Domestic Bliss, 1-3. [fiction] recyclebin

Sunday, November 30th.

1 - Prologue

A grey cat was asleep on a grey carpet in a beam of sunlight. It was a hoary old fellow, its whiskers bent and frazzled from years of weary use. Its breathing was slow and nearly indiscernable, its eyes barely visible save for dimples in its lush, close-cropped fur.

A child's hand holding a small white stuffed kitten with a heart emblem on its hind leg crept up onto the cat, and batted a whisker with a tiny front stuffed paw. "Wake up, Kitty, it's time to play!"

The cat moved not a muscle, its paws motionless without a single flex of a claw. Its breathing remained steady and unchanged, its ears untwitched. He appeared to be very deep in the land of slumber.

Once again, the stuffed kitten's front paw strummed the cat's whiskers like a guitar. "You have to get up and play, Kitty, come on and wake up!" the child's voice said again.

All of a sudden, the cat's eyes opened, revealing green irises opening to round pupils. I am awake, a disembodied voice replied. Perhaps it is you who are still asleep.

With a gasp, the child's hand dropped the stuffed kitten and let it tumble to the floor.

2 - Jim

Jim carefully pulled into the dark driveway, nearly invisible in the rainy night. Everything was slick and the headlights reflected only murky outlines of over-exaggerated shadows. He took a deep huff-and-puff and nudged his old station wagon into its proper spot behind the closed garage door. Rage Against the Machine was blaring loudly on the radio, and he was loathe to turn it off. But it was not a good time to listen to music; Tommy hadn't returned his calls with regards to the weed or the scam that he had wanted to pull, so it was home to a glass of wine and a fall into bed.

But that was not to be. After taking off his shoes in the garage and letting himself into the back door, it was immediately apparent that things were wrong. The lights were out. No TV blaring, no kids yelling and screeching, no food on the stove, and quiet husky sobbing from the living room. What the fuck....

Jim flipped the lights on and saw a mess of Cheerios, banana peels and raisins on the floor. All the cupboards and the refrigerator was open, showing their empty insides. He rushed into the living room and saw Reina slumped onto the floor, her cell phone and ashtray in front of her. She hadn't tried to call him, that much he knew; he had idly checked his cell phone as he got out of his car just in case she had decided to message him with last-minute errands. Her face was wet with tears, her sobs as hopeless as a death in the family. But he knew her penchant for drama.

"What happened?" he asked, keeping his voice at a careful balance between stern and concerned.

"The kids ate all the fuckin' food, even after I've told them not to," she blubbered. "I have absolutely nothing for supper. Fuckin' Ivy even cooked all the frozen nuggets in the oven and ate 'em all."

A small twinge of pride tickled a tiny part of Jim's heart, proud that his petite little blonde could pack away so much meat and still retain her thin figure. Of course, she was only nine, but to Jim, she was already a beautiful young woman that would require his protection. But she was also young enough to learn that draining the people who took care of her was not going to work out for her in the future. As a father, it wasn't his job to be her friend, but an example.

"Okay, so I'll go to Home Depot and get some padlocks," Jim decided. "We'll be the only ones with the keys. I'll also get some more food and we'll lock it all up. If they want to eat, they'll have to buy lemons from us and sell lemonade on the street." He gestured to the kitchen. "We've got a fuckin' juicer, she can use that instead of the oven."

That nipped the emotional problem in the bud for Jim, because it elicted a laugh from Reina as she sniffled and wiped away her tears with the back of her wrist. "Yeah, okay, if that's what it takes," she croaked. Then, she nodded. "Fuck it, that's a great idea. I won't even have to yell at her. I want to wait and hear them complain in the morning when they wake up and see those locks so I could tell them what's what then."

