Saturday, January 17, 2004
A 20-year-old woman died in a one-car collision in Bridgewater, Mass., in November; according to police, she lost control of her car while talking on a cell phone and crashed into the Cingular Wireless store on Route 106.
God I love when bad things happen to stupid people.
I like to do that about once a week or so.
Keeps 'em on thier fucking toes...
Actually, fun anywhere, not just chatrooms.
Take the bank for instance.
Just stay away from the funeral home.
They'll take you serriously.
Friday, January 16, 2004
Those of you who know how I am about that car know that the waiting is not going by quickly.
This period of time marks the longest I have ever been away from my car, including even my most lengthy hospital stay, since college. And in those cases I knew that the car was at home and safe.
I've actually felt less anxiety than this before going into major surgery. You'll all be happy to know that I'm dealing with it well. I've gnawed my fingernails down to bloody stumps, I'm eating more than usual (Which is quite a feat), and I'm masturbating like a circus monkey. It's nice to see that SOMETHING hasn't changed.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Ordinarily I can't stand to be in the same room with the two of them for more than a half hour at a time, (after that my pulse goes for the goddamn land-speed record), but this day was different...
I was at thier mercy, as my car is in the shop again, so one of them had to drive me home. As they had driven all day to get home I decided to wait till the next day to leave. I just figured I'd sink into the hot tub, read a little more of my book (Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlen) and ignore the two of them screaming at one another. What could go wrong?
Well, the first problem is that the hot tub is in the master bathroom, and even though there is another bathroom, they have to have the 'good' bathroom open at all times. (Some of you may recall my post about not being able to take a shit in peace.) So, planning to hide in my old bedroom and read my book, I crept int the batroom to do what I needed to do for the evening, and get the hell out before they noticed I was in there.
It was there that I discovered what danger I was in.
I could hear annoyed footsteps coming up the hall. I knew one of them had discovered my violation of the sacred bathroom-temple. As I tossed a used q-tip into the trash and prepared to do my best Indiana Jones escape move I just happened to notice a tampon wrapper and a maxi-pad backing lying in the bottom of the can like a pair of crossbones.
I knew then that I was fucked.
The rest of the evening, as I'm sure you can imagine, was complete hell. I mean, they allways act like they hate one another, but this was madness.
Ever hear two people having a screaming argument over something and they're BOTH WRONG? The evening was a chain of these, though I didn't dare mention it. Any word from me, even a positive one, would mean that they might notice me again and decide that there was something I should be doing for them somewhere. No, the only course of action in these situations is to play dead.
Play dead... and pray for dawn...
Monday, January 12, 2004
By the way, if you're not one of the Monday night regulars, but you're reading this and you want to come hang out (and you're in the Parkersburg WV area) just e-mail me for directions.