Barmy Blue's Bland Blog

Okay. So I should’ve done this three days ago.
Friday.
I bought Tom the second book in the series I got him for his birthday. He’s not keen on it, I can tell, but I’m passed caring. I did the odd spot of tidying. I wanted the house, and myself to simply scream “I am better than you”. Both need a little more work before that is effectively said though, but I don’t mind.

Saturday.
I did more tidying. I made sure to wear my black t-shirt with the red dragon that mum gave me for Christmas, to show him off (I named him Reddy ). Things didn’t go as I’d hoped, but then I knew they wouldn’t. But I’d better try and go in chronological order here.
Tom turned up looking different to how I usually see him. First of all he wasn’t wearing his glasses (His eyesight isn’t as bad as mine and he complains that his glasses press against his head, so he can risk taking them off, where as I can’t.)
He would never have been the kind of person to wear “hoodies” before, but lately he is. He also had a black t-shirt with, what was supposed to look like Chinese characters and writing above saying “if you can’t read this turn sideways”, it actually reads “go **** yourself”. I found it amusing, the way that it was designed so you wouldn’t know unless you turned your head. That wasn’t so strange. What was strange was his lower half. He had a pair of new jeans that looked like…I’m not sure actually, seeing as I wasn’t even around in that era but, like flares really, I suppose. They got wider as they went down and dragged on the floor. I thought it looked quite ridiculous.
What amazed me the most was his boots, not his usual ones, the black steel toe capped ones that look like black, bulky trainers, no he was wearing boots. Boots like you’d expect a Goth to wear really (are they still called that? I don’t know. I don’t pay attention so silly new fads or the renaming of old ones that I find fascinating but wouldn’t actually take up myself). They were black and had sliver along the toes that was like flames. The boots would have looked good, on someone else. On that skinny wretch they looked absolutely hilarious. He got them for his birthday, at a minor discount because his mum pointed out that it was his birthday. Also, his hair was greasier than mine (Though to be fair I did wash mine on Wednesday but I don’t think I used enough. Lately my shampoos have been making my head flake, both my regular and the back up that I have in case the other stops working, my hair seems to like the change now and then.) It was so greasy that it practically looked black.
It’s blindingly obvious what inspired this ridiculous change in style (If you can call what he had before style), his “girlfriend”, Alison bloody Butcher.
But wait, it gets worse, but I’ll write it in good time.
I’d wrapped his present within the hour of him arriving. It was a pretty, humble little package, wrapped in purple tissue paper but doubled up twice so the contents were hidden (he used to like purple, now It’s black.) tied with a thin gold ribbon (I wanted silver to match the cheap bow but couldn’t find it, besides, it made it look more humble somehow, even though you could tell I’d taken pride in wrapping it neatly so say “look, I put in a little extra effort instead of wrapping it in cheap, nasty paper”). I was going to draw a card but A) as it was Tom, I couldn’t be bothered in the end and B) it was too late. Now, I had intended to get him to open it at his home, instead of mine, because I could tell he’d hate it, especially since I hadn’t heard anything at all about the first one, not even a polite “thank you (even though I absolutely hate it but I’m willing to humour you by pretending I like it)”. But he insisted on opening it here. I scuttled off to the kitchen so I wouldn’t see his reaction.
He’s not keen on it but he tried taking the moral high ground by saying “it’s the thought that counts” but not really, because I didn’t put that much thought into it, so HA! He thinks, and I think it too, that the story may have a rather gay ending, due to the relationship that seems to be forming between the two protagonists, but it’s too soon to say for certain and even if it does, all the better because he’ll hate it more . Then he revealed to me the fate of the first one. I got it for him to read on the plane at Christmas, so he took it with him. Now, Alison’s cousin (he claims) has a collection of such comic books. He put it down. She picked it up, flicked through it and put it with her others. I found this rather frustrating, because next time perhaps I should just skip getting him anything and just get the cousin a book instead, as that’s where it may end up anyway.
