I hate you, Cracked.com

Why do you have to be so right? Give speaking the truth a break and whisper sweet lies in my ear!

What have I done? Actually DONE in my life? I've written most of a novel and painted some paintings. I can make really good pizza. But otherwise I'm a lazy, fat, nice person.

I need a post entry level crap job plan. I want it to involve writing.

I need to write more, and fight for a half-way decent job. I need to get sexy. I need to make a difference in this world with what I have now. It's not a lot.

I could set up a new save-folder.

I've just begun a system of folders that I put money into. One says ren faire, another steampunk con. One says car, one says medical, one says puppy. Another is called savings, and the last is called tattoos, keyboard, etc. Anything I want. I can put just a little money towards it. I should start a "do good things" folder. Feed hungry people, by gifts for children that might not get any, buy dog food for the humane society.

How can I say, 'oh when I'm rich I'll give to all kinds of charities and use my money to make the world better," if I'm not willing to do that now, with what I have? It doesn't have to be money. It could be my time. I could volunteer or do nice things for people that need or deserve it.

I have to stop lazing about and DO.

Goodbye, you fucking idiot

I'm so sorry to see you go. How could you?? You knew the risks. YOU KNEW. And yet. Christmas FUCKING morning. Your fiance and your kid are now out a family member. We should have slapped that mother-fucking beer out of your hands three weeks ago. You told us. You told us when we met you.

Alcohol is a gateway to relapse for heroin addicts.

You knew that too. I know it's not our fault. But man if I could have stood between you and the drug, I should have. We were so happy to see you happy that we ignored the signs.

You were opening your own shop, moving in with your lady, you were all excited over that stupid gun you bought. A lot of good that did you. You can't shoot heroin. Like that. God. That would be hilarious if you weren't dead.

We will miss you. We will miss your treacherous, raping douchebag D&D character. We're retiring the campaign, by the way. I don't think any of us could bare to play. We're gonna miss food runs with you. We'll miss that amazing spicy shrimp gumbo you made that one time. I wish we'd had more food nights.

Goodbye, Jimbrahm. Idiot. I hope you're somewhere awesome, being your bad, awesome self.

Nothing like chopping off two feet of hair to christen a new lease on life

New life, new hair. I will write. I will work. I will fight. I will make my life awesome. I will be epic! And I might make a trophy out of my chopped ponytail.

I know, it must seem rash, dramatic and unnecessary. But here is a little bit of what I have mentally chopped away with my hair:

Me getting wasted and then taken advantage of by a man 16 years my elder. Losing my virginity to him. Worse losing a lot of my dignity to him by letting him yank me around by the emotions.

Briefly dating a violent, angry guy that sort of looked like goku at super saiyan 3, but with shorter hair. And all the cruel things he said when I told him I didn't want to be with him, like calling me an insta-slut, just add vodka.

Three years down the drain with an abusive liar that I allowed to use me, and worse left me damaged and distrusting. Worst of all I just dropped everything that mattered for him. I stopped going to school. I stopped writing (some of the time). I painted less.

High school. Very few good memories there.

All the friends that vanished after high school.

The church family that I lost, when we all scattered to the four winds for college.

My old midtown condo in the ghetto. Hopefully I never have to hear somebody get shot ever again.

Finding out that my ex-sister-in-law was a whore and had been fucking another man behind my brother's back for a decade. And finding out that neither of my nephews were really ours.

The three drunkest nights of my life.

And I suppose physically I chopped off all the damaged, unhealthy hair that grew out of my head while I was a vegan.... Just not enough fat and protein in my diet.

ONWARD AND UPWARDS TO GLORY!

I LIVE!!

And my period makes me horny as hell. More theories on this and alternatively how to make microwave mug brownies later. (And yes, I've just finally obtained a computer to write from, so I should be more attentive from here on out)

Well that seems to be over. What next?

I believe my ex has found a new fuck buddy.

OHTHANKGOD!

His "lesbian" anime buddy.

Called it.

Moving on. Did not feel well today. Managed to convince a couple different coworkers to cover different parts of my shift. I didn't think Abbey was going to cover for me, so I was going to work  9 to midnight, but then she showed up a couple minutes after I did. YAY!

So I'm going to bake her and "Buttery" (seriously that's his last name. AWESOME.) cookies to thank them. Also I would really, REALLY like to get my life together.

And apparently one common aspect of really successful people is that they tend to keep some kind of journal. Now that I think about it, I think I tend to do better if I keep a consistent blog. So I'm gonna go for it. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED! Again!

