Southern men are supposed to be gentlemen. Why does she keep dating guys out of the exception pool?
Holy crap, it's Friday already? Good god!
~Week 3~
+ 11/14, Stop eating my food. Stop asking if you can eat my food. Stop knocking on my door to ask stupid questions. Stop making lame jokes. Stop having all conversations start with “you know, back in Korea…” Just stop.
+ 11/15, It’s finally dawned why it’s unbearable to hear him tell a story or listen to him speak, really. You’ve all deduced that he is insanely vain, conceited and shallow, right? Great. Well when he’s describing things in his stories, he’ll describe the most bizarre things: “as we were heading to dinner, I noticed these girls in the car next to us. Beautiful, beautiful girls. Just lovely girls… Really lovely, the way they were dressed.” And the girls aren’t even a part of the story! He describes appearance in the most obnoxious way. Beautiful and lovely are his two favorite words, and he loves using them twice in a row, no less.
+ 11/16, He won’t go on the porch to have a smoke unless someone is going with him. It’s a pain in the ass to hear him in the other room asking every 5 minutes if someone wanted to smoke instead of growing a fucking set and going by himself!! Or he’ll hold off for a while and when David finally comes home after his late shift, he and mum will head out together and he’ll jump up like a puppy and go “oh! I’m coming too!” Then when David shoots him down with a “hey, how about I have 5 friggin minutes alone with my wife, ass,” he looks all dejected and whines that he reaaaaally needs a cig. Yeah, that’s not really our problem, buddy.
+ 11/17, Happy birthday mom! Oh boy, it’s going to be a blast for the three of us to go out to celebrate (you know, the FAMILY) and have a grand old time together like in the old days. The whole time we were getting ready he kept throwing out comments out along the lines of “so, when you come back, we’re gonna have cake, right?” “Oh man, that cake looks good, are we going to cut it up as soon as you come back? Hey, when are you coming back?” HEY. CALM DOWN. IT’S CAKE. Not only that, but he was asking if we could order something for him and bring him back a doggy bag.
Wat.
If we were willing to do that, you would have been invited. You weren’t. Enjoy trying to figure out how to use the toaster oven, Baby Huey. Also, stop being such a shameless mooch kthnxbai.
Fast forward to the car ride home. Despite our best efforts, there are leftovers which we vehemently point out are for the person who ordered it ONLY. Not two seconds after walking in the door (not even kidding here, David went in first and had just made the immediate left turn into the kitchen to put his keys down) he calls out from his prone position on the recliner where he’s been ALL day, “hey, are there leftovers?”
If someone can confirm that saying such a thing is completely unacceptable, that would be great. No “did you have a good time?” or “happy birthday!” or any of the other hundreds if non-offensive things to say, no, you HAD to do that one, didn’t you? Then he immediately goes into the kitchen and busts open the bag and starts rifling through it. David has to supervise and tell him what’s off limits and no, there’s no more tortellini he got because he ate it all, and he doesn’t give a shit if you think that’s too bad because you would have liked to try that.
I just..gah, words cannot describe. Then he pouts for a bit when he learns cake will not be immediately forthcoming because we are all stuffed to the gills, and we settle in to watch some Bones and Glee. About halfway through we pause for a break and he immediately shoots up with a “is it time for cake?” FUCKING DROP IT. It was so damn horrifying and luckily mom was a good sport about it (she just relentlessly teased and mocked him all night like she’s always wanted, but is too polite to do to his face normally.) Thank god he’s going to be out by my birthday or I would ask for permission to kill him.
+ 11/18, David’s been helping him try to find a place to live. Well, before, his criteria was that he has to live in this town. O-kaaay, it’s certainly not the most affordable (Average rent for a studio in the area is about $1200 and a 1 br is about $1800. Totally reasonable for someone still without a job to be looking at, yeah?), but if you look really REALLY hard, you can find some diamond in the rough. Maybe. Well, David happened to find one of those places. It’s got heat and hot water included, it’s in Brookline, it’s within his proposed price range, and it’s only got one roommate for him to terrorize unsuspectingly, but whatever, as long as he’s out of our hair.
Well guess what? Suddenly, the search range has narrowed even further. On the other side of our block is a giant building inside a courtyard that has started to rent to college and grad students. He wants to live there.
