So why were we stuck here, cooped up together like a bunch of assholes in a clown car on a road trip across the country? Well, Batman ditched me Saturday night. That's right! He decided to be a "good father" by taking his kid ice skating instead of getting piss wasted with me, and making awkward, elbowy love to each other before one of us passes out or gets gassy. I don't really like hanging out with many other people, mostly on account of the fact that....well, I hate people. Almost all people. I have a small, close circle of friends, and Batman happens to be the ONLY ONE who really likes, ya know, leaving the fucking house, being around other people or doing anything other than sitting on the couch developing muscle atrophy in front of the T.V. Therefore, the Roomie was stuck with me. All weekend. Saturday started out well enough. We slept in, with a soft rain falling outside the window, and it being pleasantly freezing in the house, so I had plenty of reason to curl as far under my pretty pink blankie as possible, ignoring the world. But then, Roomie decided to open his stupid mouth, and say a bunch of stupid Roomie type stuff, that eventually made me cry. Nobody makes me cry my own tears. Nobody. So we fought, got super mad at each other, cried a little, yelled stupid insults, I called him an elephant and pictured stabbing him in my head like 20 times, and then we all decided to go fucking grocery shopping. Like you do. We wandered through the isles, being pissed at each other, and fighting over things like Ketchup. It was classy.
Things never really improved from there. We drifted constantly on the verge of having a huge blow out fight, and finally, driving home from the tattoo parlor where Roomie got his first tattoo, and the artist scheduled to do mine overbooked herself and didn't do mine at all, it happened.
Roomie said something stupid about something even stupider, and I got super pissed, and in the middle of telling him what a dick hole he was, I spotted a Taco Bell. I asked him to pull over into the Taco Bell, and get me something to eat, because I was upset and I eat my fucking feelings. He said "You're hungry? Oh my God we ate a couple hours ago." So I shot him. In the face. Mentally I did anyway. In real life I called him a shitbag and blamed him for everything wrong in my life.
Things pretty much carried on this way all night. It never really got a lot better. Thank God for Roomie, that Batman and I had breakfast together this morning, and Roomie and I got the break we needed. If not for Batman, I would be writing Roomie's Eulogy right now, as he lay dead on the kitchen floor from multiple stab wounds and repeated kicks to the genitals. Seriously, Batman saved his life. So thanks Batman.
Today wasn't quite as bad, but I am totally looking forward to Monday morning, when the kids go back to school, Roomie goes back to work, and I can finally have my weekend. Anyone with school age kids, and a roommate who they love and simultaneously hate, can tell you that Monday is their Saturday. We look forward to that day more than anything. Except happy hour. I guess we look forward to happy hour more, but only slightly.