Billie Joe Armstrong is my step-father... and I hate it [EDITING]

1. The American Idiot [Edited]

I had always been a "daddy's girl" according to my mother. Where he went, I went. It had been like that since I was five. If he was popping out to get some groceries for the house, I would have to go with him. If he was going out to get some scenic inspiration for his art, I wouldn't be too far behind him. It probably peaked when he was taking a return trip to county Kilkenny in Ireland to see his family and I screamed and cried the house down until my mom caved in and allowed me to go with him and thus, I took my first abroad trip to Ireland.

My dad was rarely seen without me and I was rarely seen without my dad. That was, until he went somewhere I couldn't follow him. It was as if someone had whacked me right across the face and started laughing. Suddenly, I was stranded in a barren, unfamiliar land, left to fend for myself in a world that expected me to "move on".

Move on. They always say that like eventually, it's going to get easier but it never did. I thought it never would. My mother, evidently... thought differently.

I had tried everything, every trick in the book. I tried threatening to run away and live with grandma or auntie Tracy and uncle Alfie, I tried threatening murder, I even tried to look into legal aid to get myself legal emancipation by the time I was 18. I tried everything. But nothing, and I mean not a thing could snap my poor, star crossed mother out of this... disease. Out of this phase. She would simply brush me off and say "don't say things you won't act upon, Gracie." Gracie. Who calls me that?! – apart from my aunt Tracy, who seems to find it annoyingly endearing.

My mom, Samia, looked desperately young for her age. She had long, sandy blonde hair and dazzling hazel eyes – my eyes were just a plain colour. Boring and nothing special, but she was a beautiful woman. The impressionable "free love" attitude she discovered in her years in college had left a lasting impact on her, making her the perfect artistic muse for my late father.

Me, on the other hand, I had long dark hair and plain blue eyes. I was reasonably tall and I had gotten most of my features from my dad. I was usually a very quiet person. I never used to be – I used to be loud and obnoxious around my friends. And then my dad died and suddenly, everything changed. I became extremely closed up, anyone who would try to offer sympathy I would avoid. I became completely friendless. No, I had none of those stereotypical best friends who were supposed to stick by your side day and night – in the real world, everyone doesn't have that bubbly best friend with the big hair and the loud voice. 

And then when I thought I had just adjusted to my miserable choice of living, it changed again.

One night, my mom went out for the first time in three years – since dad died. One fateful, unfortunate day, she got up and decided to go out. When she returned, she was elated, over joyed, prancing through the door. Needless to say, it raised my suspicion, seeing as I hadn't seen her so much as smile previously. She started making chocolate cake at one a.m in the morning, as soon as she got back from her night out. I asked her if she was drunk or high.

No, no, none of those things, she assured me of that. She even let me smell her breath to prove it.

Here are her exact words, "I met one of your little band friends. He is a charmer. And we will be meeting up together." With a big goofy smile plastered on her smile.

God bless my mother, I think she expected me to freak out with uncontrollable excitement. She seemed to stare at me, waiting for me to shower her with questions and jump around the fucking kitchen with her, holding each others arms like giddy school girls. I almost felt bad I didn't give that to her.

I flew off the handle instead, overwhelmed with white hot rage. How did she think... how could she ever think she could just replace dad like that? After she confessed, I pretty much lost it all together. Yelling that she couldn't possibly replace my dad, her husband, and that she was making a complete ass of herself, doing what she was doing. Band member or not, he was a fucker.