…
...ADFKJSHDF;SK;;KLSDJG
WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM. He keeps harping that when he gets his job, he can certainly afford to live there! If there was ever a person that went against every single commenplace idiom, it would be this guy. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Beggars can’t be choosers. These are the two he is failing spectacularly in today.
+ 11/19, I wanted to make it a point to keep track of what exactly his daily activities are. In the time I was home, he sat on the recliner watching the History Channel from about 10:30am straight through until about 9 or 9:30pm. In that time, he was never once on the computer looking for a job or an apartment like he always vehemently tells David he’s doing when asked. How do I know? Because I pulled the wireless router, that’s why! And not once did he ask me what was wrong with the internet. FACE.
Gianna came over and he comments that boy, for girls, we sure do spend a lot of time in front of the videogames. I throw back that working hard and it being my fucking house earns me the right to do that.
At one point, I notice my cordless phone is missing. After pressing the locator button, the one in the living room beeps. I storm out there and snatch it demanding to know whow and why he has my phone. Oh, he says, it was ringing this morning but I couldn’t find the other one so I just took yours. Do. Not. Ever. Go into my room. I cannot stress this enough Phil. Now where's my damn Lysol?
+ 11/20, 11 more days until his deadline.
David calls and asks if I can tell Phil to go downstairs out back to help take up the groceries from the truck in 2 minutes. Sure, I say. After he hears the message, Phil responds with a “uhh..okaaaay,” then continues primping in the bathroom. I keep and eye on the clock and after 120 seconds tell him he has to go downstairs. Right then the phone rings again and he yells out that he’s just putting his shoes on. Well, another 4 or so minutes pass and I let a very irate David into the house and point to the bathroom. Phil finally comes out…fully dressed in slacks and a suit jacket of course, and says he has to get ready for an interview.
Okay, we’re all aware that time management is a big part of growing up, and taking 5 minutes of your time to go down a flight of stairs, grab some bags, and bring them back up is a minor step in learning that skill. Of course, we make him go down and get the rest of the bags.
Can’t wait for more adventures to arise after work tonight. Oh wait, no, the other thing, where I absolutely can wait for that to never ever happen.
Side note: Mason, Michele’s cat, is staying with me for a couple weeks, so hopefully having kitty therapy every day will help the psyche :3
~Week 3~
+ 11/14, Stop eating my food. Stop asking if you can eat my food. Stop knocking on my door to ask stupid questions. Stop making lame jokes. Stop having all conversations start with “you know, back in Korea…” Just stop.
+ 11/15, It’s finally dawned why it’s unbearable to hear him tell a story or listen to him speak, really. You’ve all deduced that he is insanely vain, conceited and shallow, right? Great. Well when he’s describing things in his stories, he’ll describe the most bizarre things: “as we were heading to dinner, I noticed these girls in the car next to us. Beautiful, beautiful girls. Just lovely girls… Really lovely, the way they were dressed.” And the girls aren’t even a part of the story! He describes appearance in the most obnoxious way. Beautiful and lovely are his two favorite words, and he loves using them twice in a row, no less.
+ 11/16, He won’t go on the porch to have a smoke unless someone is going with him. It’s a pain in the ass to hear him in the other room asking every 5 minutes if someone wanted to smoke instead of growing a fucking set and going by himself!! Or he’ll hold off for a while and when David finally comes home after his late shift, he and mum will head out together and he’ll jump up like a puppy and go “oh! I’m coming too!” Then when David shoots him down with a “hey, how about I have 5 friggin minutes alone with my wife, ass,” he looks all dejected and whines that he reaaaaally needs a cig. Yeah, that’s not really our problem, buddy.
+ 11/17, Happy birthday mom! Oh boy, it’s going to be a blast for the three of us to go out to celebrate (you know, the FAMILY) and have a grand old time together like in the old days. The whole time we were getting ready he kept throwing out comments out along the lines of “so, when you come back, we’re gonna have cake, right?” “Oh man, that cake looks good, are we going to cut it up as soon as you come back? Hey, when are you coming back?” HEY. CALM DOWN. IT’S CAKE. Not only that, but he was asking if we could order something for him and bring him back a doggy bag.
Wat.
If we were willing to do that, you would have been invited. You weren’t. Enjoy trying to figure out how to use the toaster oven, Baby Huey. Also, stop being such a shameless mooch kthnxbai.
