Leap on

I've had four people wish me a happy birthday today.
Though I seriously was NOT born on Leap Day, it still made me smile-- each time.

I'm at a completely different place than I was last year.
I feel like such a tool saying that line... but it's true. I think about last year-- how it felt, how it looked-- and it has nothing to do with how I feel today.
I'm not ecstatic, or even happy... but I definitely do not feel lost, or worse yet, suicidal.
I'm ok. Totally fine.
But not fine enough to remain on social media to hear the congratulations from people who don't give a shit about me... and especially not to see those who TRULY don't give a shit about me go out of their way to NOT wish me a happy birthday. It's all such a weird, paradoxical bunch of "logic," that I prefer not to have to deal with it at all.
Social media ruins everything, so I deleted it for now.

I don't want to think about anything.
I don't want to feel anything.
I don't want to deal.

I am just going to chill. I'm going to draw and chill... and paint.

Just another day, kiddo, let's move it along.
(I'm glad I was gifted an extra day to enjoy 30 years on this planet, before adding that extra "1" afterward)

right foot, left foot

I am more than ready to throw in the towel.
I am overwhelmed as fuck.

But I have chosen not to freak out.
Well... you know... being ME, I did have a mini freak out session yesterday, and I'm sort of working through a sort-of panic-attack as I type this (hours ago, my chest felt like it was going to explode, now it's just a tiny sense of heaviness where I have to breathe slowly).

My bestie's words from the other night (we were discussing someone who is hellbent on convincing herself that her life is the absolute fucking worst... which it is not) stuck with me:
"forced to put one foot in front of the other."
As tough as shit seems to be... as overwhelming as it may seem at the moment, you just have to force yourself to move forward... one step at a time.

There are currently so many things being chucked at me-- lost social security card, fucked up driver's license renewal, fucked up face, Lenten promises that are fucking with my mood, racist-ass presumptuous voters who ARE ALSO MY NEIGHBORS at an even more fucked up sham of a caucus, pending payment for an expensive birthday-getaway... the list goes on. SO many fucking stressors are currently building up to fuck me up.

I could sit in my room, lay in bed, heaving my head off...
Or I can put one fucking foot in front of the other and detangle this bullshit that is... life. Approach life one problem at a time-- solve each piece of shit to the best of my ability.

So today, I decided to forgo the process for the reissuing of my SS card, and instead went to renew my driver's license-- RealID be damned.
Twenty-three dollars down the drain, but one fucking less headache to deal with (I looked like fucking trash... the DMV was a giant mess... my fucking number was skipped within THIRTY SECONDS of being called...nearly failing the vision portion of my renewal--I'm fucking blind, guys! My right eye is a mess-- but unexpectedly a really cute, YOUNG, UNLV student was immediately smitten with my disheveled-looking-ass, so, in AnoMALIELAND, it all balanced out).
I'll have to get a new license that meets federal standards... but that's until October of 2020... so WHO GIVES A FUCK? I'll more than likely look like complete garbage on ALL OF MY IDs, but who gives a fuck?! That's just the fucking stage of life I'm at... oh well.

Ok, so ONE problem down... many more to go.
Next up is paying my birthday trip bullshit tomorrow. It's via a method I've never done before... so... I'm anxious AS FUCK, because I'm paranoid about everything and anything that involves spending more than $50.
The day after that is my trip to the Social Security offices.

How did I get here, man? It's like I'm fucking 70 years old.

Messy

With a week remaining for my birthday to come and rear its fucking ugly head... the Universe is doing its thing of making everything turn into fucking chaos... like it always fucking does.

A dude who thought I was dope back in 2014 got engaged to the girl he met after I showed not nearly as much enthusiasm as he showed for me... gave her the most extraordinary rock and all that fucking jazz. I am over here feeling angry (at myself), surprisingly sad, and just... jealous. It's fucking great.

I also realized my goddamned social security card has gone missing. I was planning on renewing my license tomorrow, but Ohhh! Won't you look at that?! You fucking can't find your fucking social security card!
So, instead of getting the real ID shit, I'll have to be a bum and get a regular plebe one. I'll follow that up by getting my SS card reissued to me... I bet that will be fun.

In this violent scavenge for my SS card, I encountered my old phones from all the way back to 2005. I found old texts and old photos... and it stirred up my emotions. Seeing how my face has changed from that of a hopeful, chirpy teen... compared to the hallow, broken chick I am now... I fucking cried.

