I used to have this really hot temper, and I used to fly off the handle a lot. But then I got sick and mellowed out. This was generally a good thing, as I stopped getting into (and subsequently often losing) fights and started getting along better with my friends and family. It's been a few years now though, and it's starting to kinda suck a little bit. Because while I'm much more calm than I used to be, I've also started letting people walk all over me.
That shit is going to stop.
Don't get me wrong. I don't intend to become an asshole. But I do intend to speak up and stop rolling over.
Would examples work? Ok.
A few months ago I was picking up my prescription and the pharmacist fucked it up. This always happens. But this time he offers up this excuse: "I had it right when I left the other day, but these goddamn foreigners working here on the weekends screwed it up, you know?" Dear Whitey, 2005 bryc3 just shrugged that off. 2006 bryc3 is going to say, "I don't appreciate your insinuation that I share your ignorant, racist beliefs. Cunt."
Want some more?
Dear Mrs. Talking On Your Cell Phone, you can't merge. I see what you're doing, sneaking up in your Ford Expedition to the very last second in the merge lane. It's cute, but you're not getting over. Hit me, I dare you. We can explain it to the cops together. Hell, we can even call them on your goddamn cell phone. Tell them it's 2006 bryc3 on the line, they're going to be seeing a lot of me this year.
Dear Ms. Can't Be Bothered, would it have fucking killed you to hold the door open for me? You walked through two seconds before I did and you didn't so much as glance backward or push it open a little more as you passed through. 2006 bryc3 is calling you out on that.
Dear White 2004 Honda Accord with Texas Tags That's Been Parked Illegally In The Handicapped Spot In My Arlington Apartment Complex, you might be interested to know that 2006 bryc3 is the one that keyed your car the other night.
Dear Nationals Ticket Holders In Section 470 At RFK, you might want to cover your childrens' ears. 2006 bryc3 is going to be telling out of town fans like it is. To the ushers at RFK stadium- the other guy started it.
Dear Coworker, when you ask me where I go out and I say I go to a lot of shows, that's the end of that conversation. Don't ask who do I go see, and then explain you used to go to a lot of Dave Matthews concerts. Because if you do, 2006 bryc3 is going to tell you what he thinks of people who used to go to a lot of Dave Matthews shows. And then you're probably going to cry.
Dear 2005 bryc3, stop being such a sissy. Sack up, bitch.
Dear Paramedic, I'm allergic to iodine and my health insurance card is in my wallet. And do me a favor? When my girlfriend shows up to pick me up, just say, "You should see the other guy." Thanks.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
Daddy #3? Yeah No
My parents got divorced last week. This isn’t sad. It’s been years in the making and comes as a surprise to no one. They got married when I was two years old. My mom had me with Daddy #1 and split shortly thereafter. She started dating Daddy #2, an old flame, when she was still pregnant with me. Daddy #2 had several redeeming qualities Daddy #1 did not possess, including: 1) a job and 2) a checking account. When you’re seventeen years old and pregnant and on welfare, this is apparently all you can hope for. They may have been in love at some point, although nobody can really remember when. They dated for two years then decided to get married when (again, surprising no one) my mom got pregnant again.
The thing is they stayed together for years and years. They never had one of those obnoxious, head over heels loves you’re supposed to have, but they raised the kids (the last one, my brother, came when I was five) and didn’t kill each other. They even got along, although there certainly weren’t any fireworks. Very early on Daddy #2 became just Dad, and the kids liked it that way thank you very much.
Sometime around the time I graduated from high school my mom got tired of Daddy #2 and started dating one of Daddy #2’s employees. The fact that this embarrassed everyone involved apparently didn’t matter to my mother. Neither did the fact that this guy was a complete tool (he was a computer technician in literally every sense of the word) and only a few years older than me. She swore up and down she was in love, and she made Daddy #2 pack his shit and get out. There are more details, but it’s a bit hazy. I was very, very stoned at the time. Who wasn’t? I was eighteen. So, doing the math, Daddy #2 left when I was eighteen and the divorce became finalized last week. Apparently it took them twelve years of living in separate houses and dating different people before they were sure about things.
Daddy #2 has been with one woman this whole time- he lives with her and her college-age daughter. My mom has bounced from man to man, looking for Daddy #3. I thought that was bad. But now that she swears she’s found him I’ve realized I really don’t want any more Daddies.
I just got back from spending Christmas with them at her place. This was the last chance for me to make up my mind about him. He’s rubbed me the wrong way from the start, but I love my mother so I figured I’d give him another go. Yeah, he sucks.
There’s no way to sugar coat this- my mom is fucking crazy. Not in a cool, inspiring-sympathy Mommy Dearest kinda way. More in a drama queen, publicly humiliating kinda way. She’s the nicest and most considerate person in the world, but there’s no denying she’s an absolute trainwreck.
