Cats Enjoy People Who Hate Them

My mom and dad just returned from a two week Hawaiian Island cruise on a Norwegian cruise ship with my dad's brother, my aunt and four other people. FUN! RIGHT?

So I drive down to Norman last night to see them, eat a much needed home cooked meal, watch trip video footage and collect my booty (souvenirs!). To my surprise, my mom and dad are giving one another the silent treatment and I can feel their bad attitudes in the air like a thick and miserable little rain cloud permeating their house.

UGH. What's worse than making the trip to the parental unit's headquarters and finding them mid-fight? Not a whole lot.

Apparently, after almost 30 years of marriage, they have discovered the following:

A) My mother is a bossy, critical control freak with uptight tendencies (dad's discovery)
B) My dad is impatient, drinks a lot of beer and has a difficult time controlling both his mouth and the volume of his voice (mom's discovery)

Really? It took a cruise through paradise to discover those things? Did they just meet? I guess I wasn't successful with my disclaimers to both of them separately before they left, despite my efforts. They are so predictable.

And they aren't being dramatic about it or anything...Nooooo. I still can't help but laugh. While visiting with my dad in his "corner" of the silent-yet-pissed-off emotional sparring match, he vented to me about mom's nitpicking his every move and obsessing over things from sunscreen down to the socks he wore:

"Are you wearing sunscreen? Where's the sunscreen? Do we need to get more sunscreen? I don't think you put on enough sunscreen...no, don't buy that, we have enough sunscreen on the ship. Why didn't you bring it? You're going to burn. I told you we should have brought it..."

*Yup. That's sounds about right. That's my mother. "Bruce, I want to introduce you to HIROKO...."

Mom recapped to me an incident where dad, my boisterous favorite uncle, Al, and his buddy Gary, were reprimanded on the ship deck one night after too many glasses of wine (Al and Gary) and Guiness beers (dad), for foul language and obnoxiously booming drunken conversation...throwing around "God Damn" this and "God damn" that, flavored with "F Bombs" and SHIT, HELL, etc...only to discover that they had been sitting at a table behind a group full of Catholic priests.

*Yup. That's my dad. "...and Hiroko, meet BRUCE."

I find that particular scenario to be hilarious, but my mom doesn't share our sense of humor.

What in the hell were Catholic priests doing sitting out on a ship deck, in the smoking area, after 1 a.m. with a bunch of Baby Booming men on vacation drinking?

Praying? Give me a break. Middle-aged people need to cut loose and go wild sometimes just as much as anyone else.

While watching an hour's worth of home movie footage (which, with my dad as camera man narrating things with the sarcasm and humor of the master cynical maestro he is, it was quite entertaining), I couldn't even tell they were bumping heads so much.

But when mom handed me an envelope of full of pictures that cruise ships bombard you with around every corner, at the end of every staircase, before, after and during dinner, at port, etc. (!!!!!!), I got my biggest kick of the night.

They only purchased three or four pictures, but the first one of the collection had my brother and I rolling:

You know couples always look so cheesy and almost scarily happy in those professional portrait pictures on cruise ships, right? My parents, in the first formal dinner picture, looked so obviously annoyed and pissed off at the world, with their forced, tight-lipped "smiles" in that moment that I could FEEL their bantering one another with their thoughts.

I know both of the expressions that were on their faces and they are quite frightening...they were wearing the "Stay the FUCK away from me faces" that all parents have when they've HAD IT.

~shudder~

I keep trying to tell them that in a week or two, when they have settled back into their home routines and have cooled off, they will look back at their bickering and laugh. They don't seem to think so, but their stubbornness only makes it funnier to me.

I suggested they frame the picture and put it on their mantle so that after they realize how much time they wasted being pissed off, they might remember the fun stuff they did.

They weren't amused.

It's amazing the kinds of things that you can learn from your parents without them even trying to teach you anything...

Posted by Meika at 8:45 AM    

Oh, MSNBC. Sometimes I applaud you for your articles and sometimes I want to spank your bottom with a rice paddle for being so unoriginal and lazy (but I think you might like it too much).