Ahh, to be young and chirpy... and frustratingly shy.
I was on my way to a shitty science class when this happened.

How the fuck am I supposed to keep it together when the universe is putting pieces together for me in this fashion?
Ugh.
What a fucking mess.

"Why are you still talking?" circa 2005

I'm terrible, but I already knew that

Damn it!
I think I just shed my first tears of the year.

It is no surprise that the ONE person able to fuck me up--regardless of how fucking great I might be doing-- is the one who did it again: my mom.

And you know what made it all snowball out of control? Me refusing to bring in the goddamn fucking CAKE she had brought home from the store.
I GAVE UP SUGAR FOR MOTHERFUCKING LENT-- SOMETHING I DO BECAUSE OF MY MOTHER... this whole Lent thing.
Am I the only one who sees the goddamn irony in all of this? The fucked up... absurdity of this?

The part of me refusing to help her with the cake made her get in a mood which led to her usual spewing hurtful shit out of spite... and one phrase really struck a fucking chord with me, because it's currently a sensitive subject... and I lost it (I'm ok now. And by "lost it" I mean "I quietly, indignantly walked to my room and cried, out of my mother's sight").

I can only hear people accuse me of being a bad person before I really... just... get confused... and the confusion makes me cry... because I have no clue how to fix it.
I mean... I try, I try so very, very, VERY hard to be nice to others... to the point where I get accused of being a brown-noser. I compliment, sincerely compliment others... and it's taken as insincere or with having strings attached... or... trying to self-aggrandize.
But... I honestly do it... because I... I'm a good person, dude.
I donate to causes that are close to my heart-- I donate money, clothes, time... hair-- and most of the time, I don't say a single WORD about it. I just fucking do it.

And now I find myself FEARING admitting to donating, or any other good deed, because I'll get accused of being a braggart.

If I've learned anything, it's that I will not win.
Don't donate: I'm a bitch.
Donate: I'm a bragging-ass bitch.
Hang out with someone: What the fuck does she want?
Don't hang out with someone: Who the fuck does this bitch think she is, anyway?
And so on.
I'm damned if I do it, damned if I don't.

It doesn't matter who I THINK I am... because apparently everyone else knows me better than I know myself.

But back to my mom.
I've learned, somewhat, to cope with the opinions of others.
But my parents? My MOM? I don't... I don't quite know... I never have.

It's maddening to know that I've done (and NOT DONE) so many things because of her... and yet, she still thinks I'm... a bad person. She's sick of me... she's sick of me, guys.

These fucking words uttered because I refused to bring in a cake SHE purchased... during Lent... when I gave up sugar.

Like... ?

And this is why I hate apologies, guys.
I struggle with... debilitating, soul-crushing depression... QUIETLY struggle, because god forbid I bother someone with my fucking emotionally-weak, attention-seeking bullshit ass "illness"... I FORCE myself out of the struggle... I FORCE myself to get better... and then I have to stand there and watch others painstakingly untie all the knots I've made in the ripped rope I used to climb out of the abyss. And then when the rope breaks and I'm fucking LOST, an "I'm sorry" is supposed to magically get it all patched up and A-OK.

But I'm ok. Seriously.
I understand what she said was said out of some... fucked up anger she probably built up throughout the day... and like always, took out on me... I'm the only one around.
This is just a blip. A painful little blip, that--as always-- I just have to get over... I mean, I HAVE been doing this for the last 25 years. I'll be fine.

Ain't no princess here

The "Dietary Upheaval" of my lenten promise isn't that much of a surprise: No dairy, no carbs, no sugar.

Of course, the no sugar part is referring to "no refined sugar"... I eat fruits.

Well, my body--much like my personality-- is a stubborn little drama queen.
My body is histrionic as fuck, and it's causing me problems.

