I tell my parents I'll be out today so I won't eat. I say it this way: "Mom, are we eating anything special last night?" "Not really," she says. So I don't feel bad for telling her I'm not eating tonight. But then I look into the oven and say two racks of ribs ready to be cooked. Um, that's a big fucking meal. "We were going to have ribs but not anymore," my mother said.

See, this is why I have so much guilt. I knew I had a viewing party I was going to, and even though it was in the afternoon I didn't feel like going back until I go to a mall and then a strip club -- just because, it's a new year! The reason I don't tell them until the day of is because my asshole of a father always thinks me telling him in advance of my plans is an entryway into which he can assail me with questions I still don't have an answer to -- things like, "When are you getting a job?" or "When are you going to go back to school?" or "What are you going to do with the rest of your life?" I don't fucking know, haven't for years. So I just stop giving him a chance to pepper me like that by springing my plans the day of. Why would we be celebrating New Year's Day when we haven't in the past? But apparently they did tonight.

My Grandmother just came home. She said that if we weren't eating tonight we'll eat the ribs tomorrow ... but she presumed I was going to stay home tomorrow afternoon so she could go to the casino. Well, fucking Christ, I had plans tomorrow afternoon as well, so we can't eat the fucking ribs tomorrow afternoon, either. So I call my Mom saying that I'll come home early, but she and my Grandmother both shouted me down; my Grandmother volunteered to stay home from the casino tomorrow afternoon.

I just want to stay away from my father whenever possible, OK? Why do so many fucking plans have to change because of what I do?

Now I won't be able to enjoy myself tonight.