Why I don't visit my Dad much.

Today was supposed to be a normal day. I visited Dad after visiting a friend of mine but.... Miss Crazy-Pants girlfriend exploded. Completely. I had Dad that page of photos and she just totally lost it. She was drunk at 3:30pm when I got there! She saw the photo page and just BURST into tears, sobbing and weeping, it was absurd. Weird happy-sad crying out of nowhere. It didn’t end there either.... just, oh my god, that visit right there, that bizarre uncontrollable unreasonable crazy, was one of the biggest factors in just needing to move out so desperately. So glad I live in this apartment and not with Miss Crazy-Pants now. Also I left there with a plant. I’m still trying to figure out that part – though I have no recollection of this, the spider plant was apparently once mine? All I know is that I’ve got one now. The other highlight of this visit was just before I left, when she said she had something to ask me before I went. Which was “Do I have your permission?” natural confused question followed: “For what?” Response: “To still be with your Dad, do I have your permission?” .... what. “You don’t need my permission, that’s between the two of you, I don’t have a say in this.” Her: “Yes. Yes.” I mistakenly though she was agreeing for a moment. “Yes I do need it! Do I have your permission?” When she gets like this it’s best to just go with the flow, because any attempts to reason with this weepy insistent beast will simply further enrage the beast. “Okay, yes, if that’s what you need, it’s fine, you can have it.” But somehow this seemed to be the wrong answer also! Tears filled her eyes and indecipherable high-pitched noises emitted from her mouth and – this is the kicker – she wrapped her arms around my neck like a vise and sobbed, literally wetly sobbed into my shoulder. I don’t think I would have been able to pry those skinny little arms from my neck with a crowbar. She did let go finally (Dad is actually sighing and slightly mortified in the background here, saying “She’s determined to annoy me today.) Dad and I chatted a bit more briefly before I left, but oh god did I get the hell out of there fast once I could. 

All of that, plus the cigarette smoke, is the Primary reason I do not visit my Dad as often as I should. 

Just so anyone can see how horribly tacky my Dad's Crazy-ass girlfriend is, I have photo graphic evidence:

The horrors inflicted upon this poor bookshelf!  

So, yeah, she also has a cow obsession. And is overly patriotic in a bad way. It made me realize that yes, there is indeed a market for all that tacky crap you see in gift shops around the world. It's just one of those things you look at, shudder, and run away from quickly. Clearly the mind that would collect so many cows cannot be sane.
Not pictured: the cow objects in the kitchen, such as the paper-towel holder and Giant 3-foot-tall Cow Centerpiece.

Midterms and Halloween!

Okay! I got through midterms. I studied my butt off last weekend! ALL WEEKEND. I didn't go to DnD, I didn't go see Obama on my campus (actually somewhat regret that, but the crowd was around 30,000 so maybe not my cup of tea there) and I sat upstairs while a bunch of people in my living room giggled and guffawed while watching a movie. POWER TO MY BRAIN! Also I am in the process of having coffee this morning so I'm VERY AWAKE. All that remains after two essay tests and a 6 page paper... is waiting for the grades. But I know, know, that the studying I did of those 30 freaking cities in Latin America paid off for that Geography quiz, because I filled it out instantly and had to sit for five minutes with half the class agonized over it some more. Hooray! I feel accomplished! And I still remember all the countries down there. I had to get some mail from my Dad's house and Miss Crazy-Pants freaked out when I listed all the countries to my Dad. She thought I was speaking a foreign language. But...but they're just places! They exist! Cripes. She also is making rather obvious attempts to harass my Dad into marriage. It's terrifying. TERRIFYING. That is one of the last things I would wish on my Dad. She also repeated herself several times about how she'd gone to the doctor for the first time in like 20 years. I shit you not. 20 years. This woman is grossssss.... She's younger than my Dad by almost ten years be she is the one who has dentures. Dentures. In her forties. The level over hygiene this woman has (lacks?) repulses me occasionally. And she is very huggy, and it's always at the opposite point in time that she should... bah. Why did I let this turn into a rant about her? Oh, right, because it's so easy. Seriously I will never run out of fuel for that fire. So crazy.
Anyways.
I am having a Halloween party this Saturday and I'm so excited! I'm going to make pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting! I shall post pictures! I'm actually going to have a party at my own place with real people and the place will be full and I'm so happy about it! And I am making friends with the people in my Latin class and I think a couple of them are coming to the party, we had lunch yesterday and chatted and did Latin and such. I'm looking forward to seeing the costumes... and my costume is almost done. I'm being a firefly/lighting bug! I've made my antennae and my yellow butt, still need to make the wings-cape. And then I wear black. Simple and cute! And my Bestest friend will help me clean and make decorations on Saturday, and I'll make the cupcakes, far too many of them. This should be an excellent weekend.

