Doris, the Holy Ghost.

What's up, my ninjas? Yeah, not much here either… except! I had an awesome video webchat last night with Doris, the Holy Ghost (she's part of the holy trinity and lives in Eureka, CA) and she really put my head back on straight about this whole Damien, Dad, and Trudy (she's a bank teller) thing. As you may or may not know (read this blog more often if you don't) Damien has stolen Trudy, my second base position on the softball team, and has made veiled threats against Karen (that's my lamb). Plus, for some reason it seems my dad has put him up to it! That's effed. (Pardon moi Francais.)
Anyway it seemed like there was only one more person I could turn to for help, and that's Doris the Holy Ghost—my dad's old personal assistant who died from lung cancer and is totally on my side about stuff. So I video webchatted her, and here's what happened:
I started to tell her the entire story, but she interrupted me to say, "HONEY. (Wheeze!) I read your blog. (Wheeze!) I know everything that's going on." (By the way, Doris still smokes. Unfiltered Pall Malls. Wow.)
"So what do I do," I cried. "I'm really at the end of my rope!"
"Okay, honey, (Wheeze!) first of all calm down. Doris is here, and we're going to solve this thing a bit at a time. (Wheeze!) First of all, Damien is a [f-word] [c-word] and a real [p-word] to boot—so we're not going to worry about him for the moment. (Wheeze!) Secondly, forget about second base. Your coach obviously doesn't want you to have that position, so either drop it, or tell coach to go [f-word] himself and join another team. (Wheeze!) Your team sucks hippo [d-word] anyway." (Wow. Do I really have to keep writing PMF after all this? Let's consider "PMF" as read.)
"Ohhh-kay…" I said. "But what about Trudy?"
"If I were you I'd take her out for a steak and then [f-word] her. (Wheeze!) That's the only way you're gonna know if you love her or not. Until then, be a man, go to her house, bring her some chocolates, and apologize for being such a little [p-word]. Then [f-word] her. (Wheeze!) Now, I know that sounds harsh, and I love ya honey, but sometimes you can be a real little [p-word]. (Wheeze!)"
"No, it's fine… you're right. I was wrong to yell at Trudy and for making her do that dumb favor. I'm a p-word." (PMF.)
"Now," she said, "Let's move on to the real problem which is your dad. He's a [d-word]. (Wheeze!) I have no idea why I worked with that [c-word] sucker for such a long time, but everybody has their issues. He obviously has wanted you to get into the family business for years, and instead, you ride your bike, eat at the mall food court, and play with your gay lamb. (Wheeze!) That's not a slur, honey. She really is a lezzie. (Wheeze!) He's obviously paid off this Damien [d-word]bag to take away the things you love, because he thinks it'll make you the kind of man he wants you to be."
"What? Really? My dad doesn't like me?"
"Honey… (Wheeze!)… he loves you. This is how men are. Except for you. Your brain's not shoved inbetween your balls. [She can say "balls," right?] (Wheeze!) You're going to have to confront your dad, honey. You're going to have to tell him you're never going to be the person he wants you to be. (Wheeze!) You're just gonna have to nut up, and be Jesus. You okay with that?"
"Yeah… I guess I have to be."
"That's right, honey. You have to be. Now give Doris a cyber smooch, and run along. My stories are about to come on the television and these cigarettes aren't going to smoke themselves. (Wheeze!) Just remember, no matter what your dad says: Life is a buffet, sweetie. And most poor suckers are starving to death."

I went to bed after that, held Karen in my arms, and had the best night of sleep I've had in two weeks.
Dad's going to get a little visit from me.