They shared another chuckle and he helped her up, the crook of her elbow in his hand. Even though she was a portly lady, Reina still had the classic Romanesque beauty in her facial structures and her posture that never failed to strike Jim as an exquisite work of art. Big tits, big firm ass, firm belly, big firm personality. She may keep her nose upturned and purport the wisdom of an ancient soul, but if that's how she needed to cope with herself so she could be a decent mother and wife, then Jim was willing to put up with the occasional display of histrionics. She was still shorter than him by six inches, and her breath was warm in his neck when she came in for a reassuring hug. He kissed her forehead and caressed her back; there, there, everything will be all right, baby. "I'll cook for tonight and tomorrow when I get home. Why don't you go ahead and go to bed."

She nodded against him and took another deep breath, breathing in the scent of his sweat, his work, and the baked smell of cigarettes and weed in his beard. "Mmmmmhhh, that's a great idea. Come see me tonight, Daddy." She gave his nipple a light pinch through his shirt and they giggled as she backed away from him. "Now go, get the locks and let's make the kids cry."

Jim gave his best cheerful face as he walked out the door. He had been really looking forward to a relaxing evening at home, too, but such were the unpredictable fun challenges that came with being a father. Rage Against the Machine was no longer on, but Pearl Jam was dutifully belting out a bland cover. "Ooh, so obscure," murmured Jim as he squinted into the rearview mirror. The CD player didn't work, or otherwise he would have better music which would have lent him better focus to accomplish his driving mission. He simply switched the radio off and drove to the store in silence.

3 - Addison

Her eyes felt like crying when she woke up. Her nose felt like it had to sneeze, but not really. Everything was dark and murky. She made air come into her lungs and pushed it back out. She was awake and alive. Her name was Addison and she was four years old. Ivy was asleep next to her. It was night and she was in their room. Did Daddy come home yet?

She got out of bed and opened the door slowly. Still dark. Did Mommy finally go to bed? She was very mad at everyone for eating all the food. Addison was hungry and hoped that there was still cereal on the floor. She had been walking around earlier and picking up bites here and there while waiting for commercials to be over and Spongebob to come back on. But she had to be quiet, because Mommy might still be downstairs and awake. Mommy liked to sit on the couch in the dark sometimes. It scared her, but she knew that grown-ups had more bigger problems than kids.

Mommy and Daddy's room had the door closed. She took a chance at Mommy being in there and went downstairs, relieved to find the living room and kitchen empty. The door to the rec room downstairs was closed, so Mommy's not down there doing laundry. She glanced around and picked up a few raisins and Cheerios. If Ivy hadn't drank it all, Addison could have tried an experiment to see how milk tasted with Cheerios and raisins. And sugar, too, but Bailey ate the entire bowl with a spoon.

With her appetite somewhat sated, Addison went to the easy chair by the living room second-story window and stood upon it. If she looked right down, she could see the little driveway where Daddy parked his big car, but it was gone at the moment. Okay, so Daddy's not home yet.

In the meantime, she decided to just watch the traffic and wait. There were lots of cars on Vineland Avenue, going back and forth, but she was most interested in the people that walked on the sidewalks. Sometimes they had dogs, sometimes they pushed carts, but every time they were fascinating to watch, especially when two strangers encounter one another. Tonight, since it was raining, there were barely any people. But the few that she saw had umbrellas and walked fast. When two people walked towards one another, they almost always drift to one side to give the other more than plenty of space to pass. As if they were scared of being poisoned, or hit. She saw one guy wearing a bulky raincoat lumber without wavering past a girl carrying an umbrella who nearly went off the sidewalk and into a puddle in her mad dash to avoid being within six feet of him. It was funny to Addison, and not at all like the cartoons that her brothers and sister liked to watch or the movies that she saw with Mommy and Daddy. She liked those movies, because the grown-ups would often take their clothes off. She found it funny and would often take that as a cue to strip down to her own underwear and go around giving hugs and kisses to everyone. Mommy always said, "Addy, put your clothes back on!" but when it's just her and Daddy, he doesn't do anything but hug her tight against his lap. She was happy that Daddy let her do whatever she wanted.

She had been watching the headlights and streetlights reflected in the puddle streams running along the curb and thinking of the time that Daddy helped her catch a fish from the river when, as if on cue, she saw the familiar headlights come around the corner of the parking lot and pull in below the window. A tiny inhaled squeal rose in her throat as she clapped her wrists together in excitement. Daddy's home, Daddy's home!! And he was carrying a lot of bags!

