Deaths: Last night. One in the Morning. J was congregating; Fail was sleeping; I was writing. (–) was dreaming about tittays. All is silence when I hear some noise outside that sounds like teenagers in heat caterwauling–I figured, just another drunken carouse. Then Fail runs down in his nighties looking a little pale.
-Someone just jumped out of the window.
-Didn’t you hear the thud?, he asks.
-I heard…something. I thought it was drunk assholes.
-No, it’s a guy. I looked out the window and he’s lying on the pavement, disfigured and moaning. The police are here.
Yeah so, it looks like some Italian mofo living in the unit next to us wanted to end it all, so he tossed himself out the window (or off their balcony, not sure) in his underwear of all things. Tighty Whities, if my spies are correct. And failed to die. Talk about ending things with the utmost dignity.
Art: Stroke happened this weekend and it was awesome–other than the shitty weather of Friday, Sat and Sun were really nice and Paintblotch and I spent the whole days painting our hearts out. There were a lot of really great artists painting and spraying some really cool stuff; the event was definitely humbling–oh, and did I mention acrylic is NOT the medium for painting in heat? hahaha. But it was still a blast! Just painting in the sun; taking a break to walk around and look at other people’s stuff; taking a break to chat with an artist or have someone chat with you.
Bull: Breakfast with my ma-in-law on Sunday. So, she only has like ten million opportunities to be alone with her son and give it to him then, but she waits for the one and only time I’m alone with her for like ten seconds and sidles up to me with an envelope pulsing with cash. She presses it into my hand, imploring that we ‘buy some nice clothes [for her upcoming birthday party].’ I am to buy a white dress that will make people ‘think I am a good/nice/pretty wife.’ Underlying plea: Please, please, please don’t come to my party with my stuck-up friends in my stuck up house, looking like a whorebucket. I’ve got a baby in one hand and an envelope of cash in another. What am I supposed to do? So I thanked her blandly and pointedly put the envelope down on the table. When we leave the house about 15 min later, she runs out into the hall, waving the envelope.
-Don’t forget the money!
I’m thinking, fuck, aren’t you Japanese? Aren’t you supposed to get subtle?
So I give her a blank, cold stare, take the envelope and pass it directly to J. It’s like–lady, I’m not your son. Can you not give me random money? If you want to give us money, give it to HIM. But of course, then she doesn’t have the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable. and whining later that I did not grovel in thanks the appropriate amount of times. And since when do people have a dress code for a party at their own house? It’s like.. sure. It’s fine to say, please wear something formal; it will be a formal event. But giving me money to buy the dress in the color she wants? This isn’t a WEDDING! Goddamn it. I swear the next time, I’m going to have a dress code for when she comes over to OUR house. ‘Please wear a t-shirt with a band on it and a pair of jeans with at least one hole. I don’t like spiesses in my house.’
Hate levels rising. Then again, it’s too sunny to hate.
Enjoy the beginning of summer, all!