The Itchy and Scratchy Show

I went to the allergist this morning for the first time ever. I've had vague allergies pretty much all of my life; itchy eyes, runny nose, sneezing, what have you. But my brother had much more severe, even life-threatening allergies as a child, so we were a bit more focused on that than on my sneezing fits, even though they are a thing to behold. It's a family trait. My dad has actually knocked himself unconscious by sneezing. I have so far managed to avoid that, but I do startle people on a regular basis.
Anyway.
The way an allergy test works is they have these disk that have needles that each have something that you might be allergic to on them. Four of these disks full of little needles are pressed into the skin of your back. Good times. Then whatever you have a reaction to indicates an allergy. There are cases where it is hard to tell if you are having a reaction or not. In those cases, they take a syringe and inject whatever you are having a borderline reaction deeper into your skin. Better times.
I am allergic to:
1. Dust mites (both varieties)
These little fuckers eat dead skin cells and live inside your mattress and pillows! How gross is that?

2. Cockroaches (no, seriously) EEEEEWWWWWWWWW!!! I kept asking the doctor, "Seriously? Cockroaches?" He assured me that it's true.

3. Cats
Like my darling kitteh Singe here. Sad.

4. Dogs. Also sad. I love dogs.

5. Yellow dock (some sort of weed)


Which grows all over the place. Yay.

5. Coastal sagebrush

Where do I live again? Oh yeah, in Santa Barbara. ON THE COAST.

So basically I am screwed. I have lots of drugs now though. There were a few things that I was surprised that I am not allergic to at all: trees, molds, or grasses of any kind. Crazy.

Angry Blondie

The other day my dad said something to me that I've been unable to stop thinking about. He insinuated that I should be grateful to him for not providing anything for me while I was growing up and while I was struggling through college, taking a full class load and working at whatever job I could find. I should be grateful for that because I had to work hard for what I have and therefore I value it more. Which is true, I do value what I worked my ass off to achieve. But you know who absolutely does not get to take credit for that? The man who refused to pay any child support while I was growing up because he spent all of his money on whatever drugs he could get his hands on.
Yes, I had a hard life, like a lot of other people. And I am stronger for it. I know this. But I will be damned if he somehow makes himself out to be a good father because I didn't end up pregnant at seventeen or stung out on meth like half of my high school. If there is one thing that he absolutely is not, it is a good father. I can hear him now, protesting that he did his best and he loves me more than I know and things like that. To which I say, so what. I guess trying his best involved drinking himself into oblivion and getting high whenever he had the chance. Not to mention managing to not show up for any significant event I wished he'd gone to, or ever coming through with things that he promised. Which probably has a lot to do with me not knowing how much he loves me, since I never saw a trace of it.
"But he's still your father," you say? Well I say again, so what. Just because he and my mom had sex and oops here I am, that means that I am obliged to forgive every one of his shortcomings with a shrug and say "But he's doing his best..."? I do not agree. I owe him exactly nothing. Whatever time and energy he spends trying to convince himself that his monumental failure as a parent was actually better for me so that he can assuage his own guilt, will be exactly that. His time and energy. I am done being so angry that I can't see straight. I am done letting someone have such a huge negative impact on my life.