I Told You So

At what point is it no longer rude to say "I told you so?"

Now, I'm a little afraid to date myself because I am pretty young, but I was in high school the first time that Bush was running for president/elected. I was a freshman...

At that time, I was busy trying to prove to Jesus that I deserved this one favor I was asking of him by reading his book and going to church and whatnot- part of that was this new thing at my church- a cell group (think of a bible study led by equally clueless high school students). One of my most striking memories of high school was sitting in one girl's house during a cell group meeting, the Jesus part was over, and we were hotly debating the upcoming elections in the most eloquent way that 15 year olds who have been herded into Christianity can.

As a note: I do not have a problem with people who investigate the religion and decide that Jesus is for them. Personally, I try to live by most of his maxims, I just think 99.9% of churches lost the plot and are full of shit.

Anyway, even as my 15-year-old "Oh, Jesus, I love you so much...look at how much I go to church!" self, I was fully aware of the fact that George W. Bush was the biggest crock to come along since the "Moral Majority." And, for that reason, I got a pretty creepy vibe off of him and his "I'm a Christian, I'll make 'Murka bedder!" campaign.

And sitting in Jessica's living room, I realized just how alone I was. Now, thinking back, I blame a lot of it on Clinton's cock. Had it kept to itself- or at least only hung out around less gossipy bitches, the Democrats may have had a chance. But, at that time I can remember thinking "Well, I hope all of you retards aren't so dense that you will eventually realize it when the shit hits the fan."

And now, I think "I wonder if those retards ever figured it out." I wonder if I should look up their email addresses and ask them one question that has been burning me for 6 years now.

"How does it feel to be wrong? You made me feel wrong about my very existence since puberty. You've made me the minority and the outcast. How does it feel? I want you to know that every morning when I read the newspaper, I think of you and your stupid blind support of any old monkey who can fool you by calling a couple of names and wearing a suit on Sunday. I think of how immensely short-sighted you were when you told me that my morals were backward because I was backing a candidate who supported the enrichment of the environment, the feeding of the hungry, the care of the sick and peace around the world. I think every day that I wish that things had been different, and now, 6 years later, I've gotten my vindication- and I'll bet you don't even remember what I said that Tuesday night. I'll bet you don't remember that I said that any candidate who parades his faith in order to garner votes is a fraud and more trouble that imaginable."

So, I don't care if it's tacky, but I told you so. I told you so in the beginning. I told you this was going to be a disaster. I told you to look up the facts. I told you that running around calling the GOP the "Party of God" was as silly as calling the left wing the "coalition of the exceedingly tall."

I told you so.

Selfish

There are some days in which I wish that I had broken up with Boyfriend in September when I was getting bad vibes- but, like most retards, I just don't know when to let go.

There are other times when I think "yeah, I could spend a long time with this guy, he's pretty alright."

Yesterday, I found myself thinking very fondly of him while we were visiting Keenan and Marcel, after the long sip of margarita had dulled my senses enough for me to forget the uncomfortable common law wife comment, that is. I think this was mostly due to the fact that we were sitting around with Keenan and Marcel (both of whom I like) talking about purchasing a house in the next year or so (and I would really love to own a house).

However, pretty much every other moment for the past month has me thinking "jeebus, this is going to be rocky, resentful and short."

And, I finally figured out why: Boyfriend is selfish.

Now, I've spent my entire life thinking that I am a horrible selfish person. And, until recently, I was probably one of the most selfish people that I knew...until I met Boyfriend. For a while, I thought it was because he completely lacked EMPATHY, but it turns out that theory is completely backwards.

Because, in order for a lack of EMPATHY to be the problem, the person has to be un-selfish enough to care about how another person feels, but ultimately fail at realizing how the other person feels. For Boyfriend, the problem is that he is SELFISH because he doesn't give a shit how anyone feels but himself.

If he is happy, then all is good. If he is not happy, everyone better fucking bend over backwards to fix the problem.

