![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
My maternal rant begins now...
So, Mom got a new CD/tape player/radio today. This, in and of itself, is unremarkable. We've needed one for a while. Mom was at Target today, and found a decent model.
Now, my mother is not a very technically inclined person. Don't get me wrong, she's not a Luddite, and she's rather intelligent. Nor is she afraid of technology (except perhaps for our family's PC, despite the fact that she has quite a degree of proficency at using a PC at work...) She just... doesn't get it when it comes to anything digital, more-or-less.
So, she gets this new CD player thing, and spends the better part of half an hour reading the instruction manual, repeatedly calling me over to explain things. Now, certain parts I could understand but, let's face it folks, it's a verkaktetape player, for goodness' sake.
So, this done, Mom puts on a CD (The Beatles' "1," whatever issues I have with mom, her musical taste is not among them, it's a brilliant CD.)
After about five minutes of this, Mom gets bored.
A bored mother is a dangerous mother.
So, she recalls that she asked Daniel and me to clean our room.
To be fair, the place is a mess, a real pit, and it'll take a few solid hours for us to clean it, assuming we decide to do it all at once, as though it was Passover: The Sequel coming.
Daniel and I prefer to clean our room over the course of a few days, this keeps the dust flying to a minimum, which is vital for Dan, as he has some rather vicious dust allergies.
So, to recap, we've got Mom, she's bored, she sees a messy room, and The Beatles are playing in the background.
Mom decides to "help."
Helping means entering our room, turning into a human tornado, taking every loose item in the room and throwing it into loosely organized heaps. By loosely organized heaps, I mean a big fucking pile.
Right on my bed.
So, I'm left with this pile of stuff that Must Be Cleaned Or I Can't Sleep Tonight.
To be honest, Mom's an organizing whiz, so she's giving me all sorts of pointers as to where and how to store stuff, which is rather helpful, as my once orderly filing system of "that stuff's in that mess over here, those things are in that mess over there" has been reduced to the aforementioned big fucking pile.
In this pile are several books of mine that I've been trying to find places to store. I'd originally left them on the near-empty bookshelf in the living room shortly after I moved back in January. Mom informed me at the time that I couldn't keep them there because all I read was "crap," and they were her bookshelves. Dad said I could keep stuff there, but I didn't want to make waves. So, they got relegated to the rotating storage platform that was my room.
Mom notices these books and says "Gee, Ari, that's a lot of books, why don't you go find some space for them in the living room?"
Do I hug this woman, or throttle her?
See, she should remember that she didn't want me using those shelves. These are bookshelves, which are relatively simple. Not something complicated like, say, a CD player...
My head hurts.
So, Mom got a new CD/tape player/radio today. This, in and of itself, is unremarkable. We've needed one for a while. Mom was at Target today, and found a decent model.
Now, my mother is not a very technically inclined person. Don't get me wrong, she's not a Luddite, and she's rather intelligent. Nor is she afraid of technology (except perhaps for our family's PC, despite the fact that she has quite a degree of proficency at using a PC at work...) She just... doesn't get it when it comes to anything digital, more-or-less.
So, she gets this new CD player thing, and spends the better part of half an hour reading the instruction manual, repeatedly calling me over to explain things. Now, certain parts I could understand but, let's face it folks, it's a verkaktetape player, for goodness' sake.
So, this done, Mom puts on a CD (The Beatles' "1," whatever issues I have with mom, her musical taste is not among them, it's a brilliant CD.)
After about five minutes of this, Mom gets bored.
A bored mother is a dangerous mother.
So, she recalls that she asked Daniel and me to clean our room.
To be fair, the place is a mess, a real pit, and it'll take a few solid hours for us to clean it, assuming we decide to do it all at once, as though it was Passover: The Sequel coming.
Daniel and I prefer to clean our room over the course of a few days, this keeps the dust flying to a minimum, which is vital for Dan, as he has some rather vicious dust allergies.
So, to recap, we've got Mom, she's bored, she sees a messy room, and The Beatles are playing in the background.
Mom decides to "help."
Helping means entering our room, turning into a human tornado, taking every loose item in the room and throwing it into loosely organized heaps. By loosely organized heaps, I mean a big fucking pile.
Right on my bed.
So, I'm left with this pile of stuff that Must Be Cleaned Or I Can't Sleep Tonight.
To be honest, Mom's an organizing whiz, so she's giving me all sorts of pointers as to where and how to store stuff, which is rather helpful, as my once orderly filing system of "that stuff's in that mess over here, those things are in that mess over there" has been reduced to the aforementioned big fucking pile.
In this pile are several books of mine that I've been trying to find places to store. I'd originally left them on the near-empty bookshelf in the living room shortly after I moved back in January. Mom informed me at the time that I couldn't keep them there because all I read was "crap," and they were her bookshelves. Dad said I could keep stuff there, but I didn't want to make waves. So, they got relegated to the rotating storage platform that was my room.
Mom notices these books and says "Gee, Ari, that's a lot of books, why don't you go find some space for them in the living room?"
Do I hug this woman, or throttle her?
See, she should remember that she didn't want me using those shelves. These are bookshelves, which are relatively simple. Not something complicated like, say, a CD player...
My head hurts.