A Thunderdome

I have a story that’s about a week old, but I’m going to include it now because it was funny.  When we were headed to the Mormon church for somebody’s wedding reception last week, I was asking The Mormon all these questions, like is a Mormon church called a church, and do Mormons consider themselves Christians?  Because I really didn’t know.

When we walked in the door, I saw a painting of Jesus and suddenly remembered that it’s only called “the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints”.  Duh.  I shared this enlightenment with The Mormon, who said, “Yeah, when you asked me, I was seriously considering telling you it’s called a thunderdome.  But then I had visions of you going up to somebody and saying, ‘You have such a lovely thunderdome!’ and…I couldn’t do it.”

I’ve been keeping my mom up to date on all the Personal Ad stuff, and last night I told her my latest plan–the one to forget his name–and she looked shocked and said, “You would hurt somebody like that?”

I was flabbergasted and didn’t really know how to respond, and she said, “I just can’t believe you would knowingly hurt somebody.  It makes me sad.”

I was like, “Mom!  He’s a stalker!”  There are no rules here!  I’m trying to ward him off!  What does she want me to do, be polite?  Be friendly to this creep?  I’m sorry, but that isn’t going to happen.  I’ve no intention of encouraging the advances of someone who frightens me and most of my friends.


Personal Ad, etc.

Personal Ad finally spoke to me tonight.  I’d been waiting for it, and I knew when he hesitated in front of me that it was coming.  He didn’t order anything; he just stood there and stared at me.  So I braced myself and asked him what he wanted.

“Did you used to go to FSCJ?”

“Yeah, a couple years ago.”  Deliberately vague.

“South Campus?”



I kept my face, throughout it all, deliberately impassive.  I wasn’t giving anything away.  And I didn’t smile.

“Did you once take a journalism class?”

“Yeah, I did.”  I let my voice take on a slightly higher inflection, like I was a little bit confused.

There was a pause as he stared at me, probably waiting for me to recognize him.  I gave away absolutely nothing.

“Do you remember me?” he said.

This time I hesitated.  I even squinted a bit.  Then, “You look kind of familiar….”

“Colin?” he said.

I just stared.  I didn’t react to the name at all.

“The Harry Potter kid?” he said.

“…Oh, yeah….”  I expressed the slightest amount of disdain here, because I fully intend to go through my whole, “FUCK J. K. ROWLING!” speech later on.  I know he isn’t finished with me yet.

“Yeah…it’s good to see you!” he said.


“Well, I’ll see you around.”


Adrianna told me she’s reading T. H. White’s The Sword in the Stone, which I have never read but still intend to someday.

“I couldn’t finish it, Ginny,” she said.  “I had about two pages left, and I just couldn’t do it!”

“Why not?”

“Well, I get really attached to the characters, so when bad things happen to them, I just get so sad!”

“What was happening to them?”

“Guinevere cheated on Arthur!”

“…You didn’t know that?”

“No, I never knew that!”

“How could you not know that!?”

Apparently she had avoided all movies and any other form of lore because she’d wanted to read the books first.  Okay, that’s respectable, but still…how could you not know that Guinevere cheated on Arthur!?

I went to this crafts fair thing with my mom yesterday.  My mom had asked if either Psychobrat or I wanted to join her, and I knew Psychobrat wouldn’t–it isn’t the sort of thing either of us is particularly interested in.  But she’s my mom, and I was happy to do it for her.  I really felt bad, too, when she said, “I don’t have any friends, so I want my daughters to be my friends.”  That’s so sad.  My parents really haven’t made friends since we moved here.  I feel bad for them.  I mean, it was easy for us to make friends because of school, but all they’ve really been able to make are colleagues.

I felt worse when we started talking about The Mormon and my mom said she was afraid to talk to him after I made “that comment”.

“What comment?” I said.  I really had no idea.  Apparently, at my birthday, my mom started asking him about himself, and I said, “Oh, here we go,” or something like that.  Seriously, I didn’t remember it, but I’d never be rude to my mom.  Never!  I must have been joking or something, you know, like because that’s so stereotypical, the parents wanting to interrogate the significant other.  I mean, he didn’t care, and neither did I; I was only joking!  But my mom took me seriously.  I felt really bad when I found that out.  And I don’t think I managed to convince her that I wasn’t serious about it.

The Mormon and I agreed we need to get our parents together for dinner or something, just so they can meet each other.  I’m a bit nervous about that.  It could go wrong in so many ways.  But it does have to happen at some point.

Yesterday I was with him and his family at the mall, in the Build-A-Bear store (for his little cousin).  And his mom pointed to a bear with little boots and said, “Alan, you used to have some of those.”