Examples:

1. The Slamming Door Dilemma

We live on the end of a wing so that one of the main doors that people use to enter the building is on the wall next to the bed. Boyfriend and I usually sleep until 9 in the morning, and therefore the last two hours of our weekday sleep is peppered with the sound of that door closing. I have learned to sleep through it because it is a door, and doors close. People leave for work in the morning, and if it really bothered me, I could go to sleep two hours earlier and wake up two hours earlier. It's not even that loud, and you can't hear it at all above the sound of the air conditioner or even the fan. Boyfriend, however, being the fucking princess that he is, apparently just can't sleep through the last two hours of his regularly scheduled sleep, and refuses to accept the possibility that he ought to keep average adult hours.

So, he bitches out the property manager who explains to him that we are living in one of the handicap accessible apartments, and all of the people around us are handicapped. The door slams closed because there is very very little tension in the door (in either direction) because the handicapped people need to be able to open the doors, and because Boyfriend was so fucking picky about the location of the apartment, it's essentially his own fault that he can't sleep for the last two hours of his normal schedule.

My reaction: "it must really suck to deal with these doors when you're in a wheel chair, so surely the two hours of minimal noise in the morning are completely unimportant in the face of my neighbor's ability to actually get into the building."

Boyfriend's reaction: "fuck the cripples, my sleep is more important that everyone else's ability to access their own fucking home."

I have made the wise decision not to say anything either way about the issue because the management staff is not going to make the handicapped people suffer so that my idiotic domestic partner can sleep in late every day.

2. The Parking Lot Incident

We were coming back from Boyfriend's Parents' home and pulling into the [usually full] parking lot of the apartment building. There is a driveway that goes past the parking lot, so Boyfriend and I usually take notice of the available spots on the way in to avoid spending unnecessary time hunting for a spot. We saw two really great spots (which is totally unusual because by 9:30 pm, the parking lot is completely packed, and the only spots are kind of a hike away- not that it's a problem for us since we are able-bodied adults). We circle in, and notice an elderly woman pulling into the spot that was slightly more prime than the previous spot, meaning we would have to take a different prime (but not extremely prime) parking spot.

My reaction: "Sweet! We'll be so close to the door!"

Boyfriend's reaction: "So typical. God, this place is merciless."

Fucking what? I proceeded to question him on this concept because, as far as I could tell, what he said made zero sense. My argument was that in a parking lot, if you get to a spot, and there is no other car in the spot, the spot is yours unless it is reserved parking. Boyfriend said something to the effect of "God, even if you see a spot, you can't be sure that you'll get it."

Fucking what? It dawned on me what the problem was. It's not that Boyfriend doesn't understand the way the parking lot functions, it's that he's really fucking selfish. He feels, as the fucking world deity, everyone should automatically know exactly what he wants, and bow out to him. That old lady should have known that he had seen that obscenely good spot and actually used her vehicle to block anyone but Boyfriend from parking there.

I called Boyfriend on the stupid sentiment, and he got pissy and we are still not really talking. I'm completely convinced that he's an asshole.

3. Shut-UpGate

Boyfriend and I were discussing immigration. Now, to make it clear: as a humanitarian, I think that anyone that wants to be an American and is willing to abide by our laws, should be allowed to enter the country within a reasonable time. That is to say, making people wait 11 years in their home country/shithole only encourages illegal immigration. As a realist, I know that's a horrible idea. My opinion is that we should figure out how many people our economy and physical land can handle, and allow that many people in- that, to me, is the best way to go. I'm pretty sure that Boyfriend feels similarly, but he wouldn't know that he probably agrees with me because he NEVER SHUTS UP. EVER.

He ALWAYS interrupts me when I am making a point on a subject that he is passionate about- especially if I am taking my time to create a full sentence that properly frames a point. I'm not an extremist, so I often have to create the correct environment for a specific thought. Naturally, I rarely get to actually make a point because I will get 8 words into a sentence before I am completely cut off while he goes on and on about how he feels. FUCK THAT.

So, while we were discussing realistic options to real problems given the real political and social climate, I got very little in, and while attempting to make a point about the legal right of the US to enforce its laws despite how long they have lapsed on said duty. My point what that the US has a right to enforce its laws even though it hasn't enforced the laws for many people and allowed illegals to live in the area for decades, and despite that it may be immoral, it is legal for the US to deport otherwise lawful residents. Boyfriend, for the millionth time, interrupted me and completely ignored the fact that I was beginning to make a valid point.

