I don't think I've told you all about my brother-in-law, Dipshit, yet. No, his name isn't really Dipshit, but it might as well be.
Dipshit is a druggie, junkie, loser. I met him the same night as I met S and I don't think he was sober then, and I know for sure he ain't sober now. Back then he was just visiting California. He was married and had a beautiful little girl, Hope. Fast forward a couple years, he is now divorced, Hope is diagnosed with Leukemia and he doesn't seem to care. There seem to be too many drugs for him to do, rather than worry about his 2 year old fighting cancer. Flash forward to today. Hope is in remission (just hit the one year mark!), Dipshit just got released from a two year stint in prison and now he's homeless in California. Wow, reading back on this, I realize how depressing it is. Somehow, S and I are of the weird sort that can find humor in all that is dark...Well, except the cancer shit, that just isn't funny.
He's not allowed in our house, but that doesn't stop him from trying. He's tried crying, begging and even breaking in (to our backyard...He got caught because he got stuck on our fence, quite comical). Well, today marks the beginning of the already downward spiral into what I call "the fruitloop."
I woke up to him knocking on the door. Being the nice person I am, I ignored him. About five minutes later, he calls from the nearest payphone to tell us, "I've left those Tarrot cards in your mailbox." WTF?
I go to look. Sure enough, there are Tarrot cards in the mailbox. What does it mean, you ask? I haven't the foggiest. I called S at work to let him know, he's as clueless as I am. Is there some deep, drug-induced meaning behind these? Probably. Would I need to be loaded to understand? Probably again. Is that ever going to happen? Hell no.