My Fucking Father's Nagging From Across The Pond

Unbelievable.  Un-fucking-believable.

I had to Skype my parents because I had a few questions regarding bills about their properties and credit cards I didn't understand.  I had the mistfortune of needing to call them back because there was another association fee statement that came in today's mail, which I did not look through before I Skyped them the first time.

And that is where, out of the blue, My Fucking Father (who barked, "What do you want?" when I got ahold of him the first time I Skyped him this evening -- oh, so you're happy-clappy when I tell you you got your fucking sleeping pills but you're just an asshole whenever I "inconvience" you with a question about money?  Is that how this fucking works, asshole?) said that I needed to write down all the deposits and payments I've received since they left.  WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!

OK, the first dumb thing about this demand is that he told me halfway through their trip, well after I've made a bunch of payments and deposits for them already.  But do you know how many accounts and credit cards whose transactions for which I have to (wait ... "have to," I'm so fucking over keeping track of the paperwork) follow already?  Do you think I can combine them into one huge ledger containing the comings and goings for all one million of their accounts?  Does that make any fucking sense?  Oh, and aren't the deposit and withdrawal slips enough for you, or do you think (as I overheard you talking with Mother) this is a "system" I need to follow in order to discipline myself?  What a fucking goddamn joke that is, and he is.

The one great thing about being alone in a house is that you get to scream the previous paragraph, as well as some other grievances, into the air without anyone thinking you're a weirdo.  After my little rant I decided to open up Mother's Book Of Passwords and jot down the deposits I've made and the checks that have mailed to the house in their name.  Sure, some of the desposits have gone to one account in one bank and some to another in another.  And if you can look closely at my half-ass list you'll see that some transactions go from my hands to the bank and some from other peoples' hands into my hands.  To make an accurate balance, you need to follow only the money coming in and going out of one source, such as my hands or one (and only one) bank account.  But hey, what the fuck do I know and what the fuck does My Fucking Father know?  I have to keep track of every single transaction I make, and I'll do "the best" that I can.  If it makes no goddamn sense, hey, neither does he.  I'm just doing what he tells me, wink-wink.

Fucking geez.  I have gotten so goddamn depressed that he nagged me from fucking Europe that I eschewed my dinner of a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich and instead tore into one of the three bags of Gardetto's I bought with a coupon.  For the record, it's the Deli-Style Mustard one.  Intriguing taste, and hopefully one that'll make me forget him and his ludicrous fucking request.