Fast forward to the car ride home. Despite our best efforts, there are leftovers which we vehemently point out are for the person who ordered it ONLY. Not two seconds after walking in the door (not even kidding here, David went in first and had just made the immediate left turn into the kitchen to put his keys down) he calls out from his prone position on the recliner where he’s been ALL day, “hey, are there leftovers?”
If someone can confirm that saying such a thing is completely unacceptable, that would be great. No “did you have a good time?” or “happy birthday!” or any of the other hundreds if non-offensive things to say, no, you HAD to do that one, didn’t you? Then he immediately goes into the kitchen and busts open the bag and starts rifling through it. David has to supervise and tell him what’s off limits and no, there’s no more tortellini he got because he ate it all, and he doesn’t give a shit if you think that’s too bad because you would have liked to try that.
I just..gah, words cannot describe. Then he pouts for a bit when he learns cake will not be immediately forthcoming because we are all stuffed to the gills, and we settle in to watch some Bones and Glee. About halfway through we pause for a break and he immediately shoots up with a “is it time for cake?” FUCKING DROP IT. It was so damn horrifying and luckily mom was a good sport about it (she just relentlessly teased and mocked him all night like she’s always wanted, but is too polite to do to his face normally.) Thank god he’s going to be out by my birthday or I would ask for permission to kill him.
+ 11/18, David’s been helping him try to find a place to live. Well, before, his criteria was that he has to live in this town. O-kaaay, it’s certainly not the most affordable (Average rent for a studio in the area is about $1200 and a 1 br is about $1800. Totally reasonable for someone still without a job to be looking at, yeah?), but if you look really REALLY hard, you can find some diamond in the rough. Maybe. Well, David happened to find one of those places. It’s got heat and hot water included, it’s in Brookline, it’s within his proposed price range, and it’s only got one roommate for him to terrorize unsuspectingly, but whatever, as long as he’s out of our hair.
Well guess what? Suddenly, the search range has narrowed even further. On the other side of our block is a giant building inside a courtyard that has started to rent to college and grad students. He wants to live there.
…
...ADFKJSHDF;SK;;KLSDJG
WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM. He keeps harping that when he gets his job, he can certainly afford to live there! If there was ever a person that went against every single commenplace idiom, it would be this guy. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Beggars can’t be choosers. These are the two he is failing spectacularly in today.
+ 11/19, I wanted to make it a point to keep track of what exactly his daily activities are. In the time I was home, he sat on the recliner watching the History Channel from about 10:30am straight through until about 9 or 9:30pm. In that time, he was never once on the computer looking for a job or an apartment like he always vehemently tells David he’s doing when asked. How do I know? Because I pulled the wireless router, that’s why! And not once did he ask me what was wrong with the internet. FACE.
Gianna came over and he comments that boy, for girls, we sure do spend a lot of time in front of the videogames. I throw back that working hard and it being my fucking house earns me the right to do that.
At one point, I notice my cordless phone is missing. After pressing the locator button, the one in the living room beeps. I storm out there and snatch it demanding to know whow and why he has my phone. Oh, he says, it was ringing this morning but I couldn’t find the other one so I just took yours. Do. Not. Ever. Go into my room. I cannot stress this enough Phil. Now where's my damn Lysol?
+ 11/20, 11 more days until his deadline.
David calls and asks if I can tell Phil to go downstairs out back to help take up the groceries from the truck in 2 minutes. Sure, I say. After he hears the message, Phil responds with a “uhh..okaaaay,” then continues primping in the bathroom. I keep and eye on the clock and after 120 seconds tell him he has to go downstairs. Right then the phone rings again and he yells out that he’s just putting his shoes on. Well, another 4 or so minutes pass and I let a very irate David into the house and point to the bathroom. Phil finally comes out…fully dressed in slacks and a suit jacket of course, and says he has to get ready for an interview.
Okay, we’re all aware that time management is a big part of growing up, and taking 5 minutes of your time to go down a flight of stairs, grab some bags, and bring them back up is a minor step in learning that skill. Of course, we make him go down and get the rest of the bags.
Can’t wait for more adventures to arise after work tonight. Oh wait, no, the other thing, where I absolutely can wait for that to never ever happen.
Side note: Mason, Michele’s cat, is staying with me for a couple weeks, so hopefully having kitty therapy every day will help the psyche :3