John is my new roommate who has a relatively opposite schedule to mine, what with him being a bartender. As Tim the Trainer said, "Oh, great. An enabler."
You know what else he enables? My sick, twisted television viewing. As Big Chris had to work, we cancelled our usual Sunday night plans and John and I stayed home, eating leftover fajitas he stole from a BBQ while watching Flight 93 AND United 93 back to back.
And unlike a chick or a gay, John didn't sit there gasping and weeping. As per our discussion along the lines of "What would you have done were you a passenger on that fated flight?" John responded:
"I just want to grab them and be like, 'Dude, you think you're right and this is God's will. But it's not. You're being a dick.' Seriously. I just want to grab that dude and scream, 'You are an asshole.' I mean, come ON. 72 virgins? Real noble cause, you fuckin' piece of shit. And also, a can of Sprite is not a weapon, 26F."
Needless to say, John and I are fast friends.
Speaking of which, I had a very late work meeting in Larkspur last night and decided to crash at my folks. I kicked open their door, helped myself to some much needed wine and headed upstairs, finding that Mom had just discovered Kitchen Nightmares.
"Oh, a new sweater!"
"Sit, sit. Have you seen this show?"
"Yes! It's awesome. I love Gordon Ramsay. I think he's kind of hot."
My father decided to join us, and he and I eventually moved onto 30 Rock. 30 Rock isn't really Joanne's style. "I hate Alec Baldwin."
She rolled her eyes and went to go read a book.
My folks aren't television devotees, but some of my fondest memories from my horrific childhood are when I watched 'Mystery' with my dad on rainy nights in the 'TV Room." (You can really hear rain in the TV Room and it's wonderful.) Dad would smoke his pipe, drink something boozy and chuckle at that clever Poirot. I was honored just to be included and allowed up past 10. Last night was kinda like that, my Dad watching 30 Rock and The Office reruns with me, getting the jokes I was delighted he was cool enough to get.
Oh mom, I thought to myself, how are we even related? After all, as Tim the Trainer pointed out, much to everyone's horror for the past 30 years, I've got my father's Rob Reiner genes and not my mother's Diane Keaton ones.
Anyway, I was bonding with Dad over network programming when The Office ended.
"Oh look, Daddy! MSNBC is doing the entire morning of September 11th, as it happened!"
He rolled his eyes and went to go read a book.
My mother on the other hand, the one I couldn't possibly be related to, passed by me on her way down the hall to take a bath.
"(gasp!) What's this?"
"MSNBC is doing the entire morning of September 11th as it happened."
Which is how my mom and I stayed up until 1am. My father couldn't have cared less. Apparently, he hates America. But mom and I poured over every second in gory, inappropriate, marvelous detail. Maybe we're related after all.
This morning, I woke up and crawled in bed with Dick and Joanne.
We had a lengthy discussion on whether or not my brother was molested by his creepy driving instructor 10 years ago. The three of us decided to call Alex and find out, assuring him that we'd support him throughout his humiliating, hidden admission. According to Alex, "Who? You mean Carl? I was bigger than him. If he raped me, I must have really blocked it out because I don't remember a thing. Plus, if he did, I'd be killing cats by now."
"Anything else?" My exasperated brother asked.
"Yes." (giggles) "We're having a very serious discussion."
"You're in bed with mom and dad, aren't you."
"Anyway, seriously. How quickly would someone die if they were in the Twin Towers?"
"2 or 3 seconds."
"That's what I said!" screamed my father...