Dipshit's predictability, Take 2 (aka, My Savvy Manipulative Genius)

Some of you (anyone? ANYONE?) may recall the Great Ketchup Incident of exactly one year ago this month...when Dipshit opened my on-the-shelf ketchup, then later -- after I began routinely moving it to MY "area" of the fridge -- "innocently" asked if it was actually mine. Um, yes, asswipe, it WAS. And I don't appreciate you opening it. Anyway, that was irritating enough. But he THEN never bothered to actually buy his own bottle. MONTHS went by...and he continued using MY ketchup.

Now, the ONLY thing I EVER use ketchup for is french fries. That's it. I'd add burger to that list...except I never actually COOK burgers at home. And i'm not eating frozen fries all TOO often. So I don't use ketchup that much. But it's MINE. And I PAID for it. And i'm not into sharing a damn fucking thing with Dipshit beyond the rent money. He's not my brother, cousin, friend, life partner. He's a means to an end. And just very basically...it's the principle of it...use your fucking brain and remember to buy your OWN ketchup if you use it so bloody much. In a word, the whole situation was IRRITATING. I'd be livid if I bought fries...then was out of ketchup because assfuck used all of it. I have a thousand things on my mind every day...something SO stupid and trivial as worrying what food Dipshit's using of mine does NOT need to be one of them.

SO...in roughly late July, I threw what was left of the ketchup out. It had just passed its sale date, something i'm VERY aware of. And right then and there, I decided I wasn't buying more ketchup. But what if I'D need some? Hmm. I decided I'd steal packets from fast food places and discreetly hide them in the bottom compartment of the fridge, KNOWING that sometime in the autumn, once Dipshit was done with his shore house, he'd be back to using ketchup on whatever hot hash brown or whatever the fuck it is he's always putting it on for breakfast every single weekend. And he'd see we'd be out. And then HE'D finally be forced to cough up the dough for HIS motherfucking ketchup. THAT was my plan.

Well, it took about 2 months longer than I thought (thankfully...as he's been gone most weekends), but Dipshit yet again just played exactly according to the script in my head. Here I sat, enjoying the internet, Greta interviewing Sarah Palin, and a hot cup of tea on this blustery November Sunday, when in strode Assfuck with a query. "Hey, Gary, do you have any more ketchup anywhere? We seem to be out." OH? HUH. Now THIS is a shocking development. And so I put on my best acting face and nonchalantly said no. Cue look of distress. Now he's normally blind -- you know, to things like a chunk of his shit sitting on the toilet seat -- so I can't IMAGINE that he somehow spied the few little packets in the bottom compartment, hidden partly under my 12-pack of english muffins. But you never know. So there's a CHANCE his look of distress was compounded by feelings of rage that I was lying to him. Oh, well...but, again, I doubt it. I wouldn't give a flying fuck anyway. HOPEFULLY, he'll now buy some ketchup ASAP...allowing ME to finally buy a jug right after he does. Holy Christ, I can't believe I just wasted a good half hour writing this. Cathartic, at the very least.

To do: 1) vacuum, 2) clear history from computer, 3) candles

Not MY list, mind you...Dipshit's. The latest list to sit in clear view on his desk as I walk by. And yet again, sadly, I know him way too well...correctly guessing these 3 curious duties could only mean one thing...his bitch would be paying a visit this weekend. Cue extremely heavy sigh. I can't really complain too much, though...this is only her 2nd visit in 2 months, and is only his 3rd weekend here since Labor Day. Sure, every millisecond i'm around them will grate, but all things considered, it's been an autumn blessedly free of both of them. I just canNOT get over his to-do list, though...and how sickeningly predictable he is.

