Dadzillas Spoil the Broth
I hate going to the kitchen when Dadzilla is awake. This is why he doesn't think I can cook. I seldom make anything from scratch if he's around. I had to learn how to cook. I was a vegetarian for over five years in college. He must be telling the people around here that he cooks and I don't, because they were joking about it one day. That's fine for me. Not only will Dadzilla not expect me to cook anything, but neither will any of the tenants and management.
Why do I hate being in the kitchen so much when he's around? It's not hard to figure out, given his personality traits. Half the time he appears leaning on the counter poking his nose in whatever I'm doing or he “just happens” to need to throw something out when I'm there. In either case, he'll give me orders or start telling me where ingredients are, as if I get confused easily in the kitchen. I may get really lucky and he'll start complaining about any number of old issues that still don't sit right in his craw, some after decades.
If he's in the living room, then he'll just bark from there. Usually I have ear plugs in, because he doesn't stop yelling at the TV or the upstairs tenants. It makes it interesting to be able to hear him. If it's early evening and he's lying on the couch, he'll “What the hell--?” at any noise whatsoever. Just normal noises people make in the kitchen trying to get a meal drive him over the edge. Yes, it angers him, the same man who sits on the couch all day long with the volume on the TV turned up to maximum all day long. He doesn't want peace and quiet; he wants everyone ELSE to be quiet.
The same man who is diabetic will also eat sugar-filled hard candy, soda, pastries, frozen treats, etc all day long. I can understand why he might not want to follow the doctor's recommendation of limited sweets. What I can't understand is why he denies it or lies about eating that stuff. There are only two of us here, so if I didn't eat it, obviously he ate it! Unless, of course, these goodies have developed legs and ran away like he's always afraid the mail will do.
Whenever I get mail, he acts like it's of the utmost importance that I get to it right away. Sometimes, he'll deliver it to my door. Then I look and it's nothing but junk. Are you kidding me? “Better to get it before it gets lost.” Lost. Like those advertisements are going on a mad dash to the desert in a New York minute if they're left unattended! The only way they'd get lost is if he puts his mitts on my mail. It's bad enough I'm not even important enough to warrant having a key to our mailbox.
And I'm not sure how many times in the past I've told him I don't want most phone calls. I think someone I wanted to talk to has called twice in five years. Oh, that and the phone is in his room. Every time I hear the phone ring, no matter what he's doing, he'll hear it (yes, the same man who sets the TV volume on high all day) and rush to get it. I've explained the voice mail to him, but he doesn't care. Knock knock “Uh...someone wants to talk to you on the phone...” I get it, and either they hung up or it's someone taking a poll or something along those lines. This is why, for 5 years, the phone ringer was turned off. He never caught on to that either, so I had a few years of peace from the phone. Kind of funny he wanted to throw it out, because he thought it was broken. So I inherited a phone when he got a new one.