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Friday, June 22, 2007

That One Mother

Ain't gonna face no defeat
I just gotta get out of this prison cell
Someday I'm gonna be free, Lord!

This weekend my community is holding their local get-together complete with carneys and softball games galore. This weekend has always been a weekend that I will have the urge to go but doing something else always seems like the better option. I mean there’s lots of fattening food that will lead me to the thunder bucket for two days straight--which I like--and there’s that feel good summer atmosphere which is cool too. There will also be a bunch of people I went to high school with and tons of the “So how’s life?” or “So what are you up to nowadays?” conversations which I almost hate with a passion.

It’s like that buddy from ten years ago who happens to be in the same aisle as you while at Walgreens. Some people will walk up, shake hands, and reminisce about the good times. I pretend like I don’t recognize the guy and quickly get the hell outta dodge.

I remember a friends mother came into Toys’ R Us one day and this was one woman who I would gladly chop my hand off if I knew I didn’t have to talk to her. She came in and I heard her from two aisles over and I nearly shat myself in my black jeans. I peaked around the corner and there she was with her little kids. Luckily I snuck to the break room without her knowing.

I wasn’t so lucky this next time,

I went to the local bar to watch some football one Sunday afternoon and I donned the usual Sunday attire of sweatpants, Earth Day ‘99 t-shirt, and the 72 hour shadow. I was half awake and as the waitress sat me down in my booth I heard the most terrible thing,

“Mr. Berg.” I knew who it was right away. The same woman that I heroically avoided at Toys the previous time. So I sat down and listened to her bullshit, her obvious and nonstop bullshit about her kids, her late husband (really cool guy), and she was basically wanting, needing me to be jealous over her kids. I actually wasn’t listening because I wasn’t even awake at the time.

Those conversations are just hell on me because there’s only so many “oh okays” and “oh wow” and “sure” one can say before it just starts getting pathetic.

I suppose I’ll stop by just to get my hands on some thunder bucket food. I’ll probably just wear my cap down so I don’t have to run into anyone. That way I can sit back, look into the beer garden, and say,
“Woah she got fuckin fat!” as I giggle to myself.

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