August 16th, 2002
Another entry made yesterday that was posted today. Let me explain.
Today had already been one of those bad days that were not dominated by a single catastropic event or a multitude, a snowball of catastropic events. Friday had been a bad day of little things, things falling on the floor, stooping to grab them, said things being just too far out of reach, me stretching and pulling something in my leg. The Wendy's window bitch cussing at ME for holding up her next customer even though the guy in front of me is stopped for no reason and cannot allow me to move. Traffic being backed up and people making weird turns with no signals and tailgating me though I'm doing the speed limit and it's rush hour on Friday and it's 105 and I have no air conditioning. And I nearly get hit by people pulling out of side streets who decide they don't need to look my direction before doing so.
Drug-Dealer decided he wasn't going to throw his party Saturday night. He was going to throw it TONIGHT. Friday night. I found this out as I walked through the door after a particularly bad day at work and a very bad drive home. I drove to the bank and to Border's, figuring I'd get my nightly visit over with before Drug-Dealer's friends show up, especially because ELAINE (!!!) is working tonight. I get impulsive and, along with my soy latte, order a GARDEN BURGER. Now guacamole is an option so I order it and she goes..., "Guacamole and lattes are not a good idea." I give this intelligent thought and reply, "Huh?" She says, "Guacamole and lattes, it just isn't right." I'm like, "Okay, whatever. You know what you're talking about, because you're Elaine and you're beautiful." Actually, I just said, "Okay." and my heart got in its aerobic workout for the day. She brings me my garden burger... with guacamole. I say, "Wait a minute. I thought you wouldn't let me have guacamole." She says, "Oh, yes I meant you didn't want guacamole IN your latte!" This should have pissed me off, but even if it had, it was Elaine and it's okay because she's going to have my children.
Ahem, okay maybe not. But that's not quite the point. I get home and eat, then, because I don't want anything of mine stolen, stonewall myself in the bedroom as the friends trickle in one by one. WHY IS EVERY FRIEND OF EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS HOUSE A GODDAMN WANNA-BE STREET PUNK? WHY CAN'T PEOPLE HAVE REGULAR FRIENDS LIKE ME WHO JUST WANNA HAVE SOME DRINKS, CRANK UP THE STEREO AND JUST HANG OUT? WHY DOES EVERY GUY HAVE TO BE A THUG AND EVERY GIRL HAVE TO BE A SLUT-HO-BITCH? All of April's friends are thugs. All of my sister Lisa's friends are thugs. At least Jenny has some taste in friends but she's a wanna-be Bohemian so whatever. Green Valley's youth seems to have a real identity problem, and feels obssessed with bringing the GHETTO to this stucco community whenever they can. Are they THAT bored with their lives? Is this the backlash from their middle class existence?
Drug-Dealer calls his girlfriend. They fight. Nothing new. This is why I get cut off from the Internet: so he can argue fruitlessly with his girlfriend who should dump him because he's an unemployed useless piece of shit. She hangs up on him. He calls her back, and she picks up. This is all on speakerphone because apparently we need to hear him arguing with his girlfriend so we know HE'S A MAN. She hangs up, he calls her right back, and she picks up again LIKE A MORON. Maybe she deserves him. Rinse, repeat for AN ENTIRE HOUR. She's as dumb as he is.
T.J., my friend, picks the PERFECT time to call me and ask to hang out, the one time I really SHOULDN'T leave the house. He tells me I'm paranoid (so what else is new?) and basically negotiates with me until I agree to come out and have coffee with him while we watch bad bands at Roma. Another issue: WHY MUST PEOPLE HANG OUT AND BE SOCIAL AT CONCERTS? YOU CAN'T *HEAR* YOURSELVES TALK! WHY HANG OUT WITH YOUR FRIENDS IN AN ENVIRONMENT WHERE YOU CAN'T EVEN COMMUNICATE WITH EACH OTHER?
We go back to TJ's place and listen to his 4-track rendition of his epic ballad "Fat Girls Like to Fuck". We watch wrestling and he laughs at my references and bad jokes about pro wrestling. I forget 9 out of 10 of them, but they're funny if you're a pro wrestling fan.
HEY! Here's a reference. Stephanie McMahon gets put in an ambulance. The driver turns around; IT'S THE UNDERTAKER!
UT: WHERE TO, STEPHANIE?
