Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Momz Lolz

SF has rare sun and since I inherited a genetic ability to tan, I've mostly been in the backyard at the beach house working on looking like George Hamilton.

But a quick tidbits from the land of LOLZ Mother Daughter Relationships!

It is well established that I am an adult, in age if not in actual behavior. Unfortunately no matter how old you get, your mother will inevitably still treat you like you are five. This is particularly true if you are female though slightly true still if you are male.

We were discussing Europe the other day and I said that I really want to go back but that when I do I'd like to take in a soccer match. I missed going to a France friendly when I was in Paris and despite being in Eurocup cities while there, I missed that too. I figure soccer in Europe is like THE biggest cultural thing you can do. Sure sure, it's the church, museum, castle tour, as one friend dubbed it after walking through yet another one of Europe's gorgeous landmarks, but that gets tiring. Soccer is where you'd see Europeans be Europeans. It'd be the equivalent of me dragging some European on vacation to LSU/Bama game. I mean, why would you not, and me in particular, want to experience that? I want to chant and sway and drink pints and make out with soccer fans in London/Munich/Amsterdam pubs. That sounds pretty much like an ideal vacation for me, actually.

My mother flips out. It's like she's hit that age where she's reading Reader's Digest and if it was in there then it's gospel and we're all gonna die. One too many Dateline on the evils of college binge drinking and how your child is behaving features, ya know? Unnecessary panic at every turn. And maybe some of it is actually necessary panic but if you are anything nearing normal, the amount you keep from your parents should far surpass the amount you tell them. Considering she has no actual idea what I get up to a vast amount of the time, her worry is unwarranted. There are just these lines we keep that allow us to live our own lives and for our parents to only moderately worry about us, even when we're adults. I find this whole her freaking out thing even more comical because it's not like my mother is elderly. She's 21 years older than me, for those who feel like doing math. She likes sports cars and fancy restaurants and CARRIES A GUN FOR A LIVING. But something about me, her daughter, makes her all irrationally protective.

"You can't go to a soccer game! People die at those! They get trampled!" I point out to her that I spent the better part of my late teens/early 20s attending football in a 90k person stadium without incident but when arguing with your mother it is best not to employ anything in the realm of logic. "No! It's too dangerous!" This, again, is why we keep things from our parents. This is why we learn "It's better to ask forgiveness than permission." I brush her off and stop the conversation. I have no plans to actually be in Europe anytime soon so it's moot. Also: if I am in Europe I am going and there's very little she can do about it.

I didn't point out that I also backpacked around Europe for a month, 2 years ago, BY MYSELF and geezus the volumes she doesn't know about that... Again, the things we keep from our parents.

Yesterday I took a walk on the beach alone. At dinner my mom asked me about it. I said I took the usual route (Noriega to the Cliff House), but that since tide was low I actually walked around the Cliff House point to the Sutro Baths ruins and back. "I hope you were careful!" LOLZ, WUT? "You shouldn't laugh at the ocean! It's dangerous." I'm laughing at you, not the ocean. You're being ridiculous. "Well the tide could have come back in!" In the ten minutes it took me to walk around the point? Yeah, no. "Well! I worry! It's not like I can get another one of you! It's not like you're a puppy!" Geezus lady, seriously? Just...chillax. I've been crossing streets fairly competently alone since I was about 5. Pretty sure I can make it around a small cliff and back without getting swept out to sea.

And then every so often, your mother will say something completely surprising. I mentioned that Top Gun had played in Dolores Park, a movie we should all know by now I am devoted to, but that I didn't go a) because football takes precedence on Saturdays and b) I hate sitting with hippies smoking pot outside. I get it, I live in SF. Everyone is allowed to blaze up wherever they damn well feel like it. Fine. Whatever. But personally? I HATE the smell of pot smoke. It gives me an instant headache. I also find annoying the sort of cavalier "don't give a fuck" attitude all the stoners have about it. God forbid anyone smoke a cigarette within 500 feet of another human being without someone obnoxiously making gagging sounds in this city but weed smoke wafts from everywhere. (I don't smoke cigarettes either, unless extremely drunk, but the hypocrisy of it is hysterical.) My mother is actually one of those coughing gagging "OMG cigarette smoke!" types. She was constantly fanning herself and complaining when we were in Paris. Mom, it's FRANCE. This is how they do. You need to adapt.

So I mention the thing about the weed smoke. Her response? "Really? You hate it? I LOVE the smell of weed smoke."

Seriously: LOLZ WUT? Momz.

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