Go East, Young Man

I’m done. I’m done hearing about the stupid moves I’m making from my friends. I need to get out of town, and fast. Not to escape from the stupid paparazzi like most people do, or to go to rehab like Lindsay Lohan does, but to get away from making this frustrating decision.

I’m tired of my life. I’m tired of being disappointed. And I…I…I’m just tired.

Maybe I need a vacation or something.

In the end, however, I decided to just break down and call my mother back home. Back home isn’t anywhere near LA, in fact, it’s on the other side of the country. Pittsfield, Massachusetts. A town of just over forty thousand located in the Berkshires, home to obnoxious rich people and equestrianism. And then there’s my mom: a firecracker who called my high school’s Parent-Teacher Association a “bunch of sluts” to their faces. She drove my dad nuts to the point where he left us when I was only two years old. She later remarried and had several more kids, and my stepdad has been more of a dad to me than my actual father ever could be.

I have to be reminded that my five siblings are actually my half-siblings (well, all but my older brother anyway). That’s how tight our family is.

“Hey, sweetie! Long time no talk; I was just about to call you to see whether or not you were alive…” my mom shouted into the phone as soon as she picked it up after the typical 3-ring wait-until-caller-ID-picks-it-up signature of hers.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Oh, you sound tired. Are you feeling okay? Eating right?”

“Yes, Mom, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” I paused for a minute, trying to figure out how to phrase this so that she didn’t instantly worry more. “Well, maybe not everything.”

“Oh, God. What happened? Is everything all right? Do you need a lawyer?”

“NO, MOM!” She had a tendency to overreact to many of the things I said to her. She doesn’t like the fact that I live so far away, and that there aren’t really relatives nearby (the closest live in San Francisco). Regardless, I had to convey to her that physically, I was fine. But she had none of that.

“Okay, so I talked to your father…”

“Which one?”

“The good one, sweetie, the good one! You know I don’t talk to your actual father. Anyway, he thinks you should come home for a little bit. Just a vacation or something.”

My eyes lit up. Why didn’t I think of this before? I’d get free food and lodging, and I’d get to see the family. My older brother came along with that whole package, but even he’d be vacation to all of the nonsense I’ve been dealing with. “Sure, Mom, that actually sounds fantastic!”

As soon as I hung up the phone I was making reservations for flights to the closest major airport in Albany.

*********

“Wait, are you going on a road trip and you’re not taking me with you?” Amanda screamed at me over the telephone as I tell her about my plans to go visit my parents in Massachusetts, a few days later and only a few hours before my flight left LAX. I was driving on the way to the airport, down the Pacific Coast Highway. And all of the sudden, my Bluetooth goes crazy. I’m not trying to get arrested or get yelled at by Arnold Schwarzenegger. I’m sure his wife got yelled at when she drove and held up her phone to her ear at the same time.

“I’m going home to visit my parents, Amanda. I’m not going to Miami or anything…” I could kick myself for telling Jason where I was going. Those two are such chatterboxes.

“Aww, why can’t I come?”

“Because you’re wildly inappropriate,” I said matter-of-factly. She really was inappropriate, choosing consciously not to wear underwear when she wore a ridiculously small mini-skirt to Les Deux nightclub. Who even goes there anymore except for those retarded children from The Hills, anyway?

“I am not!” I could imagine the pouty child-like face Amanda was making now.

“I seem to remember you taking my eighteen-year-old cousin to a strip club when he came to visit me a few months ago,” remembering how much trouble I got into after my conservative aunt found out and gave my black-sheep mother what for. I haven’t forgotten about that, as much as Amanda would like me to.

“Oh, yeah…I remember you yelling at me a lot about that.”

A pause. Neither Amanda nor I really didn’t know where to go after that.

“So, can I come?” Amanda asked after what seemed like the longest pause break ever.

“Maybe next time, sweetie. I promise.”

“Fine. Remind me of this next time I decide to go to Maui.”

And with that, a click of the phone. Perfect timing, too; I had just found the long-term car park and was making my way to find the perfect parking spot. I instead had to settle for a space close to the roof of the parking garage, which meant a long walk of carrying my bags through paparazzi-infested waters. But at least I was able to look forward to sitting in the private first-class lounge and drinking what has to be the best hot chocolate on the planet.

Is it sad that I’m looking forward to the hot chocolate? Even though it’s good?

I wasn't sure exactly which way to go with this chapter, but I got it out...I'm not sure about the quality of it all, so I might make a few changes again depending on just how much I like it or not. But I'm satisfied, for now. I wanted to make sure I included Amanda in something because I didn't want her just to be a one-note after I spent an entire chapter focusing on Jason, and I wanted to introduce Brian's crazy mother, whom will be playing quite a role as Brian goes home.

I have off this weekend (or at least Friday and Saturday) and am SO excited to be! (Since I almost never am!) I think there might be some festivities this week as one of my fellow coworkers has a birthday over the weekend as well (may I suggest TGI Friday's on Friday). I just hope I'm not sick for the rest of the weekend.

Blah blah. Time to sit my computer down and watch Chelsea Lately.

~ Drewsky