Steph: AAAH!!! DADDY!!!
UT: AHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
Funnier on tape. I don't leave until 12:30 am, so now I'm afraid the computer's gone.
Okay, I'm just paranoid. Everything's fine, and his friends are all thugs. They're up until four in the morning and may I say that it's just WRONG when you go to use the bathroom and you can't because there are two kids fucking in candlelight in there. It's WRONG if it's not you and someone hot. It's even more wrong when you HAVE TO GO. Thankfully, we have an upstairs bathroom.
People leave, stumble out drunk. My stomach rumbles and I go to sleep at 4:30 am thinking everything will be fine once I wake up. Notice I said 'thinking'.
I awake this morning to the sound of shattering glass. STONE COLD! STONE COLD! STONE COLD STEVE AUSTIN... okay, no, just shattering glass. Screams exchange. Footsteps. A guy screaming, "NO, COME BACK!! MEGAN, COME BACK!" Motor, tires screeching, a guy screaming, door slams, guy weeping. I suddenly realize the weeping dude is Drug-Dealer, the girl is his dumb-as-horse-shit girlfriend, and it's 6:30 am. I got two hours of sleep because Cockmonger needed to have ANOTHER fight with his girlfriend, IN PERSON, AT THE CRACK OF DAWN AFTER KEEPING US UP ALL NIGHT WITH A PARTY.
He seemed VERY crestfallen, from what I heard in my room, about this broken whatever. He for some reason trudges out the door in bare feet and down the street. I sneak out to see what's broken (I'm not in the mood to deal with him in person, not in a non-violent mood, at least), and it's a glass bottle of some sort. THAT'S IT? HE'S CRYING OVER HAVING TO CLEAN UP AN EMPTY BEER BOTTLE?
We need to throw this fucker out. That, folks, was my Friday night.
One more thing. I get a junk e-mail titled FREE NUDITY and the first thing that came to my mind was, "I get free nudity every day when I get in the shower."
Good morning.
Another entry made yesterday that was posted today. Let me explain.
Today had already been one of those bad days that were not dominated by a single catastropic event or a multitude, a snowball of catastropic events. Friday had been a bad day of little things, things falling on the floor, stooping to grab them, said things being just too far out of reach, me stretching and pulling something in my leg. The Wendy's window bitch cussing at ME for holding up her next customer even though the guy in front of me is stopped for no reason and cannot allow me to move. Traffic being backed up and people making weird turns with no signals and tailgating me though I'm doing the speed limit and it's rush hour on Friday and it's 105 and I have no air conditioning. And I nearly get hit by people pulling out of side streets who decide they don't need to look my direction before doing so.
Drug-Dealer decided he wasn't going to throw his party Saturday night. He was going to throw it TONIGHT. Friday night. I found this out as I walked through the door after a particularly bad day at work and a very bad drive home. I drove to the bank and to Border's, figuring I'd get my nightly visit over with before Drug-Dealer's friends show up, especially because ELAINE (!!!) is working tonight. I get impulsive and, along with my soy latte, order a GARDEN BURGER. Now guacamole is an option so I order it and she goes..., "Guacamole and lattes are not a good idea." I give this intelligent thought and reply, "Huh?" She says, "Guacamole and lattes, it just isn't right." I'm like, "Okay, whatever. You know what you're talking about, because you're Elaine and you're beautiful." Actually, I just said, "Okay." and my heart got in its aerobic workout for the day. She brings me my garden burger... with guacamole. I say, "Wait a minute. I thought you wouldn't let me have guacamole." She says, "Oh, yes I meant you didn't want guacamole IN your latte!" This should have pissed me off, but even if it had, it was Elaine and it's okay because she's going to have my children.
Ahem, okay maybe not. But that's not quite the point. I get home and eat, then, because I don't want anything of mine stolen, stonewall myself in the bedroom as the friends trickle in one by one. WHY IS EVERY FRIEND OF EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS HOUSE A GODDAMN WANNA-BE STREET PUNK? WHY CAN'T PEOPLE HAVE REGULAR FRIENDS LIKE ME WHO JUST WANNA HAVE SOME DRINKS, CRANK UP THE STEREO AND JUST HANG OUT? WHY DOES EVERY GUY HAVE TO BE A THUG AND EVERY GIRL HAVE TO BE A SLUT-HO-BITCH? All of April's friends are thugs. All of my sister Lisa's friends are thugs. At least Jenny has some taste in friends but she's a wanna-be Bohemian so whatever. Green Valley's youth seems to have a real identity problem, and feels obssessed with bringing the GHETTO to this stucco community whenever they can. Are they THAT bored with their lives? Is this the backlash from their middle class existence?
