Damn You, Ticketmaster
Normally I try not to serial-post on the same day, but dammit, I'm bored as shit at work right now, and I just got an email that prompted me to rage.
Two years ago, before things really went down the shitter, I bought my ex tickets to some stupid Pink Floyd laser light show at the Uptown. I enjoy Floyd as much as the next former pot-smoker, but they're just not really my thing. The tickets were a birthday gift for the dumbass, and I was hoping he'd take one of his old stoner friends or something. Alas, he decided he wanted to take me instead, and this was close to the end of our cordial association, so not only was I going to see...well, not see a band I'm not crazy about, but I was also going with a person I'm not crazy about. Fun. At any rate, I ordered the tickets through The Most Evil Organization in the Free World, a/k/a Ticketmaster. Ever since then, Ticketmaster has felt compelled to send me random emails informing me of what hip and trendy acts are playing in venues close by.
This came in handy once--when I got the "don't miss the Indigo Girls" email--but generally just serves to make me feel even older than I already do. For example, the email I just got explains how I need to act now so I don't miss Ray Lamontagne, Old Crow Medicine Show, The Kills, and someone else I've never heard of. At the risk of sounding like a verse from Springsteen's "Glory Days," I'm not real into new music. I'll listen to whatever's playing on the only halfway decent radio station in town, and occasionally I'll buy something because I recognize the band name and can associate it with a song I've heard, but really, all I'm doing is replacing the shit I once purchased on cassette back when I was still sporting a permullet and cheerleading skirt or dressing like a punk/goth hooker. That's right, I said "cassette." Remember cassettes? The last CD I purchased from BMG (before they cut me off for forgetting to pay them) was The Psychedelic Furs' Greatest Hits.
The ex continues to plague me. Now he's CALLING me demanding his $30. As if. I have a strong feeling I'm not going to see a fucking dime come August 1st. Not that it will kill me. It will make August more difficult than I'd like, but nothing I can't overcome. I plan to have El Nino and I moved into the house by the end of this month, anyway, so if push came to shove, I could just give my apartment complex notice and explain to them my ex is a douchebag who's refusing to pay child support so they're going to have to take their last month's rent money in halfsies.
I just love it when he takes on that menacing tone of voice. Like he's trying to scare me. You know what, fuckstain, it may have worked on me for several years, but not anymore. I'm older and wiser and finally pulled my head out of my ass. I'm not afraid of you anymore. Put that in your bong and smoke it.
Ugh. I'm going to go eat a bag of chili-cheese fritos now. That asshole has me upset enough to binge. I wonder if I can take him for damages if I gain back the 20+ pounds I've lost since leaving his ass?
Ben just called me, having spent the past 3 hours in a meeting that, I'm guessing, accomplished very little. He's a bit on the cranky side and explained it's because he woke up at 7:15 (I get up at 6:20 when I have El Nino, to allow for getting him to school in short order) and spent all afternoon not getting any of the stuff he needs to get done done, and not having had the opportunity to nap. Nap? Are you kidding me? The man is 26 years old and he still thinks he needs a nap? Hell, I could use a nap, but I don't get one. Ever. It just blows me away how much he thinks he needs to sleep. He rarely gets out of bed before 9:30 on any given morning, usually squeaks in a 1-3 hour nap in the afternoon, and I've been getting him to bed by at least 11:00 (granted, we don't always end up asleep until closer to midnight--I'm working on that, too). Maybe I'm missing something, though, because every time we've had a day off together and he ended up taking a ridiculously long nap, I've been right there next to him, sleeping my ass off. So maybe he's right and I'm wrong--maybe an adult human really DOES need 12-14 hours of sleep per 24 hour period, and trying to get by on 6 or 7 (as I do) is damned foolish.
Come to think of it, I am pretty damned tired all the time...
At any rate, I hope he's not in a shitty mood when he gets "home" (we're hangin' in da hood--my apartment--tonight). If he is, I'll probably just gently suggest he go read his book for a while and I'll play with El Nino or something. I think he and I are pretty good (so far) about letting each other have bad moods without wigging about it and taking things personally. That's certainly something the ex and I never achieved. Granted, when the ex was in a shitty mood, it usually was because of me, whether it started out that way or not, so I guess it's not really the same animal.
I only have $50 in my account until next Friday. Even so, I'm ordering pizza for dinner tonight anyway. I'm just that much of a rebel.
