Stalkers Anonymous Strikes Back…Again

Have you ever been on a stakeout?  Have you ever waited inconspicuously in a parking lot for somebody to get off work so you could follow him home?  It’s quite envigorating.

On Friday night, The Mormon, Katie and Duckie, Monica, and I gathered at Lisa’s house to watch old videos of Lisa’s from high school and from now.  Mostly, we watched our stalking video from last year.  And it was every bit as hilarious as we’d imagined it to be.

Sometime while watching the video and agreeing on how much we missed our stalking adventures, we decided to have one that night.  I took The Mormon back to my house, where his car was.  (On the way there, he said, “I learned a lot about you tonight, Ginny.”  “Really?  Like what?” I said.  “I’m not sure yet; I’m going to have to take this all home and process it.”  Then he kissed me.)

So we got out at my house, he told me to be safe, and I went inside, not expecting to find my parents both still awake at…I think it was then 11:30.  But there they were.  They wanted to know where I was going.  I lied.  I’m not proud of it, but I did.  I told them we were likely going to Monica’s to watch more videos.  And then I went to wait for them, as they were to pick me up, in the driveway, so they couldn’t come in and tell a different story.

As I waited in the driveway, a car pulled up and stopped in front of my house.  It was not Lisa and Monica, however; it was some guy in his 40s.  The light was on inside his car, and his window was down, and he was just sitting there, staring into space.  So I went close enough to his car to be able to call to him, but keeping my distance just the same.

“Can I help you?” I called.

There was no answer.  The guy continued to sit, staring between me and…some random point in space.  He looked like he may have been out of his mind.  I backed up ever so slightly.

“Are you lost?” I said.

Still no answer.  More of the creepy staring.  He definitely looked lost.

“Do you need directions to someplace?” I said.

More creepy staring.  I was very creeped out.  But that feeling did not compare to how I felt after what happened next.

He turned towards me, stared at my face, and said, in a low voice, “Do you know Ginny?”

What crossed my mind here was that something paranormal was taking place.  Perhaps I was being abducted by aliens.  Maybe I was suddenly in another dimension where I did not exist, but this man was a dimension-hopper or something who had heard of me before.  Possibly he was sent to deliver a message to me from the future.  This is how my mind works.

But before too many seconds had passed, I did have the presence of mind to remember that there is a young girl down the street named Ginny, for whom I have babysat before, and that this man, who suddenly looks slightly familiar, might actually be her father.

So I said, “Well…I know her, but not very well.”

Again, he stared into space, still looking lost.  It eventually came out that Ginny (the other Ginny) was not at home and that he had been driving around looking for her.  I said I hadn’t seen anything, but I would of course let them know if I did.

“And what is your name?” he said.

“I’m Ginny.”

He looked lost again momentarily.

“I’m Ginny…[Brother]’s sister,” I said.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, before saying thanks and driving home.

A few minutes later, Monica and Lisa liberated me from my Driveway of Creepy Lost People, and we headed to Ruby Tuesday.

Although The Bad Date gave up and hasn’t called in many months, I feel no reserves about making him the subject of a stalking venture, because…well, you remember.

We arrived at Ruby Tuesday, which was closing at midnight, at about midnight, which meant we had somewhere between thirty minutes and an hour to wait.  During this time, we watched what may have been a drug deal, or at least, what might have been, if those two guys hadn’t been painfully aware of us driving around awkwardly and staring at them.  They stared at us right back, pointing and obviously talking about us.  Both sides were very confused as to the motives of the other.

His car was there; we recognized it and the license plate.  And we had the perfect stakeout position at the gas station next door.  First of all, there is no exit from Ruby Tuesday, which meant he would have to drive through the gas station.  But there was a row of shrubbery between the restaurant and the Gate, with one small opening, directly between his car and our spot.  So we had a clear view, but he did not.  And besides that, we had a completely different car this time (Monica was driving), and as it had been several months, he likely was not expecting to be followed again.

After about forty-five minutes, he appeared at his car, and the excitement really began.

I shall post Part 2 later.

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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.

“YOU CAN’T PROMISE SOMEONE YOU’RE GOING TO USE THE COMPUTER AT 3!  IT ISN’T YOUR COMPUTER!  IT’S EVERYONE’S!  AND I’M USING IT!”

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?”

“I WAS DOWNLOADING SOMETHING!”

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

“THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

“I agree; it isn’t fair.”

“GET OFF; I WANT IT!”

“Sorry.”

“THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

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

“I HAVE TO CHECK MY STUFF!”

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

“I HAVE TO CHECK IT NOW!”

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.

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.

The Evils of Caffeine

I don’t like frappuccinos.  I never have and I never will.  If I ever say anything mad like I am going to try to like a frappuccino, or I am craving a frappuccino, smack me.