Oh, wait, then there's his Big Reveal to me that she would, indeed, be visiting...more predictability. He walks in from work and, after the knee-jerk, painful "heys," instantly asks if I saw some "story in the Post yesterday about Madonna." Um, what? Huh? WHY are you asking me this?! WHAT is your fucking point? What is the NEED for my vocal cords to be so taxed responding to this, and my eyes to be diverted from my latest organizational task to look up at you? WHY?! WHY?! WHY?! Well, i'll tell you why...it was his bizarre way of buttering me up, engaging me in light, utterly pointless chitchat...so he could "casually" inform me a minute later that the bitch would be up tomorrow. THAT'S why. UGH. I'll now carry on with my otherwise damn good Thursday...

An epiphany heralds the end of a bad Autumn '08 chapter

I woke today with receipts on my mind...namely, the mountain of them that have piled up ever more by the day since late May, stuffed into my daily planner...mentally draining me by looking at them EVERY.SINGLE.DAY...physically taking up space and being a total eyesore. You know me, I like to keep track of my every cent...along with being just a TAD obsessive-compulsive. But, ENOUGH!! I swore to myself that by the time I went to sleep tonight, those receipts would be GONE!

Now this is significant in 2 ways. First, that I eventually merely TACKLED said Pile O'Receipts. But more importantly...that I would NOT spend a day...or 2...or 3 on tabulations. No, this would be a severely truncated ordeal. Life is too short. Actually, my first thought was to simply TOTALLY disregard them and toss them into the trash without looking at them. But late tonight, I figured I'd just quickly add them all up WITHOUT the usual painstaking breakdown that I will NOT even get into here. And, so, BOOM! They're gone! Just like that. Under 2 hours...and that's not even a fair estimate, as I was doing it in spurts and while playin on the internet. About an hour or so if I'd totally focused on it. BEYOND freeing!! Clutter GONE!! I wish I could've lit them all on fire, but that's probably against some urban law. Christ, I need a cathartic & symbolic fireplace.

So the receipts are gone. And I'm feeling better, too. The past 2 weeks, I've had ANOTHER issue I won't even get into. It's just been one ailment after the other this autumn. Knock on wood, though...i'm feelin REFRESHED the past couple days!! And can I please have at least a five-year hold on people in my life dying? Because that's kind of a big, big downer. It's been a shitty autumn. Until now. Things are looking up...and, naturally, i'm hesistant to think or write that. But I just did. I pray the other shoe doesn't drop. It's good to FEEL good again.

Auntie Rae

The matriarch of my family died today. Less than 3 months shy of her 91st birthday, so you can't say she didn't live a long life. And, yet, it absolutely still seems too soon. This was a woman who was vibrant and strong, not a thing wrong with her until February. Well, OK, she didn't have the greatest vision, and you often had to speak VERY LOUDLY for her to hear you (she refused to get a hearing aid; why, i'll never know), but those are relatively minor, standard old-age things. When I say vibrant and strong, I mean the way she moved, thought, and spoke.

There was no cane, no walker, no inching along feebily. There was no big trouble with stairs. There was no going food shopping for her; sure, her daughter would drive her to, that's right, my favorite ShopRite...but then she'd maneuver the aisles by herself with her own carriage, thank you. In the summer of 2004, I clearly recall (and I have a picture to prove it) her kicking around a soccer ball with her great-nephew. She was 86 at the time. At her annual birthday party, SHE'D be the one running around, getting the silverware, bringing in the teapot, serving the coldcuts, cutting her own cake. There was no sitting back getting feted and waited upon. Everyone else was too slow for her. She MOVED.

And what she thought, she spoke. And WHEN she spoke, you heard her. I don't know that there was an unexpressed thought in her head...which always delighted me, of course. She spoke fast and loudly. Yelling wasn't out of the question when something or someone irritated her, which was rather often. "ISN'T that awful?" was one of my fave Rae-isms, spit out with just the right combination of disgust and head-shaking. She was one of THE funniest people I've ever known in my life. I'd just sit back and enjoy the show whenever I was in her presence, absolutely relishing her razor-sharp sarcasm and flat-out insults.

