Football!

Eek.

I am *SO* drowning.  I have until Monday to finish some things and Wednesday to finish the rest.  And I’m not going to be able to do it, which is of course why I am stopping now to blog.  But I need a break.  And I have to go watch the Superbowl and play QB1 tomorrow.  :-)  I am such a fucking guy sometimes, I swear…  I really, truly wonder sometimes if I wouldn’t have been happier as a man.  I mean, I’d be gay as *hell* ‘cos I like men too much, but whatever.  And I have to try to get a hold of Muffin, Son-Friend’s daughter, who is working right now and said she will call me either when she gets off tonight, or tomorrow morning.

And my GOD does something about all this upset G-F of S-F.  He sent a text message to me today to ask if she had phoned me (G-F, not Muffin); I said no and asked why, and he replied that she was really torqued about it, and had said that she was going to ring me up and give me a piece of her mind.  Whatever.  S-F had to text me to find out if she had phoned because the woman lies.  Sheesh.  I try so hard to get along with her, but it seems that *something* always happens.  And G-F would never phone me to confront me; if I inherited anything from my father, it is the ability to, as my mother says, “go for the jugular”.  In other words, I am a little too honest with people for G-F’s taste, ‘cos god only knows she’d freak and have to take a Klonopin or two if anyone ever tried to address any of *her* problems…which I would be more than happy to do.

Have I mentioned lately how very pleased I am to be single?

Okay—it is because I am not completely, but having to endure drama even third-hand makes me at least realise what a pretty shade of silver my cloud has.  Rilly.  It’s gorgeous.  :-)

I think that at the centre of G-F’s problem is that Muffin likes me, and thinks G-F is an old nutty drag.  Which she is.  But in fairness, G-F needs to realise that I am way-closer to Muffin’s age (both Son-Friend and G-F are considerably older than me); Muffin “can’t relate” to her, and thinks of me as an “older sister” type in a way.  I only saw Muffin every few months (give or take) until a couple of years ago, ‘cos when Son-Friend divorced Muffin’s mom (who, oddly, has many of the same personality traits as G-F of S-F), Mom O’Muffin immediately shacked up with some guy who was a sleaze, forbade Muffin to see her father, and promptly squirted out two more kids (out of wedlock with sleazeboy).  So S-F would have to sneak and see Muffin until she turned eighteen a couple years ago and moved out.  And I know that I sound overly moralistic, but remember—my parents had me late; as wild as I may have been at any point in my life, I was raised to not behave in certain ways, and the way in which Mom O’Muffin behaves is one of them.  

Not the having litters out-of-wedlock part so much as the lying about your husband(s) and hooking up with a no-account slimeball whom one wouldn’t even consider as marriageable in the first place, and *then* having kids that you cannot afford (in a monetary sense as well as with respect to time) to try to keep this man without the benefit of marriage to boot.  At that point, it is simply adding insult to injury.  Those poor children.  

So Muffin grew up, Mr Slimeball dumped Mom O’Muffin (who then claimed he…::drum roll::…beat her, and hooked up with yet another guy), and Muffin (in an attempt to get as far away from Mom O’Muffin as possible) moved out to East Egypt and is a waitress.  She lives with two friends, talks to Mom O’Muffin never, and spends time with Son-Friend as much as a young lady can and still manage to look cool.  :-)  Muffin’s cute.  She smokes too much pot and she needs to go back to school, but she’s cute.  Perhaps in time she will get more serious, but considering that for literally all of her teenage years she was babysitting her younger step-littermates (‘cos Mom O’Muffin is mental, and taking care of kids is not Her Thing) constantly, and never got to do anything, well…I can understand her wanting to do nothing for a few years.  Muffin’s older sister (not by Son-Friend…did I mention Mom O’Muffin had issues?) ran away at sixteen and got married to get the hell out of that household.  

How did Son-Friend get involved in all that?  Easy.  He hadn’t met me yet, and he’s freaking retarded sometimes.  Mom O’Muffin wanted to get away from her first husband, so she manoeuvred her way into getting pregnant and then convincing Son-Friend that he had to “rescue” her.  So, not seeing the forest for the trees, he did.  Idiot.  She and Son-Friend worked together (this was ages ago, before his seizures got really bad, and before I ever knew him), and Mom O’Muffin didn’t even tell Son-Friend she was married!  Then she popped up pregnant, and ‘fessed up that she was really married but (here comes Drama, kids) Husby 1 BEAT her.  

Yes, that’s right—BEAT HER.

What bullshit.  First of all, he didn’t.  I would bet money on it, and I don’t even know the man.  After Son-Friend and Mom O’Muffin had run off and her divorce was about to be finalised, Husby 1 actually TRACKED SON-FRIEND DOWN to tell him that Mom O’Muffin was batshit, and Good Luck to Son-Friend if that was what he thought he really wanted, but Husby 1 felt obligated to warn him.  Son-Friend said that Husby 1 acted totally normal, nothing like Mom O’Muffin had made him out to be.  I told Son-Friend that he should have taken his first clue then, if not before.  Idiot.  

And Mom O’Muffin really is batshit.  In that respect, I *guess* G-F is a step up in that she is not COMPLETELY insane, just a little cuckoo.  I didn’t believe Son-Friend about all that had happened (well, I thought he was exaggerating out of spite, not that I could have blamed him…Mom O’Muffin promptly dicked *him* over as well, then made a break for freedom—again with someone else—about five years after having Muffin, leaving Son-Friend with nothing but a bill for child support.  Did you know Son-Friend is *also* a wife-beater?  Ha, ha.  Sigh…she needs to think up a new lie for variety, if no other reason) until I *met* Mom O’Muffin.  