So. AHEM. Dear... Journal? I need to lose weight, get packed for my move, work out more, spend more time with my puppy to make sure she's balanced and happy, spend more time with my friends, my artwork and my writing to make sure I'M balanced and happy. Do I want a boyfriend? Not sure. I think I'm going to see how weight loss and toning goes first.

 I want to finish my associate and get started on a four year degree. I'd like to have a masters that will facilitate work as an art therapist. I'd like to finish my novel and start another. In the mean time I will be sending my first out to see if I can't nab an agent. I would like a better job. Dream before college completion job: Clerical work in the Library system.

Before that, I think an extra part time job would be good. I don't think I'm cut out to be a receptionist. Every time I read the description of a job I think to myself "That sounds horribly boring!"

Also, I think I would like to set my home up a little more minimalist, so that I'm less easily distracted. I'm going to have less space in my new condo. That's definitely ok, I'm tired of taking charity from my family. This is still charity, yes, but I can pay for this charity.

Man, my ex's computer SUCKS. I think I remember why I so enjoyed the mac book. Maybe I CAN get it repaired. Updated. All that jazz. I can't believe they still cost a thousand dollars... GEEZ.

Oh, that reminds me. I'd like a tablet with a keyboard or else a net book. I also want some tattoos and a keyboard with weighted keys. A full keyboard. I'd also really like a mig welder and a few other sweet tools to start doing my own steampunk sculptures.

I think that pretty much covers it. I want to change my life. Here we go.

What am I doing with my life?

I just have to turn into a total asshole for a few weeks to get my ex to leave me alone.

FOR GOD'S SAKE I KICKED HIM OUT OF MY HOUSE! HOW MUCH CLEARER DOES IT GET?

Maybe If I just learned to say, "sorry I'm busy" or "sorry I'm really tired tonight" I'd be okay. Anyway About a week and a half ago we had a week of wild sex. The unprotected, pull out kind. Because he hates condoms and I'm an idiot. Now my period is a week late. I took a pregnancy test a few days after it should have started and it was negative. But apparently it could be a false negative? According to the internet?

It's ridiculous the amount of websites I found saying, "IT'S OKAY! YOU MIGHT STILL BE PREGGERS!" fuck "i-wanna-be-a-mommy-so-bad-i-wet-myself" sites. I need a OH GOD I CAN'T CARE FOR A CHILD RIGHT NOW! I CAN'T GET A GOOD JOB FOR SHIT! type site.

Because I can't. I just had an argument with my mother something along the lines of "You're 24 years old, what are you doing with your life??"

Failing.

Obviously.

I always thought I'd at least know what I was doing with myself by now. Know what to do, where to go, have a decent job to get me through it.

I did it

I never thought getting my ex out of my life would be so upsetting. But I finally just came out and said it. My friends had been pushing me to finally go through with it. Specifically C was worried that I would end up severely damaged, emotionally. Honestly I think I already need therapy.

Anyway she sent me a message about it, and I must have made an upset face. He was coming out of the shower and asked what was wrong. And I just went for it.

I said, "This is bad for me."

At first he didn't understand. But I repeated it and it just clicked. THIS. Is bad for me. He had to have known what he's been doing to me, right? This couldn't have just come out of nowhere.

He did admit to using me. And he gave me his keys. He gave me his keys. It's really over. I'm happy and miserable at the same time. Now I can finally start to get better. I can date without shame. Thank God. Thank you. I should probably hate God for all he's let me go through. All this and my grandfather died last week. Out of nowhere. While I was having a crisis of faith. Mom called and said he'd had a heart attack and I dropped my crisis and prayed. And he died anyway. How can something so twisted avert a crisis of faith? I think I'm right about this therapy thing.

I can't believe that deep down I was still hoping he cared. What a nightmare. He never did. I know that. He never even loved me. And every time I got into his stuff, like his computer and his phone, there was another dirty conversation or girl or photos or something.

He used me. All this time, he was just using me because I made it easy.

Yeah, I definitely need therapy.

Of note:

I am so miserable right now. I wonder if he knows that he's the reason why? I certainly hope he doesn't think that he needs to be around to cheer me up. All I want is to burst out of my silence and tell him that I don't want him around any more.

Easier said than done when we're both lounging around in our underpants and he's been trying to cheer me up all night.

I think the next time he hangs out at his place for a couple days (usually during the weekend when he has days off) I'll strike. And by strike, I mean that when he calls to hang out on the last night of his weekend because he's going to need a ride to work the next day, I'm going to tell him I can't. Then he'll have to fend for himself.