I just read two separate "he said, she said" husband/wife "Bill of Rights" articles (links to them are at the bottom of this blog), and I must say, pretty disappointed. You got two writers to regurgitate the same old husband/wife stereotypes that have plagued American culture for far too long.

Shame on you. While it might appear at first to be clever and witty, those articles fail to do anything but pigeonhole the same old tired "PMS She-Devil naggy wife" and "lazy, slobby, piggish husband" song and dance that, in my opinion, are completely overgeneralizing and fail to give credit to married couples who don't fit into that niche. I feel sorry for the couples who do.

Even though some of the Amendments mentioned in the articles might be somewhat peppered with grains of truth here and there, I have to argue the following points to the following Amendments:

Husband's Bill of Rights:

AMENDMENT I:"We have the right to go out with our buddies at least once a month."
Let's be fair. All wives are not complete naggish shrews who keep their husbands on a short leash. Now, it shouldn't get ridiculous and out of control (A.K.A. husband spending too many nights a week gambling with buddies until 3, 4, 5 a.m.), but no husband or wife should have to ask permission to hang out with their friends nor should they have to put a limit on how often they can do it. Guy time, like girl time, is HEALTHY when utilized within reasonable means, but if your husband or wife is choosing to spend more time with friends than with you, you have a lot of other issues going on there that should probably be addressed. If the author of this article really has to take a stand and declare his freedom to do this and meekly request a meager once a month hang out session- as if he is LUCKY to see his buddies just one time in 30 days- he needs to find a new wife. Or maybe his wife needs to FIND A LIFE and some friends of her own.

AMENDMENT III: "We have the right to have a few things of ours in the house."
Again. The naggish shrew thing. Yes, husbands. It's your house too. Have some fucking balls and keep your important shit in your house if you want it there. If it's that important, fight for it...if your wife loves you, and you make that big of a stink about it, she will understand. If not, again. You need a new wife. I personally wouldn't mind having a framed ACDC poster in my living room, but that's me. A cow skull, not so much. But stuff like that, that doesn't get the "ok," need not be banished to a garage or basement. Try a neutral room, like the study. Wives can put all of the girlie shit that you won't "ok" in there with it to keep it company. DONE.

AMENDMENT V: "We have the right to teach our sons how to burp and fart."

Really? Is it really necessary to teach a human being how to fart and burp? Won't they just kind of naturally pick up on those bodily functions? Husbands and wives both fart and burp, and the thing that the kid needs to be taught is how to do both in a way that doesn't make him THAT kid at school- you know, the obnoxious stinky one. I can't imagine why any man would voluntarily and purposely make his son THAT guy, and I can't imagine any woman not understanding that a dad letting one fly occasionally to make his kids laugh IS FUNNY. This doesn't mean that a man needs to declare to the world, "I have the RIGHT to teach my son how to fart and burp," but more so, "Hey wife. It happens and it makes them laugh. Deal with it. You fart too and it's equally funny to all of us. Get over it."

AMENDMENT VIII:
"We have the right to watch the big game."

Yes. Yes you do. Some of us wives might not be huge sports fans, (~ahem~cough, cough~) but give us a little credit. If we have decided to marry you, most of us understand and accept the fact that we also married your love of sport, or music, or poker, or art or whatever the "other girl" is in your life. I call a man's passion outside of his woman the "other girl" in his life, since she is the bitch we must compete with for your attention from time to time. Just make sure that we remain number one. No self-respecting woman will play second fiddle to anything in her marriage, but she shouldn't expect her husband to give up the things that he loves just because he's married. Why would a wife want her man to discard the things about him that made her love him in the first place? I don't think that men are deep by nature and they sometimes need a reminder that they might be slipping in the attention department. Because they are busy watching the game. That doesn't mean that they don't care though.

