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Array
(
[sid] => 49111
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Where I'm From
[time] => 2004-05-25 20:03:19
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => If I was to tell you where I’m from what would you want to hear? Would I tell you about my house, with flowers everywhere some smashed by stray basketballs, my dad’s boat wet with the memory of water from his weekly fishing trips with his beer-guzzling buddies. Or how about the backyard with the pool and Jacuzzi in reverse order of heat the pool warm and the Jacuzzi cold. If you enter any room you are sure to see the pee stains left from old markings of my dogs Nike and Wilson. First you enter the laundry room with clothes thrown about on the floor for Maria our housekeeper to wash, to the left is the computer room where you’ll find me most days of the week on the computer, trying to get a new high score in pinball, or reading fan fiction on the internet while singing along to my newest CD by my favorite artist Annie Lennox. Down the hall at the end is my sister’s room neatly organized. A lot of the times she’s there in her room putting on makeup, the popular music of the week blasting in the hallway from her stereo. We have a good relationship she and I, she makes fun of my musical tastes and I nag her about her lack of memory and her early sleeping schedule, she’s my little freak and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I swear sometimes she act obsessive compulsive with her organizing, she used to collect pens and school supplies basically enough said. Now me I’m almost the exact opposite with clothes and towels thrown all about the floor I could care less about making the bed. My room is my sanctuary and I like my posters of the Eiffel tower, cute puppies and topless men hanging on my walls and my collectibles and antiques like my angel plates and my aquatic and mythical creatures theme. How about the noise you are sure to hear the sound of the radio to ward off any suspicious strangers, or the noise of the TV carelessly left on or the dogs barking or planes flying overhead or popcorn popping or my mother complaining about the weight she’s gaining moaning on and on about how she’s sure they will kick her out of weight watchers. On Friday mornings you can hear the sounds of Paul the gardener mowing the lawn, raking the leaves, planting the flowers. God that man is dedicated, 82 and still working, he used to work for my grandmother long deceased. It seems like nothing can stop that man, one time this summer my mother accidentally ran over his toe with her car, the ambulance came and everything but he still insisted on working afterwards. Most mornings I can hear the birds chirping outside my window welcoming the new day, five o’ clock every morning outside my window lucky me, it’s almost like those spiteful little devils decided to go specifically outside my window just to torture me. I’ve taken to putting cotton in my ears while I sleep. Most mornings you’ll find my dad outside in the backyard sitting in his comfy chair, smoking cigars, reading the newspaper watching the sunrise. Later on in the day he’s there in that same chair, only this time he has friends with him, the “Jeffs” are what my mom, my sister, and I have so lovingly christened them. I swear most of them are named Jeff we (meaning all us girls) like to joke about them saying that the “old fart” must have put a want ad in the paper saying white male businessman currently going through mid-life crisis seeking males twenty years minor that like drinking various alcoholic beverages, smoking cigars, fishing at three in the morning, swimming in underwear when impressionable youth is present in the vicinity, and playing basketball at odd hours of the night. Only Jeffs need apply. Not that I hate the “Jeffs” I just don’t like their smell and everything they stand for. Most days my mom can be found walking with Ann Walker, talking on the phone with the family, going to the movies with Mrs. Kelly, having various meals with the ladies, and on Tuesday and Thursday chatting with Maria our housekeeper. My mom’s the type of gal that you would want around when your ego needed a boosting, she’ll crack up I mean face turning bright red type of laughter after everything you say. She’s the lady that you see helping little old ladies that she doesn’t know cross the street. If you met her she would find out your life history in like ten seconds, she genuinely cares about others. Her job in life is to continually embarrass me and gross me out, dancing around grabbing her crotch imitating P. Diddy and Ja Rule, checking out guys in there twenties but not in the gross pedophiliac way but in the Mother I can’t believe you just said that way. Tuesday nights you’ll find us holding hands singing along to the Gilmore Girls theme song while my sister plugs her ears trying to block us out. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 170 [topic] => 31 [informant] => Sylvias [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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