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From: Lazlo Zalezac <lzalezac@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A Different Sort Of Lifestyle 01 (MF, rom)
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Date: Sun, 07 Jan 2007 17:10:02 -0500
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Lazlo Zalezac
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Lazlo_Zalezac
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<1st attachment, "Life01-01.txt" begin>

A Different Sort Of Lifestyle
Chapter 1: The Status Quo
By
Lazlo Zalezac
Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2006

"Life sucks, then you die," Greg said bitterly as he watched a 
stream of bubbles in the beer charge to the surface. He knew the 
bubbles formed along the sides where the glass had imperfections 
or was dirty. 

"What do you have to complain about?" Donald asked from the 
barstool beside him. He knew where Greg lived and what kind of 
cars the man drove. The house was nearly a mansion with four 
bedrooms, formal rooms, family rooms, and a pool in the back. It 
had a lawn that was half an acre in size. Parked in the driveway 
were a BMW, SUV, and a heavy duty pickup for pulling the 
camper and the boat that were parked next to the house. As far as 
he was concerned, Greg had achieved the American Dream.

Greg looked over at Donald and recalled the tales of woe the man 
had spilled over beers in the past. The poor guy had come home 
one night and found his wife in bed with some jerk that lived up 
the street. The divorce had taken care of all their assets. The 
lawyers got most of the money while he and his ex had split the 
rest. Donald was stuck paying child support and alimony. Deciding 
that compared to Donald, he didn't really have any reason to 
complain, Greg said, "Nothing, I guess."

"I saw you walk up. Are you still in that carpool?"

"Yes."

"I've never understood that. You've got money. Why carpool?"

"I like the fact that I don't have to navigate the traffic every day."

"You drive a BMW. What's the big deal?"

Greg hated the commute to work. It wasn't that far, but the traffic 
was bumper to bumper the entire way. What was the point of 
having a performance car if all you did was creep behind the car in 
front of you? The chance to sit back and talk with the other guys 
three days a week was worth more than the prestige of parking his 
BMW in his parking space. He only had to drive the carpool on 
Monday and he drove to work alone on Friday. He answered, 
"Three days a week I get to nap on the way to work and talk with 
the guys on the way home. It is a hell of a lot better than staring at 
the ass end of the car crawling in front of me while listening to 
some crappy radio show."

Donald laughed and said, "Still, sitting in those leather seats must 
be pretty nice."

"I don't know. I used to have a VW Bug. I loved that little car," 
Greg said. It had been cramped, but it had been one great car. He'd 
rebuilt the engine on it as a teenager and painted it orange with 
white spots. He used to call it his Lady Bug. His girlfriend at the 
time loved it and they'd had some great times in it at the drive in. 
He had nearly cried the day he traded it in for the sedan.

"Then get one of the new ones."

"They aren't the same," Donald said with a shrug of his shoulders. 
He had been excited when Volkswagen had started advertising the 
new bug. He had walked away very disappointed upon seeing one. 
His old bug had rugged little seats, rubber mats, an engine in the 
back, a little AM radio, and heater that had never worked. The new 
one looked like every other car on the inside and only resembled 
the old bug on the outside. 

"My, you are in a good mood tonight," Donald said in a voice that 
dripped with irony. He spotted a woman he knew coming in the 
bar and said, "I'll catch you later. It looks like I just might get 
some female company for a change."

"Have fun," Greg said as he took another sip of his beer. He set the 
glass down on the bar coaster and tried to read the printing on the 
coaster through the bottom of the glass. He was killing time and he 
knew it. 

The glass was about a third of the way full. It meant he would be 
leaving in ten minutes. Sighing, he grabbed a handful of popcorn 
and chased it down with more of the beer. He looked at the glass 
and the popcorn thinking back to when he had started coming to 
the sports bar. At first, it had been nice. He'd have a drink and then 
head home feeling a lot more relaxed and cheerful. Now, he went 
through the motions of watching the large screen televisions, 
drinking the beer, and eating the stale popcorn. He didn't feel 
relaxed and cheerful when he headed home; he felt bloated and 
depressed.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Shuffling 
through them, he found a ten and slapped it on the bar. Calling to 
the bartender, he said, "Keep the change."

