helter skelter
06.13.03 @ 11:22 p.m.
Oh my fucking lord. This has been just THE most frustrating day ever. And now that I'm home alone, by dog is laying on my feet on the couch (freaky, I can feel her heartbeat in my feet) and she's growling at one of the dogs barking outside. I hate it when she does that, especially when I'm home alone. When she was a pup she used to bark at reflections on windows. Thank heavens she's grown out of that, but still. The last thing I want is the dog growling at some unseen thing when I'm feeling paranoid and vulnerable.
And I haven't even gotten to why today has been lousy! I got up and out of my room just fine. Checkout went smoothly. It's at the Greyhound station that my day started to fall apart. They got my phone number wrong on the baggage tickets, but no big deal. I corrected it in ballpoint. 10:15 comes. 10:15 goes. Where the fuck is my bus? I listen to Quadrophenia and start to fret about getting there on time. But hey, this is an express bus and usually gets there a half hour early. It should be okay. At eleven, we finally leave. Aaaaaaaand get caught in nasty, nasty traffic just outside Portland. Fuuuuuuuuck. I wouldn't have been uptight, but Martha was picking me up rather than my parents. She almost left, thinking I had just missed my bus because they didn't update the schedules so my bus was listed as on time rather than an hour late, which is what it was.
Music listened to while travelling:
Quadrophenia x 1.5 (I started where I left off last night, on the second disc, then decided to start from the beginning.)
Oasis: (What's the Story) Morning Glory
The White Stripes: Elephant
...and something else, I think, but I can't remember what.
I'm obsessing over the song "Talking to the Wall" by Michael Nesmith. It's so lovely.
Anyway. More hideous stuff that happened to me: not much, actually. The day was mind numbingly boring and tomorrow should be much the same, but at 10 my parents finally called from Los Angeles and Dad was very upset with my grandma for putting Billy out in the pen next to Stratocaster (we have a 'guitar' litter of dogs that are about seven years old, I think: Stratocaster, Telecaster, Jazzman, Aria, Epiphone, and the prize of our kennel, Ibanez (Nezzie)) and fretted that Billy, who is so important to us right now, would get his ear bitten off. Bill and Strat fight, it would seem, and he was very upset that Grandma would be stupid enough to put them in adjoining pens. So! In the dark of night (after a long and nearly futile search for a flashlight that works, because I found about six that were either dead or had no batteries in them and a leash) I got to go out, drag a huge four by four piece of lumber out of the big pen, corner Billy-Boy and grab him long enough to get a leash on him with one hand (not so hard once I got a hold of him) whilst holding a flashlight between my knees. And Billy is a massive horse of a dog, possibly not even a year old and already the biggest dog in the kennel. But fortunately, he's sweet. The problem didn't lie with the dog. He was fine. The problem was with my FREAKING GRANDMA.
I can see now why my dad gets so frustrated with her. I had to rouse her to help me find a leash, though she was almost no help (I learned my lesson; I won't be seeking her help ever again) and kept complaining that Dad was being too worried and claimed every choke chain I found was too small for Bill. Pffft. It fit him just fine. And I didn't really need to find a choke, I should have just looped a leash around by itself. Even though I kept telling her that I didn't need her help, that it was just over-complicating things, that it would be EASIER if she just stayed behind and let me deal with it myself, she INSISTED on coming to 'help.' "Oh," she said, "I'll just stand on the path on the other side of the pen so he'll go right in." Gaah. This dog is huge, everyone was worried he'd knock me over, right? He was the most docile, cooperative thing in the world... UNTIL Grandma called him from where she was standing on the other side of the fence. Then he tried to jerk my fucking arm off. Her 'help' just made it that much harder to get the leash off him in the end.
And of course, the latch to that pen is broken. I closed it and used this long red belt or something that had been looped around the latch for the purpose of tying the door shut. I tied it a couple of times over to make sure it stayed shut and I don't want Grandma to go check on Bill in the morning without me for fear she won't get it closed again.
She just won't listen! Then she wanted to come into the house and talk to Dad because I mistakenly told her that I was to call him right after I moved Billy. I was so angry and frustrated with her and her bitching and bumbling and just general fucking-up of my simple task that I told her that I was just supposed to let him know it was done and that was it. Somehow I convinced her to go back to her house and leave me alone.
Oh! And of course I managed to track poo into the house. I'll clean it up tomorrow.
Stupid Friday the 13th.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
