Sunday, July 11

Buffer

i'm totally the buffer. i take the information my mom gives me, process it, and relay a concise version of said information to my dad. example:

i came home just now, to my mom pissed off at the computer. asked why, she said, "Oh, i don't know what he wants to do, now he's telling me he doesn't want to go up north, can't ever make up his fucking mind, one minute he wants to, next he doesn't.. blahblahblah, don't let the dog in, he's getting a haircut." said dog is barking his "Let me in, i'm bored and it's hot outside" bark.
i go outside, dad thanks me for bringing the dog in. i say, "I'm not bringing him in, he's getting a haircut." dad: "No.. is he supposed to be getting a haircut?" me: "Well, that's what someone inside seems to think is happening." dad: "I have no idea what she wants, i'm so confused." me: "She wants to go up north, dad." dad: "Well, couldn't she just tell me that? ok, great, we'll go up north then." me: "Do NOT tell her i told you that's what she wants.. you know that'll make her even pisseder." dad: nod.
inside again. laying on couch, reading.. mom walks through. me: "So.. you're going up north again?" mom: "< snicker > Well... last i heard.." me: laugh. "Well, have fun."

i feel kind of bad for feeling proud of myself for shit like this that i do.

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