Red Lobster, a Brother Remark, and a Milo Dream

Hung out with Lisa, Monica, and Gary last night, as a going-away dinner (sort of—only Gary really ate dinner) for Monica.  I had a really good time; I always do when I’m with them, we just rarely ever see each other.  So we chilled at Red Lobster and then went to walk around Walmart and had a lot of fun.

The rest of this is mostly going to be old stuff because I’ve been slacking on the updates.

First of all, I wanted to make note of something that Brother said the other day, because it was just…well, you’ll see.

He had a couple of friends over, and they were all doing that trick where you flick the card off your finger without moving the coin, and I finally said, “Okay, let me try it.”  I figured there was no way I was going to get it, and I was right, I didn’t, but what was cool was when Brother said, “Yeah, let Ginny try it; Ginny can do anything.”

Now contrast that with what Psychobrat used to tell me every single day behind closed doors:  that I was worthless, stupid, ugly, boring, that she couldn’t believe I had any friends at all, that the friends I had talked about me behind my back, that it made perfect sense to her why I had never had a boyfriend, and that I never would, and she didn’t understand my purpose in being.

“Ginny can do anything.”  No wonder Brother and I get along so much better.

I had a yet another dream about Milo.  I had gone to work as a journalist in this building that very much resembled a grocery store—one that I had seen in my dreams before.  There were even people walking in and out of it, like a woman holding a little girl by the hands.  People coming out with shopping carts.  But I don’t think it really looked like a grocery store inside; and besides that, everything was really dark, like the whole dream took place in the middle of the night.

Anyway, so I arrive to work at this place, as a replacement for Milo, it turns out.  (Not sure if I knew him in the dream or not.)  Milo was, tragically, dead, but probably by suicide.  Anyway, nobody was investigating it, which surprised me, because I thought it was all really mysterious, and I was convinced he had been murdered.  I decided to hunt down his murderer.  Everybody thought I was crazy, because he’d died the year before, it was all over, it had been handled.  But I didn’t care.

So then I get a note.  A clue, it seems, actually, left on my desk.  It’s to me specifically, and it’s a clue to find out just what happened to Milo.  (Don’t ask, I have no idea what it said.)  And I follow it, of course, and then I’m just finding more of these all over…and then it turns out that the clues have all been left by Milo–like, ahead of time, I guess.  Creepy.

Well in the end, I follow the clues all the way to another country (maybe several, but I definitely end up on the other side of an ocean), where I find…Milo.  Alive.  Turned out he’d set up the whole thing to find me—or, have me find him, rather.

It made so much more sense while I was sleeping, because then I had far more details.

Illogical Logic

Here’s a good, brief example of my dad’s impossible-to-argue-with-illogical-round-logic.

Last night, he was scolding everybody because all the lights were on in the house, all of them, and we’re broke as it is.

“It’s going to be the air conditioning or the lights, take your pick!”

I didn’t say anything.  See, everybody else in the house knows that I, who am very conscientious about saving money, am constantly walking around the house reminding people to turn off lights.  It’s the first thing I do every night when I come home—turn off the lights in the hallway, kitchen, and bathroom, and demand to know why they’re on when nobody is using them.  Every night, Psychobrat has some sort of smartass response about how I’m not paying the electric bills, so I shouldn’t worry about it, she can turn it off if she wants, turn it off myself, yada yada yada.  So yes, they all know.  Except my dad, who refuses to believe anything good of me, ever.

So he’s suggesting to Psychobrat that when she leaves the house in the mornings, she might think about turning off her television, radio, light, and fan, which are all always on all day.  (Not the ceiling fan; I mean my fan that she stole from my room.)

She said something like, “I like to leave them on so they’re already on when I get home.”

He said, “So you just let everything run all day long!?  You don’t come home until 10:00 at night!”

She said, “I like to have a light on when I get home!”

He said, “You could still turn stuff off!  You get home when it’s still light out!”

She gets home when it’s still light out…at 10:00 at night?  Um…okay.

I’m not sure if she responded to that or not, because that was the moment I chose to say, “I always turn all the lights out.  That’s all I ever do is turn lights out, turn televisions and radios off.”

He looked at me for the briefest of moments and then turned right back around to bitch at Psychobrat some more.  Hahaha.  It’s like, “Shut up, O Stupid Daughter, you’re not even worthy of an argument.”  I do, however, love that Psychobrat was getting the bitching instead of me.  I was on his side here, however illogical his logic.

