No, I'm not dead yet.
I started to write a bunch of entries during the intervening time period, but I either ran out of time or I just got fed up with the whole entry-writing process. I have been a very busy girl, and this journal isn't doing it for me, for the moment. But I'll keep writing in it. After all, I keep smoking, don't I?
Telling my folks was Not Fun. My father told me that I was making the biggest mistake of my life, and that I'd regret it, and it would probably break Dirk and I up. My mother basically said, "Go ahead, you'll do what you want anyway." No kidding. And that was that. My mother will never visit me at the apartment, and the boys aren't welcome at her house, ever. But that's no more or less than what I expected.
Moving was Not Fun, as well. I don't like loading heavy shit, and I certainly don't like attempting to organize my stuff. My stuff has been occupying the same space for the last 12 years – it certainly doesn't want to move now. I am also genetically incapable of throwing stuff away. So we moved all the furniture and major stuff (like bedding and clothing) the first day, and I'm slowly moving everything else one day at a time. My parents have been moderately supportive, giving me a vacuum cleaner and a hell of a lot of food.
I still hate doing the dishes, but at least the apartment has a dishwasher. Right now, I'm the only person with enough cooking skills to make more than two dishes. Aaron can make enchiladas and breakfast burritos. Dirk can make grilled cheese and b-b-q sauce and cheese sandwiches. So, the boys are learning the joy of eating rice, and lots of it, because I'm Asian enough to eat that way all the time. Aaron actually had the gall to ask me, "Is the rice supposed to be this....sticky? Not that I'm criticizing your cooking or anything." So, I simply told him that this was the way FLIPs (filipinos) eat their rice, and the very idea of having actual separate grains of rice (a la Uncle Ben's) made me nauseous. Luckily, my parents bought me a rice cooker of my very own years ago, so I'm not trying out my skills cooking rice on the range.
They also eat a lot more food than I do. I mean, they eat three whole meals a day, plus snacks, and drink milk with most meals. What the hell is up with that? It must be an american thing, because I think of milk as something to put in food, coffee, and hot chocolate; not something to drink by itself.
Anyway.
I like living with Dirk, for the most part. Sleeping next to him at night is, well, exactly the same as it was whenever my folks were out of town or we scraped together the excess cash to rent a hotel room. Nice. I don't sit around at night watching him sleep peacefully and wonder how I got so lucky (this is because I know how I got so lucky – I made a fuck of a lot of people suffer to get what I wanted). There have been a couple incidents. Like this morning, we were running late because Dirk had to make his lunch. When I questioned why he didn't do it the night before, he said, "I thought you were going to make it."
Let me clarify here that I had made his lunch the day before, but that was because he was feeling sick. So I gave him a lecture about the fact that I am not his mother, he should never assume I'm going to do something like that for him (especially when I'm busy with my own shit, like I was last night), and the fact that he so blithely assumed I was going to make his lunch when I never even consider asking him to make mine. To drive that point home, I used the fact that I wasn't eating lunch today because I didn't make one as an example. This did not have the desired effect. He offered me his sandwich so I wouldn't starve and I had to explain the point.
Valentine's Day has long since passed and what did we do to celebrate? Dirk "surprised" me with truffles. He told me that he didn't have enough money for him to buy me anything and then told me he'd meet me at my car in the commuter parking lot that evening, and I had to wait for him if he wasn't there already. I felt bad, though, because I really didn't have any money whatsoever and I didn't get him anything. We also had sex. His mother came over the day before and brought this awful heart-shaped cake (Aaron insisted that it tasted good, but if the good lord meant for me to eat neon-pink icing, he wouldn't have cursed me with good taste). I was just too reminded of the grape-flavored icing we bought from the close-out store (gee, wonder why no-one wanted to buy that culinary masterpiece?).
We have a show on Mar. 5 at Phantasmogoria (if I'm not spelling it right, tough shit to you). Be there or be square. We'll be in the studio March 3 and 4 mixing our album. That's all for now. Feel free to send me any easy, cheap recipes that do not involve beef, pork or seafood. I'll love you forever.
