My brain is speedy…

…running like 1000 mph. If only I wanted it to zip along like this.

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moneybillssleep.

This stream of conciousness brought to you by my last thoughts before bed.

Will the miracles never cease?

My brother, you’ve met…

…and if you’ve not, you’ve read about him on this very blog at least once. Well, tonight he’s pretty much taken the gold star for pissing me the fuck off. Where shall I begin? Let’s start the story right before we depart for the grocery store. Since Nate is convinced that Wegman’s is the antichrist, we went to Weis in Bellefonte. This I did because I figured I could live without a few of the luxury things I usually buy, at least for two weeks. So, I asked Nate if he could drive since my trunk is full of clothes for Goodwill. He was hesistant but drove anyway. I mean, it’s a mile each way, so not a big deal.

So, I tried chatting with him on the way there and got the typical two sentences of response back. Whatever, I’m used to it.

Tried chatting with him in the grocery store. Again, nothing.

I filled the cart with my stuff and shared items and he put his things in. We made it to the register and I paid on my credit card, as is usual. Loaded up the truck, I put away the cart, and away we went.

On the way down the hill, Nate faltered at running a yellow light and had to hit the brakes hard to get stopped. The groceries slid to the front of his truck bed and a few things came unbagged. Immediately, this became my fault because I didn’t drive. As though things wouldn’t have fallen in my car if I slammed my brakes, right?

But still, not a big deal. I told him that they’d have fallen out of the bags in my car, too…don’t worry about it. We parked. We got out. I gathered stuff up. “WE are taking YOUR car next time,” Nate informs me, in that dad tone of voice I loathe. “Well, I’m glad that’s your decision to make, Nate. I have NEVER gotten all of the groceries for us in my car alone or anything ever,” I retort after I make sure he can carry the rest of the stuff up the stairs.

In the stairwell, he continues to bitch at me. *i’m not playing this game, i’m not*

“Nate, what do you get out of this?”

In the door and it happens. He says it. As I put things down in the kitchen, Nate declares “You’re just always finding ways to get out of little things.”

Yeah. Like when I put the Foreman grill in the oven instead of cleaning it. Or when I made him do three sinks worth of dishes this week. Or when I sat in my room while he took out the trash and carried the recycling bin upstairs and down. Or when I sat on the couch while he cleaned the entire apartment alone because I was “too busy with homework.”

Oh. Right. That’s actually THE OTHER FUCKING WAY AROUND!

Fuck this shit.

Addendum…

Not everything about my weekend was awful, though. I did get to see all of the key players in my family…both Barbaras included. Saturday was spent roadtripping to Grove City to visit Hoover with Dusty. We lunched at the ever-creepy “Gin Sun” restaurant (replete with Mr. Lee), stomped through way too much snow, shopped all up ins the Prime Outlets and had Vocelli Pizza give us the run around with its retarded phone systems. I met this mysterious Amanda person for the first time and have a vague recollection of there being a glowing Wilfred Brimley on Saturday evening. It must have been great, whatever happened.

On puppies and such…

So I went home this weekend. I think this was the weekend when I realized that going home is more annoying than just sitting in my apartment alone. Not that this realization hasn’t been on its way: taking the cat and all of his accessories or packing for Xmas has given me a taste of how obnoxious this is in the past. However, this time was particularly awful. I had to get my shit together in PLASTIC BAGS because we took Nate’s truck. On top of this, Nate insisted upon not putting some things in the bed, so I was not able to move for two hours. There and back. While holding stuff on my lap. There is barely a radio in his Tacoma, more like headphones stuck to the door and turned up loud. Plus, Nate has a way of making you feel more rushed than ever in your life…we had to leave as early as possible on Friday, no time to even have a snack in the apartment (and talking him into stopping at all was a challenge) and then he just up and decided that 7 was the magic time for leaving yesterday evening. Go!

Aside from the drive, my house is a disaster. My mom has partitioned off the entire living room so her dog cannot get to the carpeted sections. This means stepping over at least one piece of furniture to get in. On top of that, the areas that are dog-approved are FILLED with toys – squeaky birds and fluffy dinosaurs everywhere. You cannot leave Bailey alone at all, apparently…someone must watch her at all times. And she has to go out like 15 times a day, if not more. No exaggeration. Plus, I think the most irritating part is that it’s ALL my mom talks about. How many times she pooped, where she peed, when she got a bath, blah, blah, blah.

On risk of sounding like a jealous older brother, I’m SICK of dogs. I just want my family back. I mean, I made a fucking trek across the state to see them for the weekend and they really just wanted to play with their puppy.

Cute as she is, it was too soon for her to be adopted. My family is so not over Ebby dying and is using this new dog as a way to make right whatever shortcomings and guilt they carry from their time with the last dog.