Manipulation

Pulling the pud is one form, another is when a friend tries to get you, in a variety of ways, to do what they want without asking or talking about it. Last night we went to Dream Girls. It was okay, the musical would have been better if not on Oscar night and if it wasn't so bitchy. A few more songs, completed all the way through would have been nice.

Caryl's boyfriend, the one she just broke up with and then got back together in a kind of sort of way, he won't tell her again when he is suicidal, she told his therapist. But there seeing each other, okay whatever the hell works for these two. But he didn't want to come to the performance when an extra ticket came up. So guess what? Caryl was bummed. Not that he was going until the ticket holder called and said he was sick and could we find someone who would enjoy seeing it. The boyfriend didn't want to drive thirty miles alone.

She wanted to pay for dinner that night, okay fine. Only she wasn't moving her ass to get the damn chicken. So I mentioned that we needed to eat soon, if we were going to be on time. That's when she came up with this lame answer that we never left for dinner before five before. The performance starts at six-thirty. Can't work, I tell her, and after she took her sweet time getting ready and needed to deposit a check in her bank, we ended up at In&Out for a burger. Big spender and then I had to wolf down the burger, get on the freeway and fly to the red line. We made it in time, but I'm getting pissed with all this.

Sunday she wanted to go bike riding, I didn't. Sunday is my day to read the L.A. Times and the New York. I don't like to be disturb. I don't want anyone over before ten in the morning earliest. And if someone does come over, I expect them to read, drink tea or coffee and not bother me until after ten. The rule has been broken now two weeks running. This last Sunday, Caryl and Juan wanted to meet here because they stow their bikes here and ride from our house. Juan wanted to annoy me, ask for things, interrupt me with wanting to be fed and on and on. If I don't answer him, he is like some eight year old and asks louder and more persistent until you get pissed. The last two Sundays have been this way.

I'm not sure if her and Juan think it's funny to annoy me but they are about to find out what a bitch I can really be. Wally and I aren't saying a fucking thing. When Sunday morning comes, we are going to have breakfast out with our paper. Someone can wait on me while I read, how nice that will be for a change.