You know, deep down, in my heart of hearts, I knew all along.
It was a subtle knowledge, with many clues. One was my near-constant tiredness. Another was my super-sensitivity to the cold. A third was the fact that I picked up nipples from somewhere in the past two to three weeks, and they were sensitive. Add to this my daily cramps, wieght gain (minor, mind you), late period and the fact that I almost passed out at the Rancid show on Saturday night, and what do you have?
You guessed it. I'm fucking pregnant.
Let us ponder, for a second, the amazing joy I felt upon learning this.
So, anyway, I figure my fucking body decided to renege on our little agreement....guess who's not going to be eating for a while? And guess who's going to pump as much caffienne into her system, as punishment, as she can, every single goddamn day for a few weeks?
And, as I have explained before, I am not having this baby. This isn't a snap decision made in desperation. I've had about 4 years to think about it, and I have ascertained that I am completely incapable of raising a child, or producing progeny that will be an asset to the world at large. Especially with Dirk for the father. We both have serious problems, both conditioned and congenital.
So, save the bitching and all attempts to "save my soul". I'm genuinely uninterested in how much you oppose my morals, or lack thereof. You don't like it, fuck off.
I'm going to take another test tomorrow, just to make sure the first one wasn't just the universe's attempt to mess with my head. Then, I'm calling a clinic and making an appointment.
And, if you know me in real life, don't you dare fucking tell anyone about this. The fact that I even put this on the site is astounding, and if I find out that anyone other than the two local friends who read this knows I'm preggers, I'm gonna track down the source and gut them. Do you understand?
Now to discuss the rest of my week-end.
On Friday, my aol account was terminated, not by my choice. See, someone broke into my account on Thursday (while Dirk wasn't on), and downloaded something that apparently violated AOL's terms of service agreement. When my father called to explain that none of us had even been home that day, AOL replied that it was our own fault if someone had broken into our account and downloaded said picture (how a picture can violate TOS, I don't know), because either I'd given out my password, or it was easy to guess, or we'd accidentally downloaded a Trojan Horse program that had given someone else access to our account. Fuck that. Remember, in January, when someone broke into my account, and I reported it? I asked AOL repeatedly how they could have gotten into my account. AOL refused to respond, citing "privacy". So, they refused to give me the information, so I didn't know how to protect myself. And, for all I know, some Trojan Horse program has been ticking away in my computer, sending my password to whoever originally broke into my account every time I changed it.
Man, I fucking hate AOL. I hope the fucking business goes under. Our account was summarily terminated, and we have no chance of getting it back. And I won't even begin to discuss what a fucking violation of privacy it is that they were monitoring what we downloaded. How fucking dare they? Unless it's child pornography or something, it's none of their goddamn business. And it wasn't in the Terms of Service when we joined, so they must have added it later. Fuck all this. Now, I'm on a search for a new ISP, and I'll have to get Aol Instant Messenger Service to talk to Katie A-, C--, or anyone else I knew on aol.
Friday night, we met Katie's new beau. Quiet, friendly, and getting a Liberal Arts Degree. I had to wade through a crowd of brats in Halloween costumes to get to the place they were meeting us. I was furious, because these kids would just wander aimlessly in my path, and I couldn't kick them out of my way, and their parents were too brain-dead to grab them by an arm and keep them close.
Saturday, Dirk and I spent the afternoon watching Halloween movies. We made a run to the store at about 3 to get his mother batteries, but that was the extent of it. His mother's been sucking up to me, big time. It's seriously pissing me off, because I don't like her that much, and she's starting to treat me better than she treats Dirk. This is frighteningly reminiscent of the way she used to treat Krisco.
Saturday night, we went to see the movie Vampires. A word of warning: don't see it, it's awful. Theoretically, it's based on the book, "Vampire$", by John Steakley. But the script writers only took a main character and two scenes from the book. They either killed off or completely didn't use the other main characters, and they didn't use any of the plot except for the beggining scene (and they screwed that up), and an elevator scene (which they bastardized, as well). They made up their own goddamned plot, involving a hooker, a priest (who was in the book, but wasn't such an asshole, and died at the end of the book), Jack Crowe (who was ten times the asshole in the movie as he was in the book, as well as ugly and stupid), some guy named Tony something, who I supposed was to be a combination of Carl Joplin (the backup weapons guy who never went in to kill vamps) and Cherry Cat (Jack Crowe's sidekick), and Malleck (or something, who cares), who was the evil Original Vampire out to get Team Crowe.
It was all bullshit. They didn't even bother using the essence of the original plot, and all the people who were supposed to be dead at the end weren't. Jack Crowe and Father Adam lived, even though they were supposed to die horribly. They even got the details of vampirism wrong, in an effort to be PC, I suppose. In the book, crosses and silver hurt vampires, left permanent wounds that didn't heal. Not in the movie. That would have been too religious. Instead, it was a sort of virus or something, and you turned into a vampire if you'd been bitten at all, eventually. In the book, just a bite wasn't enough. You had to die from the bite, then you'd rot and have maggots crawling through your chest cavity, then you'd rise up from that as a Goon, which was a shambling horrible thing with peeling skin and red eyes. If you survived being a Goon, which was thier larval form, I guess, you became a Master. Masters could pass for human, had superpowers, and were nastily evil and cruel.