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he headed towards the corner. At 
the corner he turned left, pausing for a couple of seconds to watch 
the kid across the street selling flowers. He didn't understand it. 
Every day that kid was there selling flowers. Greg didn't think 
there were that many men in the neighborhood who felt guilty 
enough on a daily basis to keep the kid in business. The only man 
he knew that bought flowers with any kind of regularity was Jim, a 
member of his carpool. Come rain or shine, that kid was at the 
corner every night during rush hour selling flowers. 

He walked the block to the street that led into the Glenwood 
Estates housing development. This was the `good neighborhood' 
and most of the houses were huge. There were a few smaller places 
that were tucked away here and there in the development. They 
had been added to use the odd sized lots that remained after the 
rambling yards had been laid out. In a way, the people liked having 
the smaller houses there since it made their house look bigger. He 
walked the three blocks to his street. 

His wife was embarrassed that he walked from the sports bar to the 
house three nights a week. She felt it was not appropriate behavior 
to walk four and a half blocks when one had a luxury car that one 
could drive. She claimed he looked like one of the Mexican 
workers who had to walk to work from the bus station at the 
corner. He was sure that the words weren't hers, but reflected what 
the neighborhood women said. 

At his street, he turned the corner and headed the half block to his 
house. It was the largest house on the street. For all he knew, it 
may have been the largest house in the development. It had been 
one of the last houses to sell and they'd gotten a good price on it. 
The developer had wanted to move onto another project. 

He stared up at the house from the end of the driveway thinking 
about how much work it was to maintain. Every Saturday during 
the summer, he spent the entire day doing nothing except taking 
care of the lawn and the pool. If he was unlucky and it rained, he'd 
have to spend two evenings of the week mowing the lawn. 

Maintaining the house was a never ending battle. There were three 
and a half baths to fix up. It seemed that there was never a time 
when a toilet wasn't backed up or wouldn't stop flushing. If the 
bathrooms were in proper working condition, then something else 
was broken. 

He turned into the driveway and headed towards the house. He 
looked over at the flowerbeds and knew that this weekend he 
would have to plant flowers. Spring had arrived and with it came 
the chore of gardening. He would have no free time until winter 
came again. 

Entering the house, he looked around at the mess. The kid's 
backpacks had been dumped on the floor. The table by the door 
was piled with letters, newspapers, and unopened bills. To his left 
was the formal living room. That was a lot cleaner since they 
weren't allowed to sit in it unless it was a special occasion. 

He didn't notice that there was a thin layer of dust on everything. 
Tomorrow that dust would be gone. His wife, Sharon, would spend 
more than an hour cleaning it. First, she'd get her little duster and 
attack the dusty surfaces. She'd move and dust every little item in 
the room until it was spotless. Then, she'd vacuum the floor with 
the monster vacuum.  In the meantime, more dust would be falling 
in one of the other rooms. The next week, she'd be back cleaning 
that same room and no one would have used it in the meantime. 
From the kitchen, his wife called out, "Dinner in ten."

The house was laid out such that it was necessary to yell to be 
heard from one room to the next. He hated listening to her shout. It 
gave her voice an angry tone even when she wasn't upset. He 
shouted back, "Okay."

Knowing that he was going to have to deal with the bills soon, he 
shuffled through the pile of mail. It was a mixture of ads and bills. 
He grabbed the pile and carried it into his den where his desk was 
located. He dumped the stack on the desk and sat down in his 
chair. 

His bladder reminded in that it was time to recycle the beer. He 
recalled the water cycle from his early years in school. It rained, 
the water ran off into the streams, the streams fed the lakes, the 
water evaporated from the lakes to form clouds, and then the water 
fell back to the ground as rain. The beer cycle was similar. You 
drank beer out of the bottle, pissed it into the toilet, flushed it into 
the sewer, at the treatment plant they bottled it, and then you drank 
it out of a beer bottle.

He got up and headed to the bathroom. By the time he finished 
relieving his bladder, his wife had called out, "Dinner's ready!"

He washed his hands and left the bathroom. Without rushing, he 
reached the table and noticed that there were only three places set. 
Taking his normal seat, he waited for everyone else to show up. 
His wife shouted from the kitchen, "Dinner's ready!"

He wanted to shout back that he knew, but the call wasn't for him. 
He stared at the center of the table waiting for dinner to be served. 
His wife slid a plate in front of him. It was loaded with the amount 
of food that she expected him to eat. He looked down at the plate 
and said, "Pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes. No 
gravy?"

