This one is everywhere. Take your Ritalin to keep focused.
Okay, let�s start with this. This is my diary, and I do not tolerate rude messages being left in my guest book, notes or comments. Especially when they are left by random retards. I won�t link to this fucking idiot, just let it be known that your stupid comment was deleted and any further ones too will be deleted without another mention. Go find some stupid, riled-up teeny-bopper to start your flame war with. Ain�t happening here, asshat. And, by the way, random retard, �small mind�? My IQ happens to be 122, a fact I don�t find necessary to throw out there very much, while that�s not a genius, I can only assume that your�s is probably hovering in the lower double digit area. I don�t start shit with other people in their diaries, and I expect the same from others. And, until last night�s asswipe, I haven�t had any problems.
Nuff said.
Well, my night last night was, uh, too short. First, went to Weight Watchers. Guess what! I didn�t gain the four pounds back. NO! I doubled that! I gained 8.6 fucking pounds, man. Moo! I can guarantee that at least 3 of that is water weight courtesy of Aunt Flo�s impending visit, but as far as the other 5.6--well, no more pot smoking during the day. And I�m going to make it my life�s goal to go to the bathroom as much as possible in the next week. This means filling myself up with water and high fiber foods as much as possible. And I�m going to work on getting some exercise, challenging as that is.
I can�t believe I gained that much. Never in my two years of WW have I gained that much. It�s also probably a reflection of my mental state lately. Anyway, at least 5 will be gone last week. Fucking 8 pounds. Yikes.
Anyway, after Gina, Andrea and I went to Gina�s brothers to smoke a nice strawberry-kiwi blunt. Oh was that yummy. We talked and laughed and had a nice time, but left before 9:00. So I was home earlier than I�d have liked to have been.
My plan was to just chill down here ALONE. UNINTERUPPTED. But, alas, that�s like asking to win the lottery. Hub was up, he�d washed the kitchen floor and was shampooing the rugs, which was wonderful, of course, but ill-timed. I was not in the mood to walk into that, and a heads-up might�ve been nice. I did bite my tongue and did not bitch about it.
He did that, you know, to make himself look good. Whenever I get pissy with him (as I had been yesterday), he actually does shit around here. To make me look bad and him look good.
Anyway, when he finally finished, I came down here. Alone. Yah right. With him coming down every five fucking minutes. How is that alone? How is that uninterrupted? Can�t I just be by myself for an hour or two, without him or any kids asking shit of me? It would do so much for me, but it�s like pulling fucking teeth. I�ve spent night after night with him this past week or so, and it�s too much for him to fucking leave me alone for a while.
Oh, but he�ll fucking leave me alone when this house is full of fucking brats. That�s not a problem. And then he wants to spend time with me when they�re all gone and in bed and I need to unwind, there he is, wanting more from me. I�m going to have to throw a fucking fit tonight, or put a couple of pins into his drink to knock him out, because I want MY TIME. Is it too much to ask?
I�m so sick of these people wanting shit from me. Fed the fuck up. This morning, I made him get the boys up and I had him get Daisy up and give her breakfast. I wanted to shower and get ready. So, I go in the shower, and he�s in bed. I get out of the shower (which is like 20 minutes or so), and where is he? Still in fucking bed. Yeah, he got the boys up and gave Daisy breakfast and came right back up and crawled into bed. It irked me, to say the least.
Like, must be nice, laying in fucking bed when you should be spending your last few minutes with your kid, paying attention to her and helping her get ready. I was even like, �Oh, how about when I get all the kids today, I just come up here and lay down in bed?�. It�s not enough that he gets to sleep late every fucking morning. Weekends? I�m up at 6:00. He rolls out of bed around 8:30-9:00. He says he�ll �let� me stay in bed later, but that�s bullshit. First, he won�t fucking get up. Second, if he does, he�ll throw cereal at the kids (if they�re lucky) and go back to bed.
Bitch, bitch, bitch. Must be my small mind.
How about stories? I was telling these to Hub yesterday, when I could stand him.
