Steady they laden head in Book Four: Ichi-no-Tani 2017

Ha. Oh thou prolific writers thou. Two days… 45 entries to read. :)

I must profess this “Productive Weekend” requirement certainly makes the weekend less relaxing and far less rejuvenating.

Friday afternoon/evening was mostly acceptable. Before we left, Wife wanted to try on a piece of her costume… we are going to a Charity Gala in April and Wife and I are doing the costume thing to go “whole hog” as it were. Well… she ordered an extra large corset… or what was advertised as an extra large… and… issues. Granted my wife and I are not in the physical shape that we would prefer and I won’t argue that fact. But Wife went from five feet tall and 120 lbs whining about how fat she is… to five feet tall and 163 pounds borderline suicidal about how fat she is. (If she wouldn’t snack constantly and actually learned how to cook; this wouldn’t be an issue). So she tries on this XL Corset and… it is too small. So now I have to drive two hours with a woman who is equal parts enraged and depressed over this fact.

Fast forward through the drive and the remainder of Friday Night.

Saturday was a day of Apartment Hunting. 5 places in total. My front runner is a 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom unit with vaulted ceilings… all buildings have elevators (which is super rare for DM Apartments)… the main building of the apartment complex has a work out facility, an indoor heated pool, an outdoor heated pool, a hot tub, two tennis courts, and a sauna. This place would cost $1275 per month. Wife isn’t sold because she thinks it is too expensive and doesn’t like the narrow hallways. However, Wife is of the opinion that “character” is important in a living situation and preferred the small, falling apart, shit-hole. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again… I appreciate her frugality but for a woman who boasts about her practicality… there is a clear victor when Frugality and Practicality fight. We looked at five places; three of which were completely foul. Wife is still trying to say we don’t need a 3 bedroom because we were fine in a 2 bedroom in Omaha. Yeah. In Omaha. Before we got Pappy’s things. Before we moved into a 4 bedroom 2 bathroom 2 story house. I don’t care if it is physically possible to take a 4 bedroom house and move it into a 2 bedroom apartment… I still don’t want to do it. And between our expected monthly earnings of 5k a month… plus quarterly bonuses… plus excessive current savings.... we don’t need to live in a place with holes in the wall. There are 10 more apartments Wife wants me to call to try to set up appointments. Though, this coming weekend we only have one day to search. So… could be tricky.

Saturday night, we came back to my parents and chilled. I was sufficiently exhausted having worked Friday, then driven to DM, then driven all around DM for appointments, then “dragged along” while my wife spent 2 hours in a fabric store. I was tired. But Wife wanted to watch “our Saturday shows” that go past midnight. Apparently, I fell asleep on the couch. Which upset Wife, so when she went up to bed, she left me there on the couch. I woke up with a very sore back.

Sunday was spent lounging around mostly and planning what apartments we would try to get appointments for next weekend. My parents went to The Symphony which allowed Nancy and I to really get into detail about our moving plans and figure some stuff out. After the symphony though… yeah. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to be around my dad even though we are living back in DM.

