She was probably right, that woman. Of the ocean of so-called girlfriends (one night stands) my father has had, I think this woman just might be my favorite. I mean, she's the only one I've seen since mom that is some shade of normal. She wears a normal amount of makeup, doesn't look too bad for what I assume is her old(er) age. She's nice and doesn't treat me or my dad like crap. Her only problem is that she keeps giving me lame ass advice.
It's only been a couple days since the last girl -her name was Julie or Jacey or.... something - left without a trace after her second sleepover here. The last thing I heard her say the night before she left was "....Serious! You can't be done already...."
Since then my dad has been out and around bars more than usual, no doubt to consolidate what pride he has left before facing me and my taunts again. He probably doesn't want me blabbering about his business all over the place but it's not like he reads this thing anyways. It's not like anyone does...
*cough* subliminalbeggingforcomments *cough*
But this new woman's name is Moira. That's a butt ugly name for any human being but at least is doesn't match her face. I think she's pretty but I'm not sure if that's natural beauty or pounds of face cream.
The reason, though, that she was giving me this advice not too long ago was the fact that she and my dad caught me red handed when they came home early from their little late-night escapades. I thought it would be an all-week thing, but I guess not. I was asleep by the living room window with my binoculars in one hand and a demolished slice of cake in the other. I was laying on an oozing green pile of Mountain Due bottles. The first thing my old man yelled at me for was going through his entire stash of soda.
"And how did you find it anyways!" He'd said.
Dude, he's not exactly that great at hiding anything, much less in this house.
Now I guess they've finally worked up enough guts to actually sit me down and talk about my so called problem. An intervention, I guess this is. I'm surprised they didn't hire a professional to sit in with us. They went on about how stalking is a serious and dangerous habit. They said that if things go far enough, the police and - god forbid, according to Moira - the "entire neighborhood" (which is like three streets) could hear of this. It was an endless string of sentences like "Respect Charlie's privacy" , "If she's not interested then let her be", and even "Would you want someone to do this type of thing to you?"
Honestly? Hell yes!
Stalking is the most sincere type of flattery if you ask me.
Really it was just Moira doing all the talking. Occasionally she would squeeze my father's hand for support when she felt she wasn't being understood and he would let out a submissive grunt. He gave her googly eyes more than he payed attention to me. Thinking now, I honestly have my doubts that he really had any idea of what the whole conversation was about anyways.
But after all this brainwashing I guess they have a point. I haven't even bothered to talk to Charlie at all since I began to take this so seriously. Maybe it was the fact that she completely ignored me towards the end of school and then blatantly blew me off with a fake number. I felt the sting of her actions, but it's not like I tried to get back at her. I didn't even go through with throwing eggs at her house. Actually, it made the chase that much more fun. It made me like her more because she's not as easy as I thought she'd be. I mean, at first this
Okay, I won't stalk her as much. And if I do, I definitely won't be so careless enough to get caught next time. Lord knows I don't want to have the new dragonlady breathing down my neck everywhere I go. Hell, I'll even add another goal to my list since I'm making one. I'll talk to Charlie again. I'm going to make her realize I actually exist and I'm going to go through with my plans. I swear to jebus, I'm getting mine before this life is over. If its the second to last thing I do.
More next time I speak to Charlie.
-Max
