This is my beautiful mother, and her father, Stan. My mom is so fun to mess with. In the past few years, I have grown to love torturing my mother in a different way than I always have. Rather than riddling her life with worry and constant delinquency, I have decided to take a new route to getting her all flustered; I just tell her about all of the terrible things that I did which she never found out about. She HATES it! I don't know if it's because she just doesn't want to hear about the terrible things I did, or because it makes her feel incredibly stupid and oblivious to her children's whereabouts and hobbies. It is definitely not because she did not expect those things of me. So, Mom, here is a little story about staying the night with Stan the Man.
Stan the Man is my incredibly kick-ass Grandpa. Coolest cat ever! Not only was he a chemical engineer for Budweiser, but he is also really funny.
Ally: "Gramps, did you get a haircut?"
Stan: "No, silly, I got ALL of them cut!"
Genius, really. He can play golf, clean pools, make amazing sandwiches, dis-assemble any electronic device (but it will probably never work again) and he LOVES him some Ally. Stan has had my back like you would not believe and I could never in a million years say how grateful I am for having him. I spent many years taking him for granted, being a smart-ass to him, and using him for his money, so I carry around 3 tons of guilt for the way I once treated him. I was such a damn brat, it disgusts me.
Stan lived in a neighborhood on 98th street, where ALL of my friends lived. I rode the school bus to Stan's every day after school, and spent all of my Summers at his house as well. I was ALWAYS at Stan the Man's. I would have friends over after school to swim, and he would make sure all of us had a bacon-tomato sandwich, and any style of Sam's brand cola we could imagine. As I got older, I began to see more and more resources offered by hanging out at Stan's house. I started taking his car for joyrides, not always with his permission, and once I even took my Grandma's motorized wheelchair all the way to 103rd! Stan has always been a pushover, so I always knew I could hit him up for a Benji before me and my girls hit the town.
We would all meet at Magen's, which was directly behind Stan's house. We got ready, hit the town, and made it back to Stan's no later than midnight, every night. Why would you want to stay the night at your Grandparent's house, right? WRONG! because we could throw a 50 person moonlight pool party and no one would ever know! In the beginning stages of "staying at Stan's", we would come home with our beer, go out by the pool, and rip until we passed out on the lawn chairs. Swimming and drinking = Great idea!
Around 2002, we all began to turn 16, and things were a changin'! Freedom. It was such a beautiful thing. One downfall of being able to drive was your parent being much more worried, though. With tighter restrictions on staying the night places, "staying at Stan's" became a weekend staple for my friends and I. We would stick to the normal routine, and be back at Stan's by midnight. We grabbed his cordless phone, took it into the front yard, and made all of our "Mom, I'm home" calls. This was right when Caller ID hit the scene, so actually being at Stan Bobrowski's house was important. After all the calls were made, we took the phone off the hook, and placed it carefully in the front bushes. We were then, free to roam the streets of Lubbock, and proceed to break all rules in sight.
At 6 am the next morning, probably only an hour or two after our return, Stan would walk through the living room, stepping over tube-tops and 10 nappy weaves soaked in cig smoke, and walk-fart, all in his whitey-tighties. My friends always loved that part. What would we have done without "Stayin at Stan's"???
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