I had an Irish creme frappuccino yesterday.  I then hopped into Kristen’s truck for about a half-hour ride through stop-and-go traffic.  This combination made me very ill indeed.

We were headed to the Marriott, location of our senior prom and where Kristen now works as a waitress.  Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline” was playing on Kristen’s CD, and we were both singing along.  When the song was over, I realized that I felt somewhat better, and I said, “I don’t know if it’s a result of the controlled oxygen intake, the distraction, or if this song just has some healing properties, but it’s keeping me from vomiting in your car.  Keep playing it.”

We listened to “Sweet Caroline” about twenty times yesterday, and it actually was helping, except that each time I was starting to feel slightly better, we had to get out.

When we arrived at Marriott, Kristen parked her huge red truck on a slope so that my side was much higher than hers was.  Both of us were afraid the truck was going to roll over, but we left it.

Once inside, Kristen went to get her paycheck, and I walked to Starbucks where I informed the very nice girl behind the counter, “I never do this, but I’m feeling quite queasy, and wondered if I could just have some ice water?”

She obliged, and it helped, but only slightly.  I think “Sweet Caroline” actually helped more.

On the way back to the truck, I told Kristen that I would get in first, so she unlocked her door, paused, and said, “Oh, right” and tossed me the keys.  Somehow, clumsy, uncoordinated me managed to catch them with one hand and get in.  Then, leaning over with my leg out so as to hold open my door, I handed them back to Kristen.  I inadvertently moved my leg and my door slammed shut, making both of us freeze.

The truck did not roll over, and we were back on the road, singing along to “Sweet Caroline” once again.

At Kristen’s apartment, I laid down flat on the floor and stared at the ceiling as her roommate got me three Advil.  Then I promptly threw up in Kristen’s bathroom and felt…only a little better.

I didn’t throw up again, but was out of commission for the rest of the day and unable to move my head.

I did finally tell Kristen that I thought I could handle a different song, so we turned on “I Believe In A Thing Called Love” by The Darkness.  At the line, “Touching you…touching me….” I said, “Hey!” and grinned at Kristen, who said, “What?” then caught on, and said, “Oh, no!”  (This will make sense if you know the lyrics to “Sweet Caroline”, which we were naturally quite sick of by that time.)

I am giving up caffeine, by the way, which I actually knew before I had the frappucino.  That was to be my last encounter with it, because it isn’t good with my birth control.  But it apparently is not good for me, period.  I think I’ll stay away from caffeine for the rest of my life after that incident.  Totally not necessary for me.  I can still slightly feel the effects of it from yesterday.

Later I was lying on my mom’s bed facing her as she spoke to various people on her cell phone.  That was when I had the bizarre, detached notion that this was one of those moments that I would miss, many, many years from now when my parents aren’t around and these moments can no longer take place.  I immediately hugged her and laid my head down on her stomach, crying a bit but able to hide the fact because my eyes were already watering from the MigraStick she’d rubbed on my forehead.  It was so depressing–I remembered scenes from Our Town and Peggy Sue Got Married, where people are reunited with their parents, who had passed on before, and I felt distinctly like I was looking at the past even as I lived it.

Then later I spoke to The Mormon, who was all, “The men on my mom’s side have a long history of only living to 65 or 72” and he was basically telling me, in not so many words, that I will be left alone when I am 65, and I had to try very, very hard not to cry again.  Because I will likely live to about 85, and that’s like 20 years that I would have to go without him, whereas I find it difficult now to go a week without him.  That’s like 1,000 weeks.  And off and on all night long I kept thinking things like this and having to wipe my eyes on my hands and my shirt, and…I love him and I don’t want to be left without him when I’m 65!  Why can’t he stop smoking?  I know this is far, far in the future and all, but I couldn’t stop thinking it, and I was freaking out over and over again!

How do I keep my mind off of shit like this?  He just basically told me that because of genetics, he’s almost definitely going to die in like 45 years.  That is not a long time!  How do I not think about it!?

In somewhat happier news, if you ignore all of the above, I really, really love him, and he really, really loves me, and we’re both convinced we want to be with each other forever.  So…yay us.

But can somebody please attempt to turn off my macabre side and make me feel better?

Diagnucleosis

Some of this is old because I started writing it like two weeks ago and just haven’t felt like posting, so I’ll begin with that before I get to the current stuff….

While sitting here at the computer, I found a little list in my mom’s handwriting entitled, “[Sister]’s Prom”.  It has prices on it.  Apparently, these are all the amounts of money my parents spent on Psychobrat’s prom and expect to one day get back.  I am copying it here for your viewing pleasure.

dress – 252.00
nails – 53.00
hair – 60.00
make up – 44.00
Frederick’s of Hollywood – 64.20
purse – 17.12
trying to keep a spoiled brat happy for life – priceless  (Okay, I just threw that bit in there.)

total – $490.00

Now my main question is this:  What exactly did she get from Frederick’s of Hollywood that cost her more than everything else but the dress?  Perhaps more to the point, what did my parents purchase for her?  Be pondering that one; I sure am.

