My living situation is starting to come to an ugly head, much like a particularly noxious pimple.

My stepdad, a notorious control freak, doesn’t really allow people in the house. This is just one of his many rules, along with “no dirty dish must ever touch the sink”, “vacuuming must be performed on a daily basis”, and other such OCD-inspired gems. The J-Man doesn’t have friends over, except for the hard-won sleepovers in the basement that are fought for once in a blue moon. No friends are allowed upstairs in his room, ever.

However, since I’ve been dating B. I have flown in the face of this rule and have had him over a couple of nights per week – not to spend the night, mind you, for that would surely get me shot, but simply to hang out and talk and watch movies.

My stepdad has previously voiced concern over my dating B. due to the fact that he also has neurological disabilities, which is something that left me reeling with anger and also disbelief. Should no one date me, either, for that reason? Are we both to be left in the broken toy bin so that we can be thrown out with the trash?

Fuck that weak shit.

Anyway, I’ve politely ignored his impolite nosings into my doings and have gone on about the business of wantonly daring to be with someone who isn’t your Average Joe’s idea of perfect.

Yesterday, though, my stepdad cornered me in the basement – my own fucking turf, mind you – and started to berate me, and the bon mots just began to fly from his lips.

Now before you read any further, keep in mind that A) I am a grown-ass, 37-year-old woman, B) I pay rent, and C) my IQ is over 35 (really!).

“Jennifer, I just think that either you are going to get really hurt, or this guy is, because you know you’re just NOT SMART when it comes to relationships.” (I can’t deny this, really, but for the love of Jesus, cut me a fucking BREAK. WHO IS? Are you, bitter divorcee with six kids? Are you??)

“You can do so much better than this.” (wildly intelligent, educated, funny, incredibly good-looking man)

“I mean, he’s not even a good-looking guy.” (Oops! I was wrong! HAAAAA) (This merits more discussion. B., probably easily the most handsome man I’ve ever dated, has a shaved head. Is this bald prejudice? I wonder. Could it just be that he’s not my stepdad’s particular type? MAYBE.)

That was all funny, but he then went on to tell me that if I was going to have B. over to the house that I needed to talk to my father about getting an apartment (one of my father’s many hats is local slumlord), because he couldn’t stand for People In The House.

Then he actually told me that I should move out and leave the J-Man with my mother, because I wouldn’t be able to care for him properly myself. You know, like I fucking do now. All because I don’t drive.

I was floored. I mean, did he actually think I would leave my own child?? The FUCK?

He then went on to tell me what a burden it was having me in the house because apparently my living in the fucking basement and barely ever, ever coming up for air really puts a crimp in his fucking lifestyle. “Your mother and I have no privacy.”

I find that odd, because the J-Man is always either in his room or downstairs with me due to his pure hatred of the asshole, and I’m ALWAYS downstairs, so I’m not sure what exactly I’m preventing them from doing. They sleep in separate bedrooms, they never kiss or touch or even sit next to each other on the goddamned couch, so it can’t possibly be physical. When they do have conversations, half the time they erupt into arguments, so he can’t possibly be talking about that. I remain mystified.

I’m also a fucking burden because I have unannounced seizures and take “too many pills”, though, so I already was aware of my Burden Status. I’m not too worried about it.

But to tell me I’m responsible for your shitty, stagnant relationship? Oh, no, buddy. Oh, HELL, no.

He berated me for a full half hour and I stood there and took it like a little bitch because I am in fact living under his Godforsaken roof, and then he had the gall to look at me and say, “I hope nothing I said offended you.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

I immediately e-mailed my mom and told her what had happened and I basically said, “Look, I can’t do this shit anymore.”

I can’t. I’m tired of living at home. I’m tired of living like I’m twelve. I need to move somewhere with some sort of public transportation or find some sort of transportation resources available to people on Medicare, and get the hell out of here.

The only rub is that the J-Man wants to go to high school with his friends, and this is sort of an expensive area. So I’m going to try to find some sort of part-time online work that could supplement my disability so that I could find a way to swing it.

I have to get the hell out of here. This isn’t the first time my stepdad and I have had blowouts like this, but I can guarantee you it’s going to be one of the last. I mean, it’s the next goddamned day and I’m still seething.

Ridiculous.

Anyway. What I should have done was told him to shove it up his ass, and I’m pretty upset with myself that I didn’t, but what can I do?

I don’t know why he wanted us to move in here. He has called J. a “fairy” and flat out told me he “doesn’t like the kid”, and he’s given me nothing but shit since day one.

At one point yesterday, he said, “This is not how I envisioned my retirement.”

To be sure, to be sure.

But you know what? I didn’t envision my life being cooped up in your fucking basement, either, buddy.

Asshole.

Yeah, it’s time to go.

Happy Thursday.

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