The Felony of Martha Stewart

 Glenn Close is acting up again.

I woke up from my afternoon siesta to the sounds of my mom playing Spider Solitaire on my desktop. As I groggily reached for my cigs on the desktop, she paused her game, faced me and said, "Let's talk."

I immediately lighted a stick and sat down across her.

"I pity Glenn Close."

My brows suddenly made kunot.

"Did you get to talk with her? When?"

"This afternoon."

I couldn't help it. I let loose a string of explicatives no gentleman should ever say in front of his mother.

You see, a few weeks before, I intercepted a call to the house from Glenn Close. She wanted to speak to me first, and then my Mom.  I flatly refused to pass on the call.  I firmly told told her that mess between her and Popsy was their own, and not mine. I absolutely had no plans of getting involved with it. And that under no circumstances should she even attempt to communicate with my mom in any sort of way or form.

I thought I made myself extremely clear with her.  I thought wrong.

My mom just let me rant on and on.  It took me a good twenty minutes or more or more to settle myself down. Even then, I was still seeing red.  I had half the mind to immediately tell Popsy that Glenn Close was up to her old tricks.  I know he'd take care of the bitch in his own WAY.

But my mom, imperfect as they come, is a good and kind person.  She told me to be more understanding of Glenn Close, and to be more forgiving and sympathetic towards her.

My only reply was, "Whatever sympathy I had for that crazy bitch flew out of the window YEARS ago.  She doesn't need sympathy. What she needs is to be locked up at the basement of the Makati Med."

I chucked the remaining fourth cigarette in my hand, and went back to my room.

-----

Since the household help has been on vacation, I've been pulling a Martha Stewart act in the house, - sans the glamorous pantsuits.  The only thing I absolutely refuse to do is the laundry.  Good thing Sisterette is here.  I was about to bring the pile of dirty clothes to the laundrymat when my Mom stopped me. She said to let Sisterette do it in the washing machine so she can learn how wash the clothes properly  So there I was, chopping the onions and garlic for lunch, while Sisterette was yanked from her Facebook and laptop, and ended up making kuskos-piga with matching palo-palo.

All under the critical hawk-eyes of my Mom.

My Mom is so evileyra! Haylaveet!!!

Anyhoo, there is the list of the things I need to do the next few days:

1.  Pass by the grocery and buy baby potatoes and dried rosemary for the German potato salad, and some kielbasas  for grilling Sunday lunch (note to self: gotta replace the stove top grill soon. Otherwise, I'd better start learning to light charcoal in the ihawan.)

2.  Clean the windows and the glass panels of the front entrance to my room (note to self: next  time, don't even have a French door and windows made. Sure, it's pretty and lets the light in, but the  streaking on the panes is a pain in the ass to clean!)

3.  Sauté the ground beef, cube the three big potatoes, and dump the remaining ratatouille to make picadillo for lunch tomorrow.

4.  Make sure Musa has his bath ASAP.  He's starting to freakin' stink!

5.  Sweep and mop all the floors in the house.  While at it, might as well scrub the main bathroom clean.

6.  Wash the car.  Someone already traced a graffiti on the dusty windows saying, "Linisasan mo ako, please."

7. Drive Sisterette to her summer taekwondo class, and Mom to Pasay or her errands (note to self: remind Mom that it's entirely possible to ask info over the phone instead of wading through the Pasay traffic. On the other hand, see no.8)

8. While Mom is in Pasay, I might as well bring Musa along, drive to Glenn Close's place, and let him sink his sharp and jagged teeth on her. That ought to teach her a lesson she will NEVER forget! MWAHAHAHAHA

Cuteness!!!