Saqqara's journal

My roomate has a penchant for buying shit that’s too expensive, too big, and gaudy. It’s a wonder he doesn’t own an Escalade. Last year, he bought a dining room suite from one of those rent to own places that charges you out the ass. It’s a simple wrought iron table with a glass top. You read right, glass. You probably already know what happened.

We worked yesterday from nine to nine. Twelve fucking hours and three fucking parties of around 200 people a piece. We were worn out. Around 5:30 though, my roomate’s mother calls him. We live in a duplex, so she’s in the next apartment. She tells him she heard a loud crash and went over to see what happened. Apparently, one of the cats ended up shattering this glass table of his. The glass table of his that is so big, you can’t even open the kitchen door all the way.

Anyway, he hangs up and looks at me. "Those fucking cats are gone." For a moment, I’m not really comprehending what he said, because I didn’t hear the whole conversation, only his end. "What happened?", I say. "One of those cats busted the glass on my table. My fucking $1100 table!" Right at that moment, I’m resisting the urge to scream at him. I know which cat has done it. His fucking cat. She’s been jumping from that table on top of the refridgerator to lay on the microwave up there. (Yes, the microwave is on top of the fridge, the kitchen isn’t that big and there’s no counter space.) For the record, I hate his fucking cat.

I watch him mixing the remnants of a fruit tray into fruit salad for tomorrow’s buffet. "You know your cat probably did it don’t you? She’s been jumping off the fridge onto the table for about two weeks now. She did it when we came home yesterday." He looks up at me. "I don’t give a fuck! They are both gone, I’m sick of them costing me money! Unless you want to pay for half of replacing the glass, your cat is gone too!"

Hold the fucking train. They are costing him money? I shell out the money for food, cat litter, and whatever else they get. He hasn’t bought a bag of food since I first moved in. Now, when one of them breaks the table, probably his, he wants to get rid of BOTH of them. Now, I’m not going to try and delude myself here. I know it’s a possibility that my cat could have broken the table. But whose cat has been seen jumping onto the table? Now, because one of them broke his ugly ass table, both have to go? Fuck that.

I wait until after work to go ballistic on his ass. It’s been building up for about four hours now. He starts in as soon as we get in the car. "So are you going to pay for half the table?" I go completely nuts. "YOU’RE FUCKING CAT IS THE ONE WE’VE SEEN JUMPING ON THE FUCKING TABLE FROM THE FRIDGE. SURE, IT’S POSSIBLE MY CAT COULD HAVE DONE IT, BUT YOU DON’T FUCKING KNOW. WHY SHOULD I PAY FOR HALF OF SOMETHING MY CAT PROBABLY DIDN’T FUCKING BREAK??" He screams back about my cat clawing his furniture. Which, given, yes, he did, before I got him declawed. He hasn’t even had the decency to get his cat spayed. She’s a female and has already had one batch of kittens.

I didn’t make it home. We had to stop at my mother’s to pick up a TV she was giving to us. He’s railing at me in the car about my cat and I’m already mad as a motherfucker. I look over at him, "If you’re wise, you’d shut up right about now." He cocks his head and says, "Oh yeah? Why?" I throw my coke in his face. "That’s why", I say, and get out of the car. He’s pissed and drives off. I stay the night at my mother’s.

This morning, I got home and looked at the table. Sure enough, it’s broken on the side that’s closet to the fridge. Broken in half, then into smaller pieces when it hit the floor. Sadly, I’ll probably end up paying for half of the glass because I can’t prove my cat didn’t have a hand in it, but if his cat were to come to an untimely end, I don’t think I’d be too sad about it.

I hate over bearing people. You know the type. Perhaps you have an overbearing friend or family member. For me, it’s my mother. I am usually pretty cool about her nature, either ignoring her, or annoying her to the point where she gives up trying to persuade me otherwise.

Today, she calls me while I’m at work to ask me what I’m going to do for my birthday(March 31st). I tell her Timmy and a few of the waitresses are going to take me out to the bar and buy my drinks. I normally steer clear from the bar, but with free drinks on the table, I was reeled in like a dead fish. She immediately explodes. I wasn’t really concentrating on the yelling I was listening to on my headset, rather, I was trying to decorate a shrimp platter for 9. Here’s what I did hear though:

"You can’t go to the bar for your birthday!! It’s your twenty-first birthday and already you’re going to get drunk?!? You’ll get drunk and end up pregnant! It always happens! You don’t need kids, oh my god if you have kids I’m not going to watch them! You’ll be a whore all because you drank!!!"