"I didn't have time to make gravy. Do you think I have nothing 
better to do than slave in the kitchen all day?"

He looked over at his wife. She was wearing a sweat shirt, a pair of 
stretch pants, and tennis shoes. He didn't even bother looking at 
her face. He knew without looking that she wasn't wearing 
makeup and that mop that she called hair just hung in place. 
Pursing his lips, he looked back down at his plate. Not wanting to 
create a scene, he said, "I thought they had canned gravy."

She rolled her eyes and turned to call out for her son, "Dinner's..."

"Ready. I know I heard you bellow," Harry said as he entered the 
dining room. He shuffled over to his chair and sat down. Without 
looking up, he started to eat his food even before his mother had 
sat down at the table. All he wanted to do was get through dinner 
and back to his room where it was safe.

Greg stared at his son. The boy was wearing blue jeans and a tee 
shirt with the image of some band on it. His hair was uncombed. 
He sat hunched over with his mouth about three inches over the 
plate and shoveled the food into his mouth. Greg didn't tell him to 
sit up straight since he didn't want to get into a big fight that night. 
Pointing to the empty spot, he asked, "Where's Cathy?"

"She ate something earlier and is sulking in her room," his wife 
answered. It never failed for one or both of the kids to eat 
something before dinner and ruin their appetites. She wondered 
why she bothered to cook. 

"Oh," he said. That was another topic of conversation not to 
pursue. He started digging the little chips of almonds out of the 
green beans wondering why she couldn't get the plain green beans. 
He stabbed one of them with his fork and ate it mechanically. After 
swallowing, he asked, "How was your day?"

"You need to pay the bills. There's a whole pile of them by the 
door."

"I know," he answered wondering how that answered his question.

Vigorously sawing away at her pork chop with her knife, she said, 
"I bought flowers for the garden today. Saturday, you'll have to 
plant them in the flowerbed. You'll also need to mow the lawn 
now that Spring is here."

"I figured as much," Greg said with a sigh. That was a Saturday 
and Sunday shot. 

"You're going to have to get the pool ready for the summer soon, 
so you'll need to run by the pool supply place on your way home 
from work tomorrow," she said. She didn't understand why he 
took the carpool to work. She had decided it was so that he only 
had to run errands on Fridays when he went into work alone.

"Okay," Greg answered wondering how dinner time had become 
time to receive his marching orders. There was no way that he was 
going to be able to do all of that by himself in one weekend. 
Turning to Harry, he said, "You're going to have to help me with 
the yard on Saturday."

Having heard the work assignment, Harry knew what to expect. He 
shrugged his shoulders and said, "Uh, Dad..." 

"Don't argue with me. You have all week to do things with your 
friends," Greg said cutting off any arguments. It bothered him that 
every time he asked Harry to do something around the house, the 
kid had a ton of activities scheduled. It had been even worse the 
past couple of months. 

"It's just that...."

"Stop it. You're working in the garden Saturday and that's that," 
Greg replied shaking a finger at the young man.

Harry glared at his father before turning his attention to his food. 
Between bites, he grumbled about how unfair parents were. The 
food sat heavy in his mouth. Appetite ruined, Harry stood up and 
walked away from the table having eaten only half his meal. Greg 
watched him go while shaking his head. He said, "That damn boy 
is lazy."

"It's all your fault. If you had spent some time with him when he 
was younger..."

"That's bullshit. I would come home from work and you'd all be 
off somewhere doing something. I never saw either kid most nights 
because they weren't here," he said. It seemed like the kids were 
busy with one thing or another. There had been football, baseball, 
basketball, cheerleading school, dance, and music. Every night, the 
kids had some activity to keep them busy and out of trouble. 
Sharon was busy taking them from one place to another. He said, 
"When they were here, they never talked to me. Hell, I haven't 
heard Cathy say a word in five years. Does she even know how to 
talk?"

"All you thought about was working. You never thought about us."

"My hard work bought us this damned house," he said angrily. He 
pushed his plate of food away and stood up as he said, "That's 
enough. I'm going in the den."

His wife stood up and stomped into the kitchen. He could hear her 
slamming drawers and saying, "I slave over the stove and nobody 
appreciates it. Nobody does a damn thing in this house. I have to 
do it all."