Lent started on Wednesday, which was a day of fasting except for the one meal of the day... in which I STILL HAD dairy, carbs, and sugar... because I do what I want.
Anyway, Lent began on Wednesday, and by Saturday morning my body was threatening public fainting.
My early morning gym session was cut short, 20 minutes in, because by my third time (of the required four) running my "clean-and-press, weighted tricep dips, and heavy squat" circuit... I became discombobulated. My body started doing that thing where my mind was totally alert "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, BODY? WHY THE FUCK DO I SUDDENLY FEEL YOU PULLING AWAY? HEY! HEYYYYY!" while my limbs were just not giving a fuck... it was ready to go down as though it were just hit by a tranquilizer dart.
I put down my weight, looked at my trainer and partners, and just plopped to the floor.
The look of fear on their faces is priceless... it's something I will remember for years and laugh. That sounds mean, doesn't it? I mean, it was nice and heartwarming to know these ladies care so much for me... but the fear... it was like they were witnessing someone get shanked before their eyes... watching an enemy army running straight for a playground.
They all went into problem-solving mode, and began troubleshooting... it was great.
Of course, the whole time I sat there, shellshocked, bracing myself for the moment where everything goes black... but it never happened.
Even gym regulars were looking over at me.
See... I'm the savage of my group-- the mule, the chick who lifts heavier than... some dudes. I never have these sort of episodes in public.
"What are you doing? Tell me right now! Susie, go get her a banana," I heard.
You stupid, fucking body. Fuck you.

"It's fine guys... I'll be ok... my body's just... an asshole. I'm on day... three of no sugar and my body wants to punish me, is all," I said.
So, I sat there an explained my Lent thing.

So... while I know I am FINE... I have MORE THAN ENOUGH energy stored for my body to chill the fuck out and not have me die (goddamn, just take a glimpse at my monstrous thighs! I can live off that storage alone for a good couple of months), I have to take it easy because my dickhead body's threatening me with public humiliation. I have been taken hostage by this sugar addiction.
You're gonna faint, you're gonna faint! I'm tooo weeaaaak! You know what would make this better? A dark chocolate, extra fudgy brownie...

I'm hitting the gym, acting like some fucking Victorian-era bitch with a bad crush who sees him in the distance as she frolics around in some fucking flowery meadow... in the middle of a rainstorm and OH MY GAWD! I CAUGHT A COLD AND NOW I'M GONNA DIE OF CONSUMPTION!

My body is such an asshole.
(Actually, I think of it more as my "artsy" part of the brain vs. the analytical, logical part. The crazy duality of my composition is working against one another, as per usual, but now they're fucking around with my body's function, not my feelings. My analytical side wants to poke around and experiment with dietary changes, while my artsy part is making me overreact with the histrionic shit it's trying to pull. It's fun. Right. Sure)

I still feel weak. Me. Weak. Hahahaha.

This time I am

How I know I am A-fucking-OK:

Things are really fucking piling up-- people intentionally trying to piss me off, my sister dealing with some fucking bullshit at work where one of her coworkers is harassing the shit out of her, the Costa Rican family's telenovela hitting a motherfucking INCREDIBLE level of "WTF IS THIS SHIT?!", people fuckin' with my travel plans...
And so much more...

Yet, I remain happy (hmmm... that might be an ambitious claim, but I'll stick with it for now).
No, I'm not cartwheeling all over the place... I'm not even skipping around the house (I have jumped with joy a couple of times, but part of it was because one of the times I was freezing my ass off)... but I don't feel surrounded, or suffocated, by those dark clouds from last year. I don't feel a single ounce of heaviness in my chest... and that's considering I've had a couple of heartbreaking Tyson dreams.


Now, I did wonder "maybe this is just like... being manic-depressive and I'm currently in a manic episode," but... aren't manics typically super happy and all that shit? I wouldn't necessarily consider my happiness as "extreme"... but more precisely as "constant."
It's steady.
While I have moments where I remember something unpleasant, or bump into someone I definitely do not hold in a favorable light (I hate the motherfucker, k?), the negative feelings don't linger (or worse yet-- accumulate).
I'm not fucking jubilant and laughing like a maniac all over the place, either... I'm just fucking NORMAL for once-- not wanting to strangle some idiot, but also not laughing so loud the neighbors are calling the cops.

Not too long ago, I heard what maybe six months ago would have sent me into a deep depression. Instead of falling into a pit of darkness, I sat perplexed for a few hours ("Did... I just hear that?"), then spent another couple of hours trying to make sense of it ("Why... would he say that about me? Why would this other person think it was ok to tell me this? Who is lying? IS someone lying? Consider the narrator..."). I decided I WOULDN'T make sense of it... I would just let that sit there and fucking rot away on its own. Eventually the truth will emerge, it always does, even if it doesn't look like it will happen for quite some time. When I find out what was really said, IF I find out, THEN I'll make my conclusion. Until then? I'm gonna ride this shit out.
This is something that would have been too fucking unimaginable a few months ago.