AMENDMENT IX:"We have the right to the remote control when we are on the couch."
This one is funny. The man who wrote this obviously never had an older sister who had no problem going into full head to head combat over a remote control. No man has THE RIGHT to the remote control, and neither does any wife, or any PERSON for that matter. It's all about who wants it more and how much someone really really REALLY needs to watch something specific. Any man who declares his right to the remote the control is in desperate need of some discipline by his wife. I would imagine that most women are the ones who provide the evening meal. See how hubby likes it when he spends a few days fending for himself for dinner. He may have a kung fu grip on the remote, but an empty stomach does not a happy husband make.

Wife's Bill of Rights

AMENDMENT I: "We have the right to dislike your buddies."

Kind of. One or two particularly annoying husband buddies sometimes comes along with the territory and it's something we must accept. We don't have to like ALL of husband's friends, but let's not overgeneralize here. His friends are now your friends. Your friends are now his. Why live in a state of BITCH when they want to hang out with husband? Learn to share. Jesus. You like your husband, and SURPRISE! Other people do too! Would you rather be married to a loser with no friends that no one likes? What kind of uptight, stick up the ass, pretentious snotty wife does not want her husband's friends coming over to hang out and "drink beer and high five"? (seriously- did this writer really write that? SHE DID. See article. Fucking lame.). Perhaps the writer of this article is indeed an uptight, stick up the ass, pretentious snotty wife...or she is just a lazy writer and couldn't come up with something better. Regardless, wives don't want our husbands bitching and being an asshole when we bring our girlfriends around, so why would we do that to them? Buddy time makes husband happy, and happy husbands make wifey happy. The end.

AMENDMENT II: "We have the right to experience PMS in all of its glory."
?????? GLORY? I don't know what kind of period this chick has but there is nothing glorifying about menstruation. PERIOD (no pun in intended). What a cop out, to go the "period" route. Yes, women have periods. Yes, it's an on going cultural thing to make period jokes and make it an issue with men. Ha ha, tongue in cheek, typical bullshit.
Ha ha, tongue in cheek, typical bullshit. The entire world gets this already. I can't believe the writer wasted a perfectly good Amendment on an easy out like this. The PMS "experience" is something that goes completely unspoken and needs no declaration of freedom tagged onto it. It's nature. No woman should have to declare her right to experience it nor ever have to explain herself to anyone while she is experiencing it. I can't believe I have even wasted this much time discussing it. If a woman's husband ever has too big of a problem with any complaint or craving or mood swing or lack of motivation to anything but lay down, after committing himself to her, her period, and everything else that comes along with Aunt Flo (gross- I hate that term!) then that woman needs to school her husband on just how ugly period time can be if he can't shut his yap about it.

AMENDMENT VII: "We have the right to keep and bear tons of girlie bath products."
Newsflash, this just in- Not all women keep tons of girlie bath products in the bathroom. And not all wives piss away money on $15 bars of soap either (people DO this?). It may happen that girlie bath products accumulate, but I don't think we have a RIGHT to clutter the house full of shit we don't need. If a woman does have tons of stuff like that floating around the house serving no purpose in life, I wouldn't blame a man for getting annoyed with it. I would get annoyed with myself for having all of that crap. I DO get annoyed when too much of anything gets piled up serving no purpose in my house. My parents are pack rats, my mother in particular. My husband does it too and it drives me nuts. I don't want him collecting and keeping and bearing tons of junk in our house so I try not to do it either- this is when we get rid of things. Let it go...just let it go....

AMENDMENT IX: "We have the right to flirt."
Um, no we don't. Flirting is something that we leave at the alter, along with anything else that might voluntarily make another man believe for two seconds that they have a shot in hell of getting into our panties. Getting a "smokin' deal" on a purchase or not, not all of us prostitute our feminine qualities in order to get things in life. For the same reason we don't want our husbands flirting and giving a hot waitress the wrong idea for a free beer or bucket of wings or whatever, we do not have the right to flirt with strange men- strange men meaning ANYONE WHO IS NOT YOUR HUSBAND.

Those are just my opinions.

~Cheers!~

Wife's Bill of Rights.

