So, get this shit: we go to Waterworld today, the local (well, subarbia local) waterslide park. It turns out, unbeknownst to me, they have a dress code! It is a 'family establishment' as the puberty police security guard tells me, and my trunk cut Burberry swimsuit (plaid, boxer brief sized shorts) are not allowed. They reveal my genitalia, and therefore are far too revealing. Now, maybe it's just my sick mind playing eye tricks on me, but can't you see anyone's dick when their swimsuit is wet? Not only that, but can't girls wear just about nothing and not have any problems? I thought these twelve year old security pricks were joking, so I told them to fuck off. They look at each other, look at me, and tell me they are serious. I asked for their supervisor. Who shows up and immediately tells me he's just here to hassle me about the shorts, and he "won't mention (while he mentions it) my track marks or the needle in my hand." Now, see, this just pisses me off. First off, I'm a diabetic. To which he tells me, diabetics don't shoot it in their arms. I inform this cunt that I also have nerve damage in my leg, I go to the doctor weekly to get blood drawn. I don't shoot the dope, and I get very upset when someone accuses me of doing so. So I ask for his manager. No, I'm not going to deny it, that's not all I said. I tend to deal with my upset rather counter-productively. I don't hit anyone, but I do yell. I swear. These fuckers deserved it. I mean, the rule about the shorts is just plain bullshit. I mean, my shorts were the standard for size in 1945. I don't think we've gotten more conservative in our dressing apparel since then. But hey, I guess Six Flags knows better than I do. But then to accuse me of being a junkie, when I have a medical condition that requires me to carry syringes. He told me if I swore at him he would 'publicly humiliate me to the point where I wouldn't want to live anymore.' I asked for his supervisor. Who came, and actually asked me to prove I am diabetic. I felt inclined to inform her that not only am I diabetic, (I have insulin, blood sugar tester, handicapped transit pass) but syringes are fucking legal. And this stupid fuck just keeps asking to see an ID bracelet or a card or something else. And then kicks us out of the park. Doesn't give me a refund, and tells me to fuck off. Her supervisor, I guess, doesn't work in the park, so she denied my demand to see him. I'm serious about getting all these bastards jobs. I felt so humiliated. It would have been one thing to hassle me about the shorts, which is only an occasionally enforced, unstated rule, which they didn't inform us about when we paid for tickets, entered the park, paid for parking, paid for a locker, or when we got on any of the slides the first hour while we were there. But I feel harassed about being diabetic, a medical condition which I neither asked for, nor want, nor can do anything about, and I shouldn't feel obligated to justify my condition to anyone. I have the names of all the bastards who I dealt with, and I have the name and number of the supervisor. Mark my words: I will get refunded for all expenses incurred on that trip, and I am expecting to at least get the job of the fucker who told me I wouldn't want to live and that I was just a junkie. He went way beyond enforcing a stupid rule that shouldn't be around in the first place. It was base harrasment. And he'll pay. Anyway, this is America, land of the lawsuit. So he will pay. Either by their being willing to, or being forced to. I'm a dick when I get mad. And I'm mad.
At any rate, it's Dexter's birthday today, and it was sort of fucked up by this whole thing.
'I'm fucked. I'm exhausted. And I'm scared. But I'm feeling oddly lucky to be alive. But I'm not leaving yet; staying up, playing chess with Death. For so many years I was so hopeless. And now hope is the only thing keeping me alive.' ----'Hope Springs From Somewhere' by American Steel