The experiences and exploits of a college grad trying to make it in the "real world:" leaving school and friends in New England, moving south, and living with her boyfriend. Watch as I pretend to be an adult.
This is my last day as a "visitor" in my parents' house. The last time I'll come home for a short vacation and be shunted to my sister's room or the basement. I'm leaving for Mass tomorrow to finish cleaning up my old place and go into Boston for New Year, and when I come back in a week, I will officially be coming home. To live. This scares me, and here's one of the reasons why:
My stepbrother and his wife have been living in England (London) for the past year or so, as his company has him based over there temporarily. Well, she got pregnant shortly after they moved over, and they both came back before the baby was due so she could have it here in the states. They've been staying in my room while they're here (it's been about six months), largely because it has more privacy and its own bathroom. This is fine, I certainly don't want them to have to deal with a baby AND my sisters' mess (they tend to take over bathrooms and cause them to look as though a tornado has done serious damage in the area). Don't get me wrong, I don't like sleeping in the basement- it's cold and isolated from the rest of the house, and definately a little scarey...but I've been a good sport. Until last night.
My sisters, without consulting me, decided to have friends over last night. Christmas eve. And by "have friends over" I mean they wanted to invite people over to drink in the rec room in our basement...which is part of the larger room that includes the area that holds the bed I'm sleeping in for this trip. I was fairly nice about it at first, I didn't pitch a fit when noisey teenyboppers tore me from my good glass of red wine and mediocre book- I headed upstairs and told them to have fun. Around 11, I told my sister that the people needed to be elsewhere by quarter of twelve so I could get some sleep. She didn't seem happy, but didn't get too upset either. Twenty minutes later, I walk out of the room I'd been hiding out in, and hear her on the phone inviting more people over. I give her a look, and she runs over, and sweet as sugar, asks "Hey, is it ok if you sleep in my room tonight? I've already told people they can sleep over tonight, and they've been drinking...."
Now, this may make me a big bitch, but I said no. Absolutely not. I'd already been kicked out of my room, stuck in the basement, and then run out of the basement. I was in absolutely no mood to move all of my shit (my clothes, christmas presents, bathroom stuff) upstairs only to move it back down to the basement tonight. I nicely explained that there were a bunch of other rooms in the house she and her friends could use, and that I was tired and wanted to go to bed.
She flipped out and ran off, snapping, "I'm going to talk to Dad!" Sweet. Really, really mature. Did I mention this is the sister in college?
I went down and talked to my father, embarased to even have to involve him in such a stupid squabble. He said, big surprise, to settle it ourselves, and I reiterated my refusal to sleep upstairs to my sister, and told her she had 15 minutes to move the party. She stomped downstairs in a huff.
Fifteen minutes later, I walked downstairs. Everyone was sitting around the pool table, drinking, and I nicely told them that I was going to bed soon and they needed to head upstairs. The friends were fine, but my sisters bitched until I finally told them that it was no longer up for discussion, and I was going to be turning off the lights and going to bed in ten minutes. After some bitching and complaining, the sisters flounced upstairs, the friends were made uncomfortable, and I got into my comfy, comfy pjs.
This whole drama was bad enough. But there's more. About 15 minutes after I got into bed, I heard stomping on the (hardwood) floors above me. In fact, it wasn't so much stomping as a rhythmic, stacatto beat reminiscent of River Dance. They were, apparently, dancing around upstairs in an attempt to piss me off. I smiled sweetly, and put on the headphones of my brand-new ipod.
What on earth possesed them? How immature do you have to be? Is this what I'm going to have to live with for the next year?
(sigh)
In the words of Jack Nicholson..."Gooosfaabaa."
After 22 posted at 9:51 PM
