A/N: Don't get used to this speedy-update thing…I had one already written and was online anyway so…

So I'm back.  I decided that the world may not want to hear about my issues.  But I need to tell someone.  Or something, I suppose.  My dad.  As I said, when I was a kid, Dad was the very coolest.  Now I know the truth.  My father is an alcoholic, unemployed loser.  And I'm pretty sure he beats Mom.  Yeah, reeling aren't you?  Think I'm just an over reacting teen.  Wish I was.  Let's address the issues one at a time, shall we?

Alcoholic: The cranberry juice I mentioned previously.  Guess what Jeeves, it's not cranberry juice.  It's red wine.  Meaning all my father does is sit around and drink wine all day.  Is that not a fair definition of an alcoholic? Unemployed: "Sit around all day".  Pretty much sums it up.  He almost never leaves the house.  He just sits in the basement all day.  Then, at night, he and mom go out.  Then they come home and he goes back down. Loser: Alcoholic and unemployed.  That constitutes a "loser", don't you think? Beating: It's hard for me to even write about this.  Like I said, almost every night he and mom go somewhere.  I don't know where.  But almost every morning when she comes home, she's got a cut.  Or a bruise.  Or a scratch.  And she makes the most pathetic excuses.  "Oh, I tripped".  "Oh, I just dropped a vase".  Yeah right, Mom.  And I can't tell anybody.  Don't roll your eyes, I'm not one of those "But I'll break up the family.  It'll be all my fault" types.  It's just, who am I going to tell?  All Mom's friends seem to be a little bit scared of Dad, and they'd all be sure to tell Mom what I said.  And she's definitely fits the profile of a "He doesn't mean to hurt me…I made him angry, so it's my fault" girl.  She's just so weak.  It makes me angry sometimes how she just submits to him when he gets mad.  I can't tell a guidance counselor because-besides the fact it's totally loser-world to go to a guidance counselor-I haven't got any proof.  Mom certainly won't testify against him.  So none of her friends will.  Dad is dangerous.  Why can't everybody see that?

Well, now that I've gotten all that venting out of the way, how bout I tell you what's going on in my life?  Well first of all, Andrew is staying in our house.  Save me, please.  Apparently there was a bug infestation at his apartment so the whole thing is closed for fumigation.  Now Dad comes out of the basement even less and when he does, it's to "Tell Demon-boy to sod off."  Two things can be gained from that statement: number one, Andrew is the most annoying man in the universe.  He carries a video camera everywhere and is constantly trying to tape people.  Number two: Dad seems to have difficulty remembering people's real names.

A List of Things My Dad Calls Various People

Andrew=Demon-boy, Curly Fry, Stupid Wanker

Xander=Whelp, Wanker-man, Sir Nancy-boy

Willow=Red, Witchchild

Faith=That bitch(when Mom isn't around)

Angel=Angela, Angie, Angie-boy, King Nancy, Drooper, Fluffy, (when he gets really furious) Liam

Anya= Her, Sex-pot, Stay-away-from-me-and-don't-you-touch-my-pants (yuck)

Giles=Library Man, Booksy

Mr. Wood=Nikki's boy, (when he thinks I'm not listening) Slayer-brat

Mom (Not including all the mushy stuff)=Sunshine/Summer Sunshine

Me=Doll, Sunshine the Second, Little/Poor/Sweet Nibble

Anyone=(female) Luv, pet, sweetheart (male) Wanker, Nancy boy

The evidence has been presented, I now close my case.  Ha ha.  If you haven't noticed, I like lists.  It's not that I'm some neat freak or an organizer nut.  In fact, the nuclear waste creature living in my locker…oh god.  I made a joke worthy of Uncle Xander.  Someone, I'm begging you.  Shoot me now.  Back to the topic.  I just like lists.  Mom says it's because I'm methodical.  Dad says it's because "you sodding people are a bad influence on poor nibble".  Ooh.  Just remembered something else I can complain about Dad.  His hair.  My father.  Bleaches.  His. Hair.  It is white blonde.  And all slicked back, like he thinks he's so hot.  And he's what?  40?  But he really doesn't look that old.  It's weird.  It's not like Mom looks old, it's more like…wear.  You can tell she's been living.  Dad…it's like he stepped out of a picture of himself from like 20 years ago.  And I've seen those pictures.  At least he doesn't wear all that leather and chains anymore.  I would be humiliated beyond all belief if I ever saw my dad dressed up like some kind of gangster punk.  And that's just me.  If anyone I knew saw him looking like that…I would never show my face within a 100 mile radius of Sunnydale ever again!

Ding-dong!

I am not getting the door.

Ding-"Bloody hell-JENNY!"-dong!

Damn.

I walked down the stairs.  Walked in the sense of jumped them 3 at a time.  Dad was glaring out of the basement doorway, standing in a shadow.  That man is so lazy.  I pulled the door open.  Somebody barreled past me, knocking me into the closet.  I turned around to see Uncle Angel standing next to Dad, a thick blanket over his head.  Why, oh, why Lord?

            "What are you doing here Angie?" Dad smirked.  Uncle Angel dropped his blanket and somehow managed to both scowl and brood at the same time.  Mr. Multi-tasker is in the house.

            "Hello Uncle Angel." I said out of politeness.  Somebody had to be polite around here.  Even if that somebody had just gotten hammered into a closet.

            "Hey Jenny," he said distractedly, looking worriedly out the windows, yet still both scowling and brooding.  This man is my new hero.  Dad scowled back at him.

            "I asked you a question.  Since you're in my house-"

            "It's Buffy's house," Uncle Angel snapped.  Dad looked very shocked.  I was too actually.  Uncle Angel really isn't one to snap.  More of a "shut-up-I'm-broody" kind of guy.  I was still happy to hear someone would stand up to King Brit.

            "Well Buffy isn't here.  So it goes to me by default."  He finally responded with the dark scowl he always reserved especially for Uncle Angel.

            "Something was following me."  Uncle Angel finally gave up peeking out of windows and drooped back to normal.  He turned sullenly to Dad who was raising his eyebrows in a disbelieving way.

            "No.  Who could that be?  The FBI? Police?  Rabid sex-" he broke off with a cough when he noticed I was still here.  Thanks for the protection Dad.  Where were you when Anya came over for my 5th birthday?

            "I don't mean chasing," Uncle Angel glared broodily and indignantly.  How does he manipulate his face like that? "I mean tailing.  Spying.  Is there some obscure British word that would clarify this to you?"  Ouch.  Burn 1 for Uncle Angel.

            "Shut up and get to the point," Dad bristled dangerously.  I thought I actually saw his eyes flash gold, like people's always do in books.  Funky.

            "The point is…who would follow me around?  Why?"

            "Maybe they want to kill you," Dad suggested, cheering up considerably.  I rolled my eyes.  You know there's a lot of love in this house when we happily wish each other were being hunted down.  Uncle Angel just brooded deeper.

            "If they'd wanted to kill me, they probably would have," he mused quietly.  I for one had had quite enough of this strange conversation.  I didn't know why anyone might wish death to Uncle Angel, and I frankly didn't want to.  I turned to go back up the stairs.

            "Doll, be a luv and tell your mum darling Angela has stopped by for a cuppa,"  Dad ushered Uncle Angel into the basement and slammed the door behind them.  Sheesh.  I have to do absolutely everything in this house.

Back.  What a drag.  My life sucks.  Told you that already though, didn't I?  Losing my memory.  Premature too.  Must be close proximity to a large number of crazy people.