Vague Memories of Pre-Determined Entry Topics

Would mosquitoes in England be better-mannered than those in the U.S.?  This is the question The Mormon and I tossed around the other day.  It was a funny conversation, so I wanted to preserve it here.

ME:  Fuck mosquitoes.
THE MORMON:  You know, when we get to England, mosquitoes will be polite.  They’ll ask permission before biting you.
ME:  Yes, and then even when you say no, they’ll still apologize for it afterward.

I had so many things I was going to update about over the past couple of days while I’ve been house/dog-sitting, but it’s been so long now I can’t remember a single one of them in detail.

Lisa and Monica and I began filming Stalkers Anonymous.  This should be a very fun project.  And Lisa said she’s looked through all her tapes and we must have a party to view old material sometime this weekend.  That will be entertaining–all this old high school stuff.

Psychobrat and Spidermonkey are still on a break, and Psychobrat is taking the opportunity to spend the weekend with The 47-Year-Old in Tallahassee (next weekend).  I had thought it was this weekend, so the other morning when her car was not home and my dad said, “Is Sister at work?” I replied, “I thought she was in Tallahassee.”

This was news to him, but not to my mom, and when Dad said, “And what does Brent feel about this?” I said, “What difference does it make?  They’re on a break.”

“Yeah, but she’s been sleeping with him this whole time, and all of a sudden she’s going to sleep with Bill, and he doesn’t feel anything about this?”

“I don’t think she’s going to sleep with Bill,” Mom said.

Mom,” I said.  “She’s going to spend the weekend with him in Tallahassee.”

“But that’s just to meet all his school friends and spend time with him,” Mom said.

Dad and I just looked at each other.


Psychobrat Gripes and Mormon Jubilation

It has been a very Psychobrat sort of day.

Psychobrat and Spidermonkey have broken up, which means that she will be spending all of her free time at home, whereas until recently she had practically been living at his house.  (This meant that the rare times she was home, she was actually almost pleasant.)  But no more of that.  Psychobrat is back full-force!

My Padawan sent me a new section of her story last night, which I was quite eager to read and comment on, and promised her I would do so after work and my workout today, so right about 3.  This, apparently, was not to be.

I came home at 2:15 with the intention of chilling at the computer for a few minutes just to decompress so I could do my workout.  The sun, you see, does not do good things for me, and I had been standing in it for four hours, so I had a headache and wanted to zone out in the coolest room of the house (my room is hot).  This, from experience, makes my heat headaches go away.  But even this was not to be.

Psychobrat was on the computer, and I asked her if I could have it for a few minutes so I could relax before working out.  She adamantly refused.  I told her that I had promised someone I would be on it at 3, and this pissed her off.


I told her (still calmly at this point) that I would only need it for half an hour to an hour, and then she could use it for the rest of the day.

But she was downloading something that was going to take a while and didn’t want to disrupt it.

Fair enough.  I said all she had to do was switch users and her programs would keep running.

She told me I was a selfish bitch.  (You have to imagine her voice as being very prissy and screechy, because that is how it sounds, unless she’s really pissed, and then she sounds like the girl from The Exorcist.)

Now here is a perfect example of her (and my father’s, because she gets it from him) circular non-logic, and the reason it is impossible to argue with either one of them.  She told me it was her turn to use the computer, because she is never home and therefore never gets to use it.  I told her that I had promised to be on the computer around 3.  She said I couldn’t promise such things, because she was using it at 3.  I said when I had made this promise, I hadn’t expected her to be home, because she never was home in the afternoons.  To which she replied, “Well, I’m going to be home all the time now, because Brent and I broke up.”

…?  Do you see the contradiction here?  This is only one example.  Every argument with either her or my father goes exactly the same way.  I remember another prime example from a few weeks ago, when my dad was waking me up every morning at 7 by yelling at my little brother.  This particular morning, he was yelling, “I WANT YOU TO GO TO JAIL, SO YOU CAN LEARN A LESSON!”  A few minutes later, when it suited his needs for him to reply to something Brother had said a different way, he said, “I DON’T WANT YOU TO GO TO JAIL!”

Even though I was very not awake, I was still able to pick up on the contradiction, and even chuckled to myself a bit when Brother said, “You just said you wanted me to go to jail,” and Dad replied, “I DID NOT!”

Do you see why this is so frustrating?  Why it is not possible to ever win an argument or defend yourself to either one of them?  They contradict themselves and disregard logic at all.  This is why I’ve questioned so often whether or not I am going insane, and why I bottle up my emotions until I explode, and why I so often just try to hide in my room when either of their tempers flare up.  Can any one of you honestly tell me that you could argue with these people and not eventually decide just not to open your mouth ever?  That’s what it’s like living at my house.  What’s worse is that she hates me, and everybody else here, and he favors her, so they both constantly jump down my throat and I get it even worse than anyone sometimes.  But it’s okay, because I can put up with it for a few more years, and then I am moving out.  I will live with The Mormon, and things will be so much better.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family very much; I just need to live apart from them.

