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06.10.2004 - 7:08 p.m.

Thursday

It's been almost a year now.

And no contact; not a holiday card, birthday wish, or emailed "fuck you".

No olive branch.

No flame war.

What we've got here is total radio silence.

And you know what?

Fuck it.

Fuck it if he can't get over the fact that his wife displayed unbelievably offensive behavior toward me on their visit and I chose to write about it in my journal. Fuck it if I wasn't allowed to write about how the words "You need to spend some quality time on your knees" made me feel. Fuck it if a guest in my damn HOUSE can insinuate that she thinks my husband and I are going to HELL because we are agnostic, and apparently that's OKAY, but for me to WRITE about it means a permanent severing to a growing father-daughter relationship.

Fuck it if he thinks ignoring me throughout my childhood means he doesn't need to make a damn effort now that we're all adults and have our own opinions on life.

Fuck it if one journal entry out of hundreds pissed him off.

Fuck him for so easily casting me aside.

Here's what I have to say.

You already missed out on twenty-plus years of my life, now you're bowing out of the rest.

If you have grandchildren some day, you will never hold them.

You're in scores of wedding photos and I regret inviting you.

All this over the fact that I didn't much care for how your wife treated me. All this over the fact that I snarked in my web journal about how she criticized our coffee, berated me for my lack of bible-thumping, and literally shrieked in horror when her salad had, dear lord, OLIVES ("What ARE those???") in it.

I could be sharing my daily silliness with you. But you know what, I'm sharing it with people who give a damn about me.

:::

And with that, some daily silliness.

 


My office, and Dog slutting the couch. You don't want to sit on the couch in my office. Seriously. There is much fur. Also, drool.


My ginormous cinema display. Love you, cinema display. Love. You.

 


My door. The bottom cartoon would be this. Because hey, if you're in marketing? Rip on yourself before everyone else does. Then you seem COOOOL. Yeah.

 

Our gorgeous fish tank.

 

Tang a ling lang!

 

From zee side.

 

B, who rules.

 

J, who also rules.

 

L, who continues with the ruling.

 

R. He SUCKS.

 

What? You want to take this outside, R?

 

Lotus, office cat. Don't touch. She'll cutchew, man.

:::

MORE RANDOM SHIT. I CONTROL THE HORIZONTAL.

Or, um, the vertical. Whatevah.

 

Horrifying instructions for Dog's new toothbrush. "Is it safe?"

 

Oh, in addition to not sitting on my office couch? I don't recommend my guest bed. Until I do laundry, that is.

 

Her name is Snouty! Snouty! Snouty Snoooouteron....

 

Grah! Must...rip...spinach bag!

 

My dreamy expression, that says...

 

Did I get THIS dumb-ass photo?

 

Who loaves their Gmail? WHO, WHO, WHO, WHO? I DO SO WRITE ME DAMMIT.

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42 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland