I love, absolutely LOVE how my mother insists that I have to clean up the house whenever I bring guests over (because they are my guests) and when she invites someone over, it’s also my duty to clean. Not just “hey, can you just vacuum a couple rooms that you actually use?” but “Why haven’t you cleaned the room that you don’t even use? I’m totally ignoring the fact that I also have a 16 year old son that actually uses that room 12 hours everyday and is fully capable of doing work and instead blaming you.  I then am going to take all the credit afterward when I call my friends, “Ugh. I have these girls staying with me and I had to do sooooooo much”“.

She is making the biggest deal out of nothing. If it was so important, she would have started to clean long ago, not THE DAY BEFORE THEIR ARRIVAL.

I should also mention that despite whatever delusion she has conjured up inside her head, it is she who agreed to let her 3 teenage cousins visit during the summer time. Oh and guess who gets to entertain them for two weeks. OH HI, THAT WILL BE ME!! All she has to do is make sure they don’t die which is fairly simple considering the situation.

I hate entertaining. Why else do you think I’ve only had 3 birthday parties in the last 20 years where I provided the guest list?

What I will get out of this is a social life when I don’t really want one (I’ve moved enough in July. It’s August now and I’d like to go back to forgetting that I am a college junior, stay at home, watch NCIS reruns and work on my little side projects for the next 3 weeks), and home cooked food.

One thing I can count on is my mother’s need to make a great impression on people. All through-out junior high and high school I got up before my parents did and made my own breakfast (cereal). Once my Uncle (on my mother’s side) visited and I come home and hear that not only did my mother make him breakfast (scrambled eggs among other things) but she served it to him, ON A FUCKING BED OF LETTUCE. It’s a big deal to me.

This concludes my immature rant that I’ve been bottling up inside for the last week.

I may be turning 20 this year, but a part of me will always be a whiny 14 year old. You should know that before we continue this twisted thing we call a blogger-reader relationship.