"SHUT UP" I screamed, snapping him into attention long enough for me to finish my point. Like in the previous three situations, being called on his bad behavior proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon in a tiff.

Here's the thing: it's not that he's so enthused that he just *has* to make a point, he's SELFISH. He very much feels as though everyone else's opinion should be put on the back burner while being completely engrossed by his words and thoughts.

I've noticed that pretty much everything that happens with him is motivated by this selfish impulse. He's never asked me if I want to play one of my CDs on the studio-quality sound system. He never asks me what I would like to watch on the television. He never asks me what I would like to eat for dinner. He doesn't care about when I would like to go to bed. He doesn't care how I feel about pretty much anything. All of our conversation centers on him and his cat.



This relationship is most certainly going to last only as long as I can gain some financial independence, stability and backbone.

Margaritas

New Rule: No drinking homemade margaritas.

That is: margaritas made by a bartender at a chain restaurant are just fine, but margaritas made in the kitchen of a friend/boyfriend/friend of a boyfriend/aunt/cousin/acquaintance or whomever are strictly forbidden.

I have thrice now had a homemade margarita that has completely kicked my ass, and I do not like having my ass kicked by inanimate objects (or really, animate objects, either).

The first time, Ex-Boyfriend J and I were at the home of his best friend, Steve. After one margarita, I was throwing up all over the bathroom and completely gone. Too much shitty tequila mixed with too little shitty mixer. As a side note, we drank Goldschlager and somehow all of the vomit that occurred before the Goldschlager gets mixed with the memory of the Goldschlager, and I can no longer smell it without gagging- though I'm quite fine to drink all the shitty tequila that I want.

The second time, I was at the home of some random guy I was dating for a very short period of time, and he chose to mix fairly excellent tequila with the same shitty mixer, and after one glass, I was puking AGAIN. My conclusion was that there was something about the shitty mixer that upset my stomach because I really wasn't drunk the second time.

But, the third time (last night) we (Boyfriend and I) were at a Mexican themed get-together (featuring some delicious skirt steak tacos (holy crap, delicious!) that only Boyfriend's Best friend (hereby known as Keenan) and Keenan's husband (now known as Marcel) could make.

This was a *real* margarita: key limes, a really smooth high quality tequila and Cointrea. But after about 10 minutes of sipping on the drink (because it was on the rocks, and I prefer frozen, so I continually drank just enough to fit in some more ice) I was on my ass- not drunk enough to vomit, but most certainly not sober enough to be quick on my feet about Boyfriend's comment about me becoming his common law wife before we have a talk about marriage. Just so you know, I just kind of sat there a little stunned and looked over at Keenan before taking a really deep gulp of margarita in attempts to occupy my mind with how drunk it is.


About being a common law wife. I have no problem being a common law wife for as long as there are no children. However, I think it's a little early to be setting forth a 7 year plan...Especially as the precursor to an indefinite plan of real marriage- especially while I am drunk and in the company of Keenan and Marcel.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that I've decided that I can only drink the watered-down commercial pre-made crap margaritas they make at Friday's or wherever.

Waiting

So, I recently started waiting tables to fill in the money gaps (although, it has yet to fill in any gaps other than time). And I am, yet again, reminded of the joys and downfalls of working in the service industry.

First, there is the pretty excellent perk of the social scene. No matter who you are, you will make a waiter friend when you wait tables. There is always some miserable soul who will share in your misery by bitching about customers over cheap beer at midnight on a Wednesday. I happen to work at the kind of place where the waiters get the uniforms dry-cleaned and there aren't hostesses because there is a maitre 'd- so really, it just means that the characters are just a little more colorful. Which leads to the second major perk: there is always something entertaining happening. And, most importantly, payday is everyday! If you don't fucking suck, you can pick up hefty sums of cash every night.

