While yesterday I was beaming with pride, today was contemplating suicide.
Well, not THAT drastic... but I was sad.
Today was the hooding ceremony
and while yes, I was proud of my brother and I was cheering like a soccer mom, I also wanted to run out of there while sobbing violently.
These people are so damn smart... SO DAMN SMART. I feel like a huge dumbass and total waste of space.
Goddamn... I wasted my life... I wasted MY BRAIN!
Aside from that feeling of inadequacy, I've also been extremely frustrated.
My dad is such an ogre.
Ok, I'll explain it:
We're renting out my brother's friend's loft. The boy is a PhD student whose on vacation this week, so he rented the place out to us since it's very close to campus.
The guy, very kindly, told us we could use anything in the place, eat anything in the fridge... and just make ourselves at home.
Dad has taken that to a whole new level.
He's rummaging through this kid's fridge and pantry like a motherfucking ravenous bear goes through busy camping grounds. It's an atrocity.
Dad is going around eating Klondike bars like some shirtless hillbilly... strolling around the CARPETED AREA... where he drops chocolate scraps on the floor and doesn't bother to pick them up, so they melt onto the carpet.
It makes me CRINGE!
Dad also doesn't like tea... but what is he craving all of a sudden now that we're in this poor guy's apartment? The guy's tea! And I mean, it's ok to drink some of his tea and everything... but Dad has opened EVERY SINGLE BOX "bear-style." HE RIPS IT APART AND JUST SHOVES IT BACK IN THE CUPBOARD!
He's farting everywhere... and my dad's farts are no joke... NO, SERIOUSLY, they are NO JOKE. A man who has survived colon cancer AND a hemorrhoid operation releases gas that should not be inhaled without the protection of gas masks. He's fucking up this kid's furniture and covers.
I don't know what his problem is... he just refuses to use his brain... I don't know... but I'm really close to suffering a cerebral aneurysm from all this pent up anger and frustration.
Maybe I'm overreacting a bit... although my dad really is acting like a wild animal trapped in a closet.
But I MAY be a little more protective of this kid's belongings because I'm totally in love with him. Ha!
Based on his belongings... this homie is SO my soulmate.
First, his bookshelf:
There are more than FIVE books in there that are... they're deal-sealers with me. I'll leave them to your better judgement.
The DVDs in the shelf are also homeruns in my book (if you didn't like "The Lives of Others," I'm sorry, but we CAN'T be friends. If you own the DVD, will you marry me?!).
I was already vibing with this kid when I saw his PhD mug... then I saw the bookshelf and I was smitten... then I saw ONE book... and I was shocked. Totally in love with him:
This bro can't be real. He just can't be. There are really men out there like this? Holy shit!
I also checked out his spice rack (ha. Pun-y) and ALL of the spices he owns are like... PERFECT! Nutmeg, cardamom, turmeric, curry, all spice, cinnamon-- ground AND in sticks... I was damn near getting an orgasm each time I pulled out a new little jar.
AND HE HAD FAT-FREE FETA CHEESE in the fridge!
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU CAN'T BE REAL! Have you been reading my blog? Do you have a mic in my room? WHAT'S GOING ON?!
Even his appliances are fantastic. THE UTENSILS AND SPATULAS are perfect, for crying out loud.
He also likes the same tea I like (Celestial "True Blueberry").
We use the same conditioner (And no, he's not gay-- I asked).
And the artwork on his walls... ALL HIS, which he framed...
?!?
And he's Australian.
My Thunder From Down Under guy!!! Ahhhh!
I met him this morning when he dropped by the place to grab a few things he was missing (my money's on condoms and medication, because he quickly went to his bedroom and then bathroom, something that took him two minutes and then he was out) for his trip.
I was seriously debating on whether or not to greet him on bended-knee, ready to pop him the question right then and there. I was home alone... I could have done that... or you know, just raped him.
But no... I only opened the door with a smile, introduced myself, and allowed him to do his two minute thing while I removed the cat-hair (my little companion while in NYC was this funny black and white kitty that liked to play with me) from my clothes with my lint remover.
And no, that last part, I'm not joking. That's how it worked out.
