One of these days...

he's really going to get it. Derek, that is. He just walks around this earth believing, consciously or not, that he can say and even do anything to anyone and they will just take it. He doesn't seem to have any filter for his emotions; he just verbally vomits whatever feeling bubbles up inside of him, spewing it out upon anyone in range.

Yesterday was no different, of course. Getting myself and the kids dressed was a disaster; the three of us interchangeably doing everything wrong, apparently, and as always in these moments, we are privileged to a running commentary of our idiocy. By the time we were all loaded into the car Derek's tension was thick in the air. Yaay. Another fun family outing. It really pisses me off, still, because he's so weak. Every little thing upsets him. He thinks he's strong, but he's so incapable of dealing with the tiniest thing -- the sun, the rain, a piece of dust, an ant on the counter, a pillow out of place, whatever -- without going berserk. 

The turn onto the main highway through town was even more fun. Derek raging at traffic is routine now. The children aren't allowed to converse with us anyway, and I can't hold a conversation with him without it being constantly interrupted by his screams at all the "idiots" and "morons" around us, who are so obviously out to sabotage our drive by going too slowly, going too fast, not leaving the light quickly enough, or in some cases, having the audacity to just look plain "stupid." And I'm sure he's right, oh yes. It's all about Derek, and these people all woke up this morning thinking, "Hmm, what can I do today to really piss this guy off?" 

Of course with Derek it doesn't take much. And sadly, occasionally he's right about whatever is frustrating him; it's just the way he handles it that is so unacceptable. 

After our usual harrowing drive, we arrived at our breakfast destination, Derek parked the car (after the usual five hundred circles around the parking lot for the exact, perfect space), and in we went. As Dillon and Ella sipped their milk and the coffee and tea flowed, so did Derek's narcissism as he listened to himself prattling on about Obama this, and Obama that. Like so many armchair experts, he enlightened me as to how he would fix the problem with the stimulus and the recent oil spill. All fascinating. His self-importance becomes most evident whenever I try to respond with my own thoughts -- and not to brag, but geez, I was an international political consultant for 12 years and lived all over the world, I'm not completely without knowledge on political affairs -- and in this case, my comments were actually in agreement with his, but he never even noticed because he was quick to cut me off, saying, "Ugh, you don't even get it, that's not the point," His tone was belittling, dismissive, even. Then he delivered a few more verbal "slaps" for interfering in his riveting speech.

 And then he continued: “blah blah blah blah blah….quote quote quote quote quote, etc.” As he spoke, I still felt the sting of his rebuke and my mind wandered to a happier place, imagining him flat on his back right there on the deck, as I’m pummeling his chest with my fists. Or opera music coming out of his mouth instead of words, or his head suddenly bursting into flames on top as he continues his speech, or midgets biting his ankles like little Chihuahuas. Ah, a Calgon moment.We all have them. 

The breakfast finally ended and, upon returning to the car, we were both very frustrated to find that someone had parked so close to the passenger's side that I couldn't get the door open at all, much less get Ella in or myself. Someone passing by commented, "Oh, those guys over there just parked that car." We looked, and "those guys over there" were three guys and one woman, looking to be in their mid-twenties, sitting at a cafe.' They had just sat down and a waitress was bringing some drinks, when my charming husband walked over to the edge of the fence and said, "Did you park that car?" They looked confused for a minute. Derek was seething, and through clenched teeth, said, "DID-YOU-PARK-THAT-CAR-OVER-THERE" more as a statement than an actual question. "Uh, yeah, man, that's my car." "Really, well," Derek began, "You parked so closely that I can't get my baby into the car. You have to move." The speaker for the group was not terribly motivated. "Yeah, sure. But I want to eat my sandwich first." Oh boy. He didn't even have his sandwich yet. Now even I have to admit, that's some nerve. It's blistering hot out, and he wants to make a family with two small children wait while he orders and consumes a sandwich? Apparently my husband isn't the only a---hole out there.

"Eat your sandwich, you say?" Derek asks, "Sure. No problem. You eat your sandwich." He said the words, but after he said them, he calmly walked into the restaurant, past the hostess, out into the cafe' and grabbed this guy's collar. In one swift move, and without disturbing anything on the table, I might add, he jerked the guy up by his shirt, locked his head in his right arm and dragged him out backwards, feet kicking for balance, all the way to the car. "Oh my God!" the hostess said as Derek and the flailing man passed by, "Calm down," Derek said as he dragged his cargo past her, "there's no problem here." The others in the guy's party just sat with their mouths open, and the woman cracked a smile and scoffed, "Good, he deserves it." Perhpas this was a case of one Derek meeting another, but it looked like my Derek had the upper hand. 

Dillon, Ella and I stood and watched in silence as Derek brought the guy to his car, jerked his head around in our direction and said through clenched teeth, "Do you see my wife and kids, there, hmm? Do you? You will NOT make MY BABY stand in the hot sun while you EAT YOUR SANDWICH. MOVE-YOUR-FU--ING CAR NOW." The guy couldn't get his keys out fast enough. Then of course he couldn't get into his car either, because it was parked too close, so he had to crawl through the passenger's side. "You're crazy, man!" he yelled, from the safety of his car. But Derek was there in an instant, grabbing him through the window. "That's right," he said, "I'm crazy. And if you complain, if you look at my tag, if you do ANYTHING about this I will find out where you live and I will make your life a living hell." 

Suddenly I was picturing Derek's bald head again, orange with flames shooting out of the top. He really IS crazy, no doubt there. And I admit it's interesting watching a face-off between two Dereks. It's hard to know who to root for. But seriously, one of these days, he's going to do that to the wrong Derek. And that Derek will pull out a gun or tire iron or maybe even a big beer mug and just deck him. And who will feel sorry? If you make the world your battlefield, sooner or later you're going to meet a bigger warrior than you. 

Ugh. Anyway.........so much for Sunday brunch. Today is a new day, with plenty of "idiots" and "morons" who are undoubtedly just waiting to piss Derek off. Because it is, after all, all about him. 

Until next time, dear friend...