While telling me of how he came to getting the jeans and boots he also told me of the odd gift he’d got for Alison’s birthday and a T-shirt with the union flag on it for her grandmother, because she asked him to get one and she’s not the kind of woman you can say no to, he said. At this point my head was ringing with alarm bells; “Believes in the sanctity of marriage, you’ve had sex with her granddaughter and she most likely knows and she’s not the sort of person you say no to because she’s scary. AM I THE ONLY ONE, MAKING THE CONNECTIONS HERE!”
He also announced that he’d be seeing his “girlfriend” again in May (this I already knew) for her birthday and he was hoping to move out there by then. I found the notion ridiculous. As if immigration are just going to let him in because he’s shagged one of their citizens a few times and no doubt engaged in internet sex with her when he wasn’t there. I just think he’s completely pathetic.
We went out, to the shopping centre, not sure what to buy. There were no films that we wanted to see on and we weren’t particularly hungry. We browsed that shop with the tacky dragons and Tom’s attention was drawn to a little water feature-like-thing with a rather decent dragon, tacky flames but spewing out a kind of white, misty smoke. Last time we saw it Tom stated that it was probably to do with dry ice.
He then made for the nearest cash point, drew out some money from his account (he has that luxury, mine needs fiddly adjusting before I can do that and requires passports and such, or a provisional, which I don’t have because I’m not learning to drive yet). This was all while I was pointing out that one has to think about buying such things because of issues such as “where will I put it” “How will it affect this and that” not knowing that the daft bastard was going to buy it. He went back in and I became frustrated that my advice had fallen on exceptionally deaf ears belonging to the thickest plank in English history. I wandered the shop again, and outside too, while the dumb bastard got it boxed up and had it explained to him how it worked. I thought to myself, so if you’re splashing out forty odd quid or so, on an ornament you’ll only turn on about five times before you get bored, then how dumb are you? Just because he has a lousy job in Blockbusters his suddenly thinks he’s rolling in it. As far as I know he’s not paying his mum rent. Later, I asked him if he’d taken driving lessons. I knew he hadn’t, he’s too dumb for that and also I wanted to highlight something that would leave a considerable gap in his bank account. He said no, of course and that there was no point learning to drive over here when he’s be over there soon and there’d be a whole new set of rules, so it made sense to learn over there. At this point my head was nearly exploding with the thought “You dumb ****ing bastard, how stupid can you possibly get! You’ve only just turned nineteen! You left college! And you’re pinning all of your hopes on Blockbuster transferring you to America when you haven’t even worked there for 3-4 months! What the hell is wrong with you!”
It started to rain and Tom took shelter under a building. It was only a little rain and I think he’s a complete coward when it comes to rain anyway. I love the rain. I was saying don’t be so stupid it’s only a little rain but he wouldn’t budge. I was still fuming at his sheer stupidity so I said if you don’t move then I’m going home myself. He wouldn’t budge so I went off. When I got to the lights I stopped and grudgingly tuned round. If it were a book or film it would’ve been the appropriate thing to do. But in real life, perhaps not. Then I saw him coming my way so I turned right back round and carried on. I slowed my pace so he could catch up if he really wanted. Another thing appropriate for fiction but not real life. I stopped by a wall some further down to wait for him, examining a notebook of mine and writing my most pressing thought “Friendship is overrated”. If it were fiction he would’ve stopped. He didn’t. He carried on as if I wasn’t there. So I just thought sod you, you miserable bastard. So I ended up following him, because I wanted to get home. I made no effort to overtake him, what would be the point. I trailed further and further back, thinking “I’d like him to think I’m not following, take longer and hope he panics and gets worried about me. I crossed the road, strolled through the park. He didn’t look back. By then I had the wicked idea to go to Tesco on the pretence of getting him his beloved Fanta Fruit Twist to drink, seeing as we didn’t have any. I cooked up a little story that if asked I would say that I had stopped to tell him that I was going to Tesco, so he wouldn’t worry about me, and when he walked passed I just thought sod you then and did it anyway. This was the version I told mum aloud, hoping the moody sod would overhear and feel guilty. No such luck. When I got home, pretending to be cheerful to further point out that it wasn’t all my