And I'm ok. No depression... no extreme jubilance... I'm chill. When something happens, I have a certain feeling about it... but don't dwell.

I'm not in love, or even crushing on anyone... so I can't blame the pleasant mood on that (this is odd. I can't recall a time where I didn't have at least a TINY crush on someone).
I'm not taking any medication or drugs... so I can't accuse any of that mind altering shit on my mood.
I don't have a puppy.
I'm not working out or pigging out like a savage.
I haven't suffered brain trauma.

Real talk, it feels like someone excised a motherfucking demon from me. The extreme, suicidal depression that side-swiped the fucking shit out of me last year, is totally gone... totally... and I did nothing to really change that... I think?
Only explanation I have is that someone out there prayed super hard for me... like... that person has a direct line to God or something.
Visiting Rome three times in a year does that to someone? Well... shoot! I wish that prescription were cheaper, then.

Bad things are happening to me and around me, bad things BRING ME DOWN for a minute or two... but they don't keep me down... and that is odd as fuck.

I welcome this change.. obviously... because it's very nice to feel warmth and see colors again... I actually appreciate them much, MUCH more now.

PJs

Lent begins today.

I decided to forgo the entire "I'm not cussing" promise, it's never going to happen... and like I've said before, I actually turn into a worse person when I give up on cussing.

I'm still dealing with some shock issues... from what I've seen and heard these last four weeks.
The issues range from that cheating scandal with the Costa Ricans, to a couple of terrible health issues (not my own), to hearing the most unexpected person trashtalking me.
I'm all sorts of sad... like, disappointed sad, angry sad, heartbroken sad, confused sad... but not deep-depression sad.
It's a sad that makes me turn into a mute... because my brain is having such a shitty time processing everything.

So... as I sat in church today (I realized 30 seconds after taking my seat that I was wearing MY PAJAMA TOP... YES... THAT'S how mindfucked I am currently) I kept thinking about what to do this season.
There's the whole dietary upheaval thing I'm gonna do (I MUST... for SCIENCE!), but that isn't going to make me a better person... it usually makes me a worse person, with my low-carb/no-carb rage.
What can I do to become a better person? My heart is so... shocked... it's kind of reluctant to be a better person. I am bitter, and confused, and... disappointed.
I'm on a kick right now, an "I refuse to continue being a doormat!" kick, that turning the other cheek when I feel wronged seems counterintuitive.

So... I uncomfortably sat in church, in my pajama top (as though this were some sort of nightmare, but it was real life), wondering what the hell I was going to do. Then, with Mass yet to begin, I hear an angel, sitting directly in front of me-- this 60-something-year old lady, hair white as snow, say "SHIT! I FORGOT TO TURN OFF MY PHONE! Oh! I mean, CRAP! I don't even KNOW how to turn off my phone!"
I laughed as her group of equally snow-haired ladies joined me.

I'm gonna laugh. This Lent, I'm going to laugh. Maybe I won't be a super nice girl, but I'm gonna laugh every day... just to fight off this ugly, dark cloud of "WTF?!" that's trying to creep into my mind.

I WENT TO CHURCH IN MY PAJAMA TOP, GUYS! My night-mask-stained, sweaty pajama top. My gosh... man oh man.

A fantasy

Ok, I think I'm somewhat recovered from the drama that was this visit from the Costa Ricans.

I seriously underestimated how upsetting it is to deal with a crumbling marriage.

When I first met this couple, they proudly showed me the framed newspaper cutout where the guy asked the girl to be his girlfriend in a cartoon... that was in the city capital's newspaper... a cartoon HE drew for HER and paid to be placed in the fucking newspaper.
I remember being a little cynical about it... thinking that perhaps this was a bit too much... because I'm a bitter cunt.
We were all sitting in the living room-- my folks, the Costa Rican couple, their two daughters, and me-- and I watched as the daughters caressed the picture frame, smiling and saying they wished their future husbands would do the same for them.
"And then they got married. And then we were born," the youngest said.

