Rickets!



G's pretend phone number. 

Patrick spent the morning telling me (and everyone) that he had rickets.  No argument will convince him that it is, in fact, impossible for him to have rickets.  The guy is almost 6 ft 2 inches tall!  Who has rickets at that height??  "Rrrrrricketss," he would reply to every reasonable thing I had to say to him.  "I'm just going to say rrrrickets."

Okayy.  Well.  The dude is driving me nutty.  I keep telling him that he ought to apply for college.  That if he wants help filling out the handy-dandy-super FAFSA forms (you know, required if you don't have about $555,000 cash onhand to go to college?) that he needs to give me a bit of notice and I can do that.  In fact, no way he can do it on his own because he has no access to our financial stuff.

Now he's back to saying that he doesn't really want to go to college.  Dude.  You need a full-time job.  With benefits.  You cannot live at home and stay in the basement until you are nearly 50 like "Uncle Ben." (Ok, I made that name up.  Sounds rice-y.  But based on a true story.)  Oh, how unfortunate, he tells me.

But when pressed for more salient details about post-high school plans, Patrick told me that he is really working hard on getting a great job.  He is filling out an application for work at a local burger joint.  What is SAD is that he is dead-on serious.  These are his post-secondary plans, folks.  At least he hasn't mentioned the tent living or the idea that he would rake in $2,000 a week after holding a cardboard sign on the corner (lately).  And honestly?  He's been all over town several times dropping off his social security number, birthdate and address at random businesses.  You couldn't paper this town with his personal information better unless you air-dropped it or something.  Still no job. 

I wish Patrick would just *GAH!* do something.  He says I just want him to fit my "paradigm" but see?  The paradigm here is "we have bills."  Whoaaa, that's so deep, maaan, but I'm thinking he's not getting the grooviness of it all yet.

In other news, I found G had written "his" cell phone number under mine on the dry erase board.  D and I were quite worried there for a bit.  See, he has about $3 to his name and has a tendency to impulse buy.  No way he should be able to get a cell phone, and I sure don't wanna be liable for the $300/month texting fee he'll get.  So I asked him about it.

He smiled.  Well, he told me, he REALLY wants a cell phone.  He wants to have his own phone number.  So, he made one up and put it on the board under mine. 

That is just doggone cute.  You can't really call it when you want to chat with G, but it is doggone cute.  Do you like my shopping list?  I blurred out real numbers but left it up for your perusal.  :)