But, as you can imagine...There are huge liabilities, most importantly, that you get 0 respect, 0 benefits, and on slow nights, 0 money. Customers think they are some kind of lord of the manor, the managers think they're gods and the cooks are defiant for no particular reason-let's not even discuss the bartenders.

I often notice, in waiting tables, that there are sometimes themes of the night. Last Sunday, it was disheveled drunk night, tonight, it was misadventures in dating.

First, there was a couple obviously on a first date, and the dude was either really fucking messed up, or he was trying to get rid of the woman (I vote messed up as she appeared to be a nice-looking woman, and he appeared to be a fat trekkie). He wasn't at my table, but he was in the section next to mine, and the dude was dealing with some kind of serious pumpkinphilia issues. At first, it seemed just a little strange- he specifically asked for a list of the items on the menu that contained pumpkin (the correct answer is 0) and then proceeded to hem and haw about the merit of other "pumpkin-like foods" finally settling on a pasta dinner because the pasta reminded him of the stringy things in the pumpkin. All seemed to be quiet on the pumpkin-lover front until dessert came around, and the guy actually had a shit fit over the fact that none of the desserts had pumpkin in them- he proceeded to list of the various dishes that had pumpkin that he enjoyed, finally settling on carrot cheese cake because it was a little orange. Fucking strange.

Then, I got a table of three- two aging southern men and a Chinese mail-order bride. She was the first mail-order bride I had ever seen- and it was fucking sad. The whole thing depressed me- right down to the part where she asked her retard hick husband if it was okay with him if she had a little vinegar on her salad as dressing (she ate a side salad for dinner, by the way) and after he and his creepy fat hick friend chowed down on expensive steak and lobster, they ordered rich desserts, and he let her have a fruit cup- how fucking sweet. She didn't even have to have his permission for the powdered sugar.

But, most importantly, I got a table of four- an older couple, their daughter, and the daughter's boyfriend- this was the first meeting of the boyfriend and parents. Holy crap, hilarious. People, listen...If you want to create a low-stress situation, DO NOT go to a restaurant where the waitstaff dresses like penguins, it WILL NOT be low-stress. BUT, it will make a great story for your waiter to tell his/her friends. Let's just say that while Pappa and Mamma sloshed back Dewer's they loudly proclaimed that their daughter was dating a drunk after the boyfriend ordered coffee with Baileys. The boyfriend was "cheap" because he didn't order an expensive steak or lobster and "not a gentleman" when he allowed his girlfriend to order for herself. All this while the older couple SPLIT one of the cheaper items on the menu and acted like complete pigs. I almost pissed myself laughing in the kitchen. Thankfully, the "cheap" and "rude" boyfriend left the hefty tip. The daughter was red in the face as they left- I think I missed the best part while I was trying to hold in the piss.

Of course, at the restaurant, there are plenty of neurotic people- enough to stock a small insane asylum...Which naturally creates the 10:45 breakdown. I've noticed over the past two weeks that every night at 10:45 somebody loses it. Usually, it's the quiet one. The other night, she took all of the papers, receipts, bills and bits of cash in her server book and threw everything onto the wet kitchen floor. Today, a girl who had recently become pregnant started screaming at the manager "you check me out, and you check me out now, because I don't have the time to stand around and wait for you to suck your own cock- I've got chocolate to eat and vomit to puke." Fucking brilliant. A few days ago, it was someone's last day, and her customers had been shitty...And with a full fucking dining room, she yelled out "I'm glad this is my last day, because you stupid fuckers don't know a damn about good service, tipping, and how to respect another fucking human being." She proceeded to completely walk out with a full section, never to be seen again. Well, except today, when she came to drop off her uniform.


I love it.

But, I really mostly hate it. I just really want that dental coverage and extra $600/wk.

More on StupidFuckingCat

Today (and for that matter, this week) was not a good day (week) to be StupidFuckingCat.

I suppose that I should establish a few things:

1. I do not like cats. I don't think they make suitable housepets, and frankly, they bug the hell out of me.
2. BUT, I can like an individual cat, and also feel that they, as sentient beings, deserve some respect and humane treatment.
3. I fucking can't stand Cat People- you know they type: they are completely unwilling to acknowledge that cats aren't the best thing ever...They fucking own T-shirts with cats on them, etc etc.
4. I very much feel that StupidFuckingCat would not exist if she were mine, and for as much shit as I give Boyfriend about her, I would be really sad for like...an hour or something, if he decided to put her down.

