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So, stuff has been going on the past few days, which included amongst other things: staying awake and alert for more than 48 straight hours, freaking the establishment, installing air conditioners, and fireworks. And probably having a stomach virus. But I've been all tired and crap for updating, so I keep forgetting to write anything down. This instance is no different. So, instead, I will write about one particular incident of yesterday that greatly irritated me.

So, yesterday was the birthday of my nation. My stupid town has stupid fireworks that I had to stupid go to. I knew my mother was going to suggest it, and for once I wasn't violently against leaving the house. I was more quietly resigned to the fact that, it being the 4th, I was going to need to go see fireworks. Well. They were pretty. Beforehand, we went for some food stuffs at the diner. (This being New Jersey, we have many. This was one of my small town's two.) Now, at this diner there is a waitman. He's an aggravating and annoying fuckhead. I first encountered him on mother's day, when myself, my mother, my sister, her best friend Cherilyn, and her adorable moppet Cecelia, whom I adore with all my heart and is five. Cecelia did not like this character. This is very telling. He was flirtatious with my sister and Cherilyn. They were both annoyed. He joined in our conversations. We were all annoyed. He sat down at out table. This was all highly inappropriate. My sister was angry, but contained herself well. He remarked that I was quiet. I thought he could go fuck himself. Briefly, this fellow is a fuckhead. I next saw him there after I went out with my friend Toni and we stopped for food. He listened in, and joined in on our conversation. I was highly annoyed an uncomfortable. I don't want to go to that diner because I think he might be there. He's unprofessional and discourteous, and when I realized that he was there yesterday, I wanted to leave.

So, my mother gives him her order.
I give him my order.
"Wait, what was that?" he says, putting down his order-taking-pad and putting his hand up to his ear.
"Chicken fingers." I say in a completely audible tone.
"Oh, hold on, let me get out the microphone," say he, beginning to pantomime reaching for one.
I smile pleasantly. "I WOULD LIKE. SOME CHICKEN. FINGERS," I say in a tone somewhere between conversational and shouting.
"Okay, chicken fingers," quoth he.
"THANK YOU," says I.

I then avoided looking at or speaking to him for the entirity of my meal. I was quite pleased. My mother told me that what I did was inappropriate. Bullshit it was inappropriate. It was inappropriate that I had to repeat my fucking order to this jackass three times. It was inappropriate that I am made to feel uncomfortable in an establishment where I am supposed to be waited on. And he's lucky I didn't tack "you fucking asshole" onto the end of that "thank you" and that I didn't get up and punch him in his ugly fucking face.

So, then we went to fireworks. We stopped at a store for bug spray. There was none. While there, I saw my friend Don drive by, with someone tall in his passenger seat. Possibly Ed. I mentioned this to my mother, and she had no idea who I was talking about. Making an interesting point that while she tells me that it would be a "good idea" for me to go out with "my little friends" that she doesn't even know who any of these people are. Anyway, this was a mistake. because later last night when we came home, she took a shower (the shower is where she works herself up into having "important conversations") and when she emerged, she told me that she doesn't want me "playing the hermit" anymore, and that I need to call at least one of my friends this summer, and then some other commentary, with the loving remark that there was "something wrong" with me. Gee, thanks, mother.

You know, I'm out of the house all day four days a week. I do a lot of work, that I'm still behind on. I need a day or two to have a fucking rest. And, I don't want to hang out with any of my "little friends". And, I think my mother needs to stop worrying about everything that's "wrong" with me, and worry about what's wrong with her fucking self.