She’s gone over the top for this guy. On the surface he seems okay- a bit older, divorced, wealthy, clean criminal record. But once you get to know him he’s simply an intolerable asshole. You know that guy who makes really stupid jokes you’ve heard a million times, then punches you in the ribs over and over keeps saying “You get it?” until you grit your teeth and admit that yeah, you get it? He’s that fucking guy. He’s also the guy that feels he needs to relate to me, like he’s worried his impending marriage to my mother my derail if I don’t approve.
Hey buddy, I’m thirty years old. I know what people who are ‘in love’ do to each other in the bedroom. You’re the guy that’s having sex with my mother that isn’t my father. I don’t care about your opinion about anything. Keep spending money on her and be there for her so I don’t get the drunken, hysterical phone calls at 3am when my latest potential Daddy fucks off. Just leave me alone and do whatever it is you two wanna do. You and I don’t want me to have to kill you, but we both know I will.
You get it?
The thing is they stayed together for years and years. They never had one of those obnoxious, head over heels loves you’re supposed to have, but they raised the kids (the last one, my brother, came when I was five) and didn’t kill each other. They even got along, although there certainly weren’t any fireworks. Very early on Daddy #2 became just Dad, and the kids liked it that way thank you very much.
Sometime around the time I graduated from high school my mom got tired of Daddy #2 and started dating one of Daddy #2’s employees. The fact that this embarrassed everyone involved apparently didn’t matter to my mother. Neither did the fact that this guy was a complete tool (he was a computer technician in literally every sense of the word) and only a few years older than me. She swore up and down she was in love, and she made Daddy #2 pack his shit and get out. There are more details, but it’s a bit hazy. I was very, very stoned at the time. Who wasn’t? I was eighteen. So, doing the math, Daddy #2 left when I was eighteen and the divorce became finalized last week. Apparently it took them twelve years of living in separate houses and dating different people before they were sure about things.
Daddy #2 has been with one woman this whole time- he lives with her and her college-age daughter. My mom has bounced from man to man, looking for Daddy #3. I thought that was bad. But now that she swears she’s found him I’ve realized I really don’t want any more Daddies.
I just got back from spending Christmas with them at her place. This was the last chance for me to make up my mind about him. He’s rubbed me the wrong way from the start, but I love my mother so I figured I’d give him another go. Yeah, he sucks.
There’s no way to sugar coat this- my mom is fucking crazy. Not in a cool, inspiring-sympathy Mommy Dearest kinda way. More in a drama queen, publicly humiliating kinda way. She’s the nicest and most considerate person in the world, but there’s no denying she’s an absolute trainwreck.
She’s gone over the top for this guy. On the surface he seems okay- a bit older, divorced, wealthy, clean criminal record. But once you get to know him he’s simply an intolerable asshole. You know that guy who makes really stupid jokes you’ve heard a million times, then punches you in the ribs over and over keeps saying “You get it?” until you grit your teeth and admit that yeah, you get it? He’s that fucking guy. He’s also the guy that feels he needs to relate to me, like he’s worried his impending marriage to my mother my derail if I don’t approve.
Hey buddy, I’m thirty years old. I know what people who are ‘in love’ do to each other in the bedroom. You’re the guy that’s having sex with my mother that isn’t my father. I don’t care about your opinion about anything. Keep spending money on her and be there for her so I don’t get the drunken, hysterical phone calls at 3am when my latest potential Daddy fucks off. Just leave me alone and do whatever it is you two wanna do. You and I don’t want me to have to kill you, but we both know I will.
You get it?
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Idiot Tax
Last Monday I started off on the wrong foot. I'd had a long weekend and never really got a chance to relax. My girlfriend's mom was in town, and it was my first chance to meet her. Everything went fine but it was definitely stressful. By Sunday night Baby and I were at each other's throats from dealing with the pressure so I never got an opportunity to just unwind.
I left my apartment in Arlington at about 7:15, bound for my office in Reston. I have a reverse commute, so I take the Dulles Toll Road and don't worry about the HOV restrictions. Only I got to about Route 7 and realized I had forgotten my laptop at home. Bitter. I turned around and headed back toward town, calling Baby on my cellphone in the meantime to bitch.
Right as I'm passing the exit for 123 I remember the Toll Road is HOV inbound in the mornings. But at that point it's too late to stop. I say to Baby, "Man, it's really going to suck if I get a ticket to boot." Sure enough, not ten seconds after the words leave my mouth I see the state trooper, lights on, in my rearview. Great.
He comes up to my car and says, "Do you know why I pulled you over?" I smile and say, "HOV, right?" I then explain that I normally reverse commute, that I'm aware of the law but was flustered because I forgot my laptop, and that I've never been pulled over for HOV before. He seems sympathetic, but he's a fucking cop and I have never talked my way out of a ticket for anything. You'd think being honest would be a good idea, but it's honestly never worked for me. Next time I'm playing the cancer card, because the current strategy ain't working.