Ah…good times.

A Rant in One Act

This is my one week off.  It’s the week when I can stay up until 5 or 6:00 in the morning reading and then sleep all day if I want to, and damn the consequences (because there aren’t any).  I should be able to enjoy this.

I should not be woken up at 11:15 by a call from Psychobrat asking me to please come by the high school with a pair of jeans for her.

Of course, being not entirely coherent, I didn’t realize at the time that I could say no, that there probably wasn’t that much pleading in her voice because Mom or Dad had told her to call me so they wouldn’t have to leave work, that it was probably there because she didn’t want to have to go to them.  No, I didn’t think about that.  At first.

As time went on, of course, and I tried to work out how I could sleep a little bit longer, I became more awake.

“And when do I have to be out there, exactly?”

“Like…now.”

“I can’t get there now.”

“Well how soon can you get here?”

“Whenever I can.  I’m sleeping.  I have the day off.”

“But I need you to be here now.”

A voice from the background.

“You can just bring them to the main off–”

“I have to go inside?  Well, of course I do, they won’t exactly let you walk out to the car to meet me.  Well that puts a whole new spin on things.  I’ve got to get dressed, I’ve got to get a shower–”

“No you don’t, you can just come in the way you are, it doesn’t matter.”

Basically, I had two options:  a) I could get up from my comfortable bed where I had been in the middle of a very pleasant dream about a certain person, drive all the way out to the school and back in the heat, when I’m trying to save on gas because everybody here is broke, and actually walk into the school, where I shall be treated very rudely because that’s just how they operate over there, if they even let me into the building in the first place….

Or b) I could let the selfish bitch suffer the consequences for being too damned stupid to care about the dress code on the second bloody day of school.

Right.  Option ‘b’ it is, then.  I went back to sleep.

Of course, I didn’t stay there for very long, in case she called my dad who would force me to go out there.  But as she was still waiting for my call (I’d asked what would happen if I didn’t show up, she’d said she would get I.S.S.P., I said I’d think about it, she said she’d pay me $10, I said if I showed up, I expected to be paid, she said she didn’t have the money on her, I said, “Right, see you later, then” and that’s when I hung up)…anyway, as she was still waiting for my call, I decided to call my mom first.  I explained the situation and asked if I was obligated to go out there.  She said no.  I went back to sleep for two minutes but by then was wide awake and had to get up, anyway.  Wonder what she’s doing now, if she’s still sitting there waiting for me to call or if they just went ahead and gave her I.S.S.P.  (Why is it called I.S.S.P., anyhow?  That makes no sense to me.  In Virginia it was I.S.S., because it’s “in-school suspension”.  When did “sus” and “pension” become two separate words?)

I never broke dress code, not once; I don’t know why she should have such a problem with it.  Everywhere she goes—school, soccer practice (where all the mothers on the team complain that her shorts are too short, but she doesn’t understand what the problem is)…no, I think it’s high time she understood.  At least take a pair of jeans herself if she knows she’s going to be stupid, so nobody else has to drive out there.  So effing selfish.  If it hadn’t been my day off, one of my parents would have had to take off from work to do it instead, but she wouldn’t care, because that’s how she is.

Fin.

Meat, Liver, and Chicken Paste

We had chicken and dumplings for dinner tonight.

All day long, I was under the impression that we would be having chicken livers and vegetables for dinner.  I was…a bit creeped out by the livers idea, and was just going to skip that and have a bagel or something.

But then I decided to interrogate my mom to find out just how different chicken livers are to the parts of the chicken we usually eat.  How were the flavors and textures different?  For that matter, what part of the chicken did we usually eat, anyway?

“Mom, what part of the chicken is the meat?”

“…It’s…the meat.  What do you mean?”

“Yeah, I know, but what part is it?  Is it muscle?”

“No, it’s not muscle.”

“Well, is it like liver?”

“Liver is an organ.”

“So meat doesn’t come from organs?”

“No.”

“Well, so what’s meat?  What exactly is a chicken leg?  I mean, it’s not muscle, and it’s not skin….”

“No…it’s meat.”

“But what is meat?  What is a chicken leg?  Is ‘meat’ the scientific term for it?”

“I don’t know what the scientific term is; but it’s just like with every other animal.  We always eat the meat—cows, chickens, sheep….”

“I know that, but what is the meat?  Do I have meat on me?  Is it attached to the skin?”  Here I attempted to pull the skin on my leg away from the bone and prodded around looking for the “meat”.

