Don't you just love it when a program on your computer decides to start fucking up for no apparent reason? God knows I do. Word Perfect (on my computer at work) started doing weird shit like refusing to initialize the spell check and then taking all the icons off buttons. I hope it isn't a virus. I ran into other problems at home, such as the fact that PaintshopPro doesn't want to work on any platform older than Windows 95. I can't run Windows 95, Word Perfect and My scanner. Word Perfect and My scanner are the cornerstones of life for me, guys. So, my father's simply going to have to load PaintshopPro onto our computer downstairs. I'm keeping my dinosaur version of windows, thank you.
Krisco's working at McDonalds. Talk about following the footsteps of the master of pathetic. I think we should go there and make fun of her. I mean, her skin condition's bad enough, since she only bathes twice a week. But add some good 'ol McDonald's grease, and her face is going to look like she got leprosy. And she's going to be working the counter. Oh, my. That meek little fucked-up bimbo is going to have to talk to strangers. She's gonna freak eventually, and bring a gun to work.
I have been so happy today, and I don't know why. But lots of people answered my survey. Sometimes I think I should do something with the responses. Should I post them? Maybe I'll do a compilation type thing, no names and e-mail addys, kind of "how many people gave this response?" sort of thing.
Okay, I'm only going to ask this one last time. Dirk's starting to make nasty little remarks about my ability to turn out a simple insulting-advice column. If you haven't done so already, please go to Ask Captain Margaret. I need questions. They can be made up. If I make them up, they'll be pot shots at Krisco and I'm trying not to be petty. I know, I'm horribly lazy and should simply write a damn article, but I can't think of anything to write about.
Dirk came over, a bit late since he procrastinated when leaving his parents' house. I didn't get mad at him, though. Even if punctuality is one of my hair-triggers. I'm trying. We spent the evening online again, so we could check e-mail, check online ads, and talk to Roachboy. I don't really enjoy going online with Dirk, because I don't feel free to respond to my e-mail. I'm not hiding anything (how could I? he's got the password to my e-mail account), but I like writing in privacy.
My father's back from San Diego. He proceeded to bitch about the fact that I wasn't home when he called Sunday night to wish him a happy Father's Day. I feel kind of guilty, but I hate being subjected to guilt trips. And I don't think of him as my father, most of the time. More like a younger brother who whines. You know what he brought us back from San Diego? Candy. I think there's something horribly wrong inside that man's head. The only thing I was appreciative of was the candy "rocks". I can never seem to find them here. However, he didn't do any wonders for my diet thing.
Poor guy. I'm too mean to him, and a lot of it is my mother's influence. I'm kind of glad he's back, because now she has someone new to scream at.
Then I remember that my fucking grandfather is coming next Wednesday, thanks to my father. He invited him for Fourth of July, and told him he could bring my step-cousin, Jeremy. Fucking sucks. I think I'm going to take Monday off so I can "indulge in physical gratification" with Dirk, to bolster myself for the next week.
We're supposed to go out with Katie tomorrow night. Maybe we'll discuss the 'zine, maybe get her to write a fucking article. I need to fucking re-design this web page. I am ineligible for most of the rings because I think the design is shit. I don't have time. I don't have patience. I suppose I shall have to make time and pretend that I'm patient. Perhaps I'll manage to fool myself.
Roachboy isn't getting very far in his quest to convince Dirk to move down to North Carolina. Roachboy shouldn't be surprised. Our home is here, and nothing he says will entice Dirk to leave. Roachboy tried to make Dale City sound inferior, mocked us for wanting to be the dominant band here. What he's overlooking is the fact that once we get established here, it's only a short drive north to DC...now that's something worth shooting for. Being an established band in D.C. Roachboy's also cultivated a huge dislike for D.C. Punk. Honestly, if that isn't just the epitome of pettiness. Regionalism at its peak.