I live in a fucking sitcom, I swear.
Well, not THAT drastic... but I was sad.
Today was the hooding ceremony
 |
| The shadow of a broken spirit. |
and while yes, I was proud of my brother and I was cheering like a soccer mom, I also wanted to run out of there while sobbing violently.
These people are so damn smart... SO DAMN SMART. I feel like a huge dumbass and total waste of space.
Goddamn... I wasted my life... I wasted MY BRAIN!
Aside from that feeling of inadequacy, I've also been extremely frustrated.
My dad is such an ogre.
Ok, I'll explain it:
We're renting out my brother's friend's loft. The boy is a PhD student whose on vacation this week, so he rented the place out to us since it's very close to campus.
The guy, very kindly, told us we could use anything in the place, eat anything in the fridge... and just make ourselves at home.
Dad has taken that to a whole new level.
He's rummaging through this kid's fridge and pantry like a motherfucking ravenous bear goes through busy camping grounds. It's an atrocity.
Dad is going around eating Klondike bars like some shirtless hillbilly... strolling around the CARPETED AREA... where he drops chocolate scraps on the floor and doesn't bother to pick them up, so they melt onto the carpet.
It makes me CRINGE!
Dad also doesn't like tea... but what is he craving all of a sudden now that we're in this poor guy's apartment? The guy's tea! And I mean, it's ok to drink some of his tea and everything... but Dad has opened EVERY SINGLE BOX "bear-style." HE RIPS IT APART AND JUST SHOVES IT BACK IN THE CUPBOARD!
He's farting everywhere... and my dad's farts are no joke... NO, SERIOUSLY, they are NO JOKE. A man who has survived colon cancer AND a hemorrhoid operation releases gas that should not be inhaled without the protection of gas masks. He's fucking up this kid's furniture and covers.
I don't know what his problem is... he just refuses to use his brain... I don't know... but I'm really close to suffering a cerebral aneurysm from all this pent up anger and frustration.
Maybe I'm overreacting a bit... although my dad really is acting like a wild animal trapped in a closet.
But I MAY be a little more protective of this kid's belongings because I'm totally in love with him. Ha!
Based on his belongings... this homie is SO my soulmate.
First, his bookshelf:
 |
| The key to my heart is in there. |
The DVDs in the shelf are also homeruns in my book (if you didn't like "The Lives of Others," I'm sorry, but we CAN'T be friends. If you own the DVD, will you marry me?!).
I was already vibing with this kid when I saw his PhD mug... then I saw the bookshelf and I was smitten... then I saw ONE book... and I was shocked. Totally in love with him:
 |
| I'm sorry, but now I HAVE to marry him. |
I also checked out his spice rack (ha. Pun-y) and ALL of the spices he owns are like... PERFECT! Nutmeg, cardamom, turmeric, curry, all spice, cinnamon-- ground AND in sticks... I was damn near getting an orgasm each time I pulled out a new little jar.
AND HE HAD FAT-FREE FETA CHEESE in the fridge!
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU CAN'T BE REAL! Have you been reading my blog? Do you have a mic in my room? WHAT'S GOING ON?!
Even his appliances are fantastic. THE UTENSILS AND SPATULAS are perfect, for crying out loud.
He also likes the same tea I like (Celestial "True Blueberry").
We use the same conditioner (And no, he's not gay-- I asked).
And the artwork on his walls... ALL HIS, which he framed...
?!?
And he's Australian.
My Thunder From Down Under guy!!! Ahhhh!
I met him this morning when he dropped by the place to grab a few things he was missing (my money's on condoms and medication, because he quickly went to his bedroom and then bathroom, something that took him two minutes and then he was out) for his trip.
I was seriously debating on whether or not to greet him on bended-knee, ready to pop him the question right then and there. I was home alone... I could have done that... or you know, just raped him.
But no... I only opened the door with a smile, introduced myself, and allowed him to do his two minute thing while I removed the cat-hair (my little companion while in NYC was this funny black and white kitty that liked to play with me) from my clothes with my lint remover.
And no, that last part, I'm not joking. That's how it worked out.
I live in a fucking sitcom, I swear.
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