“Yes, you have meat, just a little bit.”

I knew I must; otherwise, what the hell do cannibals eat?

“But what is—[I interrupted myself and changed tactics]—if I showed you a picture of the human body, could you point out the meat?”

This question induced laughter from my mother, who never was able to explain the concept of meat.  So I decided to find out more about liver.

“It’s squishy,” she said, “and you can mash it up to make liverwurst.”

“That’s what liverwurst is?  Mashed liver?”

“What did you think it was?”

“I thought it was just some weird German word that randomly had the word ‘liver’ stuck to the beginning!  I didn’t know it was…mashed liver…yuck.  So it tastes different?”

“Yes, it tastes darker.”

“Is it really bloody?”

“No, it’s not bloody.”

“Is there any blood in it at all?”

“No blood.”

“Is it what McNuggets are made of?”

“No.”

“Are there bits of it in McNuggets?”

“Well, probably.”

“Does it have urine in it, or is that kidneys?”

“That’s the bladder.”

“Oh…right.  Well…I don’t think I want to eat any…chicken paste.”

So then, when everything was cooked at last, my mom went and got a bowl, and I looked grudgingly at her bowl and said, “All right, I’ll taste the chicken paste,” and she held out her fork so I could try it, and I said, “But it looks just like regular chicken!”

Turns out, it was regular chicken; my dad hadn’t cooked the liver yet.

A Potterish Dream

I got kicked out of my classes because I hadn’t paid for them yet…I really hope that check gets here soon, because otherwise I won’t be able to freaking pay for these, either.  I re-registered for three of them, but the philosophy class was full, so I replaced it with Western Civ. 1589-Present with the only teacher who ever made history interesting for me, so that’s cool.  Now I’m taking three of my favorite teachers again.  But I have to get them paid for!  My dad has been insisting since I graduated high school that I should just take a semester off and work, but…um…no.  I don’t want to do that.  If I start doing that, I’ll never finish.

Okay, so I had this dream.  We had just come from a Harry Potter party, and so we’re all in our Hogwarts stuff and everything, and then we go and get on a train.  And then Cort and Nicole sort of…fade away, so it’s just me on this train, in HP stuff, and I’m strolling around (and it seems like the train goes in more directions than just back and forth–like there were actual rooms and hallways like a building or something), and run into some young parents with a 2-year-old daughter named Hannah.  (I sadly cannot now remember her last name.)

Hannah’s got red hair and she’s wearing this long green dress, and she’s supposed to be dressed as “the baby Weasley,” who doesn’t actually exist.  And she’d won a costume contest and all.  So she was wearing a ribbon on her dress.

Anyway, so I ran into them and recognized them from the party (as it had just passed a few minutes before), and the parents acted all snobby and said they didn’t remember me, as the party had been two years before.  The train had gone through like a time warp or something.  Okay.

It was then that I decided to look out the windows.  There’s nothing there.  I mean…nothing.  We’re sort of  hurtling along through this black void—creepy stuff, I’m telling you.

So I’m walking around, and eventually I run into Jasper, who is the only person on the train not dressed in HP stuff.  Jasper’s got a lightsaber.  And I say, “Jasper!  Good to see a familiar face!” and he says, “Yeah…Andrew’s here, too, somewhere.”  So I’m like, “Oh, I’m going to go find him and invite him to tea in our compartment.”  (Tea?  I grow increasingly more British in my dreams all the time.  Not, of course, that I mind.)

But Jasper says, “No, wait!  He’s killing people.”

I stopped suddenly.  “He…what?”

Jasper explains, “He already killed this one whole family, and he’s looking for this little two-year-old named Hannah, and he wants to kill her, too.”

I said, “I know Hannah….”

So Jasper told me that I had to protect Hannah, and if it came down to it, I had to kill Andrew, too.

Okay.  So I ran.  And I didn’t stop running until I found Hannah and her parents.  Hannah’s just sitting in the middle of the floor reading a stack of little kid’s books—maybe not reading, she might have been coloring in them or something—and the parents looked at me and were kinda like, “You again?  Go away.”

I attempted to explain to them that somebody wanted to kill their daughter, but they started shouting at me, and they thought I was crazy, and they wanted to take Hannah away, and I refused.  I told them she had to stay with me.

And then I just happened to glance down at the end of the corridor, through the window at the door, and it’s all dark, but I can just barely see Andrew standing there, staring at Hannah.