In February, everything changed with an EVENTUAL diagnosis of inflammatory breast cancer. I bet many reading this have never even heard of it, which is insane. None of US had ever heard of it. And the DOCTORS had a hard time diagnosing it. It's a RASH, not a lump. A rash that can bleed and scab on the breast. Oh, and did I mention it tends to strike YOUNG, BLACK women? My aunt was white and 90 at the time of diagnosis. In fact, she'd always been white. So the doctors didn't think it was possible this rash could possibly be inflammatory breast cancer. But it was...which, naturally, infuriated my aunt. SHE'D planned on dying just like her mother and grandmother, dammit...of a sudden heart attack. Now she was 90 and had to start getting chemo?! Not fun.

But she prevailed for a good while. The first time I saw her after the diagnosis wasn't until her daughters' birthdays (they're twins) on April 29th. I was a bit nervous to see how she'd look and act. So IMAGINE my stunned relief when we opened the door and she looked JUST the same. She went on to BEHAVE just the same...rushing around as was custom, and displaying the same sharp wit. She even at one point leapt on a chair to fix a curtain. All was good.

I saw her a few more times throughout the summer, the last time on July 27th. She maybe looked a TAD thinner at that point, but overall, no big change. But then she got some blood clot in August, which screwed things up with the chemo. And you know how it goes...age, cancer, complications...everything just kind of snowballed. Even so, her death today in a way came suddenly. As recently as early last week, she was eating a bit and walking herself to the bathroom. But then things turned bad after Wednesday and the dreaded hospice was called in. I only learned on Friday that things were dire. And even that warning didn't prepare me for the miserable reality of it all when I FINALLY visited yesterday. I WAS sick for a good while in September and October, and didn't wanna bring germs around her, but I still should've seen her sooner than yesterday. Don't wait...GO!! You can't be too foolishly optimistic in situations like this...that's my lesson to anyone reading this. Jesus, and I almost bailed yesterday, too...thank GOD I went...though by this point, she wasn't even conscious. Just occasionally moaning and writhing. Beyond awful.

So it became one of those times where I kept waiting for the phone to ring and to see it was my parents on the Caller ID. Like what happened at 1:08pm today. Auntie Rae had just died within the half hour, dad said. He also said not to bother coming over, which, as the day wore on, I felt more and more irritated about. So that was that. I hung up the phone. And I kind of...I don't even know. It was expected, and she WAS 90...so it wasn't SHOCKING. Like, say, my grandmother dying of a heart attack 4 days before Christmas 20 years ago. No, THAT was shocking; today's events...not so much. I'm generally a stoic, on automatic pilot-type when people die. I get upset if I see OTHER people upset. Myself, I deal. And I, well, WRITE, don't I? It's soooooooooooo enormous, I don't know it can be processed right away.

Auntie Rae was a FIXTURE of my life. It's unfathomable that she's gone. But she is. And -- can I bring in a Joe Biden reference now for timeliness? -- you can either fall apart or GET UP. There's really only those two alternatives in life. My aunt went through a lot in her life and JUST kept going. With humor. She'd OFTEN reference her not being around much longer, as I guess many elderly do. "I'll be long gone by the time...(someone gets around to doing such and such)" was the usual line. By the way, 1) I long ago stopped calling her Auntie and just used Aunt, and 2) she wasn't even actually my aunt...she was my first cousin, TWICE-removed. Her and my mother's mother were first cousins, their mothers being sisters. Follow? But the age gap led to everyone of a certain age calling her Auntie. Titles don't matter, though. She was family, period. And I loved her dearly. And now family parties will NEVER be the same. And I'm gonna be emotionally and physically exhausted by week's end. But that's OK. Auntie Rae deserves our honor. (Though, really, TWO full days of a wake? Us insane Irish Catholics. Auntie herself said such an act was a foolish waste of money. And can you believe the standard USED to be THREE full days?!!?!?!!!?) And she deserves the Bailey's i'm gonna have in her honor after I finish this, as we approach 4am. Here's that "perspective" slant to finish things off...I am one lucky son of a bitch to have had her in my life all these years. I wish you all could've known her.