When I saw the motherfucking drama these two supposed-soulmates were bringing to MY house, this image kept popping into my head. I'd think of the stark contrast between the daughters, especially the eldest... that poor girl was making a heart out of her intestines (Mexican slang right there... quite possibly my favorite, because it's so accurate. Your heart is gone, so you make do with what is left-- and that's your goddamn disgusting intestines). Her parents were being children, and SHE was the one responsible for talking sense into them, all while disciplining her spoiled baby sister. This fourteen year old girl was being the adult in the entire situation... and her sad little eyes are a thing I'm sure will haunt me for years.

In the final days of the Costa Ricans' visit,  my folks sat down with the husband (this was on Sunday) and tried seeing his side of the problem. His wife and daughters had stayed Saturday night at the woman's family's home, because they planned going to church together. The husband is Catholic (the wife is Protestant, so apparently that wouldn't work), so he used it as an excuse to return to MY house with my father, claiming he was going to work with my Pops Sunday morning. My folks saw this as an opportunity to "talk sense into him." I saw it as an opportunity to lock myself in my room and disconnect the wifi to prevent myself from beating the fucking shit out of him.
(Friday afternoon I damn near beat him... seriously... I was ready to pound into his fucking face that afternoon after I returned from the gym and he jumped into MY shower I had prepared for myself. Before heading to the gym, I gave them my time frame-- I'd be coming home at 2:45ish, take a quick shower, then give them a tour of the city. This gave them an hour and a half to get ready, and I told them to do just that. When I got home, I checked up on them, told them I was going to hop in the shower, turned it on, RAN to the laundry room to get a fresh towel, and by the time I RAN back to the bathroom, I heard the dumb son of a bitch locking the bathroom doors. I almost fainted from the rage, and used up ALL of my self-restraint to keep from kicking down the bathroom door. "HE'S JUST NOW GETTING IN THE SHOWER?! WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO ALL MOTHERFUCKING DAY?! FUCK IT, WE'RE LEAVING. WE'RE LEAVING RIIIIIGHT NOW!" I screamed as I changed into my clothes, grabbed my wallet and car keys. The wife and oldest daughter were ready to bounce, but the youngest made time, sitting down on the floor, claiming "We should wait for Daddy! Poor Daddy!" and I glared down at the kid... biting my tongue to keep from telling her to pity HERSELF... "poor Daddy" was going to ditch THEM once they got home. However, instead of getting cruel on the child, I grabbed my shit, threw it into my bedroom, and locked myself in for the remainder of the day. GOOD LUCK, KID! Hope you remain that fucking thoughtful for the piece of shit who traded you for some dumb, gold-digging married bitch)

What did we learn Sunday-Monday? That this marriage is done... that it took two people to destroy it... that being stubborn gets you nowhere.
Apparently, the guy is "tired of trying" because the girl is a spoiled Daddy's Girl who spend too much time caring for her paraplegic brother.
"What about me?! You know what I've always wanted to do? Go to a restaurant and SIT DOWN to have my meal... NOT order 'to go,'" he said.
Apparently, the wife refuses to do family stuff with just her nuclear family, and invited her folks and the paraplegic brother... and in turn, these people always order "to go" because they're too embarrassed to be seen in public with the brother.
I listened to his EXCUSES for ending the marriage... fighting the urge to slap him across the face... good thing I was locked in my room... and yes, that's how loud they were conversing in the kitchen.
"Tell me the truth, you already have another woman, don't you? A man doesn't let go of a marriage, and leaves his house and kids unless they already have another woman waiting," said my mother.
"No, but one is starting to appear," he said.
Again, I wanted to walk to my living room and drop kick his ass.
I HAVE FACEBOOK! THE STUPID CUNT YOU'RE CHEATING WITH HAS A PUBLIC PROFILE! I SEE WHEN YOU LIKE AND COMMENT HER SHIT, YOU FUCKING IMBECILE! YOUR WIFE READ YOUR FUCKING TEXT MESSAGES WITH THE WHORE OUT LOUD! SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!

But my parents are classier than I am. They calmly listened to this piece of shit lie, and walked away.