So I picked her up, and the parents are shouting at me, and Andrew opens the door at the end, and I take out my wand and start running with Hannah, who’s just holding a couple of books, and I’m still in HP stuff so my robe’s all billowy behind me and stuff—LOL—and they’re still shouting, and he Avada Kedavra’d them, and he’s running after us, so finally we got to one compartment where there appeared to be a closet of sorts in the side, and I sort of threw her and her books in there and shouted, “Stay there; don’t come out!” and whirled around to face Andrew, wand ready…

…And my sister started banging on the front door like a crazed lunatic and woke me up.  Yes, I hate when these things happen, but, as I explained to Andrew, if I hadn’t woken up then, I probably would have killed him, and then I would have woken up all traumatized.

That’s all for now, I guess.  We’re really, really busy at work these days; I won’t be getting off in the evenings until probably around 10:30.

Oh…and my dad wants to impose time limits on the computer, because every time he comes home from work late, I’m on it.  Never mind the fact that Psychobrat is on it all day every day—it’s just that I have it for a couple of hours each night, and that pisses him off.

Oh yeah…and now we have to pay $380 for that car window my brother shot out, not just $250.  And I don’t know if we’re paying any damages on the other car he shot.  I didn’t really hear what happened with that except the guy driving it wanted to beat the crap out of my brother, and wouldn’t back off until the cop physically held him off.

Fun stuff.

FAMILY FEUD!

As I’m constantly stating, I miss updating this freaking thing every day.  I expect I’ll go back to regular updates when I’m back on a regular schedule in the fall, with classes that alternate every other day, and teachers I actually like, whom I know will make funny comments in class…yes, it will be fun.

Well, my awesome brother is, most unfortunately, sinking more and more into delinquency.  He was brought home in a cop car today.  And here I’d hoped that Psychobrat would be the only one in the family that would ever experience that.  (Alas, she is rubbing off, apparently.)  He and his friends got in trouble for throwing pool chairs in the pool (“vandalism”).  Well…okay, then.

But yeah, I don’t like his friends, and neither does anyone else in the family, and so he’s been grounded for three days.

Then, Psychobrat decided to open her mouth to inform my parents that they’re not harsh enough on him.

Instantly, Dad was in a blind rage.  “YEAH!?  WELL YOU TELL US HOW WE’RE SUPPOSED TO ENFORCE THAT, THEN!  TELL US HOW TO ENFORCE HIM NOT HAVING ANY FRIENDS OVER WHILE WE’RE BOTH AT WORK!  ENLIGHTEN US, O BRILLIANT ONE!”  (No, I added that last bit, but that was the effect.  Just with a lot of swearing.)

Of course, she had to bitch back.  As neither one of them can ever let anyone else have the last word, the arguing continued for a good while.  My mom tried to intervene by pointing out that she didn’t believe they were being harsh enough, either, with just the three days’ separation from friends, but he gave her the same reaction he gave Psychobrat, so after that, Mom and I both sat in complete silence on the couch, just taking it all in, too wise to say anything at all.  (I learned my lesson countless times in the past when I tried to point out that they could have been way harsher on Psychobrat for…well, everything.)  I don’t know what my mom was thinking, but I was partially trying not to laugh, and partially quite concerned about Brother and the loss of his coolness.

And then my dad disappeared into the bathroom, at which point, Brother reappeared from his room (he’d gone in there and slammed the door when someone had called his friends delinquents) and Psychobrat informed him that he was a “lying little shit”.

As he’d been just about to head back into his room himself (he’d merely come out to get a pen or something, I don’t know) he had nearly shut the door, when he swung it back open, stuck his head out, and said, “What did you say?”

She said, “You heard me!”

He stepped out completely this time.  “Oh, I’m a ‘shit’, am I?  A ‘lying little shit’, am I?”

“Yeah, you are!  A lying little shit.”

“I’m a shit.  Right.  And you’re just going to let her say this, Mom?”

Mom takes a sip of her wine and says nothing.

“Thanks, Mom.  Thanks a lot.”  He went back to his room, slamming the door behind him.  At this point, I really wanted to hug him, because I hate when she calls him names.  I hate it.  She can call me whatever the hell she wants, because I’m immune to it…but is he?

Dad re-emerged then, just in time to hear the door slam, and demanded to know what was going on now.  I can’t recall exactly, but somehow Psychobrat started bitching again, and he said something sarcastic about how they should ask her, because obviously she was the authority in the house, and she bitched back about how obviously her opinions didn’t matter and she would just keep them to herself from then on, and then it somehow became a huge argument about her birth control pills, and how that was a decision she’d made that my parents both disagreed with.