You see, he came home while I was in the shower… not a big deal but I put that out there because not knowing what he immediately did when he got home will play into it. But when I came downstairs, Dad was trying to find News. He couldn’t find news. Though news was all around on the guide. He flippantly said, “I refuse to watch that liberal bullshit of 60 minutes!” I should have just let that go. But his “I’m right, I’m going to say this, nobody question me” just… doesn’t fly far with me. So, inquisitively, I asked “What news source would you like?” Dad said, “BBC.” I smiled and said, “I like BBC as well. Too bad the President says it is as bad as CNN.” To which Dad said, “You need to check that attitude. Stop being such a sore whiny liberal loser and accept that the winners are right.” Okay… my dad just verbatim pulled some Alt-Right shit on me… it’s on. After collecting myself because I was aghast that my father could be so close to calling me a “cuck”… I suggested that President Trump’s bullshit isn’t about partisan politics or political gamesmanship… that President Trump and his cronies are legitimately dangerous. To which Dad again said, “You just need to accept that he won and stop getting worked up. This is what the people wanted.” I scoffed and said “Not according to the popular vote!” Dad got angry and said, “If California didn’t count, Trump would have won the Popular Vote entirely!” I asked if Dad had numbers to back up that claim and he got even more angry. Changed topics by saying, “I suffered for 8 years of Obama. People need to shut up and deal with it like we had to.” I laughed (because “dealing with it” involved my dad being a birther and to this day swearing that Obama is a Muslim) and said, “Because you and Obama’s detractors never made a scene or whined.” Dad retorted with, “We didn’t burn things down!” I responded with, “Neither did Trump protesters.” Now it is Dad’s turn to scoff and, as he stands up, says “So, you’ve never heard of Berkley?” I stay seated (not rising to my father’s attempt to instigate or intimidate) and say, “Berkley wasn’t even about Trump. Can I tell you what Berkley was about?” But no, he wants nothing of it. He immediately starts mocking me saying, “No, fine. You’re right. I’m wrong. You’re so smart and I’m just a dumb guy. I don’t know what’s going on in the world, and you do. We’re done. Okay?!” Now I’m… honestly… shaking with rage. Honestly… shaking. He brings up Berkely, I want to make sure if he is going to use “evidence” that he knows what actually happened, and he acts like a freaking 12 year old. Just.... fuming!

He leaves to go pick up the food for the evening and I’m just sitting there… astounded that my father has become AltRight. I mean… I knew he was a passionate Republican. I knew that he was racist against black people. I knew that he believed Evangelical Christianity should control the government. But… the tactics, the arguments, the words coming out of his mouth… Alt Right Textbook! Say something, when confronted with facts, change topics, if confronted with intelligent argument, go personal. It was just… it was horrifying. It was upsetting. And then Mom comes in and tries to “help.” She, as a teacher and the daughter of hippies, agrees that Dad has become a lot worse these last 4 years and she doesn’t know why. She agrees that he is completely wrong. The first thing she says to “explain” why Dad is like that? “Well, it is after five o’clock.” Meaning… Dad’s drinking is getting even worse? Meaning that, as soon as 5 hits, he starts draining the Jack Bottle.... and it is true. He is a “game playing” alcoholic. He doesn’t use glasses or mixers all the time anymore. He’ll just come home, start drinking from the bottle, but put the bottle back before it is completely empty. Because as long as he didn’t finish the bottle… it isn’t a problem. So I roll my eyes at that development and say, “Even if he’s drunk, he’s behaving like a child.” So she says that her solution is to “not talk about it, not challenge him on any of it, and just let him say what he wants.” I’m sorry Mom… but that sounds like a woman in an abusive relationship, frankly. Especially when it is the kind of shit Dad is spewing these days. “Kill the immigrants?” “Fags shouldn’t have rights?” Mom says he’s just joking… well… he was making these “jokes” when I was in High School and I sobbed for days at a time because my father was so filled with hatred for the mere existence of other people. So… these “jokes” are his actual beliefs but you downplay them so that you can think your faithful Christian husband isn’t actually such a bad guy.

So… yeah. I may have to figure something out. Because I really honestly do love my parents. I enjoy spending time with them most of the time. But… Dad + Alcohol + Opportunity= Hate-Filled Trump Fan.

When Dad came back from the drive to get food (and yes, Dad does have a history of this drink then drive but as a High Functioning Alcoholic, he has never received an OWI)… when Dad got back; he was fine and dandy. Like some kind of switch went off and when he got home it was just “we won’t talk about it, it didn’t happen, here is food and food related conversation.” If it wasn’t so perfectly WASP I would have been confused.

Fast Forward through the drive back to Tiny Town and sleeping etc.

Work. Uhm… yeah. My hearing this morning devolved into a continuance. Most everything I’ve got is being pushed back. So… I may honestly have a solid two weeks of little to no work. That being said I should phone these apartments and try to set up appointments. And when I go home, I’ll really need to work out and pack some stuff. It is funny. I’m feeling anxious about finding a place to live, anxious about moving to it, but the predominant feeling over all of this is.... just the anxiety/excitement about the new firm.