Well, I never thought those times Krisco chased Dirk and I in her car would have any future value. As I was driving out of the commuter parking lot, however, I was proven wrong. This truck that was only about 10 feet or so in front of me had a door (of the sort normally found in houses) hanging out of the back, with nothing securing it in place. Suddenly, the slid out of the back of the truck, directly in front of me. Thanks to my James-Bond-style evasion tactics, I swerved and missed both the door and the truck, which had suddenly stopped. Without Krisco, I wouldn't have possessed the necessary training to get me out of that situation. Trust me, I'm deeply grateful to that little skank.
Speaking of her, she and Billy have declared that my band, GSFU, will never play in Dale City again. They're kidding, right? Or perhaps they're just delusional, as always. God, why am I never allowed to kill these bastards? If they think for one second that they actually have the clout required to blacklist us, they will be sadly disappointed. I can overcome anything those fuckers throw my way, and smile the whole time. They have no idea how deep the shit they just put themselves into is.
I am really angry. I am going to make them both wish they'd been aborted. How dare they even imagine that I could be so easily broken? How dare they flout their supposed status in this county's "punk scene" (to put it kindly) and not expect retaliation?
Death is too good for Krisco and Billy.
Deep breaths, that's what I need to take. Deep breaths. They're not worth the effort. God, I can't wait until Krisco turns 18 so I can punch her. Violence is my answer to everyone who gets in my way.
I actually got to see Dirk tonight. Apparently, the job moving furniture fell through, and he e-mailed me from the college. Since I would be driving myself home (my mother stayed late from work again), I offered to pick him up on my way home. We had a whole hour and a half to ourselves before my mother came home. I am feeling much less bitchy now.
After my mother got home, we got online, and Dirk talked to Roachboy. I think Dirk delights in yanking Roachboy's chain. Poor Roachboy. Roachboy wants us to record old GSFU stuff with him, the stuff that never got put on the CD. Maybe a few new songs, if they're simple enough. I don't see the point. I really don't. It would seem to be a huge waste of time, and for what? His vanity? Forget it. If he returns to GSFU, we'll see. Otherwise, we don't record with him.
He will not get off his "moving to North Carolina" kick. The more I think about it, the lousier it sounds. Honestly, why should we relocate because he fucked off and ran away to his parents? So I cheated on him. So I dumped him. Until he got Internet access, he didn't know I cheated on him, and lots of people get dumped.
I've paid for my sins tenfold. I don't intend to pay further. I am not at all impressed with the college town he's inhabiting, and I honestly do not feel like relocating. I want to go to GMU. I want to stay near DC. If he wants back in the band, I think he should come up here. And it would be nigh-unto impossible to convince Dirk to move down there. He gets pissed off at the mere suggestion.
Anyway, Roachboy's coming up here to see the Vans Warped Show. He's bringing Sludge with him. He still won't tell me anything about her, so I think her entire body's covered with open sores. I don't want to meet this girl. I'd be horrified if she was prettier than me, but I'd pity her no matter what. And she hates me, because of everything Roachboy's said (and, to be fair, everything I did to Roachboy). I don't need to meet this bimbo, do I? I don't want to pity a girl who hates me.
I got my new survey done, finally. It's probably more than a little meaner than usual.
A lot of people have started screwing off on their online journals. Must be summer.