Home Bittersweet Home

Benny K here, coming to you live from my parents’ house. I’m just past the half-week mark of again living with those who begat me. The transition, I am pleased to say, has been relatively smooth. I sleep comfortably, I am well fed, and, despite my initial concerns, my homework responsibilities have been maintained with diligence. The only downside is an unavoidable lack of organization, since most of my stuff is now located in the new apartment though I am living here. While I have only brought along the basics, it is laundry—both clean and dirty—that most readily poses a threat to the limited space consigned to me. Then again, having ready access to a (free!) washer and dryer almost compensates. I’ve done more wash in the last 24 hours than I have done in months. Oh, I probably shouldn’t admit that....

Truth be known, it’s been kind of fun hanging out with everyone. Rather than spending my “lunch breaks” parked in front of a television alone, I can now enjoy the company of those I hold dear. Even if this still results in watching crappy daytime television, at least I have someone at whom I can roll my eyes. It’s kind of nice. When I leave here in just over a week, I’m sure I’ll be sad to lose that. I’m sure I’ll feel the loss of being a witness to my family’s life, rather than someone who just gets the biweekly recaps and abridged best-of’s. And I’m hoping, just hoping, that perhaps my presence is a positive one for them as well, for whatever it may be worth.

Well, the move from my old apartment to the new apartment went lickety-split thanks to the many recruited volunteers. My brother, his wife, their son, and their son’s friend lent eight wonderfully helping hands, as did Melanie’s mother and father (well, they only lent four, but I’m sure they’d have lent all eight if they were born mutants). Due to the overwhelming abundance of help, it seemed my old apartment was empty before I had much cognizance of what had happened. I guess you couldn’t ask for it to go much better than that. Now that the new place is chock full of familiar items, I can see just how easily it will feel like home. I’m very excited about this, and I’m glad Melanie and I have made the “goofy” decision to leave the premises (biologically) vacant until we return from our honeymoon an official married couple. We don’t want it to feel like either one of us is just moving in with the other. We want it to feel like our home from the get-go. So far, so good.

I guess that’s it for now. My birthday, as humble as it may have been compared to many years past, was one of the best ever. Melanie and I got some chores done (I’ve been fitted for a tux, so all we have left to do is get a sign-in book for the luncheon), and then we went to dinner and a movie, as I so amazingly predicted in my last post. There weren’t many movies to pique my interest, and I didn’t want a heavy drama on my day of celebration, so we went for the romantic comedy Just Like Heaven. It lacked development and thus was ho-hum until the last few minutes, which were finally somewhat entertaining. Mark Ruffalo, despite the thinness of his character, pulled out some charm, so that made it watchable. After the movie, we celebrated the rarity of going to dinner by partaking of Tony Roma’s all-you-can-eat ribfest. Gluttony ensued, at least on my part. Sadly I missed out on what could have been the neatest experience of the night—Gary Coleman was dining at the table directly next to ours. I actually heard his voice and thought it sounded familiar, but I dismissed it and never noticed who it was. When his party dismissed, the waitress was excited to ask us if we noticed whom we were sitting by. When we said no, she excitedly gave us the whole spiel, which of course didn't amount to much, except that, apparently, Mr. Coleman lives in Utah.

Wow.