Husband's Bill of Rights.

Posted by Meika at 8:23 AM    

All I can hear...I ME MINE I ME MINE I ME MINE....

My blog subject title is actually a lyric from one of my dad and I's favorite Beatles' songs:
"I ME MINE."

I guess that's just what's on my mind today- I mean, on I ME MINE MIND.

The Beatles really were geniuses- individually and combined. Sometimes when I hear their songs, especially a few in particular, I am moved to tears.

It takes a lot to do that to me. They are magic.

My dad and I went to see the BEATLEMANIA tribute band a year or two back. We wound up drinking so much that I think I forgot that I wasn't really at a Beatles' concert, and then when I realized that I would never get to see them, and that half of them are dead, I felt completely robbed and broken hearted.

I asked my dad if it was lame of me to love a band so much that it makes me cry, and he said, "If it is, then I'm lame too." We then shared a lovely father/daughter moment of fake Beatles' doing a pretty decent job of covering track 11 through "The End" of Abbey Road over cheap speedway beer.

My dad is an artist and a musician and a writer and a dreamer- one of those Baby Boomer dads who rocked the long hippie hair (until about 3 years ago) and taught himself to play the guitar, fronting garage bands as a teenager and aspiring to be a rock star from the age of 8 until now- at 52.

He never gave up that dream, even after getting sentenced to joining the military in lieu of jail time at 18 years old, and years of being chained to working a government job with the Post Office to support his family. To this day, when I go to my parents house, he is usually to be found in his studio, fiddling around with his instruments, eager to share with me his newest project: usually either a cover of a classic that he loves or an original piece he wrote about something that gets on his nerves or how much he hates the Post Office (those are always hilarious and sad at the same time, but I gotta love him for it) :)

He was in a band for his unit in the Air Force, which is how he met my mom- who saw him play one night while they were both stationed in England. Then, once we eventually moved to Norman in the early 80's, he used to play on Campus Corner and around the City with some buddies of his (he used to play at the Deli- isn't' that nuts?)

Since I was an itty bitty kid, he was always in his "man cave" (in the basement, formal livingroom, garage, etc. of the houses we lived in over the years) writing songs and smoking and drinking beer and "jamming" with his band buddies, or just pickin' on his guitar, solo-style...

You know how when you grow up, there is always a NICHE that your dad has, so that for every birthday and Christmas, as long as you get them something related to that central "theme," the gift should be a success?

For some dads it's OU or golf or other sport or sport team.

For my dad, it was the Beatles. Over the years, we've branched out to Zeppelin, the Stones, the Who, Sabbath, ACDC, Foghat, etc., but the Beatles is always a can't miss hit.

Dad used to play his guitar and sing to me, "Here Comes the Sun" when I was a little girl, and Dad and I danced to the Beatles' "All You Need is Love" at my wedding.

I am imagining that that is partially why my heart is so soft when it comes to the Fab Four...not just because everything they were/are (which I could rave on about forever, but will spare you), but because their music reminds me of just how COOL my pops is.

He's my rock star. He reminds me that, no matter how old you get, you can dream and dream and dream and never really grow old. He reminds me that, even though sometimes you have to conform in order to go through the required motions of life to maintain a lifestyle and necessity, you never have to conform who you are as a person. We love the Beatles, and everytime I am feeling blue, their music makes me happy. And a bit weepy, but in a fabulously joyful and awesome way.

Gotta cherish and savor those rare little things in life that actually move you to happy tears.

Posted by Meika at 1:57 PM    

Taylor and I had a very interesting conversation with the in-laws (his mom and step-dad) over cheddar biscuits and fishy things at Red Lobster last night.

Without getting into too much detail, since I really can't summarize our discussion of the infinite universe and human existence, I'll just say I had a small side of epiphany with my Mahi Mahi for dinner.

It's interesting to think that, as important as we humans believe ourselves to be- and how we tend to get so wrapped up in our own existence that we make ourselves the center of the universe- WE ARE NOT IMPORTANT. At all. In the big picture, we are all just individual bundles of energy bouncing off of one another, existing in a plane of "time" and "space" that we create with our own perceptions.