Why Dad Really needs a new girlfriend. Or just not this one.

Today I went over to my Dad's house and had an actually normal interaction with my Dad's girlfriend. Some people might ask why that would be noteworthy. And my response is that she is a little bit less than a whole lot of crazy.
For starters. The way my Dad and Miss Crazy-pants met is bizarre and creepy. She dialed the wrong phone number, switching the last two numbers, and instead of calling her nephew ended up with my Dad. It's a little unclear to me what happened next, but suddenly they're talking all the time over the phone and my Dad is the happiest he's seemed since the divorce. I think she may have said once that "he has a really sexy voice." Not something you want to tell the daughter of your boyfriend. Ever. The mental images that arise unbidden in my mind, as I curse my vivid imagination, are horrifying and filled with droopy over-tanned flesh and grey furriness. Because my Dad looks like bigfoot and she's a over-tanned tiny person akin to a bag of bones. With dentures. Because she's "from the South Side, honey, we didn't have it like that." which apparently means they didn't have dental hygiene on the south side of the city. Who knew?
Next thing I know Dad is upset and mopey. Turns out, they were going to meet at a hotel and Miss Crazy-pants chickened out and wouldn't let my Dad into the room. So she calls to apologize and he's all upset and I ended up with the phone somehow, demanding "What are you doing to my Dad?" My interference patches up their "relationship" and smooths over the incident. How my Dad didn't see the "WARNING: CRAZY" signs all over this I don't know. Lonely people do such strange things. They resume regular conversations, and eventually (obviously) did meet up and hang out and had a good time.
Fast forward to the part where she moves in to our tiny 2-bedroom Duplex two years ago.
This, for me, is when the shit started to hit the fan. Then I see just how much they drink and smoke cigarettes (part of the reason Mom eventually left him) and enable each other. Miss Crazy-pants thinks Dad has the hots for the neighbor, brings it up in conversation, and makes it extremely uncomfortable for everyone. The neighbor stops visiting. Then there was the short phase she thought that the neighbor was my Mother.
Miss Crazy-pants has a tendency to repeat herself, and harp on one thing that bothered her at work for the 5-7 hours she and Dad are awake at home together. Or repeat the same phrases on a regular basis, such as "I'm not Miss-Suzy home-maker" in reference to not running the vacuum for three weeks. Or the "I love your Dad, you know that? Are you okay with me being here?" And she asks those sorts of questions when there are as many people around as possible, so it's impossible to say "Uh, not really" without making a huge scene which no one wants but holy shit do I wish I had done earlier. (Because by the time I did make a big scene it was already way, way too late.)
There was this one horrible, cruel, mean, and only funny to people-not-me joke that Dad and Crazy-pants played on me and her son (1 year younger than me.) They gathered us together, sat us down, and said "We have an announcement to make." Oh god. They're getting married. No. They smile gleefully. "...What is it?" we ask. "I'm pregnant!" she bursts out. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, NO! I deadpan. He son isn't having any of it. "No way." says he. She takes a sip of her beer. "Are you serious?" I ask. "Because if you're serious give me that beer right now." they continue the charade, giggling. I grab her beer and take a huge swig, which increases the giggles. "No way mom. You had your tubes tied, you can't get pregnant." You little... I left the room. Thank all that is holy she had just an ounce of enough sense to get that done after her son was born. She actually panicked and apologized and made me tell her it was all okay and forced a hug on me. See that's another thing about her. She invades your personal space like no other I  have ever met.
So last year Dad decided that they should buy a house. Not get married, thank god, but buy a house.  I was still living with them at this point. I think this may have been the point of no return. This is where the true crazy came out. The Story of The Salt Shaker.
It had gotten to the point where I hid out in my room constantly when at home. (I made efforts to be at home as little as possible.) I needed to do my laundry, so in order to achieve optimal contact-avoidance I took my laptop into the basement with me. Yay wifi. My laundry is trundling happily away as I browse the net when I hear from the kitchen above me: "You think you're funny? You think you're fuckin funny?!" I assume Dad said something stupid again to upset her. (It's easy.) I ignore this until Dad comes down into the basement to ask me "Did you open the top of the salt shaker all the way?"
You can probably guess my reaction.
"...what?" he repeats. "....um. No.... why?"
"She went to put salt on her pizza" (who the hell does that anyway?) "and it dumped out a whole bunch. She thought I was playing a joke on her."
"okay...."
"so you didn't do that on purpose." has her insanity infected his brain too?
"Nope."
And that should have been the end of that.
But when I went up to my room later for something I had forgotten to put in the laundry, I met her accidentally in the hallway. "Did you open the salt shaker all the way??"
"Um, no, why would I do that?"
:I don't know, (my name), why would you? Do you not want me here? Do you want me to leave?" um. jumping leaping over buildings in a single bound to conclusions much? 
"What? No. Why would I do that? That makes no sense."
"I hope not (my name), I hope not. I love your Dad." at which point she went in the bedroom and slammed the door, leaving me in a completely bewildered state, and not for the first time. She pulled a similar stunt over the location of the potholders when I said it made no sense to have them completely across the kitchen from the oven. Himalayas out of molehills?
And those are some of the reasons that Dad Needs a New Girlfriend. There are more, but I think that should be enough evidence for now. The December Fight is its own chronicle related to why I needed to get the fuck out of my Dad's house.

