Friday, December 7, 2012

Biting, Biting Irony

Fifteen days yet, Blog.

Well, on my end, everything is still going sluggishly.  I can't get a new phone/plan until I cancel my old one, which I can't do without paying about $100, which I can't do because my flatmate is still MIA and hasn't paid his rent.  Actually he's more AWOL than MIA.  At this point I rather feel like I'm being taken advantage of and I don't know how mean I ought to be about this; he's really pushing what's acceptable.  Actually he's not.  This is a pretty cut-and-dried case of "unacceptable."  He's not pushing anything; it long since fell off the cliff onto pointy rocks below, contracted gangrene, and died a long, slow, painful death.  Financial troubles aren't exactly a new thing, mind.  I always manage somehow.  But this isn't about whether or not I can manage; this is about breach of contract.  I wouldn't even care as much if he'd just keep me in the loop.  Drop me a message or something.  I don't know whether I should be concerned or really, really pissed. 

(Author's note: I would normally pop a humourous picture in here.  I Googled "gangrene" images and boy, what a mistake that was.  I'll spare you, Blog.)  (My God, though.)  (Also, I'm at work, and I just had to explain to my boss why I was looking at pictures of rotting testicles.  Thank God I'm a biologist or I would never get away with some of this crap.)

Speaking of conflicting emotions, here's a piece of irony for you: yesterday I started this blog and when I got home and checked the mail there was a letter from my father.  Now, part of the reason I abandoned my previous blog was that my parents insisted on reading it and then quoting back pieces at me in a really passive-aggressive way.  In fact, my father's letter did just that!  It's ironic that I would start a new blog on the same day as getting a letter from him... particularly a letter that referenced by old blog (which has been out of service for over a year).  I hardly hear from him (my da, not my blog) and it's hardly ever pleasant.  Fortunately for me I long since stopped caring if he reads my blogs (Hi, Dad!) and am more interested in being pathologically honest with myself and others.  (Isn't that a nice phrase?  Someone used it recently to describe me and I've adopted it as something of a personal philosophy.)  But going back to the letter, I would like to take the time to highlight my two favourite lines:

The Line:
[referencing a previous correspondence in which I told him he'd hurt my feelings by saying I have STDs] "You should take credit for causing that hurt."

Why It's Bullshit: Let me explain this one in a metaphor.  If a bully calls a fat kid "lardass," and the fat kids says his feelings are hurt, the bully should not say "Well it's your fault for being such a lardass."  This is called blaming the victim and it's a way for bullies to deflect accusations and not own up to the fact that they are being cruel.  This is not a perfect metaphor because I actually don't have STDs, nor have I ever.  My father seemed to think I did because on my previous blog I talked about 3 boys I had slept with.  That's right, blog.  I slept with THREE BOYS in college.  Le gasp.  (Actually, to be fair, it is now 5 and I have been sexually active for almost 6 years.  Especially for a Penn State student, that's not bad.  Ba-dum tss!)  Obviously this means my body is wracked with every conceivable illness, including beriberi and Tourette's fuck cunt twat, since condoms haven't been invented yet.

The Line:  "Your mother and I accept your individuality."

Why it's Bullshit:  If that were true, then I wouldn't keep getting letters that accuse me of various things, whine about how I've hurt my entire family, and highlight what a supreme failure and disappointment I am.  My parents don't "accept" my individuality.  They don't even tolerate it.  Acceptance implies, according to Webster's, "admission, consent, or approval."  Tolerance implies "the allowance or willingness to tolerate the existence, occurrence, or practice of (something that one does not necessarily like or agree with) without interference."  Considering these, my parents are best defined as "grudgingly aware of."  But I guess saying "My mother and I are grudgingly aware of your individuality" just doesn't have the same ring.

Well, enough of that.  I sent back a 3-page reply that was as respectful as possible while still being blunt, because I refuse to insult either of us by weaving a fictitious little lie.  I know that what I said wasn't what he wanted to hear, but it's akin to drilling a cavity.  No one WANTS to get a cavity drilled, but you can't just ignore you; you have to bite the bullet and take care of it.  Actually you probably shouldn't bite the bullet if you have a cavity.  Well, I don't know, I'm no dentist.

So as long as I'm on a nice, meandering ramble about interpersonal relationships ("as long as I'm clogging up the internet's tubes with my inane personal problems"), I should mention a recent comment I heard that made me feel a bit sad.  It came from Jack.  Yesterday I was talking to Andrew for hours and hours, and Jack came up behind him and I heard him wonder aloud if I was closer with Andrew than I was to him.

Well, it's hardly a fair comparison.  They're both my best friends.  I've always said they're like two different colours, both brilliant and of the same intensity, just, you know, different hues.

But then he said something like, "I think her attraction to you is emotional and with me it's more physical."

Ouch.  I don't think I'm so shallow.

It's important to note here that they are identical twins.  Take a moment to process that.  Go ahead, I'll wait.  *twiddles thumbs*

So you've probably identified why this is ridiculous right off the bat.  But the thing is, I felt awful because, yeah, Andrew and I do talk more and better than Jack and I do.  But there are reasons for that: Andrew and I never dated and there's no drama, Andrew and I have a lot of things to work out for the move, and frankly Andrew is a lot less insensitive.  Of course, "insensitivity" is one of those things that can only be measured AGAINST a third party; perhaps Jack isn't insensitive but I'm just too sensitive, which is a definite possibility.  I don't know what he wants from me.  I still love him; sometimes it's hard to talk to him without wanting to rip his head off.  In my defense I am a praying mantis and I always feel this way toward my mates.

(I was looking for a picture of praying mantises and I found this.  
You're welcome.)

But, seriously, doesn't he get that part of the reason we talk so little is I'm trying to protect him?  Trying to protect our friendship?  I don't want to argue with him all the time, and when I'm emotional that tends to happen.  I'm trying to avoid conflict here.  You're welcome, buddy.  Obviously I'm a little more emotional now than ever what with the impending move and everything.  This is a high-stress time.  And if he really wants confirmation that I like him for him and not just his body, maybe he ought to stop working out, black out a few teeth, and see what happens.  Spoiler alert: we'll still be best friends.

I'm still really looking forward to the roadtrip.  (Spoiler alert: we'll still be best friends, but in California.)

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