Our ol’ friend Kaffy has a question, because she’s a heathen Protestant and does not understand the mysteries of the Catholic church:

Seems like whatever got into Mr. Allen’s wheaties over the weekend has either infected mine, or mine have infected his, or SOMEthing, because I gots me some Neenernet drama, and on freakin’ MYSPACE, no less.

Oh YEAH.

Even better is it’s not even MY drama; it’s Mer’s. See, she works with these crazy people who’ve never left Brooklyn—not even for, like, a Six Flags vacation in Sandusky, for God’s sake—so because she’s well traveled and not indigenous to the island, she’s suspect. To WHAT is anyone’s guess with these nutjobs, but she is. Anyway, so these people WERE constantly watching her Myspace page, but since she put it on private, they’re now watching MY page. Why? Because in order to practice my Serbian, she leaves me retarded little messages that have nothing to do with anything. But these people think we’re talking about them.



And once again, these are all people over 30.

One of them is freaked out by my existence, even though I live some 700+ miles away from Brooklyn. Nope, never met the woman in my life, but she seems to think I’m capable of all sorts of hooliganism. Apparently, I have nothing better to do.

Obviously hasn’t been placed on the RIGHT SSRI, because right now, I’m as twitchy with anger as I’ve ever been. Of course, if by saying “dulled emotions,” one means “being able to resist the urge to bludgeon something or someone with a baseball bat,” one has a point.

I’m not sure where it’s coming from—either there’s a show happening in a bar the next town over or someone in the ‘hood is playing their music really, really loud—but whatever it is, it doesn’t translate well from the distance from which it’s being played, and it’s killing my buzz, man. And now, whoever it is is playing that jangly surf guitar song from “Pulp Fiction” and yelling like an idiot. Faaaaaaaaan-tastic. Seriously, whoever you are, don’t give up your day jobs.

So, my weekend that I was going to tell y’all about—uneventful, but in a really pleasant way. Saturday was the partying with the bio-fam, which I enjoyed, and then Sunday I hung out over at Kaffy’s after spending most of the afternoon at the Gary Air Show chatting up VIPs on the grandstand while missing the LCCVB party going on in the Aquatorium for which I was given a special entry wristband by its lovely PR chick. (I know I’ve talked about how cool the air show is before, but this one was SERIOUSLY cool; the illustrious Thunderbirds made their first appearance, and they’re totally badass if you’ve never seen them). Unfortunately, I missed Kaffy’s sorta-annual croquet bash, but she and I got to spend some quality time drinking and smoking on her front porch, and that was just as nice. And lessee, Monday Mother and I grabbed dinner and went to the mall, and there must’ve been something wrong with me because she didn’t completely annoy the shit out of me, amazingly enough. The end. The best part about the whole holiday? Remembering how refreshing it is to not hate everyone. I went a whole weekend without getting crabby once.

I forgot aaaaalllll about it after all was said and done.

Parts 4 & 5: “14 hours of unadulterated Zook. Ain’t that going to be fun!??”

If there was ever a time when I should’ve been blogging things as they happened, it was when she was here because I’m so over it, I’m like, I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. And I probably shouldn’t, except I have to get to the part where Mer, on her last night spent with the town clown, got robbed of all but $40 plus all her sleeping medication she takes for Epstein-Barr.

Yes, yes she did.

After various and sundry stops (and after he yelled “Hurry up!” like a fucking fool outside my crib because it was a frillion degrees and I wouldn’t let him inside), they ended up at the bar we were at the first night she got here. During that time:

1) Zook tells her he’s running short, would she mind picking up the tab?
2) One of the guys who hung out with us the first night (who I knew from my days hanging out there but only remember as Scott B.) saw inside Mer’s purse (when she was getting money out to start paying for her and her “date’s” drinks) and asked her about her medication. She tells him their sleeping pills and that she’d give him a couple before they left;
3) Scott B. decides he’s not going to wait and ganks the entire bottle along with all the money;
4) Zook has Mer pay for his dinner at McDonald’s as well as a round of drinks and a six-pack to go before ending up back at the shithole;
5) And then, when they get back to the shithole, he tells her he’s “tired,” so what she came out there for, she wasn’t getting.

She didn’t discover she’d gotten robbed until she got back to my crib—all hysterical because she was so mortified by the whole evening—so we jump into the car at 2 a.m. to go to the Gary Police Department to file a police report. Somewhere around 5 a.m., she and I had a horrendous fight where I almost left her on 7th and Grant Street (that’s square in da HOOD, for those unfamiliar with the G.I.), and by 6:30 a.m. we were back at the crib crying how much we loved each other and so on and so forth.

The last day of the trip saw me working, Mer getting her meds and trying to figure out she was going to get back home with no money, and then this saucy little bit o’ business. She left Thursday morning at 7:30.

After all this, how many times did she get laid? That’s right: Once. And it wasn’t nearly as good as she remembered it.

Part 2: “I feel like I’m in a meth documentary.”

Remember how I was all worried about family members finding out about my little space on the innerbunny? Don’t gotta anymore, because they found me. Not sure how I feel about it; on one hand, I’m relieved, but on the other, I’m freaked out because I’m concerned that I’m going to start censoring myself, and that’s not the point of this exercise. Really, I’m hoping they’ll be like they know it’s here, but as long as I’m not talking about them (which the rule is, if someone tells me not to talk about him or her, they don’t get talked about), they’re not going to feel the need to be here. Or maybe they’ll grow to understand and maybe even enjoy my little rants against the universe. B-Dubs (aka my small brother) said he’s cool with it, and I can’t even tell you how moved I was by that. But either way, it is what it is.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming:

Given the choice between discovering that someone you like and respect is really a complete jerk-off and discovering that someone you thought was a complete jerk-off is really someone you should respect, I’ve discovered in recent days that I’d much rather discover someone’s a jerk-off. Much, much easier to stomach. Is that weird?

I’m still gearing up for the “Zookathon” post to tell y’all about my disastrous week of utter hell, but I’m still rootin’ around in this EE business. First impression: kinda cool and totally digging that I have smileys now and shit. Much more user-friendly than MT, though I liked my MT, too.