I spoke too soon. What an eventful weekend.

Friday night, we went for games night. It was actually really fun. There was no fighting (!), and everyone seemed to have a really good time.

Saturday, The Boy took me to the mall on his way to work. I had an appointment for an eye exam, so I decided I would look around for a bit while I was there. Turns out that my previous eye doctor had "over-corrected" my vision, so my glasses are stronger than necessary. My eyes are forced to focus harder than they're supposed to. Hm.

After the exam, I went across the hall to Lenscrafters to take a look around, coupons in tow. I didn't find anything really, except a really smarmy sales guy who kept saying, "Wow!" every time I tried on a pair of ugly bright blue frames. Ick.

Then, Saturday night, we went to The Boy's parents' for dinner, as usual. On the way, The Boy indicated that he had no desire to go to Chapters afterward, which pissed me off to no end. I'm not even kidding. I was absolutely fuming. I guess, to me, it signified just an other instance of my tagging along with whatever he wanted to do. Chapters was something to which I had been genuinely looking forward, and he said he didn't want to go, because we would barely have time as it was, to get home in time for "the shows" at 8:00.

So this sort of set the tone for the rest of the evening. I was fine during dinner. Then, I went downstairs to help JS do some research, and she took off on me and went back upstairs to hang out with everyone, leaving me alone in the basement. The Boy came down to look at some video game reviews on the other computer, and I thought it strange that he couldn't just do that at home. I let him know that I was bored, but he continued to browse the web site, viewing a dozen game trailers and taking the time to chat with his brothers after every one.

My mood was souring even more.

I have to say that I realize how petty I'm being. I'm well aware. I just had been looking forward to him (and Chapters) all day, and now he couldn't take his eyes of the damned computer screen.

Then we had the daunting task of taxiing everyone around: A&H to Rogers, JS to a friend's house, pick up MS, back to Rogers to pick up A&H...

By the time we were on our way home, it had gotten even more difficult to disguise my foul mood. I was trying. Sort of.

Finally, The Boy got tired of my unresponsiveness (I was responding. With grunts.), and got angry himself. We drove the rest of the way home in silence, and I felt bad for ruining what could have been a nice night of snacking and movie watching.

We got home and parked in our usual spot, in the back of the parking lot. I opened the back door of the car to take out the bags, and his video game fell out and onto the snow-covered ground. He snarled, "That better not have been my game." I said, "Oh, stop being such a fucking baby. It was an accident, and your game is fine." Our dialogue was now dripping with venom, and I knew that we were in for a rough night.

I practically ran to our building, which is no small feat for me, considering my paralyzing fear of walking on snow, and got there before he did. I opened the door, but I was carrying bags in both hands, and couldn't hold the door open. He came up behind me, and just stood there, watching me struggle with the bags and the door. I said, "Could you get the door please???" He pushed me aside and said, "Get out of my fucking way," and ran upstairs to our apartment, letting the door swing back and hip-check me.

I stood there, absolutely appalled. This is NOT cool.

I made my way upstairs, again no small feat considering the load I was carrying, and found him stuffing clothing and toiletries in his backpack. He said, "I'm fucking out of here. If I had my way, you and your fucking cats would be gone by the morning."

And he left.

I argued with myself for the next few minutes about what to do. I wanted to leave. I really did. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I knew that it was anger making him say these things and, while it wasn't acceptable behaviour, I didn't want to storm out like he had, closing the door on the past three years.

So I called his cell phone, and let it ring until his voicemail picked up. I hung up and called again. I repeated this for a few minutes, and then gave up. I actually started considering the logistics of packing up the kitties and leaving. While the thought of a new apartment REALLY appealed to me, a new apartment without him did not. Even though, at that moment, I wanted to bash him over the head with a cast iron frying pan like they do in cartoons.

I debated with myself for a few more minutes, and he called. He said, "What the fuck did you want?"

Me: "Um... to talk?"

Him: "I don't fucking want to talk to you!"

Me: "Why did you call me then?"

Silence.

Him: "I'm just going to Windsor for the night. I'll see you Monday."

Remember who lives in Windsor? Yes, that's right. His ex. Sure, his best friend lives there too, but that doesn't matter. We both knew what he was doing. He was threatening me. Trying to make me beg him to come home. Fuck that.

Me: "Do NOT do that."

Him: "Why the fuck not?"

Me: "Do NOT do that."

He basically then hung up on me, and I was so furious that thought I was going to pee my pants.

