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2001-07-27 / 6:42 p.m. ~What a Pig Fuck!~ Okay, by now you may have realized (again, there I go with "you" - no, forget it, I know for a fact people are reading this thing, so yeah, I can say it) that I enjoy using the word fuck. Fuck is a good word, a much maligned word, but a wholly appropriate word, best when not overused. Use moderately. Use under supervision. Use accordingly. I have a great book, called The F Word, which details the history of this word, and defines its many variations, derivations, vast plethora of uses, but does not include the expression "pig fuck". I've surely mentioned this here before, but I had this long term relationship, one that was very influential, and the person with whom I was relating for that long term used expressions such as "pig fuck", and I am thinking that's where I learned it. A Pig Fuck is a situation over which one has absolutely no control. It is outrageously frustrating. It's a horrible traffic jam when you're in a big hurry. It's a doctor making you wait three hours to see him. It's being stood up by someone, and waiting anyway, not knowing what's going on. Make sense? It's me dropping my car off at Pep Boys this morning, at 8:35 or so, waiting in line, signing the waiver for the diagnostic electrical system test, calling the cab at 8:45 or so, the cab arriving in minutes (yea!), then paying $8 to go approximately 3 miles! $6, plus me not knowing how much to tip and consequently overtipping, which is my M.O. It's me then waiting all day, no, that's ALL FUCKING DAY for the phone call telling me I do indeed need a new alternator and it will cost this many hundreds of dollars for parts and labor, voltage regulator too, blah, blah, and yada, yada, yada. A pig fuck is me waiting all day, barely leaving my cube, waiting for this phone call, then calling and asking, "Hey, what the fuck?", and them saying they haven't gotten to it yet. A pig fuck is the Pep Boys counter dude telling me they'd get to my car in a "couple of hours", at 8:45 a.m., me calling at noonish and them saying they'd get to it, then me calling at 3:00ish and them saying my car "is next", then me fighting the urge to scream and break things, then me calling at 5:57, a dude putting me on hold, then saying, "Uh, your car is next", then me saying, "Oh no, it's NOT! Don't touch it, I'm coming to get it, you people are idiots for making me wait NINE FUCKING HOURS for nothing!". Okay, I didn't quite say that to the dude on the phone. I said look, don't touch it, you've had it there all day, nine hours and not even called me, and I'm coming to get it, forget it, I know it's not your fault, but I'm mad and you guys have some really bad customer service. Or something like that. Then Linda, the evil one, the one who talked to me last week, but hasn't said a word this week, the one who hummed nonsensically all day while I was sitting waiting for my outside line to ring, that Linda, offers me a ride to get my car. Could I have felt guiltier for hating her all day? We have a complicated relationship. Man, what a saving grace. No cab ride, no waiting, just go, walk in, say I want my car, "Oh yeah, I just talked to you on the phone", says he, and yes, say I, and he takes my work order and offers to tear it up for me, and I get my key, and walk out thinking hey, no apology, no excuses, no nothing. I waited all day, and nothing. A hot car awaited me, it started, it got me home, and I feel so relieved. But now what? Where do I go from here? A dying alternator will drain a battery, stop dead when one least expects it. No juice, no power, no car. Dead. Now I have to get up early on a Saturday, my day to sleep luxuriously late, and find someplace else to take it. Oh, for anyone who's read this far, this is for you: Look, I've kind of promoted this diary a bit, and I have no idea why. Really. I've signed guestbooks, I've linked to someone with a vastly popular website and he linked me back (yikes!), and I may get traffic now. And, I let two people know about this thing recently, two people I actually "know", one only online, and the other I've known for years, but she's in another state. Point is, this diary is highly personal, it's my life, it's not always pretty. My life is not happy, not lately, and I write about being unhappy, and I'm sorry if that's unpleasant to read and I fully encourage you to not read it if it's unpleasant. Please, don't read my diary if you don't want the angst mixed in with the joy, the sex, the food, the wanton lust, the horrible job, all of it. It's my life. I write about whatever is currently on my mind, and I don't expect anyone to really "enjoy" it, just take it as it is, a person's life. I do have an imaginary audience, based on my site statistics, and sometimes I keep them/you in mind as I'm writing, wonder if you'll find amusing what I've found amusing, wonder if you'll feel pain at what made me feel pain, wonder if you'll just feel sad when I'm low, or if you'll read a few lines and click on someone else's diary. I love people's lives, getting inside them, reading their details, and there have been very few diaries on here that have really turned me off completely, the most recent is one where the person has given up on his life. He is not making any effort at all to find joy, any joy, and it bores me now. Still, I read him (and I'm not even hinting at whose it is, not even necessarily indicating the correct gender), to check on him. But, I write what I would like to read, mostly, except sometimes when I bore even myself with the daily drivel. I hope I'm being somewhat clear. Perhaps not. I just mean that I've drawn some people here, and now I think that was a huge mistake. I don't think this is worth promoting, it's just my life, a rough cut. Understand that, and accept it as that, and move along if necessary. I was tempted to stop writing altogether, but I have to continue, and that's because this is helping me, all this writing, it's helping me sort everything out, it feels good to commit it somewhere, if not to paper, then to this site. That's it. I'm drained. Today was indeed a true pig fuck. Wait, an amendment: "pig-fucker" is in The F Word....it means "A concupiscent man whose sensibilities are so atrophied that he would even 'fuck a pig.'...." from 1938. "rat fuck" is also in this book. Cost of the War in Iraq
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