He turned, but didn’t respond (verbally, at least).  She was grinning.  “Remember your little Howdy Doody costume?”

“Howdy Doody costume?” I said.

“Remember, Alan, with your little jeans and your flannel shirt and your cowboy hat?”

He had his arm around me, and at that point he said, “Okay, we’re going outside now,” and started pulling me away.

“I’m going to be hearing about this again, aren’t I?” he said.

“It’s going in the blog,” I said.

“Damn it!”

“So are there pictures of this Howdy Doody costume?”

“No,” he said quickly.  “I am absolutely certain there are no pictures of that.”

“I’m going to ask your mom,” I said, and pulled us back the other way.

“Are there pictures of the Howdy Doody costume?” I said to his mom.

“Oh, yeah!  Yes, there are pictures,” she said.

I grinned up at The Mormon.  “You’re blushing,” I said.  He was, too.

“Mom, you don’t know what you’re doing to me here!  She’s already got enough information for an entire blog post!”

His mom was laughing.  So was I.

I finally finished Gulliver’s Travels.  It was okay.  At first it was really good, but then it got repetitive, and after a while it was just him going to different places and learning the same thing over and over again, and returning home and having to reacclimate himself to it, and completely abandoning his wife and family time and again.  It would have been good if it had just been shorter, I think.  Up next is Wuthering Heights.

So jury duty tomorrow morning.  I’ll write about that when it’s over.

Birthday Presents, Embarrassing Baby Stories, and the Best Friends in the World

My mom put plastic sheets down at the bottom of the birdcage, so now every time the bird gets hyper, we hear her pattering madly across the bottom.  It’s quite amusing.

The Mormon totally loved his Sifl and Olly, which were constructed mostly by Cortney and a bit by Mommy Mitchell and an even smaller bit by myself.  I’d really built up the surprise, so it’s a good thing he liked them.  He peered into the bag, and then the most shocked expression came over his face as he pulled them out, saying, “Oh my God!”

“I take it you do know what they are,” I said.

“It’s Sifl and Olly!  How could you have thought I wouldn’t recognize these!?”

“Well,” I said (and I’d already explained that Cortney had really done most of the construction on them), “I thought that I was going to be doing a bit more of the actual construction; it would have turned out…differently…if I had.”

And then he ran out of the room to show it all off to everybody.  Nobody really quite got it.  But he was excited, and that’s the important thing.

When I told Adrianna this story later, she said, “Oh my gosh, that’s so cute!  He’s so cute when he’s excited.  And he always says it just like that, too, with that exact tonality–‘oh, my God!’–it’s so funny!  I wish we had a video just of him getting excited.”

And I was completely amused at that, especially at the fact that Adrianna actually does a really good impression of The Mormon getting excited.

So I was finally able to tell him all the stories that went into collecting the ingredients for his birthday presents.  Like having to deface the little stuffed dog for Olly’s nose (I had to cut into this little stuffed animal with a pair of scissors–Mommy Mitchell fixed it, though, when I was through with it).  And all of the strange ingredients I had told him about that went into Sifl and Olly did, as I’d promised they would, make perfect sense.

There was a bunch of family over at The Mormon’s house for his birthday party, and at dinner (after they’d shown me his naked baby photos), they told me about his Johnny Jump-Up, which is this thing that hangs from the ceiling, and babies sit in it and bounce.  They were telling me how much he loved that thing, and how he’d sometimes bounce so high that his feet would come off the floor, and then he’d spin around.  I laughed so very hard, and while he gave me this…look…he also then laughed and put his arm around me.  And later when we were lying down, just talking, I started giggling, and he said, “What?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“This is about the Johnny Jump-Up, isn’t it?”


“This story is going to appear on the blog, isn’t it?”

I could only laugh in response to that, and to his musings that he would probably be hearing about it from Katie the next time he saw her.

I told him I had this mental image of Brother in his own Johnny Jump-Up when he was a baby, wearing naught but a diaper and bouncing happily, and that I had just superimposed the image of his face onto that. Heee.

So I got to hang with The Mormon, and that was a very good day, and sadly, the last weekend we will likely have for quite a while.  And then at the end of the day, I went to the Mitchells’ to see my two very bestest friends in the entire world, Cortney and Nicole, and I was in such a good mood that day.  You couldn’t ask for better friends than them.  I think every time I see them, I love them more.  They’re seriously just like sisters to me.  Whenever the three of us are together, it reminds me of family get-togethers (which The Mormon now longs to be invited to to hear my baby stories) with my mom and her sisters.  Like sisters.  That’s the best way to describe it.

I’m going to go eat lunch before I go into work.

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.

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.

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.