Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,
Jacqui
jacqui

Fighting and F#@&ing; Last Night's Post

Hello My Beloved Journal Companions,

I'm getting caught up with wishing my LJ-friend's-list friends their belated Happy Birthday's, and posting little notes on their journals. That's a relief. I hate neglecting my friends, and I already feel like I'm a terrible journal pal as it is.

This whole month is full of birthdays and events, and birthday's and graduations cost money. I've been worrying about money a lot lately, and although I wish I were better prepared with gifts that don't cost anything, but that are even better because they're made by hand, I never am, so I wind up having to go out and blow hundreds of dollars that I really shouldn't on expensive things. I just never feel like a gift is good enough, (to give not to receive), unless it's either rare and hard to come by, totally unique and special, or the best of it's kind. I want the gifts I give to communicate how much I care about the people I'm giving them to. I just can't bring myself to give token recycled lame-ass gifts. You know what I mean, the kinds of things you get where you know the person who gave them to you got them from someone else, didn't really want them, tossed them in a closet, and hoped they'd be able to find some use for them down the road? I actually have two friends who do this, and even though I swear I am always grateful for anything I receive, it does feel a little weird when you get something funky that no one could have possibly thought of buying with you in mind. I think it would be really funny if you could somehow attach a little spy camera to some super funky gift like a tacky polyester jumpsuit, a poster of a cat hanging on to a bar with a caption underneath that says, "Hang on baby," a plastic carnation floral arrangement, anything from Avon or the Franklin mint, or a book on weight loss, and follow it's trek as it gets passed along from one person who regifts it to another.

Scott's birthday is coming up on the ninth and Beau's eighth grade graduation is the tenth. As soon as I mentioned getting something for Beau he started coming up with a list of things he'd like us to get for him. Argh. I told him that we'd already blown a fortune on his computer, that it cost thousands of dollars more than we would ordinarily spend on a birthday, and that it was also a graduation present as well, but that didn't go over too well. I should have told him this at the time -- made it clear to him that this was part of his graduation gift as well, but I didn't and it's not exactly fair to do these things backwards, so I'm going to write out a beautiful card, that he probably won't appreciate until he rereads it someday when he's older, and then get him something small but meaningful.

My Mom, ever the money-pinching, pragmatic gal that she is, although never when it comes to her own clothing, (a certain brand new, three-thousand dollar, St John's Knits suit comes to mind), said that she wants to buy him an electric pencil sharpener. I'm sorry, I'm just laughing too hard to say anything more here... Oh hell, I know it's her money and I'm lucky she does anything for us, but can you imagine a fifteen-year-old who gets pretty much anything he needs, and yes that would of course include pencil sharpeners, getting excited about this as a graduation gift? Maybe if it had wireless text messaging or bounced or something.

I need to begin saving up for Burning Man and getting prepared for our big annual survivalist trek. I've started riding my bike a bit more so I'll be stronger and better able to ride my way around out there. Most of my friends leave their good bikes at home and take cheapo bikes that they pick up in Reno or keep an eye out for at garage sales during the year. I'm never lucky enough to find cheap bikes for Beau or me, but I'm good at finding them for other people. I found a great bike for Atra's sister Maryam a couple of months ago. Who knows, maybe I'll find a couple before the end of the Summer so we won't have to risk damaging ours or having them stolen, (I can't believe I have to write this about Burning Man -- things sure have changed), out on the playa. If not I'll just buy some wild colored fake fur and use Velcro to cover my bike with it. I think I might add Styrofoam eye balls with eye lashes on pipe cleaner stalks, yep.

I spent the night at Scott's Sunday night. We went to our new friend Daniel's to work on improving or actually redesigning Scott's website. We remembered to take along all of your helpful notes. Thank you!

Poor Scott, one of the things that makes him so wonderful as a friend and a partner is how sensitive and in touch with his feelings he is. But on the flip side this can sometimes be the very thing that makes him the most challenging to be with. When it comes to expressing my likes and dislikes, or my opinions about things, I can be way too certain of myself, too direct, blunt, and sometimes hurtful, without meaning to be. Chances are pretty good that I get these qualities from my parents whose likes and dislikes, and whose opinions were never to be questioned, and who ran my life a little like the Von Trapp family when I was young, well, the Von Trapp family without the joy that came from all of that singing. Obviously, as an adult, I'm responsible for weeding out hurtful aspects of my personality, but when it comes to getting thrown off by some of Scott's peculiarities it can be hard for me. When we haven't spent a good amount of concentrated time together we tend to squabble. One of us will do or say something selfish or inconsiderate and that'll get the ball rolling and sometimes things can escalate ridiculously.

