Goddammit, last night My Fucking Father woke up at 5:30 while I was still working on my laptop in my sister's room!  I had to quickly turn off my computer (stopping my post for my other blog in the process) while starting to act like I was checking out my parents' stocks in case My Fucking Father knocked on the door.  Sure enough, he did; I made up the lie that I woke up early and couldn't sleep, so I just started working on some of their claim form stuff.

The following afternoon I called My Fucking Father to talk to him about stocks, something I hadn't done in a long time.  I planned to do this for him before his morning barge-in, and that didn't sway things any.  He was going to come at me with some remark regarding me being up, so I called him anyway ... and sure enough, after I was done relaying the stock quotes to him, and him making small talk about where I was going to be tonight, he told me to do something with my time, like take classes.  "Like I said, I was up, and I couldn't go back to sleep."  He basically hung up on me, so to get back at him I called him back and told him about this free trip to Harrah's Atlantic City he received in the mail.  He thought he could bring a guest for free too; no, he can't, so I asked him if he still wanted to book the package for himself.  "No," he said, "if I can't bring you I don't want to go."  Aw, that's the sweetest-sounding lie I've ever heard!

So the whole day I was dreading going back home.  Half the time during the Gopher women's hockey game (which they won, convincingly, 3-1) I was dreading and girding myself for my eventual trip home.  Would he lay into me again?  Would I have the courage to stand up to him, tell him off -- maybe even punch him in the face?  My nails are long -- it makes it hard to type, so I should cut them soon -- but it could be useful in a fight.  But when I get home My Fucking Father didn't yell at me; nope, he was doing something with the paintings he's collecting.  I checked the mailbox for him, and that's it.  And it's sad that the heavy feeling in my heart and stomach just lifted.  I shouldn't feel relieved; nothing was solved, nothing got decided, and he'll bring this shit up sometime soon, I know it.

I was in a bad mood all night, obviously.  So I took it out on this one girl driving in her car in Dinkytown.  She got caught in the middle of the intersection as the light turned red for her and green for the cross traffic.  It's a situation where I know the cars in front of her would start moving because the next light up will turn green, so I usually wait to let them pass, even though pedestrians are already crossing in front of her.  But she waves me past hurriedly, like she's saying, "Come on, move your ass!"  Hey, bitch, I was OK to wait for your car.  It is blocking the way.  But as long as there are other walkers in front of her, I decided to heed her hand motion.

I look back, and she's giving (maybe to me) this combination of the same hand wave and an exasperated shrug, like, "What the hell's the matter with you?"  She can't be this pissed off just because of me, which means she's overwhelmed by the traffic around the U., which is kind of sad because it's manageable.  Anyway, being the vindictive dick that I am, I shrug back at her.  We continue this back-and-forth a couple times till I see her giving me the finger.  Whoa, cunt, them's fightin' words!  But I had to just cross the fucking street, so I give her a sideways and downward finger.  I wasn't prepared to just stop my tracks, plant my feet in the intersection and give her a proper bird.  Should have; bitch deserved it.  Are sideways and downward fingers offensive gestures?  I don't think so.