A few minutes later, I heard him walking down the hall, then heard his key in the door. He was all jovial, saying he was really looking forward to a nice weekend, and who knows what would happen once he was surrounded by all those memories, blah blah blah.

I was on the bed, pretending to read Cocktails for Three by Madeleine Wickham, a.k.a. Sophie Kinsella of Shopaholic fame. I was very smug, wishing him a safe trip, etc. At one point, I actually got up and tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Please don't do this." It was my best, "Let's work this out, but I'm not apologizing" moment. He shrugged me off, and I can't remember what he said afterward.

He came home a while later, and spent the night playing video games. I went to bed to read, but ended up falling asleep. Yes, when I'm upset I sleep. Not in a narcoleptic-fall-asleep-on-the-spot kind of way, but in an asleep-the-moment-my-head-hits-the-pillow kind of way. He slept on the couch.

I woke up around 1:00 a.m. to the phone ringing. You know, when the phone rings at that hour, two things come to mind: 1. Someone's died. 2. Who?

In my half-asleep haze, I ran to pick up the living room phone instead of just grabbing the one beside the bed. I was surprised and scared to hear my dad's voice on the other end.

In a nutshell, I couldn't tell if he was drunk or not, but he just needed to talk. For an hour. At one in the morning. I was the perfect daughter though, listening, trying to cheer him up, etc.

He went through every emotion imaginable. I had to make him promise me, twice, that he wouldn't do anything to hurt himself. He kept saying really cryptic things about leaving something behind for CJ and me, and how he just couldn't take the pain anymore. I went with tough love for a while, how selfish it would be to hurt himself, how we could never forgive him for leaving us, how he needs to stick around for grandchildren. That actually cheered him up, and he asked if we were naming our first son GC.

I don't know how to cheer up my dad. Until my parents split up, the only emotions I'd really seen him show were anger and slight approval. You know, like the bashful fatherish, "Gosh, golly, I uh... love you too... uh... So what time's the game on?" Now he's turning to me as a shoulder to cry on. I can't possibly turn him away when he claims I'm all he's got.

It's funny that he said something that really bothered me. He said that he thinks of me and CJ equally. While it's a nice thing to say, the fact that he had to say it kinda disproved it. I was really shocked, and kinda hurt. It felt like, if that was true, it wouldn't even cross his mind to say it. It wouldn't have crossed my mind, because it's SUCH a non-issue. He's my dad. End of story. Why was it now a topic of conversation? It's like he was feeling noble that CJ and I were 50/50 on his life insurance. I damn well hope we're 50/50! Why in hell wouldn't we be?

It's not about life insurance. It's about making an issue of something, by trying to pretend it's not an issue, which is exactly what his, "I love you both equally," speech did for me.

I really believed that I was equal, and my life before I joined the family was forgotten. It really hurt to have it be brought up, even if in a favourable way.

Anyway, so after our hour-long conversation, during which I promised to call more often and he promised to take care of himself, I woke The Boy and asked him to come to bed. I hoped that the phone call would glean a little understanding. Maybe some compassion. It did. Sort of.

We slept in each others' arms, apologetic, loving, vowing not to do whatever it was that did this again. I slept like a baby.

We woke up early, showered, and headed to Dave and Buster's. (Kinda like a Chuck E. Cheese, I'm told.) We made the traditional Sunday morning stop at Tim Horton's, for a large Coke (for him), and large French Vanilla cappuccino (for me), and two "everything" bagels, toasted, with herb & garlic cream cheese. Except they didn't have Coke. They NEVER have Coke, and we always vow, "We're never coming to this Tim's again," and we always mean it, but forget until we ask and they're out of Coke. So he got Diet.

Dave and Buster's was great. We played lots of games (including a drum one that I ROCKED!), and got lots of tickets. We ate lunch there too, and it was delish. When we were out of tokens/points, we went to the prize counter so I could use my tickets to get a prize. I got a big red stuffed bull terrier, or pit bull as they're more commonly called, and then we headed for home.

I made a white pizza for dinner (yummy!). Then we watched the season premiere of "Surreal Life" that V had taped for us. Wow, Ron Jeremy is GROSS. Tammy Faye could be confused for a squirrel without its Ritalin. Tracy Bingham was a spoiled bitch, with her "I can't bathe in a raspberry bathtub!" And Vanilla Ice? Hi, unstable failure!

So that was pretty much the weekend. Glad it's over and things are back to normal. Sort of.