I got home Wednesday night after seeing my shrink and eating at Outback Steakhouse. I reached into the mailbox and thought it weird that I didn't feel any mail. Then I looked up and saw that there was a light emanating from the living room, but that must have been the automatic light.
But as I approached the front door I saw the shovel and the ice melt on the stoop. I placed both of them inside. And now someone's inside.
Who the fuck could it be? I doubt it'd be an intruder; they wouldn't just move the shovel and ice melt outside so they could maneuver better while robbing the house. I thought it was my brother and sister-in-law coming in to clean up the house. That would suck.
But it turned out to be worse. I opened the door ... and I heard Mother's voice from the kitchen. "You're home?" she bellowed from upstairs, "We're home!"
And they didn't tell me. God. Damn. Bitch.
I'm going to keep this short so that I can get this in before the day's done. I was extremely apoplectic that my folks blindsided me like this. I asked why they didn't tell me they were coming home, and I didn't get an answer, even a shitty one. After dinner Mother, who seemed all shiny-happy, started fucking yelling at me -- for not opening the mail on time, for not faxing real estate stuff to the property manager, for not writing down the month of the statements that come in for my parent's 95 checking accounts, for fuck's sake. My Fucking Father didn't speak to me at all -- well, besides telling me to throw my dirty clothes back on the dining room floor so he can wash them tomorrow.
Mother told me to call her at work today, where she bitched at me even more, for doing something to her computer and for not organizing her goddamn mail because she said I threw away some of her goddamn bank statements. I really do hate that woman sometimes. She got better after I got home today, and conversely I got more irate when I went through her mail and found the statements in a bad she admitted she didn't go through. But then My Fucking Father told me to clean the house and bathroom when they leave next week. They were better behaved tonight, and they will whisk themselves out of here almost as quickly as they came in. But fuck, I will never, ever forget how they surprised me like this.
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I wonder what's worst for My Fucking Father to see. I left a lot of stuff just inside the front door, so he (and it was probably him) put it in my room. As soon as I came back home I realized that my porn was strewn all over my bedroom. I hoped that all the magazines were covered, or at least all of them were flipped to the back cover. All but one was. But that wouldn't have mattered, because right next to that Playboy, on my bed, kinked out with experience absorbing my ejections, was my cum towel. My Fucking Father might not have noticed. Or, he might have been so shocked that he still doesn't know what the fuck to say to me. Or, he might really want to screw me over and reveal what he saw in my bedroom at dinner, like, five years from now.
But to be totally honest, he might not have been pissed off at me for my porn. He may have been more upset that I left some garbage on the kitchen counter, in particular a paper plate and a yogurt cup. I left them there because I wasn't sure if we could recycle them. I'm serious; I think we can recycle them. I just didn't have time to do the research and then see if I could recycle it or have to dump it. You see, I thought I had time, but then my parents decided to come home and not tell me. Those fuckers. ...
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