That being said, we had ANOTHER fight over StupidFuckingCat. It started when I realized that I had TWICE IN A ROW had to wake up to the nauseating smell of cat shit at 4:30 AM and then sleep on the couch. I mentioned that I wanted something to happen...Naturally, there was a huge fucking fight. We have a fairly small place: one bedroom, one den, one full bathroom, one tiny bathroom (closet), a living room, a kitchen and a dining area. Therefore, there are very few places for the litterbox to live.

It can't be in the dining area/kitchen area because Boyfriend and I both agree that cat shit near food is disgusting. It can't be in the living room because, really, there is no room for it. It can't go in the full bathroom because there is barely room to turn around, let alone room for a litter pan. The bedroom is a bad place for the same reason that the current placement is bad: I don't like waking up to the smell of cat shit. So, to me, the answer is to keep the cat box in the den: if he loves her so much, he can let her shit next to the desk that he rarely uses.

But (and I just love this) he doesn't want the dust from the cat litter to be on the canvas boxes that hold his CD's. I got really bitchy when he said that: I said "no, really, I get it. You don't give a shit that I wake up every morning and need to throw up because of the scent...And then can't even sleep in my own bed. But, you do really mind if some dust gets on the protective boxes that cover the protective cases on your CD's."

To which he started to argue that I should will myself to not smell the cat shit. I fucking lost it.

Will myself to not gag over the smell of cat shit? I'm sorry...fucking no. This is not a voluntary reaction. I will, however, will myself to make sure the vomit lands on his fucking chest.

So, all in all, the fight started at 11:00 PM and by 4:30 AM, we had stopped talking about cat shit and involuntary reactions and settled on a tentative course of action. We'll see if anything happens...But I promise you that if I have to wake up one more time at some ridiculous hour and get kicked out of my bed by the fucking houseparasite, "shit fit" (while appropriately named) doesn't even touch what I will do.


Anyway, out of concern for the fact that StupidFuckingCat is overly aggressive, I hypothesized that perhaps the fact that Boyfriend kept her nails so short led to her aggression. Declawed cats bite more...Perhaps having her nails really short has somehow led her to behave as though she doesn't have them.

So, rather than cutting her nails once/week, Boyfriend has let it go for 3 weeks or so, and today decided to give her a little trim.

She freaked out and clawed and bit him worse than ever before- and frankly, that's amazing. He came out of the bedroom bloody and covered with punctures and scratches. Boyfriend decided that keeping such a beast was, really, borderline retarded...And he had some kind of un-cat person epiphany, and opened the sliding glass door and put the cat outside while yelling at her.

Here's the thing: I would put that thing down in a heartbeat...But I wouldn't release it into the neighborhood: mostly because there would be no real confirmation of the fact that she was dead. That, and...I know her stupid ass could never catch anything to eat, and she would die a long and painful death by starvation. That, or she'd get run over by a car- she's really just very retarded.

So, while he was fuming in the other room, I brought the cat back in and continued making lunch. He noticed the door was no longer open, and I explained that I brought her back in- we discussed the merits of taking her evil ass back to the crazy cat lady that got Boyfriend to take StupidFuckingCat home in the first place.

I stuck up for StupidFuckingCat and bought her at least a week. I feel guilty- as though this whole thing was my fault. I was the one that suggested stretching out the clipping schedule that I think might have disrupted the schedule that she kept and somehow convinced her that acting out was appropriate. I also have worn Boyfriend down on her, mostly by constantly bitching about her. I really do bitch about her all the fucking time. I don't care that he knows that I hate his cat.

We'll see what happens to StupidFuckingCat in the future. I hope she can get her shit together, because I don't think Boyfriend has the balls to get rid of her...And certainly not to put her down. Methinks I'll have to deal with her shit until she dies of natural causes....Is drowning a natural cause?