Happy Monday everyone! How excited are we to start another week of H-E-double-hockey-sticks? I need some real pointers on how to go about getting as much money for my personal belongings in the shortest amount of time. Ebay is out of the question because I don’t have 25 days to wait to get $10 for my one Coach purse. I’m talking 10k take all of the contents of my bedroom and storage so I can move the fuck out of my parents house and never look back. I love my family dearly, but good god.
Last week I walked in from work at 8pm after working a 12 hour day, (when my roommate (mom) works 6 hour days and stepdad doesn’t even work, how the fuck we have nice things and can pay for the house and the cars on my moms whopping 30 hours a week is beyond me,) and stepdad was sitting in “his” chair (actually a chair I bought for my dad the Christmas before my parents were divorced) holding pair of deer antlers. Not doing anything with them. Just sitting there holding them in his lap like a fucking weirdo.
So I’m in the kitchen making a pb&j for dinner and he starts cackling at the Colbert report and pokes himself in the stomach with the antlers. Then he throws them on the ground and decides he hates the antlers and cusses at them, because now they’re “bastard antlers from a bastard deer.”
The following day I get home at 7:30, walk through the garage and see the infamous antlers sitting on his workbench, painted brown. So I walk in and he’s sitting in “his” chair and I make the comment that I guess he must’ve forgiven the antlers and he goes off on a tangent about how he thinks he might be getting gangrene of the stomach from the poke he got the night before. Really, this is what I deal with daily. I tell him he should probably get that checked out because it would be a shame if they had to go and cut out his midriff and reconnect his arms so they’re coming out of his legs. He agreed and I went upstairs for some peace and quiet (me laying in bed with my pillow over my head.)
The next thing I know I hear him come up the stairs and go into my bathroom. Now, I am fully aware it is his house and he pays the mortgage and he can go in whatever room he wants and do whatever he wants, but he has his own full bathroom so why in gods name is he in mine? He had to pass by his bathroom in order to come upstairs to get to mine, so it’s not like it’s more convenient. And in the 11 years we have lived in this house I have not once seen him step foot in that bathroom. I could hear a lot of banging and scrubbing sounds going on so I left my door open so I could see wtf was going on when he came out.
He walked out with a bucket and took it downstairs so I conned Ella into looking in the bucket and telling me what she saw. Deer antlers. Multiple. Then I made her go ask him what he was doing with all of those antlers in my bathroom. Oh, giving them a bath. Of course, why didn’t I think of that? I asked why he had to use my bathroom to bathe his pets, he said, and I quote, “Because they still had some brain attached to them and I don’t want any deer brain in my shower. Like I do? I mean it’s bad enough that it’s my bathroom he used to do this, and the only part of my body that touches the bathtub is my feet. But, I share a bathroom with Ella and she actually takes baths and rubs her bare face on the tub. So hopefully he is prepared to console his 6 year old daughter when she comes home from school crying because the other kids had a hay-day picking deer brain our of her nice clean hair.
I’m still not sure how to go about tackling this. I’ve worn flip flops in the shower every day since The Bath to avoid any brain-borne diseases I could catch. But what I’m really scared of is drying my feet off and having a little chunk of brain stuck between my toes. And that is exactly why I need to move out, yesterday. No person should ever have to be scared of getting pieces of brain stuck between their toes. Like, ever in their whole life.
On top of brain toe jam, I have Ella running in my room every 5 seconds with her new MP3 player begging me to listen to Bubby’s new song. I just can’t take it. I need some silence so that if I want to lay in my bed, eat chocolate covered cherry’s, and watch poor quality 90’s movies, I can and no one but me will know about it. Or judge me for not wearing a bra and not getting out of bed for upwards of 2 days. I’m sorry, that’s just the kind of life I want to live. I don’t think it’s too much to ask to have to not worry about stepping on deer brain and not hearing about how antlers gave someone gangrene or how an invisible Justin Bieber is a better sibling than I’ll ever be. I’m appreciative of free food and a free place to live, the chaos is just getting too ridiculous for my brain to handle (pun definitely intended.)
But most importantly, I need to move out of my parents house so I am not living among an impressionable mind. I have a high need to entertain myself and when I live with a 6 year old it’s nearly impossible to pull off having teddy ruxpin being a lush without CPS getting called.
It’s time for me to go lay in bed, watch One Fine Day, and dream of floating through a chocolate covered cherry mountain. Adios my migos.