We had one of those kinds of days on Sunday; an off and on difficult day and night. First we had a fight at his house. There's a picture of Scott that he thinks is really cool that I absolutely hate. I can guess why, but it's enough to just say that I hate it. I was more then surprised to see that he had chosen to put it on his site and we got plenty of feedback that supported my take on this picture. It's just, well, not his best shot, it's like a kind of scary, in your face, Skip E. Lowe shot, if any of you remember him. Well, I thought Scott had finally come 'round to seeing that this wasn't perhaps his best picture, and sleep deprived, bladder hurting, and weak as I was when I went over there on Sunday, to go with him to help him revise his site, I was surprised to see that he had set it as the wallpaper to his computer. So when I sat down at his desk chair, there it was blown up wide and staring at me, the scary picture. So, this is typical me, I said, "Oh God I hate this picture," and something else like, "Can you change the background?" but I just meant for a minute while I was there because looking at that super close shot of his face was making it hard for me to do whatever the hell it was I had sat there in the first place to do. I'm thinking my behavior was pretty indefensible. I mean if he likes a picture of himself and I slam the picture, it isn't too much of a stretch to see how this would hurt his feelings. But oh man did he jump on me for saying this. If his psychic energy had a form it basically leapt across the room at me like some kind of big rubbery bird and slapped me across the face twice and then spat on me.

When he gets mad at me, or when he gets hurt, he becomes a kind of junior version of his dad to my junior version of my mother, (we're not alone in this are we)? Since we both have had serious issues with our parents it can be pretty ugly when we tangle. I'm Miss Rude and Insensitive and he becomes the entire law firm of Mr.'s Sharp Curt Superior and Bossy. I don't like Mr.'s Sharp Curt Superior and Bossy. When they come out I want to flee. When they come out when we are about to make love, well, you can imagine how badly I want to flee, and I'm sure he's not to thrilled about getting vulnerable with Ms Rude and Insensitive either.

After the mini-fight at his house we went out to dinner where I was so tired I tripped and did one of those completely embarrassing splay yourself out on the sidewalk wipeouts in front of a bunch of people. You know the kind that sort of happens in slow motion where you just know there's nothing you're going to be able to do about it but fall and have the skin rubbed right off your knees by the cement? Then Scott did little to help me, well, not much more than kind of grab my arm and then hustle us into the restaurant where he got in line and ordered his food while I sat on a chair, lifted up my skirt and looked at my bleeding knees. I wanted him to at least look at my wounded knees, to at least feign concern, to be a bit mothering and conciliatory, but instead he behaved in the way that he would want to be treated, which is to be left alone and not fussed over -- Venus and Mars all over.

After dinner I had to kind of twist his arm to get him to take me to the drug store so I could get big enough Band-Aids to cover my hurts. He wanted to go home and make the best of what he had on hand because we were in a rush to get to his web designer's house. But his things can sometimes get very old and I wanted to be able to put some Neosporin pain relief cream on my wounds and cover them with Band-Aids big enough to ensure I wouldn't be pulling off skin when I had to change them. It turned out that he did have Neosporin and little Band-Aids at home but I wanted to be sure of this.

He was in such a rush that he pulled up in front of the store, near the entrance so it would be easy for me to get in and out and do it quickly, and was parked across two handicap spaces while he waited in the car. I kind of wondered about that when I went in, but in his mind he was just trying to make the trip to and from the car easier for me with my hurting legs, the parking lot had plenty of spaces, there wasn't anyone waiting, and he would gladly have moved if anyone came along who needed the space. As luck would have it, someone did come along, but this was an angry someone with a chip on his shoulder as opposed to someone with a handicap placard who needed the space. The guy yelled out to Scott something like, "Hey Buddy are you gonna take up two spaces?" Scott said something like, "Yes, I am," and then the guy flipped him off and called him an asshole. This was not turning out to be our day.

Afterwards we went to his designer's house where we worked our way around to agreeing to scrap the whole original design and create a new one that I'm not entirely sure of but was too tired and hurting at the time to contribute more fully to. In fact tonight I have to look over all of his headshots and decide which ones I like so I can tell him so that he can tell his designer so that they can put them all in a jalbum and link it. I'm already worn out from working on Atra's last essays last night and this morning and dealing with my tweaked out body. I could use a chiropractic adjustment but I can't really afford it and I have so much else going on right now.

Anyway we kind of hammered out a different design concept and then left Daniel to finish it up. He gave us some lemons to take home that were literally the biggest lemons I have ever seen -- lemons the size of melons. Then we came home, watched some television, went to bed and fought about making love. I wanted to, he wanted to, (F*@k not fight), and I don't know why we couldn't get there. He'd say something hurtful, and then I'd get oversensitive and tell him how hurtful he was being, then he'd get hurt because of that, and on and on until finally we actually did make love, and even though I was glad we did, because it had been a while, it was more of the kind of sex you're relieved you've had because hell, at least you've done it and broken the long drought.

Well, isn't this the cheeriest entry I've written in a long time? LOL And I haven't even mentioned how sad I am that Anne Bancroft died.

Okay back to the grind that has become my life...

Big hugs from your Wacqui pal
XOXOXOXO
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