DoucheBrad Strikes Again

Jordan and I had a wild party to go to for 95 year old Napping Grandma at her old folks home. DoucheBrad called that morning but we let it ring instead of answering and I sat there basking in the awesomeness of the situation. Then the phone rang again. Then J’s cell phone rang. Then the home phone again. Then we had to leave for the party and DoucheBrad called two more time on the cell phone while Little Baby was freaking out because the women in my family still think scary, big hair is still in. It also doesn’t help that one of my Grandma’s “roommates” gave me the “Please God let me just die now so I don’t have to hear any more crying” look. We left after 23 minutes.

On our way back home Jordan was all “I’m going to call him back and ask him what the hell was so important that he needed to call so many times while we were at my 95 year old Grandmother’s birthday party”. Think that’s how the conversation went down? I know you didn’t. He called back and his balls shrunk back into his body and just asked DoucheBrad what he needed. That’s all. I don’t even effing remember what it was that needed because it wasn’t even fucking important. I totally called him out on being a puss too. But at least Jordan started to realize how obsessed DoucheBrad is with him. It’s gross, like “The Crush” gross but instead of Alicia Silverstone, it’s DoucheBrad in that part of the freaky little psycho. Sick asses.

Like a month later we had to go to a memorial service for my StepMIL’s mom. StepMIL has a tiny family so she and FIL sent out a invitation to a celebration of life gathering at their house instead of doing something big at a funeral home. Since the general theme was death, I didn’t think it would be appropriate to bring Jillian. I wouldn’t bring her to a funeral so I wasn’t going to bring her to this either.

Apparently I should have because this memorial was like a fucking pig roast. Almost everyone was in jeans including StepMIL and FIL and their was shredded beef. Jordan and I looked like assholes in his dress pants and my pencil skirt. Jordan’s Grandma and Aunt who live an hour away were there too and decided not to talk to me because I’m (obviously) a real cunt because I didn’t bring the baby. To what the invitation indicated was a memorial service for someone who had died. But what the hell ever.

So DoucheBrad was all dancing in his pants after we got in the door because he loves Jordan sooo much and kept trying to talk to him and interrupt our conversation. Then he cornered us and wanted to know when we were going to come see his basement. Just to fill you in DoucheBrad and FO have been working on finishing off their basement since they bought their house two years ago and we’ve seen more than our fair share of their damn basement. We’ve seen it when he put the laminate in, we’ve seen it a month later when they put the bar in, we’ve seen the new light, we’ve seen the new hand towels, we’ve seen all this random shit no one gives a crap about. So when we are badgered to go see carpet in the same basement we’ve seen close to one million times, we’re not all that excited. Anyway, Jordan tells him that he doesn’t know when we will go see it. DoucheBrad wants to know what we are doing later. We have to pick up Little Baby. Well what about tomorrow? We don’t have anything planned but probably not. Well when then? We don’t know. This makes DoucheBrad really mad. So mad that he gives Jordan and I the finger two times in the crowded kitchen at a memorial and then calls us assholes. Oh yes he did, because we won’t get out our fucking social calendar to schedule a time to look at a basement. I tell DoucheBrad that he’s being really appropriate and he yells at me to shut up, the kitchen is still crowded if you’re wondering. Then I check to see if he is serious and I get told to shut up again before he storms upstairs and probably cries in to a pillow. I told Jordan that FO should have gotten a babysitter for her baby too. Too far? Probably but I can’t help myself.

After DoucheBrad is done being a tit baby he comes downstairs and he tells FO they are leaving. But not before he teams up with Jordan’s Grandma and Angry-at-Me Aunt and comments on how sorry he is that they didn’t get to see Jillian. I could have throat punched him right there but I didn’t because I know how to act like an adult in a situation like this. Fucker.

Jordan sees the light. And then the sky parted and it rained puppies and kittens. He tells me that DoucheBrad is a baby and I fucking need a napkin for my seat because I’m so turned on by his new opinion. Jordan wants nothing to do with DoucheBrad and I want to do nothing more than ride him like a bull. For the next weeks we live happily ever after until Brad calls and leaves a message (because Jordan ignores the call…progress!) to “apologize” and then talk all about the new car they got but doesn’t mention what kind. Now, I’m no effing psychologist but I’m not a friggen idiot either. DoucheBrad didn’t say what kind of vehicle because he thinks that everyone is just dying to know everything about his life that Jordan will surely call him back to find out what kind of car it is. Jordan doesn’t and I’m sure DoucheBrad is hecka pissed about this and I love it. Jordan is still not talking to DoucheBrad but this doesn’t stop him from making sad attempts to regain control of Jordan and his tight asshole. He even called this past Sunday and left a message because he wanted to know the name of a antique store we went to once. You know, because there is no such thing as the internet or a phone book.

DoucheBrad I am on to you and I know that you are sitting at home writing in your diary about how you make stupid shit up so in hopes that Jordan will call you back right away to answer your important questions, giving you the opportunity to weasel your way back into our life. Not happening. You douche.