We might not even technically exist, but rather everyone and everything around us only seems to exists because our perceptions tell us that it all does...therefore, we don't actually exist at all until we come into contact with others in some way, shape or form, forcing them to recognize us into existing in their realities, and theirs into ours.

Perhaps the meaning of life is that there is no real purpose or meaning or significant outcome to shoot for. We're all simply existing and surviving, and human beings have created different religions and ideas of "GOD" a higher being to make our existence seem more interesting and meaningful so that we feel as if life has purpose- when it might not really have any at all.

A favorite quote of mine says: "There is an ancient Chinese Proverb out there that says exactly what you need it to." - Chinese Proverb.

We create all of these meaningful aspects of our existence to keep ourselves entertained somehow- all of the soapboxes we choose to stand on, the beliefs and morals that we stick to (or try to stick to most of the time I guess- humans are hypocritical creatures by nature), the personas we take on to project the senses of our being out to others so that we are perceived a certain way...it's all, at the core, just to entertain ourselves while we are here.

That's it. If we are all just energy, then it is possible to just BE without having to make some sort of "meaning of life" production out of our time on this planet. We humans are programmed to be so egotistical and narcissistic that we do whatever we can to convince ourselves that our existence is more important than it really is...even the ones who fight for all of these causes for the greater good...when it comes down to it, it all circles back around to the SELF in some way.

That being said, if we are all just sources of energy, attracting to ourselves the kind of energy that we send out into the infinite nothing, then life seems so much simpler and easy to control. It's not an old man with a beard holding a lightening bolt on a cloud in the sky controlling everything- we control everything in our existence by our own energy, and the world functioning around us is controlled by the combined energy of us all.

The energy we project from our mindsets can make things happen AND prevent things from happening...I think we all have magic genies in our minds that can grant our own wishes.

I think about all of the things I've ever truly wanted in my life- and I'm talking about things that I've wanted in my heart to the point of obsession- and I've gotten it all. I think of the things that I haven't gotten or haven't gotten as quickly as I've wanted it, or have yet to achieve or achieved and lost... and if I really think about my particular mindsets in those situations- those yearnings and desires mixed with subtle to extreme senses of doubt and fear and apprehension- I can see how I might have created my own negative outcomes.

The other stuff- the planning of the images of what I wanted in my mind for years- I lived into and made them tangible. I think this is because I wanted those things with such reckless abandon that I told myself that they were already mine to have, I just hadn't gotten my hands on them yet.

Knowing what you want and truly believing in who you want to be and living in the image of how you want your existence to exist- it's all about just channeling the right energy out into the nothingness to attract the right energy to back to you.

The two sayings, "Setting yourself up for failure" and "If you want it, here it is, come and get it" (thanks Beatles) can all be applied to energy, and to me, believing this makes life seem so much less complicated and stressful.

And now I've suddenly come down with a brain freeze-like headache from thinking so hard on an empty stomach.

Posted by Meika at 7:41 AM    

After months of protesting the upcoming 10-year anniversary of my graduating high school, I am a bit thrown aback to find that I have yet to receive an invitation to any reunion in the first place.

Apparently invitations are circulating, 45-minutes South in my hometown, and Jenny got one in the mail. She shared with JC and I some of the details of the event, such as Family Picnic Day.

BARF.

The reunion committee alone brings to me thoughts of contemplating slamming my hand in my car door. That seems less painful to me than having to mingle with those kinds of elitist high school jerk offs who embodied all of the retarded high school royalty stereotypes kids are forced to swallow through bad Hollywood cinema (think circa Molly Ringwald and "Pretty in Pink).

How can I boycott something that I am not even invited to? 10 years later and they never cease to irritate me. It's ironic really- and totally typical. But it makes for some fun writing- I must admit.

Perhaps as a senior, when I got suspended during my very last week of high school ever, I was actually expelled from the entire Norman Public School system completely.

