I've been thinking about exactly why I dislike Dirk's brother so much. I'm sure part of it is completely random, like the way his voice sounds and the fact that he looks like a neanderthal (they're twins, but apparently not identical....but I'm told identical twins can look rather different when they grow up, due to environment). Another part of it is the fact that he's so smugly immersed in loserhood, that he cannot accept that anyone wouldn't want to be as fucking miserable as he is. Take yesterday for example. He kept flipping the channel from wrestling to "Teletubbies", because that's the show his little bratling, Xavier likes (his son wasn't there, by the way). I hate Teletubbies. They're inane, the show's inane, and god knows why they decided to design a show that matched the intellectual abilities of the three and under crowd.
So, Dirk and I, royally annoyed by this point, decided to make up fantasies in which the Teletubbies blew up messily and died all over the fucking techno-pastel scenery. And we pondered the amusement factor of the baby in the sun taking a shit on all the horrible little Teletubbies as they giggled inanely. I mean, one of thos fucking things has a dildo coming out of the top of its head! Conditioning children at an early age to look up to phallic symbols is sick, twisted, and downright sexist.
Hold on, there was a point to all this. When Aaron finally got irritated by Dirk and I making fun of the show, he said, "Just wait ‘till you guys have kids." (For those who don't know, he knocked-up his pit-viper girlfriend a couple years ago, and is now paying child support because she won't get a job, marry him, or even shack up with him. Meanwhile, they're still dating)
So, I responded that I'd sooner split myself open from navel to breastbone with a butcher knife and remove it myself before I'd have a child.
And how did Aaron respond? He chuckled, then said, "It's much easier said than done. I mean, look at Sonia and I." Nononono, el Losero. See, the major difference hear is that A) I have transportation to whatever clinic I'd need to go to, and B) I'm not stupid enough to think that I have a reasonable chance to overcome all the physical and mental abuse and not treat any child of mine the same way, if not worse.
And, for those of you interested, it's still up for debate whether or not I'm pregnant. I get really bad cramps for up to two minutes, several times a day, but nothing's happening and I think I'm putting on weight. I'm not nervous yet.
This week-end was semi-worthwhile. Dirk and I visited Deb on Saturday. It took me a while to get Dirk out of bed in the afternoon, so we ended up visiting at three. We also couldn't stay long, because we had to drop off payment for the rehearsal space. Saturday evening, I couldn't get Dirk's ass outta bed for anything until it was just about time for him to go to work. Dirk ended up being late for work, because after I got him up, we both fell asleep.
Sunday, we went to IKEA to price furniture. We found stuff we liked, fairly cheap, including a table, chairs, a sofa, and a chest of drawers. We ended up buying two ice cube trays, that made ice cubes in the shape of seashells.
Dirk wanted to stop and look at a car on the way home, but told me too late. This sparked an argument because he wanted me to take a right and another right to get back to the car, but there wasn't an opportunity and he accused me of "trying to irritate him on purpose". My response? "Oh, right, Dirk. I have nothing better to do than try to fuck with you." Thus began ten minutes of uncomfortable silence. We parked in front of Dirk's house, and I waited for him to get the hell out of my car. Instead, he asked if we could go to Best Buy so he could "look at something". I figured he wanted to look at the new Marilyn Manson CD, probably buy it. I agreed grudgingly, mainly because I wanted the opportunity to give him the silent treatment a while longer. He was really nice on the way to Best Buy, which I easily brushed off. When we got to Best Buy, I told him I'd wait in the car.
He came out a few minutes later, with a copy of Aerosmith's latest album: A Little South of Sanity. After handing it to me (complete with a free Aerosmith iron-on patch), Dirk said, "You're not allowed to be mad at me." I almost felt bad for getting mad at him. Even if he was wrong.
Sunday evening, we took another nap, resulting in us being horribly late to get Dirk to work and to get me home.
And on Monday, my father stayed home until about eight, because he was "sick". I don't think he really needed to stay home. I went to class, collected Dirk, then came home. Unfortunately, my mother informed me that my father was coming home early, because he had a doctor's appointment. So, I went with Dirk to his house, watched Halloween Havoc (wrestling), until about 3:30, then went home to make curry. I think I left my ciggies there, as well.
The lowlight of my day was my father wandering around the kitchen with a towel pressed to his side, trying to show me what looked like a giant pimple. When I informed him that he shouldn't be showing that to people, he pouted, "I just wanted your opinion on it." It's gross, that's my opinion. Please, god, let me get away from these sickos.
