little. yellow. different. A weblog by Ernie Hsiung

Heroin-In-A-Tube

My mother is in my condo right now while I’m working from the living room. She is cleaning my bathroom, with the pretense of cleaning my bathroom, but I’m fairly certain she’s really looking for something incriminating that she can lecture me on later - maybe she’s expecting to open up my medicine cabinet, only to have a bunch of hypodermic needles and lube and gay pornographic magazines and heroin-in-a-tube fall out. Then she would confront me, I would break down in tears and I would agree that moving back home and having my mother take care of me really is the best decision for everyone involved.

Alas, no heroin-in-a-tube this time around; I’m sure she’ll be back tomorrow or the day after to resume the search. She’s here, of course, because I now “work from home.” Once you officially take on the “work from home” moniker, it gives your parents full permission to come to your house at all hours of the day. You warn them about work hours, but when they see their child sitting at a desk typing on a laptop, he’s simply on the computer; he’s not working. Today, my mother brought over bedroom curtains. (Mandarin, like always, in italics.)

E: Why did you bring bedroom curtains? I didn’t ask for curtains.
Mom: Your bedroom lets in too much light. When I’m in your room and I look at the window, someone’s always outside, looking in.
E: Uhm, when are you in my bedroom? How often are you in my bedroom? Are you coming in my house when I’m not at home?
Mom: (skirting issue) You need curtains for your safety. SAFE-TEE. Maybe if you knew any karate I wouldn’t be so worried about you. These curtains that I bought aren’t long enough. I’ll swing by tomorrow.
E: …

You know the sad thing is? At least I can laugh at the outrageousness of conversations with my mom. Because conversations when my father is over? Well, they happen a little differently.

E: Dad, how was your day-
Dad: Your mother and I are getting old, and you will need to take care of us, but only one of us. Will your mother be moving in or will I?
E: …

And on days such as those, heroin-in-a-tube doesn’t sound so bad after all.

Wow. Just… wow.

Do they secretly go to classes where they rehearse these conversations? I swear the same conversation (in one of its infinite varieties) is occuring simultaneously in the home of every Asian adult-child with a visiting mother or father.

Reminds me of one I overhead a while back:
MIL: That haircut looks terrible on you.
MW (Mouse’s wife): Mom, it’s the exact same haircut as my sister and you just complimented her hair.

MIL: On you it looks terrible.
MW: …

You parents seem very cute and very Chinese.

Karate? Not Wushu?

Sounds very tough. I wouldn’t be in yr shoes for all the tea in china. Makes me wonder about the wisdom of organising chinese lessons for the kids.

When the choice is between karate or curtains, I think the solution is clear.

I empathize, E. For what it’s worth, my mother doesn’t like my choice of color for my accent wall. “It’s too kinky”.

*sighs*

When your mom brings over the curtains, act like you think they are a special karate outfit. Drape the curtains around you lovingly, and tell her she’s inspired you to learn kickbutt-do. Wave your hands in the air and make chopping motions, while emitting high-pitched “yahs”. Don’t forget the manic look in your eyes. Maybe then she’ll take the curtains and go home.

I agree with Superaleja: “Wow. Just… wow.” Nothing more to be said. Words actually fail me.

So, basically, when your mum says she’s not happy with the curtains, and based on what dad says … they’re just getting the place ‘just so’ for when you are dutifully obliged to take car of them (or one of them, as your dad states).

Remember, you owe them for your existence … and they won’t let you forget that!

Bwah! My dad likes to do the morbid thing too. I retaliate by making flushing sounds whenever he brings up wanting his ashes thrown over the ocean.

This made me remember all the outrageous conversations I had with my parents while growing up (and still do).

And the ol’ guilt trip thing.

S: Mom, I want to go eat out today.
Mom: You know I’m going to die soon, right?

I had a good laugh while I was procrastinating.

Thanks!

All very amusing, annoying, alarming, depressing & whatnot–but ya know what stuck out for me? It’s how out of that whole list of possible goodies in your medicine cabinet, the only thing you deny having is the heroin-in-a-tube! wOwEe…!

Oooh freakin hilarimous.
Kyle’s comment made my milk come out my nose.

As far as which one’s moving in, I think you should turn this into another online contest.

You could always try laying bait, such as leaving unfolded laundry strewn carelessly all over the house.

ROTFL… and THAT’S why my folks NEVER had a key to my place…

and speaking as an OLDER PERSON, I have to say that although YOU don’t have death and incapacitation on your mind, once you get up toward that half century mark there ARE things you want your kids to know.

My daughter used to tell me she’d want me to move in with her when I got old. I told her, put me in an assisted living apartment, then on my 99th birthday send over the Chippendale dancers… I don’t want to live to be 100, and I want to die happy.

in my case, my neo-hippie mom from SF starts clenching for the herpoin-in-a-tube when i start talking about how the wood stain on this table doesn’t match her curtains…

I used to get into such arguments with my parents … then I showed them the magazine when it was published … and then they showed everyone with such pride … they continue to wonder what I’m doing on the computer

OMG. Heroin in a tube!

That’s probably on the same aisle as St. Joseph’s Chewable Valium for Children, right?

Parents are so . . . cute.

Thank god it’s not just my parents! I mean, not to gloat in your suffering, but wow, my dad does the same thing: “I think you better not spend any extra time on research, so you can let your mother see you graduate before she dies.”

Thanks, Dad. At least I’ll have something to talk to my therapist about this week.

No, no– you have it all wrong, ernie. Here’s what you do: Set up a pavlovian response with your parents; tell them that when the curtains are drawn closed, you aren’t home. When they’re open, you *are*. Then, when you’re working at home, you just keep the curtains closed *all the time.*

Your mom gets to put up new curtains, you don’t have strangers peeking in and you’re left alone while working, and no glare on your laptop screen– everybody wins!

George, every time I see my father he talks about how sad it was that my grandmother always wanted to and didn’t get to see one of her grandchildren graduate from college before she died.

Well, after he’s done telling me that I never come to visit and never stay long enough when I do show up.

clearly this means you should move to vancouver.

Good god. Cuban parents are no different. I moved from Florida to Seattle 20 years ago because of that sort of thing.

No one has suggested this?

Tell him that whichever one dies first, you’ll take care of the other one.

[…] 1. Little. Yellow. Different: Because he’s hilarious, especially when he transcribes his many conversations with his mother: E: Why did you bring bedroom curtains? I didn’t ask for curtains. Mom: Your bedroom lets in too much light. When I’m in your room and I look at the window, someone’s always outside, looking in. E: Uhm, when are you in my bedroom? How often are you in my bedroom? Are you coming in my house when I’m not at home? Mom: (skirting issue) You need curtains for your safety. SAFE-TEE. Maybe if you knew any karate I wouldn’t be so worried about you. These curtains that I bought aren’t long enough. I’ll swing by tomorrow. E: … […]