A Series of Unfortunate Houseguests.

It's been an exhausting sort of 18 months, these months where blogging has been more frequently absent than present. It's been the kind of 18 months that you go into with the most noble of intentions, all smiles and sunshine but you get kicked in the teeth and handed a parking ticket instead.

After a foreign-exchange student gone wrong for 8 months, we played host, for 14 weeks and 3 days, to a family member fresh out of rehab. It's difficult to determine which was more taxing...the privileged child of wealthy parents who turned his nose up at all things American and put his pajamas on at 2pm, or the senior citizen who demanded gluten-free meals after three decades of consuming grain alcohol by the gallon.  Either way, they both slept in until 11 and wouldn't do their own damned laundry.

The damnedest thing is we spent months, MONTHS, trying to do the right thing, trying to take care of people who didn't appreciate it, in fact - resented it - and feeling guilty because we resented it right the hell back. You know how hard it is to hide in your own house? Stupid open floor plan.

Larger than that, some folks we considered dear friends, people we would've bent over backwards for...how do I put this eloquently? Let's see...they screwed us over. They said, "Hey, know what? Eff off, nice people. The fact that our utter lack of effort has affected your very livelihood doesn't bother us. And you know what? Screw your kid, too."

That. That's the shit that zaps the funny right outta me. That scrapes the goddamn give-a-shit outta me. Those symbolic house guests that you let into your life thinking they like you as much as you like them. But really they're just there for the free night's stay and the hot meal. They're going to use your good towels and leave the bed unmade.

My father, the person I'm probably most like, has a saying, "People are no damned good." I used to think it was an all-encompassing sentiment. But it was a warning. Take care of your own. Take care of the people who take care of you.

My husband, the person who has put up with me longer than anyone else has a saying, too. "You can't fix stupid."  I've been trying to fix everybody, with opportunity, with my time. I thought I could fix stupid. But people? Turns out they're no damned good.

So. This year and all the other years to come...I will not fix stupid. I will concentrate on treating the people well who deserve it. Starting with me.

Well, whaddya know. I almost feel funny again.

Gently down the stream.

The giant linebacker kid is taking a year off from football and has joined the crew. As in rowing. I was going to say "crew team" but that's kind of repetitive. Like a neighborhood I once lived in called "Table Mesa" which is not only dumb, but stupid.

See how I did that? Try to keep up.

Four nights a week, I drive the hulking man-child to a reservoir 30 minutes from our house and he runs and jumps rope and works hard to glide across the water and make it look effortless. I think it's really the most beautiful thing in the word to see 8 people moving in synchronization on a skinny boat (or 4, or 2) and I'm proud he's taken it up. I've done it purely amateur-ly for several years - and only in a single scull because I am very muchly not a team player.  I'm glad that he's got the mental and physical fortitude to try something unknown - and I must admit that it doesn't suck to live vicariously through your children - something I haven't really experienced while watching him cream the living hell out of offensive linemen.

To make things even more bettererer than just watching the kid, he's competing this weekend 18 hours from our house at the Head of the Des Moines.

Which means, I not only get to see my boy living out my dream...

 Me on a big ol' trainer boat a long time ago. It's very difficult to take pictures of yourself sculling.

I get to see my high school partner in crime from high school who lives nearby...

 Partner in crime, circa 1990. As if you couldn't tell by the perms.

And I get to meet my sista-from-anotha-mista, Tracey, who I've never seen in person but I am pretty we were separated at birth, who...can you even believe it...lives right smack in Des Moines.

 She looks sorta fun, huh? I'm taking sturdy drinking shoes.

It is so freaking fate, destiny, coincidence and good luck that I cannot fathom it. We're going to Oktoberfest together. In Iowa. Talk about living out dreams.

This is obviously Karma's way of apologizing for smashing the hell out of my face last month.

Apology accepted, Karma.