October 23, 2007 // 21:26
reading: atlas shrugged, of course
my mom and grandma have left new england, and are officially back home in the ghetto. after only two days, the inside jokes already abound:
"I think that man was having a seizure!"
"Mom, he was eating a quesadilla."
"I would need a map just to walk around that house, it's so big. And that would be bad, because I can't even read a map."
tons of others, as well. best parts of the visit? roaming the beach in newport in search of seashells, lounging around my apartment and reveling in the luxurious weather, and hanging out with Tim.
over the course of my life, I've had a great many guy friends to whom I've been close - almost all of them corresponding with a certain stage in my life. since I've moved to new england, I've had two. (Joel does not count, as Joel has been, and will be, my constant throughout my life. he's got his own category.) the first was not who I thought he was, and I realized I got played pretty badly. he ended up not speaking to me anymore because of issues between our jobs. wish I could take _that_ back.
the second has been Tim - completely unexpectedly. besides our multiple introductions through friends, I think we bonded most in RI. I walked away with a guitar pick from Static X and a promise to be taught how to drive a stick - triumph, as John refused to teach me.
Tim and I began hanging out and found lots in common (I think, at least): interest in turtle ownership, our overwhelming families and their issues, problems with my job I couldn't really tell anyone else, a love of warped/twisted and sarcastic humor, a boondock saints fetish, and a wicked sense of adventure. when he managed to sit through a def leppard/styx/foreigner concert with me (although he's into bands like coheed and cambria and paramore), I knew we were friends. he was one of the only people I told about my rockstar stint.
needless to say, if anyone is going to put up with Crazy Polack Grandma, it is going to be Tim, and he will pull it off with grace and style. he took us to O'Connors (pretty much my favorite around Clinton/Worcester) and managed to sit through conversations about what a bad kid I was and how perfect and angelic my brother was. 'Amanda was MEAN, and she was STUBBORN, she was so stubborn...' 'Andy was so sweet, he was a little angel...' etc. etc.
before I could put a stop to it, he was subjected to stories about me running away from my grandmother in a department store, me eating dirt at my aunt's house, me running into coffee tables at full speed and knocking myself unconscious, me picking all of the neighbors' flowers out of her garden, me misbehaving at restaurants... okay, it went on and on and on, just take my word for it.
not only did he sit through it, he recounted some of his own. and when my mother expressed her wish to eat some chowder before she left new england, Tim called the Sole, made sure they did 'takeaway', took us to the restaurant, and went inside with me to wait.
he said at the time that it was funny that he was essentially 'meeting the parents' of one girl, while the other was heading to South Africa to only be seen when she returns. I felt a little bad about that, and didn't really know how to take it, so I let it go.
today, my grandma would not stop talking about how Tim 'looked Irish' (whatever that means) and how good-looking he is when he's not wearing his hat(?). we had leftovers from O'Connors for lunch, and she wouldn't stop talking about how good the food was, and how different it was, and how she was happy we went. I guess he made a good impression with my family.
it was a great night, overall. although I did feel a little bad for Tim - I don't know that he knew that having dinner with three generations of crazy was going to be that nuts. :)