As she had been trained via rigorous hands-on discipline from Mommy, Addy sat on the couch patiently as Daddy let himself in and closed the back door. Once it was closed, she could contain her excitement no longer and sprinted to him. "Daddy-addy-addy!" she sang with outstretched arms.

He had his mad smile on. "Addy-daddy-daddy, not now, baby, Ommy-mom-mom's maddy."

She giggled and stood her ground. "Awwww!" Her disappointed happy grunt, arms straight down in fists. Daddy was taking off his wet coat and kicking off his wet shoes. "What's in the bags?"

"Locks," he replied pointedly and sternly. "For the refrigerators and the cabinets." His eyes bored fire into hers. He knew what she did, and she knew that he knew. She looked down, saw the Cheerios and raisins, and sighed. "That's right," he continued. "Everyone's in trouble. No more snacks."

"I just— I just ate— I didn't," she stammered.

Daddy cut her off. "No bullshit. I'm not gonna belt you and Mommy won't belt you, but no more snacks in the daytime. But if you help Daddy-addy-addy put the locky-lockies on, I'll get us a pizza."

"Okay!" That was okay with her.

"But you have to help me eat it ALL, because we can't let Mommy, or Ivy, or Jimmy, or Bailey know we had a snack, okay?"

She nodded impatiently. "Okay! Um, Daddy?"

"Yes, baby?" He was using his phone to place an order for the pizza.

"Can we watch the zombie show tonight too?"

"Yeah, now go get Daddy his wine bottle."

Submitted December 01, 2014 at 12:50PM by IWantToBeNormal http://ift.tt/1y7e8sW recyclebin

[SATURDAY REPORT] 2014.29.11.0504 recyclebin

Dependent is out for the night. She had to borrow my phone because instead of paying her own cell phone bill, she chose to instead spend her allowance on ordering hair from China. Good ol' Google location tracking history shows that my phone is currently spending the night at a friend's house in South L.A. So I have plenty of time to sit here and write. Nothing else to do, really; already ate all the pizza that was gifted to me earlier this month, free homeless Thanksgiving dinner is fully digested and my appetite is slowly returning, and no weed or alcohol to put me to sleep so I can time-travel a few hours into the future. So, here I sit to write.

I received a couple of interesting private messages with regards to my self-perception. So let's explore that.

Last month, I went to the food bank and got some canned goods. Unfortunately, neither Roommate nor Dependent has a can opener, neither handheld nor electric. So I posted into my local subreddit asking for a spare handheld can opener. I got a response from a local person who not only hooked me up with a can opener from amazon, but also a huge box full of bottled water and comfort food such as Oreos, Progresso chicken soup, and Planter's peanuts. This is how you earn someone's undying loyalty and gratitude, and I expressed as such to my newfound friend. We chatted and they offered to pick me up and cook me dinner. I graciously accepted.

It turned out to be a girl. It was a disappointment to me because I just knew that she would be, for lack of a better word, underwhelmed. And I was correct! We made small talk about transplanting to L.A. and where we were from originally, talked about games and movies, talked about what we did for a living. Although my internet posts are riddled with negativity and pessimism, none of this surfaced while I was physically hanging out with this person who generously offered to show me kindness. I did not take this as flirting so there were no sexual or attractive overtones. I was just simply a chill dude who was thankful for her kindness and offered to reciprocate in any way I could, anytime anywhere. She fed me pasta and we watched Netflix for a bit while NextBus on my phone updated me on the status of a bus that would begin my journey back home in the Valley. She told me to text her when I made it home, and that was the last time I heard from her. Because I did text her — "Thanks again for dinner! I'm really grateful for your kindness. Let me know if there's anything that I can do!" No response. So I waited exactly seven days until I texted her again — "Hey, how have you been?" Still no response. On Thanksgiving I sent her a text wishing her a Happy Thanksgiving, and still no response. Okay, I can take a hint. I can get a clue. All the posts in /r/ForeverAloneWomen about creepy mentally ill men hitting on them now makes sense. Simply solely because I'm short and bald with one eye and hearing aids means that I'm not worth the effort of becoming a friend, because what good use could I offer to them?