He went into his den and turned on the television. Sitting in his 
comfort chair, he stared blankly at the television without seeing 
what was playing. After twenty minutes, he got up and went to his 
desk. It took ten minutes of work on the pile of mail to separate 
bills and ads. The bills went into one stack and the ads went into 
his waste basket. One of the ads was for cleaning the gutters. He 
almost wept when he realized that he'd have to clean the gutters 
soon. 

He opened each bill and removed the ads that were stuffed inside 
the envelope. It didn't change the number of bills, but it did make 
the stack look a little smaller. It was a small comfort. One took 
what comforts one could.

He looked over at the checkbook and then back at the stack of 
bills. He wondered if he was going to have to refinance the house 
again to get ahead of the bills. That day was coming. Shaking his 
head, he said, "Not tonight. I can't face the bills tonight."

His stomach grumbled. He hadn't even eaten half his dinner. 
Looking over at the clock, he saw that it was all ready eight thirty. 
The burger place would be open for another half an hour. He'd 
drive there and get a bite to eat. Grabbing his keys, he headed out 
without telling anyone where he was going. He didn't think anyone 
would miss him.

A few minutes after he had left the house, his wife went into the 
den. Looking around, she saw that he wasn't at home. She knew 
that he had gone off to get something to eat. He did that whenever 
they had an argument during dinner. Lately that had become 
almost a nightly event. Observing the contents of the desk, she 
knew that he hadn't paid the bills. She stamped her foot and, in 
frustration, cried out, "Can't you just do one thing that I ask you to 
do?"

Greg returned home an hour after he had left. He rubbed his 
stomach as it rumbled. The beer, popcorn, pork chop, green beans, 
mashed potatoes, hamburger, French fries, and coke were not 
mixing well in his stomach. It wasn't that he over ate since he 
hadn't eaten a half portion of any single item. He'd left half his 
hamburger uneaten at the burger place. He figured it was the 
beginnings of an ulcer.

He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of the 
pink stuff. Removing the cap, he took a big swig from the bottle. It 
calmed his stomach a little, but did nothing for his headache. He 
screwed the cap back on and returned the bottle to the desk drawer. 
He had a spare just in case he finished the current bottle. 

Returning to his comfort chair, he flipped through the channels 
until he found a history program about ancient Egypt. When they 
showed two rows of slaves pulling a huge rock up a ramp, he 
flipped the channel. The scene had reminded him of his home life.

He stopped flipping through the channels when he came across one 
of those 50's family shows. It showed a make believe world that 
never existed. Everyone was nicely dressed, their hair was combed, 
and they talked to each other about their trivial little problems. 
Mom and Dad knew best and as a result of their wise advice, their 
kids were well behaved. 

He had grown up watching shows like that and had actually 
thought that he could live that way. For years he thought other 
people did live like that, but at some point in time he had grown 
up. Life wasn't like that. Looking at the screen, he said, "You lied 
to us and fed us false dreams."

In her bedroom, Greg's teenage daughter, Cathy, stared at the wall 
and cried. For a month, she had fallen asleep with dreams of 
Robert Green holding her hand and taking her to meet his parents. 
Her day had been ruined the moment she had seen him with Amy 
Ables. She could hardly believe her eyes. Robert Green, the most 
delectable hunk of teenage boy in school, was holding hands with 
Amy Ables. Crushed, she decided that no boy was ever going to 
ask her out. 

Upset about what she had seen at school, she had come home and 
eaten a quart of ice cream. Then she had a huge argument with her 
mother because she wasn't going to be able to eat dinner. Why 
didn't her mother understand? Dinner didn't matter compared to 
the tragedy that had befallen her. Now she was depressed, her 
stomach hurt, and she was convinced that no boy would ever kiss 
her. She just knew that she was going to wake up in the morning 
fat from eating all that ice cream.

In his room, Harry searched the web for porn confident that was as 
close as he was ever going to get to a girl. He wasn't going to be 
able to date until he could drive. Pretty girls didn't go out with 
dweebs who were chauffeured on the date by their parents. He was 
going to be turning seventeen soon and still hadn't been practicing 
how to drive a car. 

His father wouldn't even listen to him long enough for him to ask 
about practicing. All his father did was order him around to do 
more work. He would have agreed to help with the damned 
gardening if his father would take him driving. It was so unfair.

