I hate morning people.

It's true. I do. Ooh... I bet you like that I followed right up on my title just now. I didn't start all over once I got to the next box, no, I seamlessly linked title to body. My God, am I a wunderkind. I throw all caution into the wind and tell MLA format to kiss my ass. And let's not even mention that bullshit Chicago Manual of Style. Crap. Mentioned it.



Yeah, that's what we're talking about. Morning people. Well, at least that's what showed up when I google imaged "Morning person." For all I know she's doing yoga, performing the YMCA dance, or she's surrendering to hordes of police officers while creepily and sadistically admiring her brutally murdered victims. Probably the latter. She just has that look about her. But because she's clearly a dastardly and heartless murderer, we can also assume she's a morning person.

There wasn't anything in particular that brought this on, other than the looming fear of going home tomorrow night. Although I'll only be home one night, oh how I wish to avoid the Voldemort of morning people...

My mom.

This woman gets up while roosters are still clearing their throats. I'm convinced she beats the sun up half of the time. I don't know exactly what it is, and I don't know if it's generational, but I think getting up early is a point of pride with this woman.

Mom: "God, Ryan, it's almost TEN O'CLOCK! I've been up since SIX!"
Me: "WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU BE UP AT SIX?!?!?"

Now I know what you're thinking...come on Ryan, you're not swearing at your mom. Actually, in this case I probably am, because this conversation is happening as my mom rudely wakes me up by kicking my door open, throwing cats on me (this literally happens all the time) and opening my blinds. And despite my best effort to get the cat off my face and go back to sleep, it's too late. She's succeeded. I'm up. The sun is now glaring in my face, and if I have to get up to close the blinds, fuck, I'm already up. Plus, I probably have to go to the bathroom, and then it's really game over. First of all, I'll never be able to go back to sleep, and second of all, she's out there. Yeah, that's right, she's waiting. I could creep as quietly as possible but just like Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters she'll pop out of nowhere and hit me with a burst of energy like nothing the world has ever seen.

She will hit me with her laundry list of cliches:

Number 1: (And this is crucial...) No matter what time I wake up, I woke up at Noon. There are no exceptions. I'll come downstairs at 9:30, she'll start pinning me to the wall with her excitement as I clamor for the coffee pot, and yammer on furiously about what she's done already this morning. Then comes the line; "Of course you could have been there if you didn't sleep until NOON!"

It's important to know that if you actually slept until noon in my house, you would be shot, stabbed, and disowned, not necessarily in that order. On weekends, my mom will purposely mow the lawn at some ungodly hour like 7:30 so that when I wake up, she can needle me about how I'm a strapping young lad and yet SHE'S out there killing herself with that lawnmower. No, we're not Jewish. Why do you ask?

Number 2: So she's mowed the lawn. She's likely been tag saling. She is at this point in full battle gear: work clothes (including the sweatpants I bought her for Christmas last year) and a ridiculously bright, neon colored hat. When I come downstairs, it's time to make me do things. Oh, good, you're up. I need you to bring those trash cans full of branches into my car. Why are there trash cans full of branches? Because I decided I didn't like that bush and I cut it down. Can I drink my coffee first? Bring it with you. Same goes for vacuuming, sweeping, mopping, whatever. There is no waking up grace period.

Eh, that's enough of that. I'm going to start hyperventilating. I'm sure you noticed at this point that this entry isn't really "I hate morning people" anymore, so much as "my mom is the worst morning person of all time." I had to use her as my pinnacle of morning persondom. I've been around other morning people, but they just don't have what it takes. I could keep numbering crazy shit that she does in the morning, but a fair number of you have crashed at my house, you're privy to it. Waking up to my mother's presence is like opening a stove preheated to 500 degrees and feeling that insane heat suddenly shooting at you. You're never quite ready for it. If anyone who's ever slept over wants to share any fun Julie stories, you're welcome to do so. I'm not so sure it's good for my health to continue. So, au revoir! That means something in French.