Adam Hinz: The Blog
My little brother is a brat!
On 2004-11-25 at 11/25/2004 01:10:00 AM...
I'm not one to use the word hate when referencing a person, but it is most definitely appropriate here.The subject: my little brother Tony.
It's hard for me to say little because he's taller, bigger, and much more athletic than me (though I can totally outrun him...what a loser). Anyway, he's the youngest of the five kids in our family, so it's pretty much well known that he's been spoiled. And us older siblings have always known it and we're sure to joke about it occasionally. But what has happened now just tips the mucus barrel.
So one of the number one rules (ok, how can there be multiple number one rules? shut up adam) for parents when their kids go to college is to not change anything in their rooms. I hear it's comforting for college students to return to their very personal and personalized room. My parents followed that room with Aaron (with my help), with Amy, and with Andy (my help again). By my help, I mean that I moved into their rooms to simply live. As in I didn't move all my crap in there, and tried my best to leave it as it is. I moved into Aaron's room because at the time I was sharing a room with Tony, and I moved into Andy's room because at the time I wanted to live downstairs rather than what my sister tonight called "a dungeon."
Well last summer, Aaron was moving to Seattle, and it was finally time for him to go through all the stuff in his room and sort out the keepables form the un-keepables. Now bear in mind that Aaron had been out of the house for 5 years or so, so most of the stuff was kiddie stuff. At this time the room was officially declared mine, and I made it mine. Lots of really cool posters, another desk, I soon moved the bed across the room (thanks to a power surge), just lots of things.
Ok, so I had a room. I go off to college, enjoy the dorm, enjoy the life. Get a call from home, nice to talk to them. Mom says something about tony using my room as a recording studion. She knew I would be a little mad and she even explained the "first rule" that I said above. But I mostly was ok with it. As long as he didn't mess with it too much, and I would definitely be home for summer, so no big deal for me. Plus it is a good room for recording. No windows, and kind of padded from other noises from the rest of the house. Well, it seemed like every phone call from home had more "additions" to the room. And turns out he would start charging people to record in there. First I said "just make sure no one messes with my stuff." Then I told Mom where all my money was in there so she could hide it again. Ok, he says, so still no big deal. Well I came one weekend to check it out...he moved out the bed, but some Coldplay posters on the ceiling and moved everything around. Other than all my stuff on the walls it's barely recognizable. Still, I don't give much of a fuss. I mean a recording studio is kinda cool.
Well, I come home from school, and my room is just fucked up. He has moved all my stuff into these 2 little corners (it's hard to explain the corners), but I can't get to anything in there. I don't know where anything is, and I'm starting to think about the summer. The room is not inhabitable--as in there's music stuff in here, not a bed. So for thanksgiving, rather than sleep in my wonderful bed in my wonderful bed I am sleeping in our newly renovated guest room (which used to be Andy's room...I think he's a little pissed about that too). How's that? I'm a guest in my own house. Over dinner I was talking--arguing--over what Tony had done, or rather what he was gonna do. I talked about how mean it was to just move me out of my own room and just shove everything into boxes and into the corners. His argument "It's all in boxes!" My argument "That's my point!" I'm sorry, Tony, but I'm not ready to move out of the house yet. So during dinner, I came up with a great idea. How about he moves out of his room, and I take his. It's a compromise. Well, he hated the idea. "But where will I put my stuff?" "The same thing you did to all mine." "But you hardly have anything." Now that one hurt, that asshole. To hell with that. He suggested I take Amy's room. Hah, Mom chimed in for me on that one "It's pink." Anyway, we were sort of shouting by that point, and Mom disappointingly said "ok, just stop talking about it. I don't want to hear anything more." Mom, you hurt me there. Ouch, mama.
Anyway, that's why I hate my little brother. He has essentially taken over the entire top floor (Amy's room is/was his claymation room, which is no longer used). All that's left is my parent's room, which I'm sure if he whined hard enough he could get that one too. I swear, that kid does not see things from other people's points of view. PLUS he's a brat. Tonight Mom asked me to clear off this fold-up table in Andy's room that had a bunch of stuff from the kitchen, because we were taking the table to Thanksgiving. I said sure, and I'll ask Tony (who was watching TV downstairs on the couch aka his bed). "But I'm tired..." ARRRGH Fuck you Tony. Fuck you in the ass, you lazy asshole bastard fucktard. Go to hell, I hate you hate you hate you Tony.
So here's my plan. The day I come home from college this summer, I'm gonna bring a bunch of boxes into his room, and put EVERYTHING into boxes. I'm gonna clear his shelves, his everything. See how he likes it.
That'll do it for me.
So long!
Adam
P.s. I hate you Tony.