So last night I end up hanging out with some friends of mine ... the core of which (for me) is a couple who I might easily refer to as The Domestics. By calling them that, I don't mean to be critical or anything at all, it's just that, compared to the rest of my friends, that's really kinda how they seem -- they have kids, and really around them it's always a Family Affair -- there's always an endless brood of cousins and such entangled in there somewhere. And if not actual cousins, at least people who grew up with them as if they were family.So anyhow, I suppose in a sense I'm one more of their pseudo-adopted relatives -- the guy of the couple actually does refer to me as his "little brother", and they are constantly trying to feed me and such, and hoping to set me up with a "nice girl". (Well, they're actually pretty horrible matchmakers, but those are stories for another time.)
At some point, as we're hanging out, I'm explaining how my money situation is messed up this weekend -- if you don't know what I'm talking about and care, I explain only a few entries back -- and after I've explained it, P. (the female half) says:
"[strange], you know I love you dearly. You really are like family, but there's something I've noticed about you in all the years I've known you ... it's always complicated with you."
Well. That one had me thinking just a little bit. But in the end -- yeah, I'm afraid she's right. Somehow it's never simple with me.
The only reason I could come up with as far as why that is, however, is this: I always seem to have a plan. I mean, for everything. And if you can't see how that makes things complicated, then your own life's probably pretty complicated, too.
But you know -- what it all comes down to, is that everythings gonna be fine, fine, fine ... just as soon as I stop quoting Alanis Morisette.
Ah, a sad state of affairs indeed. Have a rockin Sunday, yo.
