Home

 

Some people have walls that are “wine-colored,” as if that is a thing. Usually these walls are not exactly what wine looks like. More something like a deep burgundy. More something along the lines of a plush v. a burnt.

These people I see as having moms who make stuffed peppers and have like, a bottle of oil that has the seaweed or whatever in it. It’s probably not seaweed and they probably cook meals which are more of the mediterranean persuasion instead of Japanese. Exotic, but not too far east.

I’d like to understand what it would be like to have Early-Middle Childhood Education as my first choice of study, however I’m not exactly sure I know how. It just seems like this person would have wine-colored walls and would probably tell those who come into the house who say “I love your walls! What color?” – “Oh it’s wine, is the color,” although knowing deeply or maybe have the inkling or the moment right after like “Actually. It’s a little more of a burgundy than a wine. A little lighter.” But they wouldn’t share that I don’t think.

Maybe they have a little dog that is like, always clean? I don’t understand how these people’s dogs are always clean. And it’s not like they have a cleaning service (or at least that is evident), however their house always seems to be clean and the dogs are always clean. They don’t have cats. Too sly. They have one dog (or maybe two sister and brother dogs) and it’s always kind of middle sized and the fur is off white-cream and it’s probably curly and it’s always like a clean fucking dog. You often think to yourself: doesn’t this dog go outside? Doesn’t this dog take a shit? Doesn’t this dog ever eat food and then mop it up with drinking water and then it’s kind of all gross and then he slobbers and the hair under there is all matted like a dog? To a certain point where everyone looks at him during the break of the evening VOD movie and goes “Aw, haha, Charlie!” Except this dog is always fucking clean and dry.

This is the kind of person I talk to on New Years Eve who asks about where I’m looking to find a job next and all about the job market and how “it can be tough these days!” as if they have already tried it all out. Your red lips are really pretty and awesome but I swear I could never “pull that off.”

Does this person think to themselves about what they almost said but maybe were a little too afraid to say? Do they have inquires about the stuffed peppers? Are they consistently cleaning their dogs behind my back? Why do I give myself even the slightest space of entitlement to call them boring?

It’s also like adults who you don’t really know that well but you may need to interact with maybe only on certain occasions like at graduation parties. I want to make them feel good and everything but there’s always some kind of speed bump like “what the hell do we talk about..the 60s?” My mom also told me, as we were leaving the hospital because my dad had to stay one night due to chest pains, that my generation is the “Entitled” generation. Rings me back to earlier when I perhaps felt so entitled to call wine-walls girls boring or maybe someone who is just so two dimensional it hurts me to listen to the names of her twin cockapoo puppies who are just always somehow clean.

I at least hope the uncles and aunts with whom I’ve talked to about the swindling economy (and other current affairs I know nothing about but have faintly heard about through the news feed in the Entitled Generation’s endless shares) know that I think they are people with thoughts or feelings or whatever and that maybe talking to them about kinda boring things like the economy is not my idea but what I think their idea would be about what my idea should be. If that makes any sense.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s