But where was I?  I got off on a tangent.  Psychobrat.  Right.  So I gave up on getting on the computer at any point anywhere near 3, and did my workout not on my own strength, but on anger.  And because I never decompressed, my headache is still lingering.

Then I went and took a shower and went to my room, because she was still on the computer.  But by this point I had decided just not to get on until about 9, when I would go ahead and respond to my Padawan, a bit later than promised.  This would give her the rest of the day to use it as long as she wanted, and when I finally got on, my time would be uninterrupted and she couldn’t argue with me.

I sat down at 9:35, and she walked in the door at 9:45, after having been out who knows where.  She approached me and simpered, “Can I have the computer for five minutes?”

I looked at her.  “You must be joking,” I said.

“No, I just want it for a few minutes to check all my stuff.”

“Well, you can have it for a few minutes tomorrow.  It’s my turn now.”

“It isn’t your turn.  There are no turns.  You don’t own this computer.”

“Well, that’s too bad for you, because I’m not getting off.”

“YES, you ARE!  I WANT IT!”  (Imagine the Exorcist voice now.)

“And now you know how it feels.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NOW I KNOW HOW IT FEELS!?”  (At this point, the computer restarted, and continued restarting every time I logged on for the rest of this conversation.  I suspected that Psychobrat was channeling Carrie.)

“This doesn’t sound familiar to you from…oh, about 6 hours ago?”


“You could have switched users for a few minutes.  It wouldn’t have hurt anything.”


“I agree; it isn’t fair.”




“As I already stated, I agree with you.  It certainly isn’t fair.”


“Well, you can check it tomorrow when I’m at work for 11 hours.”


Finally I got so sick of it restarting and being called selfish over and over again (and as I’ve explained, there simply is no way to defend yourself), I just got off.  It was about 9:50.  Psychobrat immediately took over and used it until 11.  That, apparently, is 5 minutes to her.

The 47-Year-Old came over today.  This is the nickname of the guy who is actually 25 and whom Psychobrat met at my brother’s day care one summer when she was 14 and he was 21, and where she had been sent as punishment for the summer before, when she was fucking The Jackass from down the street every day.  She was cleaning her room last night since he was coming over.  This involved washing her sheets.  I’m not sure I want to speculate upon that one.

I actually feel bad talking about Psychobrat like this.  But it’s helped my anger completely go away.  Now that I’ve written all these horrible things about her, all I feel is guilt.  The anger is gone.  But my conscience is very strong.

I’m going to change the subject.  Want to hear something sweet for a change?  I don’t deserve this, because I’m really a pretty horrible person, as evidenced by all of the above…but I am thankful for it.  I think The Mormon is one of the best things that has ever happened to me, and I will never stop being grateful for that.

Have you ever had a class with some guy (or girl) that you thought was really hot, and maybe you didn’t know them at all really, but when the semester ended, you were sort of sad that you wouldn’t see them anymore?  The Mormon told me today that I was this person to him, back when we were in that sociology class together.  He thought I was incredibly hot (“not to be superficial,” he said) and even mentioned me to his friends, although we’d only spoken once or twice and didn’t even know each other’s names.  And I thought nothing of it at all.  It never occurred to me at this time to be attracted to him.

He told me that when he saw me on the first day in our creative writing class, he was ecstatic, and started trying to figure out a way to tell me he was interested, but because he was shy, said nothing for almost the entire class.  And all the way through, he realized that he liked me more and more.  (And I was completely unaware of this for about three months.  He’s experiencing all this inner turmoil, and I’m just blissfully ignorant.)

Anyway, I was all, “I was that girl.  That rocks!”

And…I’m just so happy to have him and that he loves me so very much.

Monica Quotes and a Weird Dream

I went out with Monica and Lisa tonight for the first time in a while and told them what I’m going to attempt to do for my Halloween costume (Slave Leia, to refresh your memory) and Monica said, just like this:  “Is that the one who was attached to Zha-Zha Bing?”

That quote just had to be preserved.

And, flatteringly, later on Monica said that she was sorry her blog was not as interesting as mine, and Lisa said, “Nobody’s blog is as interesting as Ginny’s.” That made me feel happy.

