Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Missed Opportunities

We don't get out often. In fact, in the past six months alone we had to reschedule the same attempt (i.e., Christmas Eve) four fucking times. It's a combination of bad timing, Italics working four jobs, being nocturnal for half of the month, being ill (between his back, my stomach and his inability to process gluten we're a walking, talking pair of chronic discomfort, pain and suffering) and living from one major disaster to the next.

A lot of those cancellations are a result of OTHER people's actions; they bring illnesses home with them (so we get sick and can't go out), they decide they'd rather do something else (AFTER promising that we can definitely rely on them) or someone - and when I mean "someone" I obviously mean Mr. Awesome, my father-in-law - decides to act like an inconsiderate asshole two hours before we're supposed to leave the house (FOR THE FIRST FUCKING TIME IN MONTHS) by picking a fucking fight with us.

(UNIVERSE, CAN I HAVE A LITTLE HELP HERE? IS TWO HOURS BEFORE MY FIRST BIG "DATE" WITH MY HUSBAND IN OVER A MONTH REALLY THE BEST TIME FOR MR. AWESOME TO PITCH A CRAZY OLD MAN TANTRUM? OUT OF ALL OF THE FUCKING DAYS HE COULD'VE PICKED TO THROW THE ENTIRE HOUSE IN TURMOIL, YOU'RE TELLING ME IT ABSOLUTELY HAD TO BE ON THE ONE DAY WE MADE PLANS FOR TWO FUCKING MONTHS AGO AND THAT NO OTHER DAY WAS SUITABLE?)

(I'VE BEEN STUCK IN THIS FUCKING HOUSE FOR SEVEN FUCKING WEEKS - SEVEN! THAT'S HOW LONG SHAKEY'S BEEN ILL AND DYING! SEVEN FUCKING WEEKS! SEVEN WEEKS OF FIVE HOURS OF SLEEP, SEVEN WEEKS OF ALWAYS BEING COVERED IN BABY FOOD, GATORADE, HOMEMADE SOUP, RAT SHIT AND RAT MUCOUS. SEVEN FUCKING WEEKS OF NOT BEING ABLE TO DO FUCKING //ANYTHING// OTHER THAN BE A LIVE IN MAID BECAUSE AN INVALID PET IS SOLELY RELYING ON US TO STAY ALIVE.)

(SEVEN FUCKING WEEKS! AND THE ENTIRE TIME I KEPT THINKING "BUT AT LEAST YOU HAVE MARCH 16TH TO LOOK FORWARD TO! AT LEAST ON MARCH 16TH YOU CAN TAKE THE DAY AND NIGHT OFF, PEEL OFF YOUR RAT STAINED CLOTHING AND PUT ON SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE A SEXY HUMAN BEING AGAIN. AT LEAST ON MARCH 16TH YOU CAN GO OUT WITH YOUR HUSBAND, HAVE A GOOD TIME AND FORGET THAT YOU'RE CONSTANTLY SURROUNDED BY DEATH, ILLNESS AND MADNESS.")

This bullshit? ALWAYS. FUCKING. HAPPENS. Our luck is so shit poor that it borders on cosmic comedy. How many other people have to reschedule their Christmas Eve plans four motherfucking times? How many other people have to reschedule their Christmas Eve plans FOR THE SAME FUCKING REASONS?

(WHO THE FUCK GETS FUCKING SICK AND SNOWED IN, HAS TO CANCEL THEIR PLANS, IS FORCED TO RESCHEDULE EVERYTHING ONLY TO GET SICK (AGAIN) AND SNOWED IN (AGAIN) THEREBY HAVING TO CANCEL THE SECOND ATTEMPT FOR THE VERY SAME FUCKING REASONS THE FIRST ATTEMPT WAS AXED? OH, THAT'S RIGHT, US.)

I did EVERYTHING I COULD POSSIBLY DO to ensure that the 16th went smoothly. I worked out a timetable for showers, grooming, hair styling, dressing, make-up applying. We worked out where we were going to eat, where we were going to get dropped off and at what time. We spent the day taking it easy and deliberately distancing ourselves from anything stressful that could toss a spanner in the works.

What the fuck happens two hours before we're supposed to leave for our big evening in town? Mr. Awesome explodes because Italics caught him CLEANING HIS FUCKING DIRTY ASS MUD AND SHIT CRUSTED SHOES with the sponge we use to WASH THE FUCKING DISHES. When Italics asked his father to throw away the sponge he was using and replace it with a new one Mr. Awesome went mental.