Adios, amigos.
Two years ago, before things really went down the shitter, I bought my ex tickets to some stupid Pink Floyd laser light show at the Uptown. I enjoy Floyd as much as the next former pot-smoker, but they're just not really my thing. The tickets were a birthday gift for the dumbass, and I was hoping he'd take one of his old stoner friends or something. Alas, he decided he wanted to take me instead, and this was close to the end of our cordial association, so not only was I going to see...well, not see a band I'm not crazy about, but I was also going with a person I'm not crazy about. Fun. At any rate, I ordered the tickets through The Most Evil Organization in the Free World, a/k/a Ticketmaster. Ever since then, Ticketmaster has felt compelled to send me random emails informing me of what hip and trendy acts are playing in venues close by.
This came in handy once--when I got the "don't miss the Indigo Girls" email--but generally just serves to make me feel even older than I already do. For example, the email I just got explains how I need to act now so I don't miss Ray Lamontagne, Old Crow Medicine Show, The Kills, and someone else I've never heard of. At the risk of sounding like a verse from Springsteen's "Glory Days," I'm not real into new music. I'll listen to whatever's playing on the only halfway decent radio station in town, and occasionally I'll buy something because I recognize the band name and can associate it with a song I've heard, but really, all I'm doing is replacing the shit I once purchased on cassette back when I was still sporting a permullet and cheerleading skirt or dressing like a punk/goth hooker. That's right, I said "cassette." Remember cassettes? The last CD I purchased from BMG (before they cut me off for forgetting to pay them) was The Psychedelic Furs' Greatest Hits.
The ex continues to plague me. Now he's CALLING me demanding his $30. As if. I have a strong feeling I'm not going to see a fucking dime come August 1st. Not that it will kill me. It will make August more difficult than I'd like, but nothing I can't overcome. I plan to have El Nino and I moved into the house by the end of this month, anyway, so if push came to shove, I could just give my apartment complex notice and explain to them my ex is a douchebag who's refusing to pay child support so they're going to have to take their last month's rent money in halfsies.
I just love it when he takes on that menacing tone of voice. Like he's trying to scare me. You know what, fuckstain, it may have worked on me for several years, but not anymore. I'm older and wiser and finally pulled my head out of my ass. I'm not afraid of you anymore. Put that in your bong and smoke it.
Ugh. I'm going to go eat a bag of chili-cheese fritos now. That asshole has me upset enough to binge. I wonder if I can take him for damages if I gain back the 20+ pounds I've lost since leaving his ass?
Ben just called me, having spent the past 3 hours in a meeting that, I'm guessing, accomplished very little. He's a bit on the cranky side and explained it's because he woke up at 7:15 (I get up at 6:20 when I have El Nino, to allow for getting him to school in short order) and spent all afternoon not getting any of the stuff he needs to get done done, and not having had the opportunity to nap. Nap? Are you kidding me? The man is 26 years old and he still thinks he needs a nap? Hell, I could use a nap, but I don't get one. Ever. It just blows me away how much he thinks he needs to sleep. He rarely gets out of bed before 9:30 on any given morning, usually squeaks in a 1-3 hour nap in the afternoon, and I've been getting him to bed by at least 11:00 (granted, we don't always end up asleep until closer to midnight--I'm working on that, too). Maybe I'm missing something, though, because every time we've had a day off together and he ended up taking a ridiculously long nap, I've been right there next to him, sleeping my ass off. So maybe he's right and I'm wrong--maybe an adult human really DOES need 12-14 hours of sleep per 24 hour period, and trying to get by on 6 or 7 (as I do) is damned foolish.
Come to think of it, I am pretty damned tired all the time...
At any rate, I hope he's not in a shitty mood when he gets "home" (we're hangin' in da hood--my apartment--tonight). If he is, I'll probably just gently suggest he go read his book for a while and I'll play with El Nino or something. I think he and I are pretty good (so far) about letting each other have bad moods without wigging about it and taking things personally. That's certainly something the ex and I never achieved. Granted, when the ex was in a shitty mood, it usually was because of me, whether it started out that way or not, so I guess it's not really the same animal.
I only have $50 in my account until next Friday. Even so, I'm ordering pizza for dinner tonight anyway. I'm just that much of a rebel.
Adios, amigos.
posted by Mitzi Green at 4:07 PM
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