Now, what do I think? I agree that the wife is a "daddy's girl." I agree that she is pretty... uh... helpless. When we went to Disneyland, we made a pit-stop at a Golden Corral, where I treated the couple and their 14 year old to the buffet. When we were going to walk in, the wife "tried" opening the door, struggled, and said it was locked.
I looked at my watch and said "That's odd... it's 10:30AM, it should be open by now." I reached for the door, and easily opened it. We all looked over at the wife, and she giggled "That door was hard as a rock!"
Another complaint from the husband is that the wife doesn't discipline her children, and refuses to let HIM discipline them. To this, I can also attest. Monday night, as I watched the girls pack their bags, I looked over to where my painting are kept, and noticed one of my unfinished paintings was just chilling there, with a gash running down the center.
"What the... wha... WHO did this?" I asked, grabbing the painting.
The 14 year old quickly denied, and looked directly at the youngest.
"It wasn't me. Why's everyone looking at me?" she asked.
The little one walked up to me, trying her best puppy-dog eyes... and this only angered me.
Kid, I'm fucking heartless... have you not learned?
"Because you're the only ones in here. This painting was fine when I let you girls stay in my room. There are no ghosts. No one else walked in here," I said.
I looked at the mom and she smiled... like this was some fucking comedy.
"So who did this?" I asked.
The oldest girl was hellbent on getting the little one to admit to her wrongdoing, and looked just as irritated as me with the lack of concern from the mother.
I did not get an apology from ANY of them... so I walked out of the room and angrily texted my sister and friends about the incident... as far away as possible from anyone in my house.

So, yeah, I fucking get it... sort of. But still, I don't agree with the manner in which it was all approached.
Also, we asked the husband if we could get both of them together and talk it out. Sometimes you need others to point out your flaws... maybe if we told the wife it was damn time she start behaving like an adult, she might change.
The wife WANTED to do it, he did not.
(He had thrown a lot of the fault on her... which... could have easily been cleared up with BOTH parties present... only the guilty don't want to talk it out)

***

Back in September, when they Skyped me to tell me the news of their visas being granted, they begged me to "please don't be married by January." I laughed, told the Costa Ricans that was definitely not a concern... that I'd definitely not have a boyfriend, much less be married by January.
How quickly, and ironically things seem to change.
While these people drained the fucking life out of me (it hurts to watch kids swallow the story that everything will be ok. Trying to build as big of a fantasy as Disneyland tends to feed... all while knowing the stark reality of a situation-- your father is going to ditch you upon your arrival to the homeland-- is painful and difficult as fuck)... I do wish them... healing.
What else is there to hope for something like this? It's so fucked up... and insane... that this little family that once seemed so freakishly loving and bonded, is going through this shit. It's disappointing-- as jaded as I may be-- to see "love" not just crumble, but EXPLODE out of existence.

I hope that I somehow managed to repay at least a portion of the kindness they always showed me the times I visited them in Costa Rica (I know throwing money at something doesn't always help, but I'll fucking try my hardest to at least ease the pain a bit... it can help keep one's mind preoccupied)... and gave them nearly as many happy memories as they gave me.

It can't be

"So, uh, a certain young man did that ah... Genetic testing thing... and he's uh... quite disturbed to learn YOU appear as his uh... Close relative," she said.

"Why's that? I thought he'd be happy to learn why we have so much in common. I know I am. I get it," I said.

"Because uh... Well, come on, why else would a guy be upset to learn a girl is his relative? He's like... genuinely distressed," she said.

"Oh... Ohhhhh!" I said.

Did I mention how over the summer, JC tried getting me drunk as fuck, started asking me personal questions about my romantic life, approached me (I was laying down on my brother's sofa, kindle in one hand, glass of whiskey in the other, eyes on JC) and hovered over my mouth? No? Yes? Well, yeah, that happened. 

A normal girl probably would have lunged forward to make out or fuck or whatever the fuck "normal" girls do around handsome young guys, but I'm not "normal." I became extremely angry and agitated over this kid asking me so many questions, thinking he was such a fucking expert psychoanalyst. I raised my voice and glared at him, ultimately making him uncomfortable-- scared-- and he switched the subject JUUUUUST as the conversation reached the point where my admission to the VClub was going to be inevitable.

So yeah, I saw why this dude is now weirded out by our cousin status.

Luckily I'm not the one who on numerous occasions tried kissing the other (lol, then again, I'm also the dumb fuck who drunkenly admitted to "loving" him... And actively sought to get with his younger brother... Ahhh, life works in mysterious ways)