So let this be a public apology to Kaycee — I am absolutely ever SO SORRY to have diseased your life this way. I am so sorry that I reached out for help and ruined whatever basis you had for your kindness. I feel like KNOW that my mere presence has soured your outlook and you will probably think twice, very hard, before offering to help a random stranger from the internet ever again. Perhaps you thought you were going to meet someone tall and handsome and strong and healthy who could help you move your stuff or carry your groceries or protect you from undesirable thugs while grocery shopping in Inglewood, but you got a standard disabled loser instead. I mean, why else would you suddenly pull a fade and go ghost and act like you dropped off the sheer face of the Earth? It's certainly not because I was so awesome that you were struck speechless, lol!

And let this also be a lesson to me! Never again will I ever reach out and ask for help from anyone, because all that'll happen is begrudging compliance followed by insurmountable regret. What do I have to offer in return for kindness? I mean, it's not like I could be the musclebound bodyguard that'll go out and beat people up at your command, nor do I have a secret trust fund with millions of dollars stashed away just in case of a romantic union. So, in a few days I'm going to restore the scales of karma by giving away a $25 pizza gift on the /r/Random_Acts_of_Pizza sub, and then I wash my hands of the entire matter. No one wants to help me, that's fine. There's a reason why I'm single and alone while Charles Manson has a proposal. The reason is: I need to kill myself.

Anyway, my sad pitiful attempt at retaining a friend segues into my next story: The Tale of the Estranged Pen Pal. For you see, children, a long time ago in the magical age that we fondly prefer to refer to as "Le 90s", little 16-year-old me sent my address in to Metal Edge magazine to be published in the Metalhead Directory. I listed the standard powerhouses — Metallica, Guns n Roses, Nirvana, Hole, STP, Pearl Jam. I got SO. MANY. LETTERS. in reply. I was rocking the long hair (all the better to cover my hearing aids in pictures, my dears!) and Nirvana t-shirts with my Fender Jag-Stang, and when my school pictures came out and I sent them around, my pen pals began to drop one by one as they realized that they could do better than a one-eyed short dude from the redneck countryside. One of them decided to look me up on facebook earlier this week. Of course she's married to a big ol' white guy with a beard, with kids. Then...why the fuck are you reaching out to connect with a creepy guy from nearly two decades ago? I mean, that's the sort of creepy shit that one would expect ME to do, lol! Like I COULD go onto facebook and try to reconnect with the Filipina chick that I crushed on in a very aggressive and cringey manner way back in high school, but I didn't, because I knew that upon seeing my name in her Friend Requests feed, she would cringe herself into a pretzel and require a chiropractor to untangle her, and I don't want to be responsible for a fake quack "doctor" earning any income whatsoever.

So back to my pen pal from the days of yore, I believe that there's a very good reason why she reconnected with me. She's sitting at her computer, clicking through my profile pictures and fixating on my yellow eye. Then she looks over at her sleeping husband, looking like a pale bearded whale in the near-gloom of their bedroom. She closes her laptop and leans over to gently shake him awake. He turns over, flutters his eyelids sleepily, and fully opens them to reveal two beautifully perfect brown eyes complete with pupils. Thank God I ended up with him, she'd think to herself before leaning down to taste his sweet mouth. Sure, he may have morning breath with traces of food and stale cigarette smoke because he's not a fan of brushing his teeth, but Gods damn it, he's a perfect man and she's proud to display him prominently in her profile's cover photo. She initiates lovemaking and demands that he turns the light on before they commence so she could gaze into his eyes, both of which are perfectly intact and beautiful and gives her no reason to close her eyes or avert her gaze. After they finish and he rolls over to go back to sleep, she opens her laptop back up and sighs deeply at the spreading glow of contentment filling her heart as she nods to herself, "Yes, I've made the right choice by not settling for a defective man."

