can i be electric, too?

my parents visited me this weekend. i didn't know what to do with them, other than take them out to eat. and eat we did. tutta bella's, kingfish cafe, ivars, coastal kitchen, cupcake royale. seattle really is good for just eating until you get nauseous. we also saw w. in columbia city's cramped ass theater. it was pretty warm and stuffy in there, and there was no legroom at all. if someone in our row had to use the bathroom (and thankfully no one did), the entire row would literally have to clear out. it's a really bad theater. first time columbia city's let me down, actually.

i took them to the fremont market to get banana/nutella crepes, but the crepe lady wasn't there. instead, my mom looked at all the clothing, flowers, and jewelry. as she moved from one tent to the next, i felt a little sorry for my dad, since there was obviously nothing there to entertain him, or any males for that matter. the fremont market is for women and the few men who are unfortunate enough to get dragged along to it. i entertained myself by looking at the usual things that have fascinated me even since i was five; namely, knives and lighters. i've always wanted to be a hero. or a villain.

one knife i found struck me as particularly deadly. it caught my eye first because it looked like a pair of brass knuckles, something i've always wanted. i pulled it out of its leather sheath. the knuckles were sharp little metallic bolts and it was attached to a very sharp, slightly curved blade. i wanted it really badly. "that's dangerous," the old saleslady said to me. "yeah," i said, running my finger over the sharp bolt. "what would you need this for?" i asked. "to kill someone!" she said. well, why the fuck are you selling this at a family market, then?

my mom emerged victoriously from the fremont garage. she showed me her new purple bracelet. "only a dollar!" she said. all day long, she would continue to talk about her bracelet. "it's my birthstone," she said. "does it look like it's only a dollar?" "i'll tell my coworkers i got it for $20." that night, we ate a bunch of filipino food my mom brought from sac. stuff like adobo, palabok, and ensemada. my dad talked to my uncle tim on the phone. he told my uncle that my apartment was nice, spacious. he told uncle tim what we were eating. after they hung up, mom said to dad in tagalog, "don't tell him we're eating leftovers. tell him we're eating out!"

the last night they were here, we stayed in and watched my brother is an only child, an italian film, on my laptop. i don't think they liked it very much, but i did. it's about this boy who joins the fascist party, and he doesn't really know what he's doing. i liked that the boy was loud and boisterous and did whatever he wanted. the complete opposite of myself growing up. he gets seduced by this older woman, too. who doesn't enjoy that? in the spirit of italy, my dad decided he wanted some tiramisu from tutta bella's, which he missed out on the first night of their arrival. i called it in. when we got there, the woman said to me, "hon, next time, you don't have to call it in. it's ready here, we just have to box it up." "thanks," i said. my dad was shocked to discover that a small piece of tiramisu cost eight dollars.

they had me check the weather the night before they left. my mom doesn't like to fly, especially in winter, when it's cloudy and rainy. "i'm going to take the train next time," she said. "it's an eighteen hour trip!" i said. "so? i'll be retired. i'll have time." she also didn't like meagan's cat. "it's looking at me," she said. "what does she want from me?" then later, she said about the cat, "it's a nice color. have you ever seen a cat like that?" my dad agreed the color was nice. "at least it's not black," he said.

sunday was mildly sunny, and we walked down alki beach. my parents and i looked at all the nice houses. i never notice nice houses until my parents point them out. growing up, i thought our house was nice, until my classmates who owned bigger homes convinced me otherwise. all the multi-million dollar homes in alki and seward park had obama/biden signs in their windows and on their lawns. it made me pretty skeptical about how and when things are supposed to change.

when they left, i was happy to have my place all to myself again, but it was sad, just as it's sad whenever someone leaves. it's funny how, at the time, you really hate the mess people make, but when it's over, you wonder why it bothered you so much in the first place.

1 comment:

Tiffany said...

oh man, I still fantasize about your mom's eggrolls!