'... like explosive sap bukakke ...' by Kara
Thursday, January 29, 2009 at 9:39 AM

I have two things to rant about today, so I had to pick and choose. I'll go with the ridiculously annoying one, I think, and get it out of my system.

So, my mother (biologically-speaking) is a local DJ. A fairly popular local DJ, since she's been doing this for a very long time indeed. She also does a lot of local charity work, to the point that people can use her name to get them to their functions and things. Incidentally, she works at one of the two local country stations. I interned there one summer and ... well, I don't like country music. At all. So I don't exactly listen to her show, and I'm pretty sure it's not held against me because I know pretty much no one who likes country.

Anyway, when I first started moving into the new place a box at a time last month (don't worry, not a moving rant), some of you may recall that I had issues with a big grotty pickup parking in my spot. I left a note on the windshield asking them to start not parking there, and got my own note pinned back on my door telling me there was no call to be so rude. Excellent welcome to the neighbourhood (but fortunately only one of two issues with neighbours. The rest have been fine).

Now, my mother has a free car through work. A Chevy Malibu, supplied by the local Chevy dealer, on one condition: she has to have the station logo, her name, and the contact info of the dealer on said car. A bit depressing, but free. I certainly wouldn't drive it everywhere, especially if my name were somewhat locally known (and she'll hop out to the store in her husband's truck on many occasions). But once I was essentially moved in, she came over a few times to help me move animals, get curtains, etc.

A few days later, my g'rents came over to shift a bunch of stuff out of my car -- little by little -- and the hillbilly across the hall poked his head in.

'Hey, I noticed the [station name] car outside a few days ago in your spot. You know someone there?'

'Um, yes. [Mother's radio name].'

'O____O REALLY?!!?'

'Yeah.' And I decided to really dig in. 'She's my mother.'

'O________________O [Radio name] is your MOTHER?!!?!?'

Ever since then, he's been really quite nice to me. Well ... ish ... 'til last night.

I came in late last night while he and his wife (lovely lady) were coming home. I really haven't seen either of them beyond maybe a wave on the porch as we're coming and going. Hillbilly turns to me with a big grin and says 'Hey ... whure's mah free concert tickets?'

'... sorry?' (For those playing the home game, mother has the midday block ... a long midday block ... and tends to be the one who gives things out from the prize closet, including concert and game tickets.)

'Ah call in every day, and ah c'n never get through! So whur's mah tickets?' Grinning as he says this.

Oddly, we'd had a talk the other day, mother 'n' me, about people who really don't know us that well (me at cons, her at ... everywhere) only giving us the time of day when they want something. This was her example.

'Well, I mean, she's my mother and all, but I have nothing to do with the show. That's her job, and she sorta does her own thing when it comes to that ...'

'Oh, no, ah understand!' And he throws me The Wink. Like we know each other better than passing acquaintances. 'Rules 'n' stuff, fam'ly don't get preference, ah know how it is.'

Look ... kitten ... the first thing you did when I moved in was leave a note telling me I'm rude. And I really don't count being nice to your wife's dogs as any sort of close friendship. You only started being nice to me when you found out you (think you) can fulfil Stance A through me. I don't put up with it at cons.

Honestly, I'm not sure what I hate more ... being sucked up to at cons because people consider me 'famous,' or being sucked up to in the 'real world' because people consider the mother famous. They're both a bit irritating ... being the through-way and being the goal. At least she comes by it honestly.

I sent a note to the mother telling her about all this. Her response? 'You don't want me to answer that.'

Well, quite. While it's a wonderfully abusable resource and has kept whatsisname from being a total dick to me, I'm almost tempted to tell her never to bring the Malibu by again. Not that I think she'll mind.

Longer than I expected, a bit more ramblomatic than I expected. If you have been, take your time.