Reality TV, eat your heart out!
Dec. 14th, 2004 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lykomancerSo.
Last Thursday morning I met with the psychiatrist, who seemed to not believe that I have depression but gave me a trial packet of Zoloft anyway and told me to come back in three weeks. Cool. I was a third of the way home when I got a call from Wendy saying that they would be arriving in about an hour and a half, and then I had to worry about whether or not I would be able to beat them home.
I did. Barely. I was walking out the outside stairs, and I took one last glance at the street, and a dark blue car rolled by and I grinned 'cause I knew it was them.
Wendy had driven straight out-- no stops for sleep-- so she crashed out on my couch and Derrick and I sat around and talk for a bit, then walked to a liquor store, got a bottle of vodka, and went home, all the while talking.
(~Stories of mine should stop involving vodka, ne?~)
Tom came home late from Ashland and he went to bed, and a fairly drunken Derrick asked me to "cuddle" up with him on the floor. So I did. I suppose I should have known better, but I really wasn't thinking about being groped. o.O!
("What in the hell are you doing? Stop that, stop... What? No, I will not have sex with you! ...why? Um, lessee: we just met, Wendy's sleeping less than a foot away from us, I'm not on birth control, and oh yeah, housemates shouldn't fuck!)
O.O;;;;
This kind of stuff needs to stop happening to me.
Right. So after I convince him that trying to have sex with me is not in his best interest, I manage to get to bed. It was about 4 am.
The next day we get up, and thinking about the night before was kind of embarrassing, but whatever. At least nothing much actually happened. We went for drives around the city; we talked; we made plans to move shit.
Really, I don't remember most of what we did on Friday...
On Saturday, we rented a Uhaul and moved all the heavy big stuff. A friend from seminary gave us tons-- I think literally-- of furniture, so first that went in, and then all our old stuff. In the process of moving one of the dressers, my pinkie finger got crushed between the dresser and the edge of a stair, and I heard it go "crunch." I don't think it's broken-- I wouldn't be able to move it if it was-- but it's been completely numb since Saturday so I think I squished some nerves pretty damned bad.
I hurt myself a LOT that day. I crushed my finger, twisted my ankle, bruised and scraped up one shin, whacked my knee... I look like I went ten rounds with Mohammad Ali.
We're still moving some odds and ends over, but almost everything is done. (OK, except Wendy's room, but that's completely understandable. Wendy-- along with Derrick-- did most of the heavy lifting; I mean, she worked like a mule moving stuff in, and then she began work at Wal*Mart already yesterday. She hasn't really had much of a chance to get her crap together.)
As for Derrick, who I describe before as excessively heterosexual stereotypically male... well, I can see why Wendy has a hard time dealing with him sometimes. Sexist pig? Oh, yeah, and what really clinches it is the fact that he doesn't think he's being sexist.
("Me and Tom will handle the big stuff, and you girls can take care of the littler things...Short hair is a boy's haircut; women should have long hair...you could be beautiful if you just tried, Jess..."
Now is that a helluva backhanded compliment, or what?
Crap like that. All the time. Depending on how he say it and what it's about I have handled these kind of statements with out and out violent protests ("Oh hell no, you ain't stickin' me on bitch detail! I can carry heavy things; who do you think helped Tom get all the furniture into this place?!") to placid shrugging off ("That's your opinion. I disagree.") to good-humored sarcasm ("I 'could be beautiful'? Oh my, thank you ever so much; I feel like putting on a pink dress and high heels and make-up and groveling for you!")
He really hates my sarcasm. ^_^ I don't give a flying fuck what he hates. He's going to have to learn how to deal with it.
Yeah, and he's a Crispie. Believes in the literal truth of the Bible. Went to the Unitarian church with me and Tom though, and he was ok with that, but he doesn't really get how UUism is a "real" religion.
(I think I've decided to become a minister, btw. I ain't got nothing else better to do, right?)
...
Tom's waiting for me to go, so I guess I'll continue this tomorrow or something. We gotta go move more crap.
Last Thursday morning I met with the psychiatrist, who seemed to not believe that I have depression but gave me a trial packet of Zoloft anyway and told me to come back in three weeks. Cool. I was a third of the way home when I got a call from Wendy saying that they would be arriving in about an hour and a half, and then I had to worry about whether or not I would be able to beat them home.
