So what if I'm high maintenance?

My parents are obsessively vaccuming and checking the chemicals in the pool for their little "pool party" this afternoon. You know that anything which spawns more drama than I ever saw in high school is probably some event that I don't care to attend. But that's not the real dealbreaker, here.

*11:30AM, 83 degrees in the house*
"Hay mom, I just thought of something"
(My parents love for the temp in the house to reach at least 93 before subjecting themselves to AC)
"Yeah, hold on a minute" --scrub scrub--
--scrub--
"Ok, what?"
"I was thinking that if you turned on the AC now when it's cooler in the house instead of later you will actually be saving energy, because it won't have to work like a racehorse to cool the house down for a few hours, it will just keep at a mild temp all day long."
"Yeah, maybe if I was planning on ever turning on the AC today. I want everyone out of the house and into the pool."
"Well, I guess I have to leave early then."

The last thing I want to do is wade around in my pool among 20 shitfaced middle aged people that I don't know who are probably having a hard time controlling their bowels due to their inebriation and rapid aging, just because my mom chooses not to run the AC today.

No.

So I'll probably make the long journey back to Stockton in an hour or so. Gotta get the free AC where you can, even if it's in my delapidated ol' townhouse. Take my grilled chicken pieces to cook in pasta later tonight for when I get hungry. Maybe as a treat, I will go to Costco, it's bound to be air conditioned in that place.

Even more depressing is that I finished my book that I started on Thursday, so I have no peaceful retreat into the mind of the severely bipolar anymore. Well, unless I decide to look into myself. That's always a good time had by all.

Now I'm here just trying to figure out why my 7up has the essence of bell pepper in it.

I can't help but think of last night's festivities. We sort of had dinner as a family. My mom and my dad had chicken caesar salad. My sister had a tomato and salt, and I had some buffalo wings. Afterward, we all sit around the table and decide to play a game of Hearts. If anyone knows my dad, they know that by 3pm, faithfully each day, he's gone. He's had one too many Coors. There's no reasoning or normal conversation without being mocked, accused, yelled at, or just exchanging of words that you have the slightest idea of what he's talking about.

Each time the hand is dealt, he picks up his cards, and either says "oh, shiiiiiiiiiit." Or "what the fuck, who's dealing?" Or "Oh, oh, I'm gonna run the gamut!" And then he usually shows us his cards, because he thinks it doesn't matter whether we see or not. Then when we usually have five turns left, and he's already been handed the Queen of Spades, he just lays his cards down, says "take them, I don't give a shit"and accuses all three of us of cheating. Eventually I just told him he was annoying, and he got to 100 points, lost the game, but won to him, since he had the highest total, and I sat down on the couch and checked my gmail.

I have to go pack.

P.S. Hi Linda! I see you found my blog.