Had this crazy dream a few nights ago that I was in this big building that seemed to be the human equivalent of one of those little ant trap things.  You know, flat, roundish, claustrophobic, a few openings all around.  Anyway, it seemed that both Jurassic Park and The Walking Dead had exploded outside the giant ant trap, because it was completely surrounded by both dinosaurs and zombies.  Nearly everybody in there who was hiding had a gun.  I had this huge thing–I forget what it’s called, but I joked to The Mormon while watching Predator the day before that it looked like the thing Wayne Szelinski used to shrink his kids.  And suddenly I’m this amazing shot who hits everything dead-on.

There was this one guy running around with a pistol and shooting everything–he, too, was hitting everything he aimed for.  He shot some guy, and I yelled at him, “HE WAS ON OUR SIDE!  He was alive!  Great!  And now he’s just going to wake up and turn into a zombie!”

Pistol Guy replied, “Well, so I’ll shoot him again!”

Then I realized that we all needed to whisper, because the dinosaurs could hear us from outside, and we didn’t want t-rexes coming and sticking their heads into the openings and snatching people out.  We didn’t need any more attention drawn to us than was absolutely necessary.  Of course, nobody else seemed to care and kept talking in normal voices, which really irritated me.

A Moviegoing Sin

In my defense, my cell phone was most definitely turned off.

I heard the alarm at 12:30, and thought, That couldn’t be my alarm.  My phone is turned off.  Besides, my alarm goes off at 12:00.  But it seemed to be coming from right under me.  It grew gradually louder and louder.  The entire audience was shouting.  The Mormon was convinced the speakers were being screwy.

Fifteen minutes later, there it was again.  But still, I didn’t look, because I knew my phone just couldn’t be that stupid!

The third time it went off, I said to The Mormon, “I have to step out, because I am absolutely positive that is my phone.”

I didn’t know how to get out without being stoned, but I didn’t want to just let it keep going all movie every fifteen minutes, because somebody eventually was bound to notice it was coming from under my seat.  And then, even if I could have survived that, at the end of it, I just know it would have gone off when the movie was over and all was quiet, or when I was standing around with The Mormon and all of his friends, and there’s no way I could have disguised that.  So all I could do was wait until I was fairly certain it was halfway between alarms, and then run.

It was my phone.  It really is that stupid.  The alarm went off while the phone itself was turned off.

Because I did not want to cast suspicion on myself–several people nearby were bound to notice that I had been sitting suspiciously near the cell phone sound–I deliberately stalled outside for a few minutes so it would seem like I had gone to the bathroom, and not to check on my stupid phone.

I walked back in and told The Mormon, “Yeah.  It was my phone.”  He made fun of me for a very long time after the movie was over.

Missed Appointments and Wasted Fuel

Despite the fact that I really didn’t want to, I actually had every intention of going to Psychobrat’s graduation yesterday.  And so I drove downtown in the general direction of the Coliseum (according to the signs, that is–I wasn’t sure how to get there) and I almost made it.  But then for some reason I pulled into the parking lot by the Tailgate Bar & Grille, which is not the Coliseum, although it is very close.  And then the only way to get out was to take a right, which took me back over the bridge.

Jacksonville is a city of bridges.  When I say “over the bridge”, it means downtown.  The same as if I was on the other side of the city, if I said, “over the bridge”, I would mean the beach.  Or if I was on my side of town, “over the bridge” would mean on the way to the airport or Georgia.  But in this particular case, home is on one side of the bridge, and downtown is on the other.

So I was in the process of leaving downtown when Mom called to find out where I was.  When I told her “going back over the bridge”, she said, “Well, parking is $5.00” which is when I knew I was not going to make it, because I never carry cash.

I went home.  They said they’d call me when they went to lunch afterward.

I ate lunch, because I had been invited to the Masonic Lodge for dinner, and I wanted to save my appetite.

At about 3, Mom called and said they were on their way to the restaurant.  So I drove the 20 minutes to the restaurant, which was packed, and called Dad to find out where they were.

Dad and Brother were at home.  Lunch had been delayed until 4:30, but nobody had bothered to tell me.  I went back home.

Shortly thereafter, Dad and Brother went to lunch, and I remained at home because I wasn’t going to eat anyway and I had to leave at 6, or 5:45 if I had gone.  That was pointless.

I left at 6.  And then I got very lost downtown, despite the fact that Mom had shown me the location of the Lodge the day before.  I took the wrong exit by accident, and then there was nothing to do but head very far in one direction and hope Mom answered, because the light was dimming and I wasn’t certain which direction I needed to be headed, and I had already gone over a couple of bridges I’d never seen before.  I could feel how very far away I was.  It was never a good idea for me to agree to go when I knew I didn’t have a companion.

Mom answered and told me I needed to be headed back south, and to look at the sun.  People, I was so lost, my mom did not recognize the street names I was giving her and I had to find my way back using the sun.

