Because Friday's Are Haunted

What better a time to write than a Friday? Friday's lead to bad events, especially at Cap'n Jack's. Two weeks ago today was the death of the man, last week was the vomiting Buzz Lightyear child, and this week was relatively calmer, although definitely points to a much longer-term issue at hand. Today, we had the glory of dealing with a verbally abusive husband, both towards his wife and his daughter. At what point in your life do you say "No, thank you. That's quite enough. I'll take my daughter, who will hopefully denounce belonging to you and sharing flesh with you in the future. We'll go somewhere lovely where people actually appreciate us and all we bring to the world. We do not need anymore of your negativity, and we can stand on our own. F*#! off, please." I would hope that moment would come as soon as the words were uttered from his disgraceful mouth, but some are put into less than desirable positions.

If ever I find myself in such a position, I would hope that: a) I have enough sense to recognize the point at which it starts and get the heck out of there, and b) If I do fail to follow through with point a, I do not drag my (potential) children into the mess with me. As my roommate kindly pointed out this evening, if you're willing to put up with the man, that's your own issue. But if you're dragging your children into such a situation, you're putting them through it just as much, and they have no choice but to put up with it. Children should not be raised in such a hostile environment, regardless of whether the man (or woman) is purely verbally (not physically) abusive. Get. Out. Of. That. Relationship. Help yourself and those around you.

On a separate note: life is going splendidly. I'm now more satisfied being single than I ever have been, although I am still accepting applications, if anyone were so inclined. I have been exposed to so many negative relationships lately that I am THRILLED to not have to be going through similar situations.

Same requirements as before, just please have a promising future. Por favor. And by promising future, I mean some cash flow that won't require a paycheck to paycheck lifestyle is probably going to be necessary. Money can buy love. I promise you.

Wait. Am I growing up? Did I really say money can buy love? Love can exist without money, absolutely. But as long as the person is kind, I'm pretty sure I could put up with living without love so much easier than life without comforts.

Back to haunting: phantom throw-up-er on building 37 steps? Your vom needs cleaning. Esta. Noche. Please? Thank you. It looks like the innards of a really tomato-y burrito. Somebody has already stepped in it, and they deserve an apology. Man up.

To the Love of Your Life

Fully aware of the fact that we have never met, I must first address our future (far, far away as it may be.) We will spend it joyously, watching our children whip our grandchildren as they disobey them for the millionth time. We will take great pride in raising our offspring with such militaristic mindsets (nothing makes me happier than this, you will tell me over and over.) "But," you will tell me, "I hate to watch them cry. We should cease this activity in the quickest way possible." I will walk to the barn, just east of the scolding, and fashion one of our 23 pygmy goats with a leash. As Rowan (the goat) and I promenade through the yard, you will sing a song, carrying melodies only the great Eddie Money could dream into existence. At once, our grandchildren will behave, and all shall be merry again around the dinner table (set with cold apple pie, pecan pie, steak, potatoes, and other tasty treats.)

Looking back from this point, however, perhaps I should introduce myself. I am nobody, yet everybody you will ever wish to meet. I am like you, only slightly less Canadian (eh?), not as artistic (my historical characters could never hope to compete with what you create), and lacking in the lady parts. I am, your future husband.

Convincing you of this matter means little to me, as of now, for I have traveled to the future. I have seen that we reside together in a small log cabin (which I cleverly crafted by hand. Thank me later with sexual acts.) We have goats, giant donkeys, and mules (thank me later with sexual acts.) We make love regularly (thank me now with sexual acts.) We complain about growing old, while silently, we look forward to the grumpiness accompanied with age. We bicker, we fight, we cook, we smile, we laugh; you tell jokes, I tell lame stories with no point. Our existence is important only within the confines of the cabin (did I mention I publicly humiliate you into destroying your entire comic business? Minor detail, of course.)

There is, as I have hinted at, no escaping. You have 24 hours to reply to this confession of love. If you reply with a "yes" to my question of marriage, I will greet you on donkey, carrying you away into the rain. If you reply with a "no," I will greet you on mule, being sure he kicks you, but nonetheless, taking you as my own. If you choose to not reply, I will greet you on the backs of 17 pygmy goats (I'm quite clever at my ability to harness them together and create a sort of pygmy walking carpet) (did someone say "skills"?) You have no choice.

Pleasure to finally be talking to you. Pack quickly.