This morning has been special so far. I lost a necklace worth about $700 last Thursday, because Genghis ran into the hallway and I put the necklace down with all my other stuff and didn't pick it up. We found it this morning, in the commuter parking lot. Unfortunately, the stone, which was a heart made of lapis lazuli, had been broken. I almost wish I hadn't found it. I don't think you can repair broken stones.
And Claire, special woman that she is, cornered me for "talking about her behind her back." What happened is that she kept calling me and calling me and I didn't trot back there like a good little dog. So, she accused me of spending all my time online (which I don't), and told me I needed to do real work (which I do more of than she could ever dream of). I mentioned this to the training officer, Linda, who had a word with Claire. Spare me office politics.
I hope everyone on my office dies.
(1:50 p.m.) Well, I remembered a couple more things I wanted to talk about.
I forgot to mention that on Sunday night, a po-lice officer with nothing better to do pulled up behind us in a shopping center parking lot. I was reading a magazine and smoking, whilst Dirk was taking a short nap. The po-lice officer shined the very bright light into the car, asked to see some I.D. and asked what we were doing. When I showed him the magazine, the guy remembered us, and said, "You guys can't stay here, these shopping centers have a No Loitering policy. I told you that the last time I spoke to you." He hadn't, and I told him so (politely. I do not like body cavity searches). This confused Mr. Po-lice Man, and he reiterated that he had. So, I went along with his delusion, and agreed to leave "as soon as I was done with my article."
I also had a closer look at the "Punkmobile II". They fucked it up that way on purpose, fucking pathetic assholes. It looks like they took a few cans of spray paint to a perfectly good yellow car, to make it look like trash. They even painted the side mirror black with random neon green stripes. This is why I have no respect for the stupid teenybopper punks that I see around. They trash perfectly good stuff, to make it "punk", they purposely make themselves look stupid and unattractive, because it's "punk". Hello, morons! Do you think when Iggy Pop covered every surface of his house with feces back in the sixties (or seventies, I mean, the guy's 150 or so years old, right?) that he did so because it was "punk"? No, he was high on a fuck of a lot of drugs and really didn't know any better. He wore a pair of pants that Jim Morrison had owned, encrusted with vomit, because he was fucking homeless and strung out and honestly didn't give a shit. Not because it was "punk".
I'm a little pissed.
I'd also like to discuss the pain of losing friends, since that seems to be a popular topic lately. Shit happens. People suck. It doesn't get much simpler than that.
And I do wish some of these people would get a clue and quit using shitty metaphors to explain their bullshit life philosophies. Life is like a cemetery full of rotting corpses. Every once in a while, one'll surprise you by rising up out of its grave, and that's not a good thing. At best, they're a bit whiffy. At worst, they'll gnaw your face off as you lie screaming and helpless below them.
See? I'm special enough to do it, too.
We've gotten no e-mail from Roachboy explaining why he only sent a partial payment. That man's so special, I could vomit. I have a new memory for you guys, that comes from this time last year:
I got a call from Roachboy's "new" girlfriend (actually one of his previous girlfriends who was willing to put out), Larvae. She said that Roachboy had told her that his breakup with me was mutual, and he was completely over me. Then, she went on to say that Roachboy had freaked out the night before, and spent a lot of time crying and suicidal, because he found out I was dating Dirk. She wanted to know the "real deal".
As gently as I could, I explained the fact that the breakup had not, in fact, been mutual. I had dumped him. I also explained that Roachboy hadn't been over me, and likely wouldn't for a while, as he was staying at my house. I then told her that I was sorry that I'd caused problems between them with my rather unexpected announcement, but I'd taken offense to Roachboy trying to shove his newfound sex life in my face. (He had made a point of telling me that he and Larvae had sex in six different positions. Now, sexual dynamo that I am, I can only think of about 4 or 5 right offhand. He also told me that Larvae made "squeaking noises" in bed, which turned my delicate stomach)
She agreed the situation wasn't my fault, told me that Roachboy had "issues", and said that she doubted she was interested in dating him, since he'd lied to her. Apparently he'd also lashed out at her in his misery, mocking her intelligence and attractiveness.
This became significant later, when Roachboy was desperate to get laid, and he didn't have anyone willing to sleep with him. But that's a story for another day.