After he's written the ticket he walks back and explains he's sorry but he has to give me a ticket and blah blah blah. You know the drill. He tells me I have the right to contest it in court (what kind of asshole does that?) or just pay the fifty dollar fine. He also advises me that the fine for subsequent offenses increases drastically. I then ask him what I'm supposed to do next, as I have to drive on the HOV lane for several more miles before I can get to an exit and get off. I explain that I don't want to get another ticket. He laughs at the possibility. Great. Even the cops laugh at the idea that 99% of the fucktards that willfully violate the HOV restrictions get away with it. I drive away and curse my luck, certain that I'm going to get pulled over again. Luckily I do not.
Later that night I show the ticket to Baby in disgust. Baby, being the genius she is, looks over it carefully and points something out. The time on the ticket says 9:00, but the cop has checked PM instead of AM. The inbound Toll Road is HOV only in the morning, not the evening. He checked the wrong box by mistake! I'm stoked, I can beat the ticket. "Why Your Honor, surely there has been some mistake. I obviously could not have been in violation of the HOV restriction at 9:00 PM. I am a law-abiding citizen." But then I start to wonder if that's going to work. Will the judge realize the mistake and fine me anyway? Can he even do that? What are my rights? Surely I can't be charged with something I probably did, can I? The only evidence that documents the offense says I didn't do anything wrong. Baby, in yet another stroke of genius, suggests that maybe the cop really did feel sorry for me, and he deliberately 'accidentally' checked the wrong box to give me a way out if I bothered to read the ticket!
So now I don't know what to do. Do I spend the day at traffic court trying to beat a fifty dollar ticket (and remove the risk of paying an even bigger ticket if I screw up again), or will that backfire because the judge can still fine me? Can I honestly keep a straight face in court? Or can I flaunt the mistake and refuse to pay? Or should I just suck it up and pay the fifty dollar idiot tax?
I left my apartment in Arlington at about 7:15, bound for my office in Reston. I have a reverse commute, so I take the Dulles Toll Road and don't worry about the HOV restrictions. Only I got to about Route 7 and realized I had forgotten my laptop at home. Bitter. I turned around and headed back toward town, calling Baby on my cellphone in the meantime to bitch.
Right as I'm passing the exit for 123 I remember the Toll Road is HOV inbound in the mornings. But at that point it's too late to stop. I say to Baby, "Man, it's really going to suck if I get a ticket to boot." Sure enough, not ten seconds after the words leave my mouth I see the state trooper, lights on, in my rearview. Great.
He comes up to my car and says, "Do you know why I pulled you over?" I smile and say, "HOV, right?" I then explain that I normally reverse commute, that I'm aware of the law but was flustered because I forgot my laptop, and that I've never been pulled over for HOV before. He seems sympathetic, but he's a fucking cop and I have never talked my way out of a ticket for anything. You'd think being honest would be a good idea, but it's honestly never worked for me. Next time I'm playing the cancer card, because the current strategy ain't working.
After he's written the ticket he walks back and explains he's sorry but he has to give me a ticket and blah blah blah. You know the drill. He tells me I have the right to contest it in court (what kind of asshole does that?) or just pay the fifty dollar fine. He also advises me that the fine for subsequent offenses increases drastically. I then ask him what I'm supposed to do next, as I have to drive on the HOV lane for several more miles before I can get to an exit and get off. I explain that I don't want to get another ticket. He laughs at the possibility. Great. Even the cops laugh at the idea that 99% of the fucktards that willfully violate the HOV restrictions get away with it. I drive away and curse my luck, certain that I'm going to get pulled over again. Luckily I do not.
Later that night I show the ticket to Baby in disgust. Baby, being the genius she is, looks over it carefully and points something out. The time on the ticket says 9:00, but the cop has checked PM instead of AM. The inbound Toll Road is HOV only in the morning, not the evening. He checked the wrong box by mistake! I'm stoked, I can beat the ticket. "Why Your Honor, surely there has been some mistake. I obviously could not have been in violation of the HOV restriction at 9:00 PM. I am a law-abiding citizen." But then I start to wonder if that's going to work. Will the judge realize the mistake and fine me anyway? Can he even do that? What are my rights? Surely I can't be charged with something I probably did, can I? The only evidence that documents the offense says I didn't do anything wrong. Baby, in yet another stroke of genius, suggests that maybe the cop really did feel sorry for me, and he deliberately 'accidentally' checked the wrong box to give me a way out if I bothered to read the ticket!
So now I don't know what to do. Do I spend the day at traffic court trying to beat a fifty dollar ticket (and remove the risk of paying an even bigger ticket if I screw up again), or will that backfire because the judge can still fine me? Can I honestly keep a straight face in court? Or can I flaunt the mistake and refuse to pay? Or should I just suck it up and pay the fifty dollar idiot tax?
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