Psychobrat said, “I’m 16 now–” (“17,” Mom interrupted), “–17, and I think I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Are you old enough to accept the responsibilities, too!?” Dad demanded.

“WHAT responsibilities!?”

Then it was all about how my parents can’t stand picking up her pills for her, she should do it herself, and why can’t she pay for them herself (“WHEN I HAVE MONEY I WILL!”, Psychobrat said), and why can’t she drive there herself to pick them up (“BECAUSE YOU WON’T BUY ME A CAR!”, Psychobrat said).

There’s way more detail I’m leaving out, but it’s extremely late and that’s the bare necessities of it.  I ought to go to bed now.

Bird Stories (Or, The Coolness of Brother)

All the same people are in here every single day.

I’m in the library again (where else?).  Just got back from guidance, where they still had not even sent UCF my official transcript (I’d been in there three times asking them to).  This time, they actually gave me a form to fill out; they never did that before.  So maybe it’ll actually get sent in.

That said, I still haven’t decided between UNF or UCF or if I just want to stay at FCCJ for another semester and actually get my AA before I go to either one of them.  I’m dropping that class at the end of the summer, along with the claustrophobic history class I’m in now that I sleep through every day.  (Got an appointment with a guidance counselor tomorrow afternoon to figure out that mess.)

Hmm, what else is new….

I was in the middle of a dream yesterday morning that I was wandering the halls at Hogwarts; somebody (I believe Ron, though I’m not sure) had just made a comment about the size of the hallways–I don’t know exactly what he said.  And then we stepped into the Great Hall and just…stopped, and looked at it as though we’d never seen it before.  I was really taking in its massive size, and just turning my gaze to the ceiling to take in the outside sky, when from behind me I heard my mom say, “Ginny, there’s a boy on the phone for you.”

I opened my eyes, rolled over, and said, “Is it Milo?”

“No,” she said.

“Tell him I’ll call him back.”  And I went back to sleep.

Despite all of my protestations, my parents went out yesterday to get a bird.  (Brother went with them.)

They returned with a cage containing a cockatiel and a parakeet.  The parakeet, having come free with the cage, was to be Brother’s, and he had named it (we think it’s a him) Pepsi.

“To arms!” Psychobrat yelled.  (Well, no, that’s just what I was thinking when they announced that Pepsi belonged to Brother.)

“WHY DID HE GET A BIRD!?” Psychobrat yelled.  “I WANTED MY OWN BIRD TO PUT IN MY ROOM!”

My parents tried to calm her down by telling her that she’ll get her own bird later, when she goes along to pick it out.  (*cough*DUDLEY*cough*)

“Pepsi is a stupid name,” she told Brother.  “You can’t name it that.”

“He’s my bird!” Brother retorted.  “And Pepsi isn’t a stupid name; I like it.”

“I think Pepsi is a cool name!” I called from across the room.

After a 15-minute argument, during which time Psychobrat tried to convince Brother that he should name his bird Blueberry, she finally retreated to her room and was not heard from again for a while.

Brother came up to me to show me Pepsi up close, and I repeated, “I think Pepsi is a cool name.  Nobody has that name for a bird.”

“See, that’s what I thought!” he said.  Then, with a sly grin, “I came up with the name Pepsi while I was drinking a can of Coke.”

Returning the grin, I said, “Brother, that’s awesome.”

Then he gave me further evidence that my training has been working to some degree.  See, recently, I’ve been showing him all this Python stuff, and Brother’s gotten really into it.  And we got A Fish Called Wanda, which technically isn’t Python, but it’s got Michael and John in it (my two favorites)…so Brother told me that when he was at the flea market, looking at all the animals, he approached a tank of fish and greeted them (loudly), “Hello, K-K-K-Ken’s p-p-p-pets!”

I was rolling.  Brother is awesome.

A bit later on, Brother found the old birdcage from like 15 years ago and took out some of the old ladders and stuff to clean and put in his new cage, and Psychobrat’s radar blipped on and she stormed from her room, shouting, “YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT STUFF!  WHAT AM I GOING TO HAVE IF I EVER GET A BIRD!?”

I said, “If you ever get a bird?  He has a bird now.  We can get something else for you if you ever get your own bird.”

It actually shut her up.  I was pleased.

And that’s really all that’s new for the moment.