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.
last ::: next
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
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