Yet, Supa has begun to notice there are distinct times and circumstances when the mellow flow of the Supa Pad is disrupted, which usually involves Supa/Ms. Mom flipping her lid over some seemingly mundane event, then proceeding to nut the fuck up. These events usually include, but are not limited to anything concerning:
Batteries: For some reason, there’s always a battery shortage at the Supa Pad. No matter how many packs I steal from work or purchase at Target, them joints is always coming up short. Which inevitably leads one of the spawn to gank the batteries out of Supa’s TV remote to stick in their Gameboy or CD walkman or electronic diary or some bullshit toy somebody got from GameStop, which leads to Supa's ass being left hanging whenever she reaches for something and naively expects it to work. So, like, when Supa settles in to take a nice steaming hot lavendar bath, Supa ‘aint got shit to listen to ‘cause one of the RR’s has made an unauthorized battery removal from her portable shower radio, and thus, all quantifiable hell breaks loose. ‘Cause that shit makes Supa absolutely livid.
Dirty TiVo practices: Ya’ll know I loves my TiVo. I take great pains to organize my movies and shows and documentaries for any given week, and look forward to settling in to catch up on the recordings when time allows. When I sit down with my curry chicken 'n rice meal, with my V Squared (Vitamin Water and Vodka mixed, new drink, ya’ll) to discover that my new Monk episode has been canceled and overriden by an episode of That’s So Raven, or that Best Week Ever’s priority has been subjugated by a godawful episode of the the Andy Milanokis Show – somebody has gots to pay. And since neither one of the RR’s want to drop a dime on the other and/or wanna play the dumb role, they both get equally jammed up.
Misplaced Electronica: Let’s see….there are no less than nine remotes in the Supa Pad which control tv’s, vcr’s, dvd’s, The Dishnetwork satellite, cd players, boom boxes, and a few of the light switches. Three cellphones which each have their own charger, then there’s Supa’s palm pilot charger, laptop charger, the RR’s X-box and PSP chargers, (spoiled asses), headphones, ear buds, Blue Tooth’s (hey P), etc., etc., etc. Suffice it to say, somebody is always misplacing SOMETHING. Somehow, the living room dvd remote will wind up in the upstairs bathroom trash can. Somehow the Dish network remote ends up beneath a Ruff Ryder’s bed. One time – I swear – the tv remote wound up in the freezer. Still haven’t figured that one out.
Designated Food and Drink: This is a very sensitive topic in the Supa Pad. Very sensitive topic. Since Supa came from a generation who grew up on food stamps, county cheese, Brand X cereal, Jewel T and other modes of substandard bargain basement grocery shopping, she promised herself that once grown and able, she’d buy the kind of goodies she could never have consistently as a shorty. Lucky Charms, Heinz Ketchup, Tropicana Orange Juice, Perrier, brand name shit like that. Supa makes sure to buy the RR’s their own little stash(es), so the boundaries are clearly established. When the stuff goes into the fridge on grocery day, Supa “claims” it in front of them, so they know good and well what’s off limits, and can’t come popping off with that “I didn’t know” at a later date. Well. Supa doesn’t know how many times she’s had to bust into a RR’s room at some ungodly hour demanding to know “who ate all her damn Fruit Loops,” or coaxing out a confession as to who drank the very last of the Grapefruit Kiwi Hansen Natural sodas. Supa has now been reduced to making “don’t touch it, it’s mine” labels on her designated food and drink. Last week, the Lawry’s Season Salt came up missing, and Supa was forced to go out and purchase a new bottle right then in order to enjoy her microwave popcorn in the proper fashion. 'Cause that 99cent store season salt 'aint worth a damn.
Smart-assedness, Back talk, & Foul Language: Not by them, by me. But rest assured, I didn’t start cursing at, or around my kids until they were old enough to do something curse-worthy – so if I remember, they had to be about six, seven months old, at least. Ha ha. No. But really….Supa won’t lie to ya, she does not refrain from the casual “sheeeiiit” or “oh hell no” or “dammit” around the house. When Supa is ranting around the household due to unfinished chores or homework, The Boy will say very calmly say: “Mom, there’s really no need for profanity,” to which I will reply with a “Who you think you talkin' to?Go clean your room, dammit!” There was one notable occasion where The Boy asked if he could purchase a certain cd, and I told him yes, but only if he got the edited version, on account of there being too much profanity on the record. He then looked at me said, (deadpan): “I don’t see what the big deal is, I’ve already been exposed to all that bad language at home…” At that, I had to laugh. And then I replied – “Don’t be a smartass, dear. Now go clean your gotdamn room!”
Other areas of contention include: Missing forks, spoons, and other utensils, unauthorized stockpiling of toilet paper, kids answering the phone without permission, off-limits areas on the couch (I ALWAYS get the left corner of the sectional. Always.), and fighting over who gets to spend quality time with the family pet.
Ahhh, but it's all good in the 'hood: "motherHOOD"...It's a wonderful life!
Happy Fucking Friday!!