Hey all. I’m back.
Sorry to take so long – the final year of high school has been a whirlwind.
First, I would like to thank the message board for all your suggestions about how to function in my unique family situation. Everything from stocking up on marshmallows for the Apocalypse to what to expect when my brother comes into his powers was awesome.
I especially want to thank all the support I got about confronting my father, the judge and even step-dad. The non-stop “You Go Girl” was, for lack of a better adjective, awesome. I am flattered that several people used my example to throw off some of the really bad situations they were in. I didn’t set out to become an inspiration. And truth is, having read the circumstances some of you gals, and guys, were in, my complaining about my situation is like the meme of the first world problems crying woman going “I tried to spread cold butter on my toast … and the toast ripped”. All I can say is my telling Satan I will cut off his balls makes you stand up to evil where you live, then more power to you. You gals, and guys, rock – and good luck.
Second, $exy$hi#. No, you can’t have the two phone numbers I got. But I showed Troy your comments about what you want to do with the guys, demons, whatever. (I think I will go with whatever from now on – everyone down with that?) He recommended two other whatevers that step-dad did not introduce me to. I have set up a temporary email address which I am going to post in the “contact me” area. Shoot me an email with your contact information, I will forward the information to them while also providing you their information at the same time. Then I am going to delete the temp e-box and get out of the picture. And, no, $exy$sh#, I do NOT want to know what happens. Reading about your plans was bad enough, informative, but harsh. I is only eighteen. You are a sick, sick girl and I think you are going to have lots of fun.
Anyhow, business out of the way.
Troy.
I know, new name. Yes, not his real name. Really not suppose to share his real name, he is one of step-dad’s minions. No relation to the happy, bouncing yellow minions from Despicable Me, except their boss knows everyone’s names, fart guns are acceptable forms of entertainment, parties every weekend and lots of gluttony involving ice cream, … and well, I guess whatevers are very close to the minions in Despicable Me.
Anyhow, Troy. (sigh)
He has been hanging around the house … a lot.
He was not one of the entertainers step-dad offered up on my birthday as a gift. Troy is much too busy actually doing work for the horned one. Himself is not one to deprive himself of good help – actually bad help – someone really, really good at bad things.
I haven’t been home as much. Which is good, because I am not doing too well standing up to Troy’s flirting. Cripes, the man can handkiss. It feels really weird the first time, but the whatevers don’t change manners fast. Or maybe they do. They are good at blending.
But they know a good thing when they find it. Hold a woman’s hand, slowly lift to your lips keeping eye contact the whole way, lightly – oh so lightly – brush your lips against the knuckles, wait for her to breathe again, never losing eye contact, wait a second so she is not sure you are finished, then either kiss the fingers again, rotate the hand to kiss her palm, or lower the hand before releasing. Never release the hand before lowering and, never, ever break eye contact. Vary so she never knows what to expect so she keeps eye contact trying to see the intent in your eyes. Troy’s eyes are green, with a rim of gold right before the pupil. The right iris darkens to a deeper green towards the edge than the left one. His pupils always expand, covering the gold when he makes a decision to kiss my palm. His lips feel like a brush of roses on my hands.
Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here.
Anyhow, working lots of hours. A good thing. Been at the Scottish Hamburger joint doing my final sentence in the fast food industry. Hopefully next year I will be a college intern. More on that later. Mom says the chances of my beginning major, English Literature, being my final major is like nil. She says to get as many of the liberal arts requirements out of the way until I find what I really want to do.
Personally I think me being a reporter would be awesome. Step-dad is torn. Again, that whole seeking the truth thing. On the other hand, reporting will make me an observer. Which sets me up for the not getting in the way of the end of the world. I will just write as the world burns. I mean, like any reporter, I hope my words will change the world. But I got enough of a cynic in me to realize the chances of that are slim to none.
Except you gals and guys have already shown me my words can change things. Maybe need to rethink the pessimism, and also whether being a reporter will let me do my job as the Antichrist’s Big Sister.
Mom doesn’t think I’ll be happy. Being a reporter. She is all big on happiness since marrying the horned guy.
Again, respect my mom’s choices. My step-dad is light-years better than my bio dad. The horned guy makes her happy. Heck, we are even expecting AC (antichrist) number two shortly. Sometime in December.
Go figure.
My bet for delivery date – when does winter start? Any takers?
Oh, oh. I got into a college. I think I told you that, right?
Got the letter right after my birthday, so maybe not. Out of state. Best media and news reporting college in five states, plus. Far from my bio dad, plus. Bigger bill for him to pay since I don’t get in-state grants, extra plus. (Yes, I have verified he has sent in the first semester’s payment and it has cleared the bank.) Far away from the bad influences of step-dad and his minions, plus. Far away from mom and Billy, neg – big neg.
Far away from Troy. I don’t know.
We talked all night last night on the porch about my move, my job, his job, my future. But not our future. He even gave me glimpses of his past as I fell asleep on his shoulder. I don’t think he realized I was still awake … he just kept talking. Comparing the starry night sky to things he had seen.
I don’t know what to do about Troy. Long distance relationships aren’t good. Relationships with whatevers aren’t good. Look, don’t want advice on this one, not yet. Still need to think things through. Life is going to change.
Off to pack. Only a month until the off-to-college roadtrip. AC’s Big Sister signing off.
(words 1,207 – first published 4/9/2013; republished new blog format 1/21/2018)