Yeah, so...

Okay, I had a staff outing today, it was great fun, exhausting, going to Q-zar (laser tag) and loitering in a park playing soccor/football/keepyoff and all that, it was fun, had a blast, got hot and sweaty and exhausted. It was a muggy humid day. I get tagged several times in the game, tag a few others, shoot the HQ alot so my teams won... yadda yadda.

I return to mothers, I'd INTENDED on going home today because y'know, I have to pay the rent. But no, I start at fricking 10am, and stuffed if I'm getting up at 7, again, to travel across the city.

Anyways, I return to mothers and what do I find? But her boyfriend asleep on the couch. I get in quietly, putter around for about 10, 15 minutes, doing little, quiet things, a drink, putting my suitcase away again... stuff like that. I come out of the bedroom, stand in the loungeroom just enjoying the cool, and he wakes up. He says 'hi' first, i return it, sit on the couch and turn on the wii (he bought one too), start playing a game, super paper mario.

I get hot and, silly me, thinking that he was already fucking awake, I get an icypole out of the freezer to suck and chew on and all that fruit. Like you do with an icypole. Unbeknownst to me he's texting mother dearest, complaining that I woke him up.

So, mother dearest gets home, goes off her nut at me about waking up people when they're trying to sleep and all that fruit, and delivers this charming little announcement; If you wake one of us up again when we are trying to sleep you'll have to find someplace else to stay on saturday nights because you can't fucking stay here.

Verbatum.

Lovely. Just fan-bloody-tastic. Oh, did I mention that she was all fired up about me moving back into her fucking house while I try to save up for my trip to the US? Oh so kindly charging me rent. $170 thankyou nicely a week. See, $100 for food, $50 for the rego for my car and $20 for electricity. Charming. I'll stay where I am at the moment thankyou, it's fucking CHEAPER.

So, after that lovely little thing, she and he go out, after she asks (tells) me to cook dinner. Sure, no problem, I like to cook. So I get started on it, I start putting in things, like minced garlic and so on, and she goes off her nut at me. Again. Saying that I'd fuck it up, and that THIS was how you did it, showing me and whatnot. Right, whatever.

Either I'm cooking, or you are. If I'm cooking, piss the fuck off and let me cook, sure you've got umpteen years experience in cooking but I LIKE to fucking cook, and to experiment with my cooking. If YOU are cooking, then why the HELL did you ask ME to?

It's simple. Either I rule the kitchen when I'm making something, or I don't. There is no half-way houses.

After that, I wash the dishes as she and the boyfriend go out, again, I've got the dishes done, and drying, and I'd fed the cats, when they roll back in. They go have a shower, mother dearest comes out and sits on the couch. "Could you please come and massage my feet?"

"If I must." I mutter.

"What was that?"

"Sure."

"What'd you say before then?"

"If I must."

"I thought you said; that's a dumbass question."

"No."

So I go over there and massage her feet. I am getting SICK of having to do that EVERY fucking week. She's got a FOOTSPA for petes sake, bought for the express purpose so that I DON'T have to do her fucking feet. But no "It's not the same, and the footspa takes so much effort to bring down and set up *pout*."

"Whatever." So rub rub rub rub. Other foot is done, I return to my laptop, and she has the bright idea to ask; "Are you angry at me?"

-_-

"Yes, a bit."

"Why?"

Since she was about to go to bed, I didn't want to run out the full spiel, just "You asked me to cook, and then messed with it."

"Fine, next time that I see you cooking something and about to fuck it up, I'll leave you to it shall i?" She snaps back, before storming off to sleep.

Fucking. Mothers.

I have HAD IT with this shit.

So, a new place to rent, organising with my father, or something to store my shit while I go interstate, and a way to fucking cut her from my life. Oh, right, I have to call her, or something, at least once a week while I'm in the USA. Sure, that'd work out, 12 hour time difference, yummo. Fucking hell, I can't even get away from her by leaving the sodding COUNTRY.

I am epically NOT moving back to live with her. So, epically NOT going to fucking HAPPEN.

~ShaedowDancer~

September

Gather round, one and all, brothers and sisters, friends and lovers, beloved all! For September is an auspicious month, of great excitement and boon. Of stress and elation, of panic and boxes.

I look down the road of my life and see September and think, yes, this is the time. That is the when, the when the where is decided, the location to be decided, already chosen, when two days of supreme boredome reign during the transition into October.

Ah, you are wondering why, and what on earth I am on about?

To put it simply friends, I. Am. Going. To. The. USA. In. SEPTEMBER.

No if buts or maybes, I AM going. And I am going to stay.

See, last year, around november, I got to thinking about the when. Gotta dodge holiday traffic, and it can't be in either extremes of the seasons, so neither winter nor summer, because it'd be too much of a shock to the system, the abrupt change in temperature. And well, now I have decided. September. Spring. Autumn. The midway seasons.

But first, since I found a ticket, one way, that costs $1500 odd, (that was the cheapest, TRUST ME) but lo and behold, you require a credit card to buy the sodding thing. So, first order of call, get a credit card and a passport.

Do you know what sort of hoops you have to jump through to get a flipping PASSPORT?! Egads. see, I don't have a drivers liscense, obviously, so I gotta get two pictures with two different people that are neither blood relations, but have known me for at least a year, get them to sign the back of the sodding pictures that have to be of a specific size, focused on a specific part of my head and shoulders, too close, too far away and it's kaput. Oh my GOD.

I -also- needa get some money bags. Why you ask? the little plastic thingies so I can deposit the shrapnel I have in my room. All $500 of it. Or there abouts, when I last counted. I've added coins since then. >_> Need my birth certificate, photocopied -and- the original. And a medicare card or centrelink card and and and and. Egads.

And -then- I gotta find some place to get a visa from.

Oh, and the ticket price? See, why I gotta deposit that shrapnel, is that with that amount -and- what's in my bank, ticket is in the purse. Capisce? So, I buy it NOW, then I pay off the credit bill, and can spend the nine odd months saving up for the shift over. And trying to figure out how the hell I'm gonna get all my shit over there. XD Probably by ship. Whoo, 3 months wiht nothing. XD Oh well.

All hyped and stuff, and uni starting soon and gotta get a second job and and and whew.

My year is gonna be busy, methinks.

~*ShaedowDancer*~