now pass the mashed potatoes."

"Lisa! Don't start," she said, handing me the potatoes as my brother kicked me under the table.

"You cocksucker!" I screamed.

"Lisa! Go to your room. I won't have this at my dinner table," she screamed. "What would Jesus think of your dirty mouth on Christmas?"

"He's probably not as concerned about what's coming out, it's what's going in that concerns him more," I said, knowing it would knock the wind out of her and cause her to choke on her greens.

"You sinful woman! Get to your room and think about what you've done. You've ruined another Christmas," she screamed.

I stood up, grabbed the bowl of potatoes, and hurled them over my brother's head, potatoes splattering all over the wall and covering the back of his head. My dad stood but said nothing as my mother's mouth stood agape, jaw quivering.

"Like you ruined Christmas in 1995, when the world found out about your infidelities?" I said and stormed off to my room.

Another beautiful Christmas with the family...

Man-luggage

My date actually called me back, after what I felt was a total disaster of an evening. He said he enjoyed the time we spent talking, most of it spent running (no pun intended) to the bathroom, and would like to see me again over the holidays. This is where my condition generally kicks in and I start losing interest. Why is this man calling me? Is he desperate? Don't get me wrong, a very successful and attractive man, but I think there may be someone better out there. I'm thinking I'll spend time with my family and hangout with friends, then I'll see if I have any interest in getting together with this man. My family will say I'm acting crazy, again, and persuade me to take another date, but I'll tell them to mind their own business and carry on in my usual Lisa fashion. I'm only 25 and in no rush to settle down with a husband. It's hard enough lugging my makeup and jewelery around, how on earth would I handle man-luggage?

Do you want some pudding with that birth control?

I'm so embarrassed. The weekend was a nightmare. Finally having a date, it turned out to be a disaster.

My parent's friends introduced me to their nephew, who works for some Wall Street company. Not actually on Wall Street, but a company with branch offices throughout the country. I think my parents are recruiting everyone they know to find me a boyfriend so they can drive me out of the house. I decided to go along since it would get me out for the holidays.

Long story short, I decided to get on birth control - again. Very optimistic, huh? I quit taking my last prescription because it gave me severe abdominal pains, not worth the regularity of PMS the pills provide. I decided to give it another go with a different brand. All side effects were pretty much the same, including a slight chance of diarrhea. Go figure, there is a slim chance of winning the lottery, which I've never won, but I managed to win the "squirts" lottery.

How many times can a lady powder her nose before looking like a clown? In and out, in and out, the trips continued to the restroom and my date looked confused.

"Are you alright," he asked.

"To be honest, no. I'm like a leaky faucet tonight," I explained.

"Excuse me?" my date said.

"Listen, I need you to take me home before the night gets more embarrassing than it already is," I explained.

"But we didn't eat," he replied.

"You'll be getting chocolate pudding for dessert if you don't take me home," I explained with a strange grin.

I don't think there will be any second dates with this one...

Blowies for the holidays

My friend, Amanda, really gets under my funny bone and gives it a good tickle from time to time. Amanda and I have been friends since grade school and were inseparable up until the day she joined the military and moved away. We still keep in touch as much as possible, be it in letters, phone conversations, or email exchanges. I received the following email the other day.

Lisa,

Times are tough this holiday season with the economy and all, but I'm still handing out as many presents as possible here at the base. I spent most of my money on gifts for friends and family, which can get expensive when you send everything through the mail, but I've never been one to shy away from giving. So the boys on base decided to do a Secret Santa and I was all for it, except for one thing, I'm broke. I'm the only female in the exchange so I decided to improvise. I told the boys if they get me in the exchange, I'll be giving one blowie as a gift. You should have seen their jaws drop when I mentioned it to them. Jack, the youngest in the exchange, turned a shade of red matched only by Santa's outfit when he heard what I'd be giving as a gift. I'm guessing it will be a quick present if he gets me in the exchange. He doesn't look a day over 18 and there's no way he's ever stuck his Willy into anything. I'm actually hoping for Jack. He better give me one hell of a gift or I'll be spitting. Oh well, hope things are all good at the store. I can't wait to see you again so I can have some real fun for a change.

P.S. - I remember you mentioning something about some new writing thing you're doing on the web. If I know you, which I do, you'll most likely write about this. Please don't use my name or pictures. Besides that, have a ball!

I love my friend, Amanda...

Notta Lotta Prada

The holiday season is causing mass confusion at the store. If the recession is here, I'm not seeing it because the women continue to march into the store and demand the most expensive pursues in stock. These purses are flying out the doors faster than an amputated bird whose wings have been restored. I wouldn't blame them after seeing all the dead cows we have in stock. It's a regular animal graveyard in there and sometimes I get sad, this happens often as a non meat eater.

I watched as two women almost debreasted on another over a Prada purse. The purse wasn't even that spectacular, as if it's worth losing a boob over. Sooo retarded!!! As if any fashion item is so important. Paris Hilton must have been seen toting one around and now the followers are trying their damndest to imitate. But I must admit, she does pull off some of the lousiest outfits.

"Give it to me, lady."

"I saw it first!"

They shouted, so I intervened, being the protector of the Prada that I am.

"Ladies. I'm sure we'll be receiving some more hideous purses in no time. Relax."

They paused for a moment and wondered if such words parted from my slippery tongue. I pulled the purse from their hands and said, "This is already on layaway."

They walked away and I tossed the purse beneath a clothes rack. There, problem solved. I put the purse on my own special layaway.

Toying with the greedy is such a fun game....