Written 1/30/11
My dad’s an arrogant jackass.
He has this particular personality that you just never ever want to have to come across. He’s cheap and believes he’s entitled to every discount known to man (because he’s an arrogant jackass) so if he even remotely thinks he’s getting gyped of even $1.50, he’s going to raise his voice and, subsequently, hell.
Case in point, he once got into an argument with the cashier at Pollo Tropical because he argued that getting a meal with rice was more expensive than getting the chicken and rice separately so why are they trying to charge him more for the same thing?
[insert mindless, unnecessary argument here]
It sounds simple enough: people with enough common sense and social skills are likely to notice the (dollar) difference and order for the cheaper set of food.
But, like I mentioned, my dad’s an arrogant cheapskate, so he starts arguing (loudly with his thickening accent) with the poor lady behind the counter who, like me, clearly thought it wasn’t a big hairy deal. But because he thinks it is a big hairy deal, he keeps bitching and bitching and bitching and it takes us half a fucking hour to get out of the place with our food in hand, to the sigh of relief of the rest of the customers who had the misfortune to witness my father’s pathetic temper tantrum.
Well, here’s the story: I need a car.
As aforementioned, the only other vehicle I could’ve used was the one car that broke down on me just the day before so I stressed that I needed a car before this week.
I don’t buy into the whole deal with playing mind games with cars salesmen. I know what I want, if you can’t get it for me for the price I’m aiming for, I’ll leave. Father, on the other hand, likes talking big, being a pain in the ass, making a hard time for the dealership, and pretty much telling me to shut the hell up when I try raising a concern or asking a question about a car that I would be using in the long run. In short, he’s an arrogant jackass.
Hours later when we left the dealership, while I was thrilled to have the car of my dreams that I’ve always wanted, I realized it wasn’t a pleasant experience…because I had the arrogant jackass Daddy with me.
Even the inherent joy of buying my own car (granted with my parents as cosigners) that I’d be paying out of my own salary (something I’ve actually really looked forward to as a sign of my own independence and building my own credit for my future) was stifled by his mere presence and constant grumbling. It was honestly like having a hurricane on your wedding day; the day’s going to happen, just in the midst of something you wish you could blow away to another dimension.
So even though I almost succumbed to grumbling and bitching and whining, I chose to focus on the good; that I’d finally have a car of my own. I’d already taken into account that I’d be paying for gas, the loan, and likely for the insurance and, despite the large amount of money I’m likely to lose, I’m excited.
I’ve stressed before that I’ve never had any job experience. As such, I’ve never had a salary and subsequently never had any money of my own to spend.
My family’s always stressed focusing on my studies before thinking of the real world, which was great for me in terms of education, but I figured out that it didn’t work out so well once I finally got out of college. Hence, why words like “benefits” confuse me and why I don’t know how much taxes are when they’re deducted from my paycheck. So having this job, finally having income and finally being able to make these decisions even if it’s about payments, really brings me a great amount of joy. The Sister pointed out that the feeling would get old quick and that I’d be wanting to have my parents shoulder the entire loan in a matter of months like they did when they bought her car for her 5 years ago (to be fair, she didn’t have a job and was still in high school).
But I honestly don’t believe that. Sure, the payments will be a bitch and half, but as someone who’s spent their entire life continuously asking permission to do/buy things, it’s amazingly invigorating to be able to make these kind of actions on my own.
LATER
So it was my friend, Baby’s* birthday. Her family and boyfriend, Andre* decided to host this surprise birthday party for her. On the way there, I marveled over the realization that I wouldn’t be going out much in the upcoming months. The idea somewhat freaked me out, until I remembered that I go out to big celebrations maybe 3-4 times a month, and that I usually spent most of my evenings either writing this blog, or doing something equally useless and banal (i.e. knitting).
My Sister and I headed over to pick up Gilly before passing by a McDonald’s for a late, quickie dinner. My boobies got great attention (One teenager literally went, “DAAAAAAAAMN!” when I walked in for the simple sake of getting napkins and straws. Haha. We managed to roll into the party well before Baby came back home.
I dipped my hand into a cup of confetti and showered her with glitter and sparkly colors along with at least a half dozen others. Several of us still had confetti in our hair by the time we had to leave. The next couple of hours flew by in a happy, not-too-tipsy blur. I spent the majority of the time talking mass amounts of shit with my girlfriends about how I hate fat people and insisting that coffee-flavored alcohol was an abomination.
As I sat in the dining room of Baby’s home, I looked around the people I was drinking with and, as usual, got amused over how long I’ve known them, some since I couldn’t speak proper English, others since I turned 18 when I thought alcohol was the devil’s drink. Ricky was actually in attendance then, which was a little strange, in all honesty. See, Ricky’s a nice guy, but he’s very conservative when it comes to partying and pretty much turns his nose up when I even whisper about the get-togethers and drunken debauchery. So seeing him walking around the room with maybe only four people he was familiar with, was very odd and a little unnerving.
Since I graduated high school, I’d made the concentrated effort to keep certain parts of my life nicely separated, usually between my school life and my family/social scene. Ricky belongs to the school life part of my existence, where nerds roam free to laugh over Miyazaki films and squeal over new video games. So having him there, while not necessarily a bummer, was a little unnerving.
Like back in elementary when you saw your teacher in the supermarket. You find yourself saying, “You don’t belong here!”
So that was kind of strange…
But the rest of the evening was fun, largely consisting of a lot of joking around and shit-talking about people we’d known in the past. Perhaps the highlights of the evening was taking shots between my breasts and having my “professional opinion” on the argument of , “Can you get gingivitis on your dick?”
…Yeah. That happened.
At one point in the evening, I felt I had to contact Mina. See, whenever I drink, I have a tendency to drunk-text my ex. Pathetic, I know. But, like I said, I’m one of those pathetic romantics who believe somewhere in the back their heads that their lost loves will come back to them.
Well, I threw down my white flag a few entries ago and, for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel the urge to “reconnect” with him and felt like telling Mina so. It was uplifting and somewhat bittersweet, like letting go of a piece of me. Well, a gangrenous piece of me. So it can’t be all that bad.
*I clearly fail at even attempting to cover up identities but it’s fun to keep trying
