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You Can't Go Home Again
Aug. 9th, 2004 08:33 amHappy Belated Birthday to James (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moved) and Happy Birthday to Jay (jaybear)!
I have to admit that I am very disappointed in the words of both John Kerry and John Edwards this weekend, where they have both supported the outcome of the Missouri constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage. The LA Times has a story, but you have to register. Kerry went so far to actually say he would have voted for the ban.
Given that Missouri has (had?) a DOMA law on the books that hadn't been challenged, the whole thing seemed unnecessary, just like the federal amendment. I suppose that they are trying to say they support the state's right to choose for themselves, but it sure seems like an odd thing for them to do.
I continued to pack up things at the parents house yesterday. I'm realizing just how much of a pack rat I am. I was going through the stacks of toys, throwing away old papers from college, and tossing out all of the cassette tapes I have. Strangely I'm keeping all of the vinyl albums and tons of old 45's even though I have nothing to play them on. The vinyl collection includes such gens as original soundtracks to Oklahoma!, The King and I, and Mary Poppins, flanked by 12 inch singles from Wham! and The Pet Shop Boys. Again, more signs from the past.
We took about half of the boxes to the storage facility. Dad and I got in to the complex, passing a group leaving, and as we were unloading, Dad remarked that he was late on the storage facility rent. Apparently, the other car had let us in, for as we tried to leave and found that Dad's code wouldn't work. We just kind of stood there, trying to weigh our options. We could get out, through the emergency exit but without the truck. Since the "courtesy" phone was broken, we'd need walk to have Mom pick us up when we reached a payphone. Luckily we found another family in the complex who was kind enough to let us out, but we wouldn't be able to come back with yet more boxes until Dad pays the rent.
Crisis averted. Longer talk with Dad, averted - if it would even come up.
I lived with my folks during the last half of my college days, and then through my first "real world" jobs, unlike my sister, Laura, who moved as fast as she could. I spent several years of my adult life there, in fear of being found out, and thrown out. It's not that it was terribly bad, but it was awkward. It certainly kept me away from the community for many years, stunting my growth. It was a liberation moving to Houston.
I had totally cleared my room, except for the furniture, which was going to be donated away (to Goodwill, I told them not to give stuff to the Salvation Army), when mom was checking for any last trash and such. She moved a nightstand, and said that there was still something there, so I reached back there and started picking stuff up.
Have I mentioned that Mom doesn't dust? Ever? There was a choking amount of dust that covers EVERYTHING. For once I was actually grateful for the dust as I found a copy of First Hand: Erotic Stories for Men. Yep, gay porn, circa 1989. The one-handed magazine had been pushed out of the drawer it was in, and to the back of the nightstand. I quickly moved it into the bottom of a bag to be taken to the trash and avoided any more questions for the evening.
It's not so much that I was embarrassed, just that I didn't want to explain what it was, what it contained, and how I had got it. Somethings my parents don't need to know.
Otherwise, dinner was sedate. They took me out to Saltgrass Steakhouse, and I told them about meeting Vance (drood) at the get-together Chris threw the week before, talking about Vance's writing career. i made sure to talk about Naomi Nash and "her" bio, and how it mentioned "her" husband. I thought it was fun.
So my room is cleared. The rest of the boxes are waiting for the ability to get back into the storage unit and be tucked away, with all the pictures of me with my 1992 era mullet. I realized that I'll never have a room at my parent's hose again. Home truly is this apartment.
Well, also Chris' house, where the heart is.
moved) and Happy Birthday to Jay (jaybear)!I have to admit that I am very disappointed in the words of both John Kerry and John Edwards this weekend, where they have both supported the outcome of the Missouri constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage. The LA Times has a story, but you have to register. Kerry went so far to actually say he would have voted for the ban.
Given that Missouri has (had?) a DOMA law on the books that hadn't been challenged, the whole thing seemed unnecessary, just like the federal amendment. I suppose that they are trying to say they support the state's right to choose for themselves, but it sure seems like an odd thing for them to do.
I continued to pack up things at the parents house yesterday. I'm realizing just how much of a pack rat I am. I was going through the stacks of toys, throwing away old papers from college, and tossing out all of the cassette tapes I have. Strangely I'm keeping all of the vinyl albums and tons of old 45's even though I have nothing to play them on. The vinyl collection includes such gens as original soundtracks to Oklahoma!, The King and I, and Mary Poppins, flanked by 12 inch singles from Wham! and The Pet Shop Boys. Again, more signs from the past.
We took about half of the boxes to the storage facility. Dad and I got in to the complex, passing a group leaving, and as we were unloading, Dad remarked that he was late on the storage facility rent. Apparently, the other car had let us in, for as we tried to leave and found that Dad's code wouldn't work. We just kind of stood there, trying to weigh our options. We could get out, through the emergency exit but without the truck. Since the "courtesy" phone was broken, we'd need walk to have Mom pick us up when we reached a payphone. Luckily we found another family in the complex who was kind enough to let us out, but we wouldn't be able to come back with yet more boxes until Dad pays the rent.
Crisis averted. Longer talk with Dad, averted - if it would even come up.
I lived with my folks during the last half of my college days, and then through my first "real world" jobs, unlike my sister, Laura, who moved as fast as she could. I spent several years of my adult life there, in fear of being found out, and thrown out. It's not that it was terribly bad, but it was awkward. It certainly kept me away from the community for many years, stunting my growth. It was a liberation moving to Houston.
I had totally cleared my room, except for the furniture, which was going to be donated away (to Goodwill, I told them not to give stuff to the Salvation Army), when mom was checking for any last trash and such. She moved a nightstand, and said that there was still something there, so I reached back there and started picking stuff up.
Have I mentioned that Mom doesn't dust? Ever? There was a choking amount of dust that covers EVERYTHING. For once I was actually grateful for the dust as I found a copy of First Hand: Erotic Stories for Men. Yep, gay porn, circa 1989. The one-handed magazine had been pushed out of the drawer it was in, and to the back of the nightstand. I quickly moved it into the bottom of a bag to be taken to the trash and avoided any more questions for the evening.
It's not so much that I was embarrassed, just that I didn't want to explain what it was, what it contained, and how I had got it. Somethings my parents don't need to know.
Otherwise, dinner was sedate. They took me out to Saltgrass Steakhouse, and I told them about meeting Vance (
drood) at the get-together Chris threw the week before, talking about Vance's writing career. i made sure to talk about Naomi Nash and "her" bio, and how it mentioned "her" husband. I thought it was fun.So my room is cleared. The rest of the boxes are waiting for the ability to get back into the storage unit and be tucked away, with all the pictures of me with my 1992 era mullet. I realized that I'll never have a room at my parent's hose again. Home truly is this apartment.
Well, also Chris' house, where the heart is.