Can they do that? If so, SWEET. That's the next best thing to staging a boycott.

I can't imagine why they wouldn't want me there. I mean, my girlfriends and I were outstanding examples of upstanding high school teen dream perfection. (bahahaaaaaa!)

*side note* JC and Jenny being the two remaining girls after 10 years of former "bfs" who dropped like flies over the years. Interesting how that works...time weeds out the, um, weeds???? :) Not just on my part...just to be fair, I'm sure I was also a weed to some of my formers as well.

Soooo. No invite. JC hasn't gotten one yet either. We like to laugh about it- wondering how the invite process works with stuff like that. Do people remember enough about us to figure we wouldn't come anyways? Or did too much bad behavior get us Ix-knayed by default?

Hmmm. Surely crafting a flavorful (I'm not saying tasteful) flier protesting against the Administration for trying to screw the Seniors out of our hard-earned right to raise hell on our final day couldn't possibly constitute a complete black ball situation now, could it?

Curiouser and curiouser...Perhaps it was the cartoon piggy illustrations of our top notch administrators and carefully articulated opinion concerning the matter at hand. I suppose they may not have appreciated the dozens of photocopies posted throughout North or the sidewalk chalk all over the parking lot.

Can't. Control. Pen...or any other tool used for channeling thoughts and opinions running wild in brain.

Seems much hasn't changed. I still wonder who it was who ratted me out. It had to have been a rat. I have a hard time believing that, without the help of some chicken shit informant, the Administration had a real lead to go by to get the hand writing analysis in the first place.

I am wondering also if there was even a hand writing analysis performed at all. Chances are some bitch that didn't like me probably got her rocks off by turning me in, and Principle what's-his-face had to pull some sort of "hard evidence" out of his ass to bust me to the extreme that he did.

Oh well. Sometimes you gotta take one for the team.

Nevertheless, I must express my gratitude to the chicken shit informant and Dr. Quinn, for providing me freebie final grades and a thoroughly enjoyed extended permanent vacation from that cleverly disguised prison! I thought of you fondly as I was floating drunk down the Illinois River with friends during those extra few days of freedom.

All of that authority-flexing on your end and I STILL got to walk at graduation. SUCKERS.

:)

Posted by Meika at 10:04 AM    

Dear Skinny Jeans,

I am forcing myself back into your life whether you like it or not. Even though I know that we are both not completely ready for one another yet, I have seen the error of my ways and I am giving you my word that I will do everything in my power to make you want to fit me into your life again.

I hope you forgive me for letting myself go and neglecting what it takes to make it work for us. Our relationship was like a lovely plant that I neglected because I got distracted by trivial things that aren't half as important as having you in my life- like holiday feasting by the metric ton and free for all dark beer consumption with no regards as to how that might have been affecting our relationship.

I put "us" on the back burner, and eventually traded you in for what was easy and more comfortable, rather than face the issues at hand. I got scared. The more clingy and needy you became, the more I wanted to distance myself from you and run away from our problems.

I am hoping that you will help guide and inspire me to be a more motivated person, because since we went our separate ways I just haven't felt like myself. After trying you on today and spending a few hours in you, I realized what all I threw away and what I've been missing. You bring out the best in me and I am the happiest when we are together!

I also realized that in order for us to re-establish our relationship it is going to take some time and effort on my part, but I am confident that I am now in a place to truly appreciate you.

I know it's kind of awkward and uncomfortable right now- OK- it's REALLY awkward and uncomfortable right now- but I don't blame you for resisting me.

Please don't give up on me, Skinny Jeans. I know we can make this work.

Sincerely,

Meika

Posted by Meika at 1:44 PM    

We ate at Bennigan's Irish Pub last night, and I must admit: Not a fan of the Bennigan's.

First of all, when a patron asks a waitress how a particular appetizer is, such as southwest eggrolls, why would the waitress stand there looking stupid and say, "Um, like, I couldn't tell you. I've never had them before. I have no idea."