(For the sake of my sanity - since this shit is still fresh - I'm going to gloss over everything my father-in-law pathetically wheeled out to try and justify his over-the-top reaction. Basically? Basically I'm a bitch, we don't give him the respect he deserves, this is HIS house, dammit, and if he wants to throw away or touch or break or ruin something - regardless if it's his - he's going to fucking do it, it's MY responsibility to tell him every day what he can or can't touch, and what he can or can't do otherwise he can't be held responsible for his actions, we're constantly causing problems in the house, when the fuck are we going to move out already and no, Ms. Graveyard Dirt, you're completely mistaken about me throwing out ashes that belonged to your mother, and, also, I never threw any garbage, ever, on any of your altars.)

(Internet, I have never had anyone lie so blatantly, lie so fucking BOLDLY to me before, all the while pretending to casually lean against the stove in deluded smugness. I barely managed to restrain myself from spitting directly into one of his eyes and decking him.)

(I abhor liars. Liars are bottom rung scum. Liars are pathetic insecure retards with tremendous illusions of grandeur who lack the mental facilities to engage in a normal argument or disagreement. They spend inordinate amounts of time convincing themselves that they're some sort of intellectual superman whose mental prowess allows them to pull the wool over everyone else's eyes, but when push comes to shove they realize they have nothing to fucking offer than some on-the-fly bullshit they're forced to invent on the fucking spot.)

He went mental over a fucking sink sponge. A part of me still can't believe that something that stupid, that fucking insignificant became the battle of his fucking life. My big night out - the one we've been talking about for two fucking months, the one I almost didn't mention because I was so fucking afraid that if I showed any signs of being excited I'd somehow jinx the evening - got fucking ruined because my father-in-law couldn't handle being asked to NOT throw the sponge back into the sink if he uses it to clean his fucking dirty shoes.

(I know the bigger WTF reaction is "HOLY SHIT, YOU'RE TELLING ME HE DOESN'T APPRECIATE OR VALUE HOW FUCKING UNHYGIENIC THAT IS?", but that's old news here. My father-in-law uses the dish sponge to clean his shoes, the cars (both inside and outside) and whatever else he's managed to get away with because there wasn't anyone there to intervene.)

At the end of the day we still went out, but the night was ruined.

After engaging in a screaming match with my father-in-law I had to put on make-up and I was so agitated that I kept dropping everything on the floor. My hair dried pinned up so I had no choice but to wear it pinned up (which wasn't the original plan), and when it came time to style it it was all limp and static-y and clingy.

(I'm ashamed to admit that the make-up job was the worst I've done in YEARS and I was SO DEPRESSED and SO EMBARRASSED that I spent an hour sitting in my computer chair, crying, trying to decide if I looked too stupid to go out. <- OKAY, SO I MIGHT'VE OVERREACTED SLIGHTLY, BUT IT'S NOT LIKE I WAS BEING EMOTIONAL FOR NO REASON, RIGHT? IT'S NOT LIKE IT ~CAME FROM NOWHERE~.)

Despite being exhausted, angry, upset, pissed off, resentful and feeling like I looked stupid and embarrassing I still decided to go out. But by the time we dealt with the unforeseen retardation and were ready to go we didn't have enough time to have an actual evening out*. Halfway to the venue Italics discovered he forgot the tickets on the kitchen table, so we had to quickly race back home to get them. Then, because shit wasn't stressful and crazy enough, my mother-in-law (who was driving) almost hit a fucking cat that jumped out in front of the car.

The only reason why I DID go out? Italics' mother offered to drop us off if we were still interested in going. (His father was our ride, but neither of us felt up to getting a lift from him.) I knew if I didn't accept the offer, then the real reason why we didn't go out on the 16th would've been because of me (even if my "SORRY, I'M JUST NOT UP TO IT" excuse would've been perfectly legit and reasonable).

I forlornly looked over at Papa with his cold cup of coffee and thought "I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT THAT BASTARD'LL SAY - HE'LL SAY, "WHY YOU CRYIN', BABY GIRL?" AND I'LL SAY "THE AGREEMENT WAS YOU GOT THE COFFEE, I GOT TO HAVE A NIGHT OUT" AND THEN HE'LL SAY "BUT YOUR MAMA STILL OFFERED TO TAKE YOU OUT, YOU //CHOSE// NOT TO GO" and I as much as I hated to admit it, I knew if I stayed home we'd end up having that exact conversation and his black ass would be right. I don't have any right to cry about missed opportunities when I'm the one making a conscious decision to sit them out.

* We were supposed to be in town just after 5:00 PM to allow us to do some window shopping, have a meal, have a few drinks and then have a joint or two before wandering over to the music hall for the choral performance. It was after 7:30 fucking PM when we finally arrived and they were just closing the doors of the hall; we barely caught the opening act by the skin of our teeth.