The Butcher is out on a date with a girl he met at Mr. Roboto’s party last week. No, wait, he’s walking back in the door. He’s grabbing his bowling ball. He’s getting his bowling shoes. He’s walking back out the door. “I’ll throw this in the trunk just in case.” In case his date turns out to be a fifty year old man.*
Whatever. Mr. Roboto predicted this (the hook-up, not the bowling). He is all-wise.
I’m trying to recover from my tough afternoon of sitting on the back porch reading about female Irish revolutionaries. It sure was hard work letting the warm sun beat down on me while the wind blew wisps of my hair loose. The dog baked in the sun and once we were sufficiently warm and well-educated, we came back inside and sent snarky emails to the Professor, who is working under a deadline and so must have an inbox full of fun things to read when she needs a break.
I just got off the phone with Shug, who told me that the guy who stalked me in high school has hit hard times and got divorced and moved back in with his parents. If I wasn’t afraid of the karmic blowback, I’d be doing a gloating little dance to David Banner.
Once, he (the stalker, not David Banner) threw me into my locker for talking to the guy who had a locker next to me. I was relieved to have the bruises on my back and the knot on my head. It showed he meant me harm in a way nothing I said ever could. Not that it mattered. I was still “provoking” him, but it mattered to me. To me, it meant I wasn’t misreading the situation.
Wow, this is totally the post of live-blogging. I just got off the phone with my nephew! Who is at my dad’s! He’s playing with a balloon. Who knows why his mom is back in town? Perhaps there are drugs to be run. Crack to be whored. Realities to be broken from. Who can say what her agenda is?
But that darling boy is, at least for the next couple of days, in a warm and safe place where he can have a bath and play with Grandpa.
Y’all I really hate my sister-in-law. Before I had a sister-in-law, I thought that people who hated their in-laws were just not trying hard enough to be charitable to people different from themselves.
To everyone who may have been a recipient of my sanctimonious bullshit, I apologize. Some in-laws just suck.
If I had to make a list of everyone I hated (if we made the rule that I actually had to know them), it would be as follows:
1. My sister-in-law.
2. The guy who stalked me.
3. The head of a local non-profit who shall remain nameless for my own sake, but who really needs to be beat to death with a large vibrator while all his underlings watch.
4. The United Methodist Church.
That was the other news that my dad had–that, since the Church has completely fucked over his insurance, he will not be able to retire next year or the year after as the most current broken promise was, but will now have to stick around another five years.
He is, then, looking for another church to serve until he retires. When he leaves this church, they’ll be lowering the salary. Because lord knows Methodist ministers are so over-paid.
Dear United Methodist Church,
Wither you motherfuckers, like the fig tree empty of fruit for the people who serve you. Wither, wither, wither and die and I will dance naked in your empty buildings in a pagan ecstasy and spray paint “Matthew 21:18-22” across your doors.
Whew. I feel better now.
*This is my first time live-blogging. I hope it was sufficiently thrilling for you.