“I can’t wait until you guys are gone/out of here… *snap snarl growl*”

So, I’m sitting at the dinner table today, eating dinner with David and Ricky, and I’m bouncing my leg like I usually do. This really irritates David, but I don’t especially care because I’m just a bitch.

So, eventually, David says this;

“I don’t know if I should be sad or glad when you guys move.”

I am so mad right now, I could blow a fucking gasket. At the same time, I’m really upset. I mean, seriously, David? Since when are you as much of an asshole as Dad?

Fuck it. I won’t have to live with them anyway, and I am in no place to say anything anyway, because David’s not my son, and this isn’t my house. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed to all hell at Dad for making this worse than it already is. I really hate him. He should consider DYING.

I’m THE MOST screwed up kid I know, in ways I can’t even tell or describe. How the hell do you expect me to be able to get up every morning with a big fucking smile on my face and say, “Gee, I’m gonna have a great day today,” When I can barely get myself to open my FUCKING EYES.

Every time I start basically screaming at the top of my lungs for some help in my figurative language, I get called a whiny bitch and told that I should stop moaning and maybe do something about it. What the fuck do I do? I don’t know what there is to be done! I don’t know why I’m depressed, why I can’t get myself to stop being depressed… I can’t even always tell you why I haven’t fucking killed myself yet!

It’s clear to me that nobody gets this, but you know, it really SUCKS when nobody can understand that it just hurts.

I’m so sick of living. I’m sick of people, and school, and not being able to sleep, and not wanting to eat, and not being able to function… I’m sick of being awake, and I’m sick of sleeping. I’m going to fucking DIE if I keep treating myself like this, but at this stage in the game I so totally don’t give a shit that I can’t even describe it to you.

I’m tired of this whole “living” bullshit..

It was a Battle of the Sexes, in which I was doing my best, and I mean best impersonation of a female chauvinist sow. Derek was defending the men while I was sullying their image.

I hate men. We know this. I’ve told everyone this many time. I have good reasons for hating men. Very good reasons. No names given, but 95% of the men in my life are total jerks or stuck-up pigs. And then there’s the fact that men are, in general stupid, or at least the 95% of the ones I know are.

I’m not trying to pick a fight, but I’m perfectly willing to fight anyway, if someone wants to.

So, anyway, Derek was telling me exactly what mom’s told me a few times. “Men don’t really know when they’re men, because they don’t have an obvious symbol. Women do. Women bleed.” And he also added his own bit “Men have had everything that they prided themselves in taken away from them.” He used the examples of hunting, fighting, ect. To which I said “I don’t really care. I’m going to get that coffee that I totally forgot about.”

We argued for a bit, he was very defensive because he’s biased against women and think we all suck, generally speaking. I was very much intent on defending my position, however, because all men are assholes and the world would be better off without them. Dad popped into the kitchen to tell me that “it wasn’t worth it”, to which I said, “I’m not fighting with him. Because unlike you, I’m not a spiteful jerk.” Half that sentence was a lie to him under my teeth, though.

My personal opinion, of course, is that men have been dominating society since their fucking creation, and they can do without the power for a few hundred years. It won’t kill them, like they seem the think. If they’d all stop being such pansies and go to fucking school, they wouldn’t have a problem staying up to bat. But no, you men are selfish idiots who seem to think that because of your testosterone, the world should come to you on a silver fucking platter.

Well, sorry, bitches, but that platter is heading for my table, and I’m going to eat it slowly with smirking evilly at you.

I’m sorry Derek, but I cannot feel sympathy for men, for the simple reason that it took us women for-fucking-ever to get out rights in the first fucking place. When America was first formed, women had nothing. We obeyed the orders of our spouses, and that was the end of it. You selfish bastards never gave us anything so we actually worked to get our rights. If you aren’t willing to work to get your stupid “manhood” back, then you don’t fucking deserve it at all.

You filthy pigs deserve a reality check, and if I have to be part of the generation that gives it to you, then so be it. I might even enjoy kicking your asses a little.

I should seriously consider getting rid of all my categories and just putting all my posts under “Stuff.” It’d make my blog and my life a little less messy. :/

…

I’m a little bit frustrated with him. Just a little.

First of all, Gina wasn’t acting like a parent, idiot. She was acting like a concerned big sister, and you have absolutely no right to tell her not to be a concerned big sister. You and mom both constantly yell at me and Gina for being mean to Ricky, and yet, for some awfully strange, unforeseen reason, you, Dad, feel like you have the right… no, you seem to have the nerve to tell Gina that she was butting in?

