Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Get Out Of My Gene Pool And Take Your Duckie With You

The problem with other people is that they won't quit irritating me.  That, and they won't stop trying to make me play along with whatever their stupid shit is about. If I was the type of person that liked that sort of thing I'd be working in real estate, but I'm not; I'm a hippie with a gun who lives by choice in a town so small it only just rates a post office. I like it out here on the edge of the herd. I don't eat food thats been shit on and trampled, I breathe less dirt, and my chances of being caught in a witless stampede and carried off over the edge of a fucking cliff are nil.

In suddenly acquiring five new family members, I also found myself in sudden posession of a problem that is just driving me fucking crazy, and that problem will henceforth be referred to as 'The Meadow Blossom'.  At least here.
The Meadow Blossom, turns out, is a member of the herd. 

Now half the blame for this belongs to the Arborist.  Sure, you can be young and a dipshit and think that the 'right' thing to do is to move in with the girl who presented you with a little surprise, and to think that things will magically work out for the best. But when that girl begins to abuse your good nature to the tune of two more 'birth control pill failures', loots your bank accounts and IRA, and goes into debt for nearly a quarter fucking mil (oh yes indeed), a rational person would sadly conclude that things aren't working out with that person, pay child support, and leave. 
Not the Arborist.

No, not the Arborist.

What makes this particularly retarded?   He isn't even MARRIED to the bitch.

I don't hate myself for thinking this. It is. What I hate is that I can't change it.

I've become obsessed with this issue to the point where I literally have to wear a big rubber band around my wrist sometimes and snap it whenever the subject comes to mind, just to stop thinking about it for awhile.  It isn't getting better.  It comes and it goes, but it....comes and it goes.  I want to change it BAD.

Now me, I don't have problems with change.  I've never been averse to making a scene if the long-term payoff outweighs the present unpleasantness.  And boy, DO I WANT TO MAKE A SCENE.  I have it allllllllllllllllllll planned out.  For the past two years I've had two long, scathing confrontation scripts archived, in fact, that I revise and revisit as time has gone on.  The one I've written for the Meadow Blossom Confrontation will never be delivered of course because theres no changing or curing what she's got, which is Borderline Personality Disorder meets Duh. 

The one I've written for 'Arborist Confrontation; A Chinese Opera for Two Hippies With Frenzied Clanging Sounds and Intermittent Yodelling', is a masterpiece of the art.  It too will never see the boards. Nothing would produce the exact opposite of the effect I was trying to create (i.e. leave the bitch you idiot) than delivering this speech.

Realizing this about my son is not wonderful.  It does not make me proud and does not make me respect him.  It makes me pretty ashamed of him, in fact. 
And I love him desperately.


*The number one reason that birth control pills fail?  FAILURE TO USE THEM.  How do you think the Arborist got here?  Oh look it up:


  1. Gilbert and Sullivan have nothing on YOU.

  2. I am so not waiting for the movie to come out


Let me know what you think, my darlings! Always bearing in mind, of course, that this is not a fair and impartial forum where everyone has an equal voice and has a right to a fair hearing. It's not. It's a fucking blog. Annoy the hippie? Watch the hippie hit the 'delete' button.