Obligatory Introductory Post

Starting a blog is intimidating. You know your first words need to be enticing, grab the reader and pull them in. And because of that I know I'm just going to fail terribly at this. I know I won't be interesting for quite a while. But whatever, this is mine now, so I can say whatever I like, and you can read it or not.
So. First off. Be prepared for rambling that strays from the original point and may never find it again.
I am 22, in my 5th year at college, living in my own place. Dear god do I love living in my own place. I do have a roommate, but we're basically on opposite work schedules so we really don't see each other, so I can walk around naked almost whenever I want. My mom says I'm a secret nudist. I don't think it's really a secret to my friends at this point, but I'm really only a nudist in the summer. The Midwest is far too cold for casual nudity in the Winter and Fall. Spring is okay-ish.
My parents are divorced, have been since 2007, right after my freshman year in college. Whether this was good timing or bad timing, I'm still undecided. Mostly because my life went a little insane right at the same time. My parents are pretty good parents, all things considered. Since I'm an only child I did get a spoiled, but I didn't take it overboard and become a huge brat. I didn't go wild with the freedom they gave (i.e. no real curfew) because I cared too much about Marching Band in high school. Plus I was a huge wuss and totally afraid of most adults. My Dad kind of freaked out about the divorce though, and it terribly bitter about the whole thing and especially bitter in regards to my Mom. Who I happen to look nearly identical to from her college days, which is when they met. This has led to some unfortunate incidents with my Dad, which is one reason that Dear God I Love My Place. My Mom on the other side, was my best friend, until she semi-abandoned me by moving to Arizona. It was traumatic at the time and some of my friends' mothers still resent my mom for it, but my mom has since moved much closer (only one state away now.) She's taking care of her dad, who is 92 and still kickin' it pretty good. He's a great snarky old guy with hilarious stories. You know how old folks can get.
An important point I should make is that I have a bizarre mixed-bag of luck with cars. I'll tell you the full stories later, but I'm on my fourth car. Which isn't even really mine, it's my mom's car. I got my first car when I was 16 or so. I swear. I have an anti-technology field that surrounds me. You want technology to break in new and different ways? Send it over to me!
One more thing I'm sure to write some tales about. My Dad's girlfriend is crazy. Yes, this is an overused and misunderstood word. But she seriously needs some psychological help. Wait until I tell you how she freaked out over a salt shaker once.