????????

LIE to me! Tell me that they are the best damn southwest eggrolls you've ever had!

Jesus Christ.

Second of all, what kind of Irish pub offers a fish and chips entree, but mysteriously runs out of vinegar? RUNS OUT OF VINEGAR!? In an entire restaurant, how can there not be any vinegar to be found?

After my much anticipated basket of fish and chips arrives, I am asked if I need anything else.

"I would love some vinegar, that would be great," I say.

Our waitress returns five minutes later empty-handed.

"We're, like, out of vinegar," she says.

????????

"Really? You're out of vinegar?"

"Yeah."

"Completely out of vinegar. None to be had in this entire restaurant."

"Yeah."

I sit in silence looking at her, waiting for her to suggest a solution to this problem. She stands in silence looking bored.

So the waitress finally suggests balsamic vinegarette or ranch salad dressings for my fried fish.

?????????

Blasphemy. There is a very specific way to eat fish and chips, and it doesn't involve ranch or balsamic vinegarette salad dressing. You eat fish and chips with malt vinegar. That's like the law of the land.

Would a waitress trained in the know of steak eatery suggest to a patron that they try some ketchup on their fillet mignon? I think not.

I guess she never got the memo that vinegar is to fish and chips like ketchup is to french fries, or mustard is to hot dog, or spam is to fried rice (for those of you who don't know- oh yes. Spam makes fried rice out of this world. Haters.)

I am convinced that there was indeed vinegar back there somewhere but she was too lazy to go and find it. Because she was too busy going outside to talk to a friend who was smoking, or having a conversation with another waitress farting around in the back, or whatever else she had on her not-doing-shit-even-though-she-had-only-one-table agenda for the evening.

Refilling our drinks apparently wasn't on the agenda. It's always nice to have to walk your empty cup up to the bar for a refill, and passing by the window, you see your waitress outside chatting with a friend.

Taylor gets his Monte Cristo, and much to his dismay, it is more like a massive fried catastrophe with a hint of what used to be a ham sandwich in it somewhere.

The sandwich BURPED grease at him- seriously. It was a little grease hiccup, spewing a trickle of hazardous waste down the side, like a fat kid looking guilty with frosting slipping off of his chin after eating an entire cake to himself.

Taylor ate two or three bites and couldn't handle it. I swear he started to sweat grease. So he put it in a to-go box, wrote "GROSS" on it and left it sitting on the table with the generous tip we left the waitresses for her 5-Star services.

Posted by Meika at 6:56 AM    

A long-time friend of mine told me to fuck off today. Actually, I say a "long-time" friend when I should actually give him more credit than that.

He was one of my very best friends. Or was he? I am wondering now if we were ever really best friends in the first place. I am beginning to realize that for all of these years, I might have just been an emotional toilet for him to dump all of his fucked up neurosis in. Friends' issues that were once something you cared about can fast turn into fucked up neurosis when they choose to verbally abuse you and take for granted your patient ear and understanding.

There is only so much that one person can take- and I am not some blow up clown punching bag that can be knocked down over and over again, always coming back with a shit-eating grin on my face, happy and ready to take more.

A real friend wouldn't go out of their way to be a complete dickwad to you in public. Real friends don't yell that they "FUCKING HATE YOU" in public because, BOO HOO, you couldn't make it to an event of theirs.

Friday night at a birthday dinner, in front of a table of 20 or so people, which included someone's father and grandmother, this old friend of mine suddenly threw one of those alcohol-induced temper tantrums that you would expect to see on shows like "Intervention."

Where you can't decide if you are more embarrassed for that person because they are making themselves look like a complete and utter drunken asshole in public, or if you are more embarrassed for yourself to have been the one who brought that complete and utter drunken asshole to the party.

He wants me to fuck off because he is too big of a self-absorbed titty baby to understand, or even FATHOM, that- SURPRISE! The world does not revolve around him and he is not the center of the universe!

Two tears in a bucket. FUCK IT.

Posted by Meika at 2:37 PM