As I’m seperating parsley and placing it strategically between marinated and barbequed shrimp, I laugh. She hears this and rants some more. Finally, once I send the platter out to the nine top, I address her concerns. I’m rather miffed that she thinks I’m so irresponsible, and rather pissed because I don’t live with her any longer and still she tries to tell me what I can and cannot do. Here’s my reply:

"Mom. Chill. I’m 21. That’s the legal drinking age. Regardless if you know it or not, I have drank before. I don’t plan on getting shit-faced like Timmy does every weekend, but if it happens, so be it. If I want to get drunk, smoke some pot and fuck some midgets, I will. It’s my life and I’m going to live it."

She hangs up on me. I laugh. I probably just gave my mother a stroke.

I haven't been around much, here on NAO, or the online community in general. Recently, my computer decided to pack its bags and leave me stranded, so I went without net access for a few months. Now that I'm back, it comes as a shock to me to see NAO as "empty" as it has become. Where are rosyxxx and the others who used to post everyday before my absence? Of course, Aynjell and I still talk on AIM, but it seems he's always busy with some sort of test, so I don't bother him much.

As for me, I suppose you could say things have fallen into place. I still live with Tim, the roomate I bitched about so a few journal entries ago. I still work at the local Country Club, serving up dishes to those with the money to pay for them. I don't play games as much as I used to, and I'm sure the guild I was in when playing World of Warcraft has forgotten about me.

I find myself these days watching more movies than TV, especially those starring Anthony Hopkins (how he can go from a cannabalistic killer to an interpretation of Chekov's Uncle Vanya is beyond me, but damn it, it's fun to watch!) and Ian McKellen. I suppose I have a fascination with British actors.

I've been asked to help with the development of DROD: The City Beneath (next installation of DROD), which is an amazing opportunity not because I want to develop a resume, but simply because it is absolutely astonishing to be part of something I've loved for so long. I can't go into details about the work, as it's considered top secret, but I can say it's very fulfilling to be working on the project.

Yes, things seem to have fallen into place for me, compared to just a year ago. I had no where to go, no money, no job to make money, and just the few things I could grab from my room before I left. I would dare say I am living quite comfortably, better off than I could have imagined.

My relationship with my mother is still a bit rocky, which I imagine it always will be, but for now, we have a sort of NAP. I do things for her, she does things for me, and we both just grin and pretend like our past doesn't bother us. My relationship with my father on the other hand, has blossomed. I talk to him more, share more things about my life with him, and this time, genuinely care to listen when he complains about work, or gets a new gadget to toy with.

Things here are running very smoothly, and I intend to keep them running that way. Now to find a copy of The Remains of the Day and mark it off my list.

How quickly we sink back into the old "groove" of things, no matter how long you've been away, or what you've done inbetween the time since you left.

Last Sunday, I joined my family for an outing. My mother and father love to go to the flea market about an hour from here, every Sunday. When I lived at home, I could read those two like a book. I knew every expression, every oft-repeated phrase, every joke and every quirk about them. As I slid into the Blazer behind my mother, that knowledge came flooding back.

My giant of a father, 6'10", lanky as can be, surveys the landscape as my mother drives. I think to myself, "He'll turn his head and watch as we pass my grandfather's old house. He'll comment how the new owners aren't keeping the lawn mowed properly, and that his bitch of a step-mother shouldn't have sold it."

Sure enough. Only instead of bitch, he chose hag. Censorship for the tranquilized little box of ADHD pinned down under a seatbelt beside me. If he hadn't taken his medicine, I wouldn't have gone.

I waited for my mother's response, which would either be a simple grunt, or an added insult to the owners of the house and the unkempt yard (looked fine to me, even the grass looked like it had been mowed at least a few days ago)/my step-grandmother.

"She was never a bright one, I'm sure all she saw were dollar signs when he died."