I did. Barely. I was walking out the outside stairs, and I took one last glance at the street, and a dark blue car rolled by and I grinned 'cause I knew it was them.
Wendy had driven straight out-- no stops for sleep-- so she crashed out on my couch and Derrick and I sat around and talk for a bit, then walked to a liquor store, got a bottle of vodka, and went home, all the while talking.
(~Stories of mine should stop involving vodka, ne?~)
Tom came home late from Ashland and he went to bed, and a fairly drunken Derrick asked me to "cuddle" up with him on the floor. So I did. I suppose I should have known better, but I really wasn't thinking about being groped. o.O!
("What in the hell are you doing? Stop that, stop... What? No, I will not have sex with you! ...why? Um, lessee: we just met, Wendy's sleeping less than a foot away from us, I'm not on birth control, and oh yeah, housemates shouldn't fuck!)
O.O;;;;
This kind of stuff needs to stop happening to me.
Right. So after I convince him that trying to have sex with me is not in his best interest, I manage to get to bed. It was about 4 am.
The next day we get up, and thinking about the night before was kind of embarrassing, but whatever. At least nothing much actually happened. We went for drives around the city; we talked; we made plans to move shit.
Really, I don't remember most of what we did on Friday...
On Saturday, we rented a Uhaul and moved all the heavy big stuff. A friend from seminary gave us tons-- I think literally-- of furniture, so first that went in, and then all our old stuff. In the process of moving one of the dressers, my pinkie finger got crushed between the dresser and the edge of a stair, and I heard it go "crunch." I don't think it's broken-- I wouldn't be able to move it if it was-- but it's been completely numb since Saturday so I think I squished some nerves pretty damned bad.
I hurt myself a LOT that day. I crushed my finger, twisted my ankle, bruised and scraped up one shin, whacked my knee... I look like I went ten rounds with Mohammad Ali.
We're still moving some odds and ends over, but almost everything is done. (OK, except Wendy's room, but that's completely understandable. Wendy-- along with Derrick-- did most of the heavy lifting; I mean, she worked like a mule moving stuff in, and then she began work at Wal*Mart already yesterday. She hasn't really had much of a chance to get her crap together.)
As for Derrick, who I describe before as excessively heterosexual stereotypically male... well, I can see why Wendy has a hard time dealing with him sometimes. Sexist pig? Oh, yeah, and what really clinches it is the fact that he doesn't think he's being sexist.
("Me and Tom will handle the big stuff, and you girls can take care of the littler things...Short hair is a boy's haircut; women should have long hair...you could be beautiful if you just tried, Jess..."
Now is that a helluva backhanded compliment, or what?
Crap like that. All the time. Depending on how he say it and what it's about I have handled these kind of statements with out and out violent protests ("Oh hell no, you ain't stickin' me on bitch detail! I can carry heavy things; who do you think helped Tom get all the furniture into this place?!") to placid shrugging off ("That's your opinion. I disagree.") to good-humored sarcasm ("I 'could be beautiful'? Oh my, thank you ever so much; I feel like putting on a pink dress and high heels and make-up and groveling for you!")
He really hates my sarcasm. ^_^ I don't give a flying fuck what he hates. He's going to have to learn how to deal with it.
Yeah, and he's a Crispie. Believes in the literal truth of the Bible. Went to the Unitarian church with me and Tom though, and he was ok with that, but he doesn't really get how UUism is a "real" religion.
(I think I've decided to become a minister, btw. I ain't got nothing else better to do, right?)
...
Tom's waiting for me to go, so I guess I'll continue this tomorrow or something. We gotta go move more crap.
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Date: 2004-12-16 03:39 am (UTC)::grins and points at her history capstone that's on Nazi ideaology:: I hope you realize how ironic that comment is. XDDD
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Date: 2004-12-16 11:11 pm (UTC)VIVA EUGENICS!
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Date: 2004-12-17 12:57 am (UTC)AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
MUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
no subject
Date: 2004-12-17 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-17 06:37 pm (UTC)Thank you. That was a helpful, enlightening comment. We all here appreciate your intelligent and well-defended opinions. Keep up the good work.
P.S. Ever thought of becoming a movie critic?