some would call me an ass.
2001-12-18 - 10:23 a.m.
Fifteen minutes. This has got to be some kind of record. The dictator (Step-mother) schedualed the meeting for 3:00.
3:47 Family actualy starts to show up.
3:50 Family restates the purpose of the meeting: to decorate the christmas tree.
3:51 Father suggests putting on some christmas music.
3:52 Proposal denied by Step-mother.
3:52 I second Father's suggestion, outvoting Step-mother and pushing the issue to the type of CD in question.
3:52 Pop in a CD, pop in another.
3:54 Step-sister files bankrupsy of the stomach, and suggests we go find a Burger King.
3:54 Sister declares that 'it's not fair!' but no one ever gets to find out what's not fair because...
3:54 Father takes some initiative and starts putting on the lights himself, because the meeting isn't going anywhere.
3:55 Step-mother blows up at Father for not including everyone in the decorating.
3:55 I use the excuse that my contact lense case needs to be put back in my room to temporarily excuse myself from the meeting.
4:00 I return to hear the sould of things being thrown in the dining room, in the direction of Father.
4:01 I ask what I missed.
4:01 Sister responds to my question with a prompt 'shut up'.
4:02 The Childhood Allience (TM) retreats to the upstairs, seperating into individual rooms. Meeting adjurned.
In the adult world, I have seen very little evidence of official dating, and more of 'varrying degrees of friendship'. It seems that you don't know that you're officially 'with' someone until (a) someone has a kid, (b) the two people-to-be-involved get drunk in Vagas (see reason a), or (c) two friends ahve nothing better to do than spite their parents and excute reasons a and/or b.
What I'd really like for Christmas: two dollars. From the Tooth Fairy. Last June (as I'm sure you all remember), I had my wisdom teeth extracted. These four teeth were thrown away by the medical doctors instead of being charitably donated to the pearly white castle of the Tooth Fairy's, where it should have been redeemed at a price of fifty cents each. So this year, I don't want my two front teeth...I just want compensation for the back four.
Monday: My Trip To Bangor. The original purpose of the trip was to get my permit for my driver's test the next day, but we managed to accomplish a great deal of other unimportant nothings while in town (maybe becasue I was driving). There was a hat. A funny little multi-coloured hat with three big 'fingers' that each ended in fuzzy balls. I wore The Hat into the Social Security offices to drop off the aplication for my replacement card, and recieved several compliments. Then we went to the DMV topick up the license, but I didn't have enough forms of identification to get it. If you asked me at the time why the lady-behind-the-counter typed it up for me anyway, I would have blamed it on The Hat and my apparent lack of knowledge about the current date (or my birth date, for that matter). After shopping at the Bangor mall for a while, and then Step-sister, her boyfriend, and I (called 'Wacked' by some stoned passers-by) walked over to the Staples (TM) parking lot, where we located several shopping carts that had 'strayed from the pack', and I smoked a dead (already-been-used) cigarette...'dude, this is so...flatt...and charred' before we hit the motherload...K-Mart. It strikes me as odd that some people aren't amused by these huge superstore chains. I got into a musical debate with someone who kept putting pop music under the little scanner thing...I insisted on hearing the Shrek (TM) soundtrack for the Eels. It took me forever to figure out that I wasin the debate by myself...the pop music was on the Shrek soundtrack. Afterward, I discovered an aeresol can of Suave (TM) in the ladies section, and spent the next hour or so humming mission impossible and jumping/running/dodging/sulking/sneaking/peeking around the store, seeking out my adversary. Unlike Lasertag, aeresol games are inexpensive and it's usually easier to decide on a winner...it's the one that's still left breathing. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to discover that there was no adversary, and that no one else wanted to play. This, I've decided, is what I need a girlfriend for. The last stop of the night was at a fabric store. Step-mother left me in charge of her purse while she went through every bit of ribbon in the store for use in a church/ballet/musical thing. The attendant kept inquiring about 'my' purse and the dance number that I was evidently part of. I wanted to strangle the cashier/store owner just because she had made the undue assumption that I was gay. I wasn't even wearing The Hat.
Logical proof that it's impossible to quanitify someone's intelligence or creativity...or logical processes, for that matter. There can be declared a gound point, from which there is 'zero' intelligence. We can then look at a single example, and give it an arbitrary number to conote it's intelligence...assuming to measure the remaining examples from the first. Contrarywise, we could assign them all from the zero point, but then the whole system would be arbitrary. The intelligence of the second example can be found by taking the second and subtracting from it the first, but there is really no way to tell how many 'steps' of intelligence there are between the two, and so the simple subtraction cannot be used...At best, we can only measure in highly non-precise units of 'retards'.
Fred: Hun, you've been wearing that sweater for two weeks straight.
Ginger: I have to...it covers up my curves...
Fred: What curves? You haven't even been pregnant three weeks yet! Look, I can't have my reputation ruined at work because all the guys think that my girlfriend doesn't ever change her clothes...
Ginger: Consider it as me helping everyone else to adjust to my new look-
Fred: You look the same dear. You can even ask The Kid...
Ginger: Why do you call him that? He has a name.
Fred: I call him that because that's what he is. Tell ya what, if we have a girl, I'll start calling him 'The Boy', how's that? But you can't hide in that sweater-
Ginger: And why not?
Fred: Because...there's something inside there, just 'dying' to get out.
Ginger: Screw you Peter, I'm not having an abortion!
Fred: Peter...? Who's Peter?
These are the things I think about when I'm under the covers with the lights off, and can't get to sleep because the parental units are having a yes-no fight down the hall about who asked who for sex three nights ago. They could 'so' be on their own Lifetime (TM) television show.
Tuesday: Failed my driver's test.
This failure has the potential to screw up everything. I really didn't want to work for the eyebrow bigots this summer...Then again, I'm really not a safe driver. It was first time driving in a snowstorm. The instructor wasn't in the mood for oldies music. I might have touched the curb or it might have been a clump of snow (I had never touched a curb with a car wheel until today). We got into an arguement about statement 'that light doesn't change in this lane'. Obviously, the light changes...it has to change for the person in the left lane to be able to go; it changes regardless of which lane you see it from. The instructor, however, was not so open-minded. Drove back to my driveway without a single mistake, and went just far enough to bump into the door of the garage. Tsktsk.
Later: A hard drive leads a shallow life. Things spin, static happens, and then you die. I thought I lost over $15,000 worth of software today. I thought I lost all my art, and all the writing that I've done since the age of five. I thought I had lost my life...at the speed of lightning through thin air. Thank Mitnick I'm still around.