Drug-Dealer calls his girlfriend. They fight. Nothing new. This is why I get cut off from the Internet: so he can argue fruitlessly with his girlfriend who should dump him because he's an unemployed useless piece of shit. She hangs up on him. He calls her back, and she picks up. This is all on speakerphone because apparently we need to hear him arguing with his girlfriend so we know HE'S A MAN. She hangs up, he calls her right back, and she picks up again LIKE A MORON. Maybe she deserves him. Rinse, repeat for AN ENTIRE HOUR. She's as dumb as he is.
T.J., my friend, picks the PERFECT time to call me and ask to hang out, the one time I really SHOULDN'T leave the house. He tells me I'm paranoid (so what else is new?) and basically negotiates with me until I agree to come out and have coffee with him while we watch bad bands at Roma. Another issue: WHY MUST PEOPLE HANG OUT AND BE SOCIAL AT CONCERTS? YOU CAN'T *HEAR* YOURSELVES TALK! WHY HANG OUT WITH YOUR FRIENDS IN AN ENVIRONMENT WHERE YOU CAN'T EVEN COMMUNICATE WITH EACH OTHER?
We go back to TJ's place and listen to his 4-track rendition of his epic ballad "Fat Girls Like to Fuck". We watch wrestling and he laughs at my references and bad jokes about pro wrestling. I forget 9 out of 10 of them, but they're funny if you're a pro wrestling fan.
HEY! Here's a reference. Stephanie McMahon gets put in an ambulance. The driver turns around; IT'S THE UNDERTAKER!
UT: WHERE TO, STEPHANIE?
Steph: AAAH!!! DADDY!!!
UT: AHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
Funnier on tape. I don't leave until 12:30 am, so now I'm afraid the computer's gone.
Okay, I'm just paranoid. Everything's fine, and his friends are all thugs. They're up until four in the morning and may I say that it's just WRONG when you go to use the bathroom and you can't because there are two kids fucking in candlelight in there. It's WRONG if it's not you and someone hot. It's even more wrong when you HAVE TO GO. Thankfully, we have an upstairs bathroom.
People leave, stumble out drunk. My stomach rumbles and I go to sleep at 4:30 am thinking everything will be fine once I wake up. Notice I said 'thinking'.
I awake this morning to the sound of shattering glass. STONE COLD! STONE COLD! STONE COLD STEVE AUSTIN... okay, no, just shattering glass. Screams exchange. Footsteps. A guy screaming, "NO, COME BACK!! MEGAN, COME BACK!" Motor, tires screeching, a guy screaming, door slams, guy weeping. I suddenly realize the weeping dude is Drug-Dealer, the girl is his dumb-as-horse-shit girlfriend, and it's 6:30 am. I got two hours of sleep because Cockmonger needed to have ANOTHER fight with his girlfriend, IN PERSON, AT THE CRACK OF DAWN AFTER KEEPING US UP ALL NIGHT WITH A PARTY.
He seemed VERY crestfallen, from what I heard in my room, about this broken whatever. He for some reason trudges out the door in bare feet and down the street. I sneak out to see what's broken (I'm not in the mood to deal with him in person, not in a non-violent mood, at least), and it's a glass bottle of some sort. THAT'S IT? HE'S CRYING OVER HAVING TO CLEAN UP AN EMPTY BEER BOTTLE?
We need to throw this fucker out. That, folks, was my Friday night.
One more thing. I get a junk e-mail titled FREE NUDITY and the first thing that came to my mind was, "I get free nudity every day when I get in the shower."
Good morning.
Sure you don't. I could NOT find a picture of myself, and the digital camera was broken, so I resorted to creativity and scanned my own face on the copier/printer/scanner/megamachine my parents have. After some cropping from bebop, this is what you get.
Scary, huh? Sooner or later, I'll get a REAL picture of myself on the site. But this is your point of reference for now.
Wait, what's your screenname again? Someone tell me; I can't see the letters.
And what site is this. If this is rotten.com, I'm gonna be so pissed.