So that's why I'm not going to initiate any messages or anything. I'll let her keep me around as a "reminder" on her friends list until I quietly unfriend and block her a few months from now just to save her the trouble of "feeling guilty" and hamstering it away with a public "I'm cleaning up my friends list, lol!" status. I've already learned my lesson thanks to Mary. Not gonna fall into that hole again.

So what are my plans for the month of December? Well, the Laugh Factory is having a free dinner on Christmas Day just like they did on Thanksgiving so I'll be sure to attend. It'll be my second Christmas without a guitar, so I won't be able to go out and busk for a few dollars with which to buy food or hearing aid batteries or saline solution for my contacts or dishwashing liquid so I could clean up after myself when I make pasta or change for laundry or a water filter for the kitchen sink. Guess I'll just keep rinsing my contacts with tap water, spraying my clothes with Febreze before carefully folding them away, and drinking tap water. Also, Dependent will probably send me out on more errands at inconvenient times. "Oh hey I see you've just changed out of your jeans and polo shirt into a t-shirt and shorts and I know you can barely see at night due to your low vision, but would you mind getting dressed again right now at 10pm so you can run to the liquor store down the street and pick me up some Black and Milds?" Far be it from me to say no; after all, if she doesn't say no to being intimate with me, ME of all people -- a short one-eyed bald man with hearing aids -- in exchange for money, then who am I to refuse anything that she asks of me? Huh? Hmm? Hah? Heh? Hrrh? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

I mean, yeah, I guess I suppose I COULD do better, but who would have me? Who would let me live with them in exchange for safety and security and a calm, predictable, clean environment? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? No? Okay, didn't think so, heh, will probably just go ahead and kill myself here pretty soon anyway then. :-)

As for the person who sent me a PM, I didn't reply to you personally because our conversation would have petered out with you not replying just like all the many other exchanges that fizzled out in my message history. And besides, it was about due time for me to post a report up in here anyway. Couldn't really do it sooner because Dependent had been pretty stoic about being a homebody shut-in this month, and we live and sleep and eat in the same room. Kind of hard to type freely when someone's always sitting behind you and able to see everything over your shoulder. It's kind of pissing me off because she discredits herself from the job market by saying that she's a black woman with a felony "possession of a shotgun and drugs with intent to sell" charge on her record. Little does she know this one weird old tip that Ferguson protestors will HATE: No one gives a shit just so long as you're good-looking. I mean, my fucking God: There was a woman at my previous job who was in prison for DROWNING HER OWN FUCKING KID. A fucking SEVEN YEAR OLD. In a BATHTUB. But yet, and still: They hired her to be a receptionist, simply solely because she "looks good". If a plain-looking woman Hispanic child killer with a thorny neck tattoo can get hired for a forty-hour workweek at slightly above minimum wage as a professional receptionist, then there's no way that nobody will hire a good-looking black woman drug-slinger.

Anyway, Merry Christmas everyone, hug your guitars and loved ones and refrigerators tight. Tell your boss thank you for hiring you instead of wasting company money on giving retards such as myself a chance. And let's learn a lesson from Kaycee and don't ever offer money or give assistance to the disabled ever again — there's nothing that they could do for you in return, and even if they could, how could you explain that embarrassing decision to your friends and family, lol? Don't waste your money or time on them. Instead, go out and find a homeless person who looks handsome with both eyes and perfect hearing and clean him up and give him odd jobs around the house. It'll be so much more rewarding and he can actually offer something of value in reciprocation, and plus! You don't have to be so embarrassed at having him around that you'd have to tell him to leave the house for an hour or so while your friends come over. :-) And since you helped out a non-disabled homeless man, he could eventually get a well-paying job with which he could use his earnings to repay you for all the kindness that you've invested into him! Now that's something that a retard like myself surely can't do because obviously I have no sense of morals or gratitude whatsoever, riiiight? Eh? Huh? Hmm? Hah? Hllh? Hrrh? Heh?

Submitted November 29, 2014 at 08:44PM by IWantToBeNormal http://www.reddit.com/r/recyclebin/comments/2nrepa/saturday_report_201429110504/ recyclebin