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January 21, 2000
11:10:20 pm


shackin

Hmmm...I've noticed that a few of my entries have focussed on my mom. But I admittedly have mother issues. Purely her fault of course. Do parents screw up their children on purpose? Am I part of some evil plan culminated by their hippy days of yore cult? A plan to create the ultimate in socially inept freakazoids who obsess at the smallest bit of encouragement and even more so at obvious displays of dislike? Except my parents weren't hippies. And they were never in any cults (that I know of)...

Ah, recollection strikes! When I was younger and went with my dad to work, he often used to reminisce over his badass days as a hardcore gangsta back in his muthaland. Apparently, he'd get into fights with over 20 knife wielding enemy gangstas and take them on single-handedly. That's how "tuff" my poppa was. Him and his crew would cruise the slums with their weapons of choice (baseball bats) and beat up on starving dogs so they could make themselves some good canine sandwiches. Or at least that's what he told me. Of course, I suppose he could be lying. Another strange thing...he taught me this game he invented called "Backwards is fun" or something like that. While we'd be courier-ing around town he's read a sign backwards and I'd have to figure it out and point to it. Who wouldn't be fascinated by phrases such as "sdlanodcm", "sadim", and "norvehc"? Me.

Ah...so where's the sleazy motel part of my entry you wonder? Well, here's part I.

When I was in grade 5/6 my family planned a little road trip down to California. After driving in the sweltering heat for a full day, eyes wide and faces pressed to the windows taking in the breathtaking views of dead grass, dead trees, dead bushes, and dead animals on the road, we stopped by one of those real classy Best Western type places. We rented a single room with two big beds, one for me and my 5 year old sister, the other for my parents. Well, I was in for a real treat. An event so memorable, I still shudder at the thought of it, years later at the ripe old age of 20. I was sleeping contentedly, visions of dancing New Kids on the Block members running towards me with open arms through vast fields of emerald green grass. Much to my dismay, I was roused from my fantastic dream by strange animalistic noises. My eyes slowly opened, only to be greeted by the darkness of the room. Gradually, as they adjusted to the dim moonlight, my gaze shifted towards the source of the frightening sounds and I was able to make out the silhouette of my parents in the bed next door, sheets rustling amidst their groans of coital ecstasy. So what did I do? Did I immediately jump up on my bed and scream "Stop! There are children in the room!"? Did I sneak out into the hall, fill up a bucket with complimentary ice, then dump it on my parents, hoping to shock the lust out of them? Or did I turn on the light and shout "Fuck off, not fuck on!" The answer is... D. None of the Above. And yes, that is my final answer you damned Philbinite! So instead I just turned over and buried my head beneath the pillows, my efforts to muffle the grunts proving futile, as my body was racked with silent sobs.

Part II. Actually happened last year. It's not too interesting though... Should I even bother writing out a long winded spiel on it? Nah. Gist of the story is, I found a motel bill filed away in my mom's cabinet, listed under "Entertainment"...How appropriate. She shacked up with some nasty guy who was gentleman enough to buy her dinner. ooh.



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