Finally I found a street name I recognized, but I was far down it.  “Lock your doors,” Mom said.  I drove very slowly down the street, because there were something like twenty or thirty people with bicycles in a cluster, riding s l o w l y around in the middle of the street, giving me shifty eyes because I very blatantly did not belong where I was.

I got back to the block that the Lodge was on, couldn’t figure out where to park, saw that I was already a few minutes late, saw Union street (the one that goes back over the bridge–it’s State Street there, Union Street back; this is how I generally keep my bearings downtown, unless I’m as far out as I was a few minutes before this) ahead of me, and decided to embrace Union while I still could.  I sped back over the bridge and went to Publix to get sushi and strawberry Newtons.

Then, as I had missed absolutely every appointment that day and was feeling rather depressed, I went to surprise The Mormon at work.

See, I was invited to the Lodge a few months ago by a really nice guy that my mom works with.  He was very excited for me to come by so he could show me all around, and of course I had been looking forward to it since the first invite.  And he’d said he was making me peach cobbler.  I was really looking forward to that peach cobbler.

So I have the very depressing mental image of this sweet guy baking me peach cobbler and waiting eagerly for me to show up at the Lodge, and then I was late, and then I just clearly was not coming, and there sat the peach cobbler, sadly awaiting me, and him and his wife sighing and saying they guessed I wasn’t coming, and they would have to eat the peach cobbler themselves.  It’s very sad.

Mom said she could go with me next month if we got another invitation, but not to expect one, because by now he must assume I really didn’t want to go.  Oh, that’s so depressing. And I do want to go!

Anyway.  No appointments today.  But I’m going to go and get a shower and then out for an eyebrow waxing.  They’re getting too bushy for my taste.

General Blahness Whilst Waiting on the Laundry

I saw my old friend Wendy from Watson today.  Her husband is out of town at a friend’s house, and as he was away and I was there, there were quite a few downhearted expressions of regret that things aren’t the way they used to be.  They have been married…I think six years now?…and they don’t talk anymore.  He doesn’t laugh at her jokes like he used to (in fact, he glares at her like she’s insulting him), and she feels constantly alone even when he’s there next to her.  He even asked her if she still saw herself with him a year from now, and she feels miserable.

Isn’t there any way that I can keep The Mormon from one day hating me?  Isn’t this possible?  Nobody stays happy, right?  I mean, once that initial honeymoon stage is over, that’s like it, isn’t it?  There are occasions (and they are few and far between) that I suspect my parents are secretly happy with each other, but like I said, they’re very few and far between.  For years I’ve watched them and thought, They aren’t happy.  I could go into more detail about this, such as the specifics of what I’ve heard them both bitch about for practically my entire life (my mom secretly to me, and my dad loudly in any part of the house, because he seems to feel all of their issues should be the issues of the entire family).  I won’t, though.  But it isn’t pleasant.

All I want is to make him happy forever.  Because when I make him happy, it in turn makes me happy and makes him want to make me happy.  Why doesn’t this work?  Why don’t people stay happy with each other?  Why isn’t this possible?  I don’t want to gradually turn into some psycho bitch who’s going to be a burden to him.  I don’t want to be sitting in the same room as him and have him not even care that I’m speaking to him, or to not bother because I don’t want to see him not care.

This is secretly one of the main reasons I don’t want to get married for such a long time.  I want to prolong happiness as long as possible.  I feel like marriage = the end of happiness.  Is this wrong?  Am I somehow just incredibly cynical about this, or am I right?  Because that’s really how I see it.  I can’t tell if it’s skewed or not.

Lazy Summer

The Mormon has broken out in cold sores so I again cannot kiss him for the next week or so.

My summer break is turning into a lot of free time that can be used for nothing but lying around lazily and no kissing of my boyfriend.

Well, despite the fact that I can still faintly feel my encounter with caffeine trying to wear off, I decided today that I am tired of not being able to do anything physical and started back to my routine of jogging and crunches.  And I shall continue the process of re-sculpting my abs and thighs and ass to the way they used to be.  Mono, I wash my hands of you.

The Mormon and I were lying on the couch earlier, and he suggested going to get dinner somewhere, then leaned down and kissed me (on the cheek, as there are still those cold sores to worry about).  So I said, “What are you in the mood for?”

We ended up moving into my room and not going to food for another hour.

I totally love him.

I told him I know what I’m going to be for Halloween but that I won’t tell him what it is.  I did, however, guarantee that he would like it and his friends would be jealous.  He was very excited.  Haha.  So then I told him about the responses I got from various guy friends:

“You just made a boy’s lifelong fantasy come true.”
“Mormons have all the luck.”
“Ginny is the world’s greatest girlfriend.”

He was even more excited after this.  I quote:  “I think I know what you’re planning, and if so, holy shit!”

Then he said, “Guess I’ve gotta do the Han Solo thing.”