The Mormon and I watched Silent Hill, and every bit of it felt like one of my nightmares.   When I told The Mormon this, he said, “Wow…those must be some nightmares.”

I said, “Well, you know how my dreams go.  So when they’re bad…they’re bad.”

We were discussing the ending, and I said, “You see?  That’s exactly what I thought happened to me that night I took the wrong turn leaving your house.”

I have a few quotes that must be preserved.  The first is from the other night [now two weeks ago] at Jacksonville Alehouse, when Dennis was griping that neither Adrianna nor I had worn our glasses, and how much he generally liked putting glasses on:  “Maryann’s glasses are a kaleidoscope of truth.”

The following is the answer to the question, “What’s up?”, courtesy of Greg K-C at work:

“A perpendicular asymptotic plane to a parallel tangent plane to one point on the earth.  In other words, up to me is different than up to you.”

Being horrible at math, I have only the vaguest notion of what the above words mean.

These are a little older, from when Nicole and I were house-sitting.

First of all, I’d told Nicole that I had taken the house key to work with me one time in case we got locked out, but how I’d forgotten to first unlock the screen door, so it wouldn’t have done us any good anyway.

“That’s classic!” Nicole said.

“I’m a classy kind of gal,” I said.

“That’s a quote,” Nicole said.

And the other was from the night before, when we were trying to find something to go to sleep to, and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was playing.  There was some girl who looked vaguely familiar, and Nicole said, “At first I thought that was Sarah Michelle Gellar.”

I replied, “She does resemble her a bit.  That girl is like a Monet–if you squint, she’s Sarah Michelle Gellar.”

As it was, at that point, a little after 3 a.m., Nicole and I both found this comment insanely funny.

Now on with the current stuff.  I’ve been sick.  It started when we all went out to dinner to celebrate with some of our co-workers who were leaving.  Normally I’m too much of a germaphobe to eat after anyone, but that night I thought, ‘Eh…what the hell…they’re my friends!’

Well.  Adrianna is still getting over mono.  And that night we went to the Town Center after dinner, and I collapsed right in the middle of it.  We were just walking and then suddenly I felt like I couldn’t stand up anymore and I had to sit down in front of a store window and I thought they were going to have to carry me back to my car.

After eleven days of a sore throat, I finally went to the doctor for a mono diagnosis.

 

It perfectly explains why, when Nicole and I were house-sitting, I was having chills and was so sore and tired I could hardly move to even take a shower.  I will probably experience this lovely sensation many more times over the next month or however long it takes.  When my symptoms are finally gone (this usually lasts anywhere between two and six weeks), I could continue to experience bouts of this for months to come.  It is also advised that I get no exercise for the next few months, either, because the threat of rupturing my spleen and killing myself continues after the disease becomes dormant.  So there goes my whole get-physically-fit plan that I’d been all gung-ho about.

The only two times I remember somebody I know having mono:  This girl in fourth grade who missed six weeks of school, and another girl in high school who missed a month.

There goes the last break The Mormon and I were going to have together until next summer.

 

Situationally Ironic Jealousy

As I am determined not to get screwed over once again, I have just gotten through browsing the class schedules and making a list of all the classes that are available in my time slots.  There’s plenty–I should have no trouble registering for classes for this summer or autumn.  I also intend to know the registration dates for the duration of my time at UNF well in advance.

Of course, I don’t think there’s financial aid over the summer, so I will probably only be taking two or three classes, but it’s okay, because I’ll launch back into my normal four-classes-per-term come autumn.

Oh, one more thing, I suppose:  Milo is jealous of The Mormon.

Cortney told me when we were in Orlando that Milo, after having met The Mormon twice, declared that he doesn’t think he’s a very nice guy and he just doesn’t like him.

May I point out that, of the two times they had met, the first time they talked for about twenty minutes and were actually getting along quite well, and the second time, he saw The Mormon for about two minutes, one of which was spent kissing me.

So, with this knowledge, I finally remembered to tell Katie a couple weeks later–a couple weeks later, mind you–that Milo is jealous of The Mormon.

Katie said, “Oh, yeah, I spoke to him about two nights ago.”

“Did he mention it?” I said.

“Yeah, he said he met The Mormon and just wasn’t impressed by him.  He said, ‘I don’t see what’s so special about him.'”

That statement more than anything else gives it away.  And the fact that he’s still concerned about it two or three weeks later.

I think this is just about perfect.

Psychobrat and Spidermonkey are going to the prom tonight, so they aren’t in school today and will probably be coming in and out all day long.  Blah.

Oh, we have ice cream tomorrow at work.  Not looking forward to that one, but hopefully it’ll be rather slow.

I think that’s everything….