My dad was a wild man back in the 70�s and early 80�s. I think in the 60�s too, but I wasn�t there then. He drank a lot, smoked pot and did coke. He did all of this in front of us kids. I do not hold his poor choices against him. Despite this, he was a good father and did a lot for us, despite my mom�s illness and my grandmother�s incessant meddling. He is not perfect just like me. And he wasn�t a violent drunk, and he managed to hold a job through all his problems. I can look back on some of the crazy shit that happened back then, which was kinda traumatizing at the time, and giggle about it now. And know that I won�t pull that kinda shit on my kids.
Anyway, my dad had this buddy who lived up near the stadium where the city shows fireworks on the 4th of July. His yard had the perfect view, so for a few years, we went there. Of course, it was drinking and drugging for dad and friends. This one particular year, when I was roughly 9 or so, Dad got shitty ass drunk. When the fireworks end, getting out of that side of town is a huge clusterfuck. So, my dad gets us in the truck, drunk off his ass, and drives us home. But not before hitting some dude in a Trans Am (remember, the ones with the bird on the front? Or was that a Firebird? Whatever, I remember the bird). He hit him just enough to do a little ding, nothing major. But instead of stopping, he kept driving. And TA guys were right on our tail, blaring their horn. And my dad is driving like �Cops� in hot pursuit, only the other way around. It was fucking scary, man.
When we got home, the guys stopped out front and my dad went to meet them. Ned and I ran into our grandmother�s house (we lived on the other side of their duplex), �Daddy�s gonna get killed! Daddy�s gonna get killed!�.
It turned out nothing came of it, that I know of, except for pissing off my grandparents majorly. My dad was good at that.
The next year, the night before Thanksgiving, we went to my dad�s buddy �Ray�s� house. Ray had a wife, �Rayna� (there names were masculine and feminine of each other in real life) and a little girl named Kristi. This particular night, Rayna�s friend �Donna� was there, too. Ray and my dad had a bottle of Jack Daniels to chug down. Ned, Kristi and I were in the bedroom watching �The Facts of Life� (here�s how vivid my memory of that night is, it was the episode in which Jo first appeared), when all hell started breaking loose in the living room. I went out to check, and there was Ray and my dad kicking the shit out of each other. I said my dad wasn�t a violent drunk, except for the times when he and Ray would drink whiskey. They were going nuts, breaking shit and everything.
Fortunately, Rayna knew enough to get us kids out of there. We went first to Donna�s house, I think, then they dropped me and Ned off at home to my grandparents. Another aneurysm for Memere and Pepere. Happy Thanksgiving!
Anyway, Rayna and Ray split up after that night. They went through a messy divorce, including a custody battle for Kristi. I didn�t know many of the details, I assumed it was all cuz of that night. In my 10 year old mind, that was grounds for divorce. It was also grounds for Ray not getting custody of Kristi, as far as I was concerned. So, you could imagine my surprise when Ray got custody of Kristi. I was shocked.
Well, 15 years later, my dad and Ray clued me in on the truth. Ray got custody because Rayna had been adulterous. And, um, her �friend� Donna was who she was being adulterous with. Whoa! That was a shocker. I guess back in 1980, that sort of thing wasn�t tolerated by the courts.
Crazy shit, man. So you can kind of see why I�m somewhat of a mess. (Somewhat?). But, I love my dad dearly, and don�t hold his mistakes against him. He did the best he could with what he had. My mom being sick, two little brats to take care of, and a meddling, judgmental mother, etc, etc. But through it all, we always had food on the table, a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, he took us to movies and out to eat once a week, and we knew he loved us. And when my mom was sick, he stood by her. I was shocked to find out, when I was working briefly in a nursing home years ago, how many spouses bailed and divorced when their spouses got ill like that. My dad was a rarity among them, he never even considered it. (Even though he did have a fling or two here and there, which didn�t exactly thrill me, but my mom was a vegetable, and he was a man).
Anyway. Enough. Back to life, back to reality.
Adios!!!