June 14, 2005

All Hail

Houseguest has left the building.
Having him around was kind of like having an autistic child for 9 days. You love him, maybe all the more because of his difficulties, but there are those moments when you consider throwing yourself on the third rail, and praying for the sweet, sweet silence that will follow the arrival of the A train.
I like Houseguest. I really do. He's a good kid, and he's had it rough. Drafted into military service at 18, he served it in Sweden to avoid spending three years in the Armenian military (his parents' current home). He's lonely in Sweden, and closeted. I can't imagine how hard it must be. And it he was really good company for Sister, who hasn't had a daytime playmate since her boyfriend moved to Atlanta.
But believe me when I tell you this: Houseguest doesn't enter a room. He rides in on a chandelier with backup dancers.

There are drama queens, and then there's Houseguest.
When he lost his cellphone on Friday night, he called me from a friend's screaming "Do Something!" Now, I had already settled into my couch, was 4 episodes into Sex and the City, Season 2 (I've made it my mission to watch every episode by month's end), and was halfway through a joint. I was not, at that point, a man of action. Not that I had any idea how to have a Swedish SYM card shut off. Yet he persisted: "People are OUT THERE CALLING FROM MY PHONE! I have to go to the police station!" Um, right. They'll get right on that. In point of fact, let's check in with them. I'm sure they've got 4 detectives working on it right now.
Or shall we rewind to Saturday night, when, roughly 3 hours after he told me he'd be back and meet me to go clubbing, he comes barreling up the sidewalk (where I was awaiting a friend with whom I was going for a drink) , dials a friend of his from my phone and begins shouting and pacing up and down 9th avenue. Upon approach, my friend stared, mouth agape, and simply let fly an incredibly British "Oh dear."
Houseguest declared to everyone with in a 50 foot radius that his friend was not coming and he would hence not be going out tonight.
Long story short (too late) his friend met me at Therapy, and Houseguest dragged us all to Roxy. 30 minutes later, he announced "I hate my jeans. I feel like a cow. I have to leave now." And was on his way through the door before I had time to scream "WHAT?" His friends looked at me, shrugged, and went home. Sister and I chased Houseguest into the street.
And so the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants crammed into a cab and returned to my apartment, where he changed jeans and acted surprised when Sister and I didn't really feel like going back downtown and paying another cover at a different club.
These are the highlights. There is, I have learned, nothing in New York that doesn't warrant top volume and wild gesticulation. Someone in the street honks? The waitress didn't see you wave for more water? They don't have your size shirt at H & M? All perfect opportunity to witness the aria from Carmen performed in broken English.

A true drama queen, He starts every other sentence with the phrase "You don't understand!" His life in Sweden aside, I am pretty certain that I understood everything he was so upset about. The rain? Check. The price of cabs? Check. The fact that he ran out of his favorite moisturizer? Yep. Comprendo. Needing to get laid? Yeah, I get that one too.
Tonight when Don and I took him to the airport, he stopped about 20 feet from the ticket counter.
"You know what? I don't want to go. I am going to stay and just be illegal and we will figure it out."
The minor stroke I had didn't do much damage, though I do have a slight limp now.
God bless Don, who read the sheer terror in my eyes, palmed me a valium and escorted Houseguest to the ticket counter while security forced a wooden spoon between my teeth and tried to get my eyes to focus again.
And so my life returns to normal. And I've learned that I could definitely handle kids. Even overgrown mildly retarded oversexed kids. It all comes down to seven little words that became my mantra this weekend, much to Houseguest's confusion:
Not now honey. Mommy has a headache.


Blogger deanne said...

Houseguest bears a remarkable resemblance to Cate Blanchett! Who knew she had a doppelganger eh?

9:40 AM  
Blogger Becka said...

You must have infinite patience. I would have beat the man upside the head.

7:21 PM  
Anonymous Bathroom Reading said...


Next Thursday, beer. That's the 23rd. A* said she's in.


10:56 AM  

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