The loss I felt the most, in the movie, was the lack of Cherry Cat, aka Catlin. He was Jack Crowe's sidekick, as well as the comic relief and the most enthusiastic of the vampire slayers. He'd been a lawyer before he retired to paint covers for sci-fi novels, and he wasn't quite sure how he'd lucked into the Hero business. I could relate to Cherry Cat, and they didn't even fucking have him in the movie. I'd even based part of my life's philosophy on one of Cherry Cat's musings.
"Everybody had his own relationship with their leader and each relationship was close but none as close as Cat's and everyone knew it. Cat found it strange that he recieved so much attention, that his feelings of.......well, approval, he guessed, should be so important. But they were.
For now
Because one day, Cherry Cat was very sure, someone would stop by from the Home Office, some field man in charge of Karma, and inform him that there had been a dreadful mistake. We're very sorry, Mr. Catlin, the man would say, but you're not supposed to be here. By some clerical error, your soul was classified under Hero when it should have been under Intelligentsia. Let's face it, Mr. Catlin, you are hardly the crusader type, now are you? You should have been a film critic.
It was bound to happen, thought Cat. But until that time, until they caught him, he was going to stick. Because he couldn't imagine any other way that a fellow like him, a smartass and a determined coward, could hope to hang around these giants. So he would stay until they dragged him away. Just to be there. Just to see it.
He only hoped the Home Office wouldn't prosecute."
I spent the entire ride home from the mall lecturing to Katie and Dirk about the movie.
On Sunday, Dirk and I ran errands in the afternoon. On a whim, we decided to go see Rancid at the Capitol Ballroom that night. This occasioned another trip to Springfield, to get tickets. We purposely didn't let Aaron know until it was too late.
See, he and his skank ho had wanted to do something with us on Saturday night. When Aaron found out that we were seeing a movie, he became disgusted, saying he'd wanted to "do something special" with his ho. Meaning, he wanted to go up to DC to a club or something, which everyone knows is a mess on Halloween. Instead of going to the movies with us, he spent the evening at Sonia's house, watching videos. Stupid.
The Rancid show was alright. By that, I mean I love Rancid. However, their sound was fucked up, Tim looked drunk, and I hated everyone in that goddamn crowd. I don't know why it is, but the crowd at Rancid shows is always chock-full of fucking assholes. 1) They wear spiky shit that pokes into other people in the crowd, 2) Few of them are over eighteen, 3) They fucking mosh wherever they happen to be standing, heedless of the other people hopelessly smashed next to them, 4) They fucking crowdsurf, a lot. I hate moshers, I hate crowdsurfers. I was seriously considering lighting up some of the hair that had been sprayed into utter stiffness, and starting a major fire to clear the place. Some bimbo next to me had her arms up in the air, despite the fact that you couldn't have fit a fucking piece of paper between us, and was dancing. Her arm kept brushing my cheek. I decided, at one point, that if her arm kept brushing my cheek I was going to bite a fucking chunk out and spit it at her. Instead, I stuck out my elbow, so that everytime she jiggled to the music, she got a good jab in the ribs. I hope it bruised.
Then, I got kicked in the head by one of the goddamn crowdsurfers. My vision instantly unfocused, and I got a little disoriented. A few minutes later, Dirk and I moved further back, and off to one side so I could recover. I noticed that one guy in green pants and red shoes was crowdsurfing over and over again. Each time he'd get picked up by one of the bouncers and set on the ground, he'd pass me as he mixed back into the crowd. I figured there was an even chance that he'd been the one who kicked me in the head, so I spit my gum down the back of his shirt the third time he passed me. I was beyond caring.
Then, I started to pass out (as mentioned earlier). Dirk led me out of the crowd, into the side room where they were selling refreshments, and got me a drink. After fifteen minutes or so, I felt a bit better, just in time for the show to end. The drive home was uneventful.
I've decided that I'm not going to another Rancid show. They attract too many teenybopper assholes. I didn't become a punk to deal with little assholes who care about nothing but how they're dressed and what they can blow up, and who the coolest band is. I did it for the idealism (although I don't have any), even though the idealists burned out, for the most part. Fuck all these teenagers who think they're hot shit and they've tuned into the best there is. They're poseurs, the lot of them, and they'll end up being and doing NOTHING. I hope they all die.
On Monday, I overslept, missed one class, took Dirk to work, and took the pregnancy test. When it came out positive, I called him, but he had to go suddenly. His boss came on the phone and told me to call him back later, because he was busy. After I hung up the phone, I think I cried for a few minutes, then got myself in order and set about hiding the pregnancy test.
So, it's been a shitty week-end.