fault I found him telling mum of his plans. She later told me that he’d knocked on the door, said I was being moody and had walked off, then mum got him talking about his future. He went on about how he’d move over to America. She said and live with your girlfriend’s family. He said yes. She said what about getting a job and college. He said he could go to college over there. That’s where I came in. Mum gave up trying to talk sense into the fool and came to talk to me instead, where I told her my story. I asked if he wanted a drink, hoping to give the 2 litre bottle of dink as a fake peace offering, to make him feel guilty. He refused, showing that he had one of mum’s bottled waters. I perceived him to b a moody sod and went upstairs to my room. I cried a little because of the overwhelming sense of depression and loneliness. It quickly passed. I decided I’d wait for him to come to me and apologise. So I put on a depressing CD and attempted a spot of meditating. Eventually He interrupted, knocking at the door. I tried to seem cold but courteous, seeing as my room is my domain. We talked. The conversation bored me. I dragged us both downstairs for food because I was hungry by that time. I know he tried to get onto my computer, but I changed the password and he couldn’t guess it, even with the clue. But he became bored downstairs and went back up to my room. Not liking the idea of him alone with my things (Particularly my laundry, for some reason) I had to follow. He went on about the only topic he seems to care about anymore. Alison. The one thing I despise more than him, and he knows it. He told me about how she has seven cats. That boiled my blood to start with because I’ve been desperately wanting another cat since I lost Henry, he knows that too, I think and it’s also my dream to have a house full of beautiful cats. He went on to sat about how she has too dogs, one being a Chiwawa (I think that’s spelt wrong) (A dog he absolutely loathes and used to day he’d give a good kick with his steel toe capped boots, yet he likes hers). She also has a horse (about the size of a pony) and she used to have a reindeer. So I asked, rather testily, her family’s rather rich then, to have so many animals and a horse (because horses are expensive I believe). I made the comment because he told me before he went over there at Christmas that he’d got her a dress she liked. She’d taken screen shots of it on ebay and sent them to him, saying how she really wanted that dress but couldn’t afford it (Girl code for “buy me this dress or else”) and the fool bought it. Now, how can someone how owns seven cats, two dogs a horse and a reindeer possibly not have money to buy a dress. I know she’s only about 17ish, I think (so I class her as a little girl and I will throughout our natural lives) so it’s not like she can’t get a job, right? So why doesn’t the lazy ***** get a job and buy her own god damned dress.
I told him about my newer plot ideas, but he didn’t seem that interested when I explained the double jointed wings. I just wanted to talk about something else besides that little whore. I was grateful when mum decided it was time to take him home.
On the way home we discussed his stupidity and mum told me what had happened before I came in from Tesco’s. She thinks he’s stupid too and that my fantasy of me being comfortably rich, though not a snob and him being a poor burger flipper with seven children and a money grabbing prostitute of a wife could happen, well, his part anyway, and he comes to me for help. But I only help him on conditions that I set down. Because I’ve said time and time again “if you move over there I’ll completely disown you” He sometimes retaliates with an, I don’t own him. But it’s just a figure of speech that I prefer. Basically, if he leaves, he is dead to me, unless he comes crawling back admitting he made a mistake and begging for mercy.
I pity him. I really do.
I want to know if he’s thought about his mother in all of this. I shouldn’t really say, but she and Ton’s step dad seem to have split. Tom’s reason was that “she’s finally figured out what an ******* he is”, but Tom never liked him anyway.
If Tom leaves then I don’t plan on letting his mother go alone, of his brother. In this ultimate dream of mine, where’ I’m comfortably rich, I’ve bought them, or helped to buy them comfortable homes, as my quarrel has never been with them.

Sunday
Nothing. Mum cut her finger at the laundrette on a washing machine. I made up some warm salt water for it to try and help.

Monday (Today)
Teachers not in for first four “lessons” finally started reading Narnia again after a long week and a half.

Well, I think that’s all.

Bluebiird out.

(Oh, and thanks Admin for putting in this filter. I can swear as much as I like when I'm wound up and not need to worry. So thanks, really I mean it .)