The only thing his mother ever said to him was to demand that he 
clean his room. He looked around the room at the handful of 
clothes scattered on the floor wondering what the big deal was. She 
didn't live in his bedroom. If she wanted it cleaner than that, she 
could do it herself. He was happy with how it was.

He reached into his desk and pulled out a candy bar. He munched 
on it while going from website to website in search of the perfect 
woman. He even knew what she looked like and her name. Her 
name was Lisa McCullum and she was a girl in a couple of his 
classes. He knew that he wouldn't find her picture, but he hoped to 
find one of a woman who looked a lot like her. Too bad he'd never 
get to date her since he'd never get his driver's license.

Depressed, he ate some more of his candy bar thinking that he'd 
get pimples from eating so much chocolate. When Harry finished 
it, he threw the wrapper at the trash can. It almost went in. He 
found a picture of a nude woman and looked at it for a minute. 
Smiling, he said, "At least there is the internet. Too bad you can't 
download new parents."

Sharon was sprawled across her bed crying. She didn't know what 
she had done to deserve this life. Her husband ignored her. Her 
daughter was hostile and would argue over the color of the sky. 
Her son was rude and treated her like a maid. She spent all of her 
free time trying to hold the household together and no one 
appreciated her efforts. 

She curled into a fetal position and thought about her life. It had all 
been planned out. She was going to live the American Dream. She 
was going to fall in love with a handsome man who would be 
successful. Her husband would treat her like a queen and she 
would treat him like a king. They'd get a nice big house in a good 
neighborhood with good schools. They'd go to the country house 
on the weekends to relax. They'd have two kids, a boy and girl.

She was going to be the perfect mother. Her kids would have no 
choice except to be perfect. Her son would be on the school 
football team. After graduating with honors, he would go onto 
college before starting a successful career as a lawyer. Her 
daughter would be a popular cheerleader. After high school, she 
would go to college and then become a successful career woman 
who had everything. 

There was the saying that one should beware of what one wished 
for since they just might get it. She had gotten it. She had married a 
successful man, but it seemed to her that he cared more about his 
success than about her. She had gotten the big house she wanted. 
Of course, they had bought it after a huge fight. When he had said 
they couldn't afford it, she accused Greg of wanting to ruin the 
futures of the children by forcing them into substandard schools. 
Now she had come to hate it. 

Her children were a mess and she didn't understand what she had 
done wrong. They went to the best school in the area. She made 
sure that they had participated in all the right social activities when 
they were younger. Her son didn't make the football team and her 
daughter didn't even try out for the cheerleaders. They were good 
students, but not great ones. They were sullen and withdrawn at 
home.

In his den, Greg flipped through the channels and found nothing of 
interest on the television. He turned it off and thought about his 
life. He didn't mind his job. He was good at it and made good 
money. His problems were at home and he wasn't dealing with 
them very well. It seemed to him that he ended up in an argument 
every night over something. They even recycled past arguments 
without ever resolving them. 

The choices on how to fix his home life weren't very good. He 
suspected that they would become an all too common story. It 
wouldn't be too much longer before he was tempted to find some 
eager young woman who would be nice to him. Then one day, he'd 
decide to move in with her rather than put up with his home life. 
His wife would come home to find that all his stuff was gone. 
She'd be distraught and cry wondering what she had done wrong. 
She'd get a lawyer and put him through hell. 

He realized he could end up like Donald; coming home early and 
finding his wife in bed with some asshole that lived up the street. 
He snorted and thought of that mop she called a hair style. At first, 
he thought no one would be interested, but he knew that some guy 
would look past that for the chance to have a little something 
different on the side. 

The fact of the matter was that he didn't want either of those two 
things to happen. He wanted the girl he married back. She had 
been attractive, interesting, and supportive. Now she was plain, 
boring, and a nag. He wanted the family life that was in the 50's 
television shows. Looking across at the blank television screen he 
said, "I wanted Father Knows Best and I got Married with 
Children."

It was late when he went to bed. Believing that his wife was asleep 
on her side of the bed, he slipped under the covers trying not to 
wake her. He rolled on his side and stared at the wall. It took him 
an hour to fall asleep. She lay next to him fully aware that he 
didn't kiss her good night. Tears running down her cheeks, she 
cried softly to herself. It took her an hour to fall asleep.
<1st attachment end>


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