I almost wanted to chuckle. Chuckle... bad word. I wanted to laugh. Laugh hard. Laugh like you laugh after you've witnessed something so funny, you can't help but fall down, holding your sides, crying and laughing at the same time. You can't stop. You get the feeling of being unable to breath, it hurts, but hey, this shit is so funny, you can't stop laughing. That's what my family is, one big drama theater slash late-night comedy show.

My mother commenting about someone with dollar signs in their eyes. My mother is the cheapest person I know. If I didn't know better, I'd say she had a Swiss bank account and was hoarding money overseas for the day when she thought she didn't need my father anymore. My mother, the woman who bitched everytime I asked for more than a quarter. I know her so well, so well.

The thing I love most about my father, until it is directed at me, are his comments towards others. My father NEVER thinks before he speaks. He says his mind. Some of his best moments?

I worked for the deli in the local supermarket. I hated that job. It was only a summer job between college, but I hated it. I told him so. I told him about the fat bitches that asked prices they very well knew, then bitched about them. My dad grinned and said, "Here's what you do. When they ask about the price, and then bitch, you tell them, 'Well, whatever you've been eating must've been pretty cheap, because you sure as hell 'et a lot of it!'" I burst out laughing. I never do it, but I love it. Morbid humor I suppose you could say.

---------------------------------------------------------------

My roomate and I were talking about me not having a car. He said I should tell my dad I wanted one of the many mopeds he was fixing up for my spoiled brother. My dad overheard and out of his mouth comes, "You'd have to lose weight girl (I'm always girl, never Ashley), you're too fat." That comment never bothers me coming from him, I've heard it ever since I slipped above a size 8. Timmy, my roomy, immediately starts giggling like a little school girl.

I wait, thinking in my head, here it comes boy, your turn to get burned.

Sure enough. My father chimes in before I can finish the thought. "What the hell are you laughing about fat boy? (my friends and I never have names) Those bracelets are loose on other people, on you, they are stretched apart as far as they can go." Timmy shuts up. I grin. My father and his bluntness just made my day. Morbid humor and all.

My mother, with something negative to say to everyone but herself.
My father, with his sarcastic but funny comments, and loud redneck way of talking.
My brother, with his ADHD, stayed doped up half the time on whatever the alternative to Ritalin is.

Despite all that.. secretly? It felt good to be home.

This post was edited by Saqqara on Jul 26, 2005.

What is it about relationships that make them work? Is it having a common ground of interests to talk about? Both being sexy as hell and enjoying it? What?

I personally want a partner I can sit down and have an engaging conversation with, one where we can both look at our watches and say, "wow, it's 3 am already?" I don't really care about personal appearance, nor do I care about "status". Someone who genuinely interests me is what I want.

What interests me you ask? I don't know. I like working with computers, but I'm not a computer geek. I like playing games, but I don't form cults and pray that the developers create Doom 2394834 within the next year. There are several things that interest me, not just with computers. Ancient History is a favorite subject of mine. I could spend all day talking about it, to anyone who would listen and reply with more than an "ok" and "how did you say that name?".

I suppose when it boils down to it, I don't really know what I'm looking for. Perhaps it will come, perhaps it won't. I'll bide my time and see.

What is it about human nature that compels a person to continue something once they are asked to stop? Is it the "high" they get from the laughter their antics generates? Is it wanting to see the other person get pissed/upset, or is it genuinely not knowing when they've carried things to far?

Being called names doesn't really bother me, as I know the truth and that's all that really matters, but my roomate went a bit too far today at work.

He insists that I am manly, which I admit, I don't wear makeup, and I hate wearing dresses, if that's the qualifying factor of being "manly". He constantly called me that today at work, things like "Hey, manly bitch" and "Look at that manly man work." Usually, things like that don't irritate me, but when I asked him to stop, that the joke was getting a little bit old, he refused.

That's what irked me. Never have I publicly mocked him about his life choice. I've never called him a faggot, a dick sucker, or any of the common terms for being gay. And I would never, even after today. I know how hurtful those things can be, even if we say they aren't. People bringing them up somehow makes us think about it, think we are doing something wrong from the choices we've made.

You'd think a 22 year old would have a bit more compassion, especially since he's chosen a lifestyle that gets him mocked everyday by others. Sounds like he needs a bit of help, but right now, I'm so irked, I can't deal with him.