If you’re going to play it like that, then you were butting in too, because this little bike affair was none of your business either. It was completely Ricky’s business. You shouldn’t have said anything either Dad, because you weren’t directly involved. Being able to hear it out your window doesn’t mean that it concerns you.

Don’t try to be anyone’s father after you’ve been ignoring us for the past eight years. More specifically, don’t try to act like Ricky’s father after you’ve been ignoring him for eight years. No, make that twelve years. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you show an ounce of affection for either of your boys, even though they look up to you more than me and Gina ever will.

We’re not ganging up on you. This is me talking from my perspective. Gina didn’t con me into this and I’m not being biased. I haven’t liked you at all in a long time, and most certainly haven’t respected you. But that doesn’t mean that I’m just agreeing with Gina because I don’t like you. I’m agreeing with Gina because she’s right and you are wrong. I’m sorry to have to break the news to you, but I’m still smart enough to be able to tell when you’re just being a douche and Gina’s getting angry.

Oh, yes, there was one more thing I wanted to mention. It’s a little bit… well, okay, its completely off topic, but I still wanted to mention it. No, I’m not going to listen to any crap about how you’re trying. I don’t even give a damn anymore.

Stop pretending that you’re concerned about me. I’m just about sick and tired of you constantly saying that “You’re worried about me” and that “If I need to rant, I can just come to you,” Because I know that it’s not true. If I tried ranting to you about you then you would get defensive. And don’t tell me that you won’t because you will. Besides that, you don’t even know what the hell I need, so shut up! I don’t need to rant! I don’t need to yell! What I need is something that you can’t give, never will, and never did! I don’t need you’re help, I’ll fix my damn problems on my own, so stay out my way!

Millie Vanilli is one of my best friends. One of my very few and scarce friends. Derek and Mama both are in the spotlight this time, and I’m going to be merciless.

I don’t know how he did it, but he somehow plucked up the courage to tell me a story about him practically attacking Millie and nearly giving her a fatal fucking heart attack. So I’m pissed at him now, and I probably would’ve slapped him if I had been a little crazier. I don’t care what kind of excuses he can pull out of his ass about how he needs to ‘discipline’ her and teacher her what she’s not allowed to do. Hitting her as hard as possible with a fucking broom will kill her.

Derek and Mama both chase Millie around the kitchen with brooms and slippers and shit, and hit her and practically beat the crap out of her. I swear to fucking God, if you assholes kill one of my best friends, I will go fucking ballistic. I’m not kidding around anymore. If you kill my cat, I will kick your ass. I don’t care if your my parents and I shouldn’t hit you, and I don’t care if your bigger than me. I don’t care anymore; kill my cat and you will die.

You keep complaining about how she jumps on the counters. Well, you know what? If you idiots would rinse shit off once in a while and refill her water bowl, she wouldn’t have a reason to jump on the counters. She wouldn’t bother, because there would be no food for her to get. It’s not hard to figure out. You always come to me and tell me to do the dishes before you kill Millie. I’m not joking around anymore; say that to me again, and I will flip shit on you. I’m not afraid to bitch slap anyone who pisses me off.

Like I said earlier, if Millie dies at the hands of Mama or Derek, I’m going to go crazy. Just because she jumps on the counters doesn’t mean you need to attack her with a fucking broom, you assholes. She’s almost seventeen, isn’t she? That’s approximately 119 years old in cat years. Do you really think that her body will be able to handle being beaten all the damn time? Maybe she has a reason for always eating food. Maybe she’s SICK. Have you stopped to think about that? Maybe she has a bug, or a virus and she’s constantly eating because of it. Beating the crap out of her isn’t going to fix that. If you idiots would get a real fucking job instead of trying to make a living off a job that earns you about 2 cents every month, and maybe get some money together and take her for a check-up, we could FIX THIS PROBLEM.

Maybe that was mean of me to say; that you all have shitty jobs and need to work on getting something real to do. But I don’t care. I have never been so fucking pissed off at you guys in all my life. You’ve been treating Millie like shit, and I’m fucking sick of it. Leave my damn cat alone. I’m surprised she isn’t trying to run away.

I’m done. You can comment about it all you want and pull excuses out of your ass. I don’t care what you have to say; she’s my friend, and you’ve been hurting her.