TWO AND A HALF BAIRNS

Oh maaaan! What a day. Waking up hungover is always made a little less painful when you can’t roll left or right because you’re sandwiched between the two Homecoming Queens you picked up in Vegas (Am I right, fellahs?!) but it’d be nice if I had the WHOLE house to myself. It is my place, after all. I just got back from a ten-day international trip and, let’s be honest, domestic life is just too small-time for a carefree, musically-talented stud like myself. Foreign trips can be business trips but, mostly, they’re adventures - and I don’t enjoy returning to the stuffiness of my house. The house I own. Why not?…

Okay, I feel bad that my goofy brother - he’s the one always wearing the embarassingly white socks and the unbelievably square hooped sweaters - was kicked out of his pad by his ex, Erin, when their marriage broke down. But it seems like he’s been here FOREVER. I often wonder if I really did move in here first. In fact - wait a minute - I BUILT the place, goddamm it!

I comfort myself with the sure knowledge I actually know how to enjoy myself. Just because I don’t make a big deal out of everything I’ve earned or every set-back I’ve encountered, my own brother decides this makes life unfair on him. I don’t know how his logic works. Twisted bitterness seems to be the key. He thinks he’s hard-done-to just because I know how to handle my success! Hoopy Alan seems to have some permanent chip on his shoulder about how he was forced out his own home. Sure, Erin might be a romantically comforting memory for him but she’s turned into a real bitch to Alan. I wish he’d stop putting her on a pedastal and pretending he wants to go back to her. The Alimoney is killing him - the IR? are always on his back - yet he moans at ME about it! As if it’s MY fault for, ye know, taking him in and doing him a favour! Whenever he DOES get a bit of success in his divorcee life, he seems determined to hold it up as some sort of “in-yer-face, Charlie” piece of super-sober, super-uptight chadenfreude. As if I even notice, never mind care!

Why doesn’t he just have a drink and GET LAID??!!

And then there’s his son. The one person in our domestic life Alan gets to lord it over - mostly. Don’t get me wrong, I love the little fellah. He’s not the cleverest but he tries hard, sometimes brings me down a peg or two, and generally knows how to get along with me. I’m the Big Gun - he’s the minnow - we know our respective places in this set-up, we respect each other and, hey, sometimes he teaches ME stuff. It’s just that his Dad is constantly accussing us of being in league with each other, as if we’re part of some sort of conspiracy against him!! As IF!! As if little Jake is actually THAT clever! As if I could be bothered!

Jake’s never slow in letting lose on his ole Uncle Charlie. Sometimes he gets to me but, mostly, I just look at my bank balance, count up my royalties and have another drink to celebrate. Yet, whenever he starts the same back-chat with his grumpy old paw, the WHOLE WORLD is suddenly deemed to be out to get Mr Stick-up-his-ass. When he goes on like that I’m even glad to see my stalker, Sectarian Rose: She’s always sniffing around the house, just because I had a one-night stand with her years back. S’funny tho - having been with her once, I’d never go back and this kinda hurts her feelings to the point where she won’t let me go.. She’ll do anything to associate herself with me and Allan loves to have one of his little bitching sessions on how I really let myself down by having a fling with her. But she knows the situation. Shes too insane to accept we’ll never again be lovers but she knows deep down it’s hopeless.

Then my housekeeper, Common Sense Berta, will come into my kitchen for five or ten minutes and put us all in our places. With half of her family in jail and the other half in rehab, Berta has no time for all our trivial little bitchings. She’s not pretty and - MAN! - is she cruel! But, that’s real life for you. Thank god I don’t pay her well enough to hang around long enough to spoil our little in-fighting idyll.

That job goes to mine and Alan’s mum. Evil Evelyn. She really is in the Champions League of bitches. All busy with her money-making and her luxurious lifestyle, She tries to pretend she love sus - that she cares for us both. But she’s usually just using us - and can’t wait to be rid of our company. She’ll even make occassional mawkish overtures to her grandson - as if she wants him too to be part of her exclusive social circle but, as per last week’s episode where she locked the back door on Jake, we know she’s really got a heart of steel.

Some of life’s too rich for us, some of it’s too real. So Al and I are stuck in my house, fighting over the ornaments and the furniture. I’m happy just being me, but Alan always wants to pair me up with a life-partner, even though Erin and him were a disaster together. God, I can’t stand it when people want you to be as miserable as them. It was nice for me to get away with those chicks for a while - one was Spanish (think her name was Catalan or Caitland or something) and the other was Italian. The first was too rich for my money but she let me enjoy myself for a while before kicking me out her bed and the bella donna teased me to the point of insanity but - just when I thought we’d get it on - she slammed the gates of heaven in my face. She dicthed me for some Spanish waiter!

Still, I had plenty of liquor along the way - and now I’m back in my over-crowded little castle, being resented coz I’m the king, I’m gonna need a helluva lot more booze to ease the pain. A lot more booze … and home-coming queens.

Watch out - here comes Mr Droopy!

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Published:
11.22.07 / 9pm
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