Sheesh; Husby 1 may not have, Son-Friend may not have, but if I woke up tomorrow next to that bint, *I* would beat the stuffing out of her.  Christ.  *How* Husby 1 and Son-Friend managed to NOT beat the tar out of her is beyond my comprehension, and a testament to their self-control.  Slimeboy also beat her (per her), and if he truly did it was well-deserved.  I do not condone abuse (I grew up with quite enough of it, thank you very much), but some people are figuratively down on their knees begging for it, and Mom O’Muffin is one of them.  I think it is the Texans who recognise that some people are just in need of a good killing?  Yeah—that’s Mom O’Muffin.  She’s co-dependant, jealous, greedy, lying, demanding, whining, screaming, abusive, overly-dramatic, vain, hurtful, hateful, intentionally incompetent, and repays kindness with vengeance…in short, she gives women a bad name.  Oh—and she has cheated on all her husbands and boyfriends, to the point that slimeball, when he left, had a paternity test on the second child that was allegedly his (as I pointed out to Son-Friend:  if they’ll do it with you, they’ll do it to you…learn, fer chrissake.  He should have run like hell the moment he found out she was really married, and just sucked it up and paid the child support; that’s not handwriting on the wall—that’s making words out of the fucking bricks).  In some alternate universe, Mom O’Muffin is the bitch making a deal with the State to plead a “battered woman defence” in exchange for testifying against the live-in boyfriend who abused their children to death right under her nose, and probably with her participation.  I am sure something horrible must have happened to her to make her this way, but…frankly, I don’t give a fuck.  My empathy and understanding only extend so far, and it petered out when I saw how she treated Son-Friend and Muffin, not to mention her other children.

One time, when Son-Friend met Muffin I went with them.  Muffin was depressed—one could just tell—and kept talking about Mom O’Muffin and all her latest screwiness.  Son-Friend didn’t notice, but to me Muffin looked like she was having issues.  I had to stamp on Son-Friend’s foot to get him to shut up, because Muffin would make a comment, and Son-Friend would ignore what she might have meant and start talking about something irrelevant (men are *so* dumb sometimes, I swear…), then Muffin would make another comment which was ignored, then another, and so on.  

So I pounced on his foot, and he shut up.  And *I* started talking to Muffin.  And what it all boiled down to was that Muffin did not understand why her mother did some of the things she did (some of these things would be *such* a long story), and Muffin didn’t want to understand, ‘cos she felt as if she would end up as nutty as her mother if she were able to follow her mother’s reasoning, but on the other hand she could not tell what her mother was going to do from one minute to the next.  In listening to her, *I* heard that she was most afraid of turning into a Drama Queen like her mother.  So I took her hand and all I said was, “Muffin, you are not your mother.”  More was supposed to come after that but like a bolt of lightning, Muffin started sobbing—not crying, sobbing.  I went over to the other side of the table to hug her, and Son-Friend just sat there, looking confused and alarmed.  “Why is she crying?” he mouthed to me.  I just rolled my eyes and mouthed back, “Later”.  

Sigh.  Men.  I swear.  And I cannot handle much of situations like that…it is all so different from the way I was brought up, think, and expect things to be that I feel like I am watching a soap opera from Pluto.  

Butsoanyway.

And one wonders why I have a low tolerance for drama.  

But I think that this will be a good opportunity for Muffin; she will earn some money, and hopefully have some fun.  G-F can bite my ass.  

How did I get off on this tangent?  I don’t know.  

I was at Eviljob today, and one of my cubiclemates showed up too, so it was just the two of us for most of the day.  He had me in hysterics—he was complaining that he could not access www.al-Qaeda.com, and talking about how he was hoping to find the website, ‘cos he was hoping they would have a “Contact Us” button.  He wanted to tell them that our building, and in fact Eviljob as a whole, was a keystone of American Society and without Eviljob (and especially our facility), the entire infrastructure of the United States would crumble within minutes.  Even were that to be true, I asked, why would they care; I get the feeling they aren’t really *interested* in American Society.  “Oh,” he said, “I don’t care if they care or not, I just want to convince them that they should blow up this building!  That way, I don’t have to come to work on Monday!”

Sigh.

But, I asked, what if you were *in* the building when they did it, smartass?  No problem, he explained—he’s one jump ahead of me.  He’s going to explain that the whole Eviljob Industries International is just a front for a secret government organisation that operates in our facility…only at three in the morning.  So if they want to really “get” the US, they will blow up our facility at three in the morning.  

Then he asked me if I thought it might be www.al-Qaeda.org.

Sigh.  

I actually had a fun time today.  I think it is because I have a morbid sense of humour.  Though I wish I could have a do-over on last weekend.  Which I might.  

Meg’s back, and she is so funny; I went over the other day just to see the $350 manicure set, and it’s a bottle of lotion, a file, toe separators…that sort of thing.  Finally I realised Meg was making a joke—they hadn’t claimed the set to be *worth* that, Meg was factoring in her buy-in and everything.  Silly girl.  They also gave her lunch at that tourney, and Meg said that the $350 lunch wasn’t all that.  :-)  But she did win a little bit.  

I started this post last night, and then went back to work, got tired, and now here I am again, trying to accomplish something before Superbowl time…  At least I don’t have to worry about getting a good seat; I talked Son-Friend and a couple other guys that are going with us into showing up early.  I haven’t had a chance to eat since yesterday afternoon, so I am *dying* for nachos!  And wings!  And chilli & cheese fries!

But no beer; beer is yucky.

Yay, football!