I hate sitting here in my house, knowing he's around, seeing him sit there and vegetate on his phone, playing games or texting girls or whatever he's really doing. He doesn't realize I'd be actually doing something with my life if it wasn't for him. That I'd have probably picked up a book or worked on my novel... Although I have been working on Mario 64, that counts as doing something with my life, in my book.

This depression is getting deeper. And the cure is to finally, at long last be alone. I've never wanted to be single so badly. I never knew I could want it so bad. To be free...

Parasite

I hate living this way. In his shadow. I think he's gone, life transforms into something beautiful. I feel free and happy. I work on my novel. And then bam. He runs out of money and runs back to me.

I am not your neighbors wi-fi.

I am not your taxi cab.

I am not your meal ticket.

I am not your tax help.

So stop acting like it. I hate this. I'm not alone in the house. but I am. Here he is, using me like a bed and breakfast with free public transit. And here I am. Not benefiting at all from his presence.  I just feel pathetic. I am lonely. I was happier when he wasn't around. For about a week, at best. I wrote twenty-five pages in my novel. It only took a couple days to realize that I LOVE living without him.

But then he ran out of money. And back he came. Only to get rides to work and eat my food. Occasionally he wants sex. He is a parasite. He survives off of my inability to tell him no.

I've found hell. How do I get out? I'm afraid to confront him. As always. This is my nightmare. You know, I had a couple nightmares while he was gone. One awful one about my father dying. And one where I thought I was at work. I looked up and there was my ex, walking in. The shock, surprise, and disappointment at seeing him actually woke me up. With a jolt. And there I was alone in my bed again.

I had that same feeling when I went to the renaissance fair this last weekend. All of my friends ditched on me at the last minute. So I went by myself. Lo and behold, not fifteen minutes into arriving, I saw him. Well, I saw his hair. He has a streak of bright red dyed into it. I know, I did it. I saw that, noticed that the tall guy next to him was his best friend, and fled in tears, hoping he hadn't seen me.

I ran. I felt like such a coward, pushing through the crowd, weeping like a teenage girl. I was upset because I didn't want to be confronted with him and all his friends, only for him to ask where my friends were. He could have warned me. He knew I would be there that day.

I called my mother and calmed down. He called me later and we met up, and it was fine. I suppose it worked out. If he'd run into me with my writing group in tow, they would have torn him a new one. They hate him. They know every single thing he's ever done to me. And they hate him. So does my gym buddy Kim. And all of my coworkers too.

They know that he hit me, that he dumped me twice for other women and made me feel like shit whenever he did me wrong. They know that I am afraid to confront him because I am afraid of him. They know how he has used me. I wish I could surround myself with these people at all times, so they would create a barrier between him and me. Then I might finally be free.

I wish I could hate him.

God? We don't talk as much as we used to. But I want him gone. Even though there's a part of me that could keep him around forever. Please. Kill that part of me. Give me the strength to be a jerk to him. Give me the emotional numbness I need to get rid of him. Please.

From this point on, I am saving up for a vacation. Two weeks in Philadelphia might clear my mind and ween my ex. I hope.

Of note:

It took everything in me to keep my mouth shut when you called yourself a genius tonight.

Receipt Rants

Another new section. For when all I can find to write out my anger is a a pen and a receipt.

Want(ed)(s) to bang our ex-roomie
Boob shots off of strangers with bigger tits
Apparently shooting girls down left and right (frankly they deserve better anyway)
Tells me Joe (his friend) never saw me as a person, just a rebound (wish he'd tipped me off)
Says he's just been staying in my life for the internet
Thought I'd look down on him for drinking/never partied because of me
After I get offended apologizes profusely until I claim to be over it
All the while I'm thinking "I hate you I hate you I hate you I HATE you."

Why My Ex is a Parasitic Ass: A Receipt Rant

Also, the number in the bottom left corner there is my blood pressure. Go me! At least I've got that to feel good about.

Of note:

Ex. No. You're nothing like Sora. Sora was basically a good guy. You’re not. You just want to be young, strong and adventure bound.

Of note:

I say a lot of harsh things about X. But I do care about him. I like having him around, even just in a friendy way. I don't actually hate anybody that much. Except Goth guy. I kind of wish he'd died, rather than my boss (the other person in the world I admit to having hated).

That's why I pop onto my blog. Because all this anger will dissipate. That's why I write down my horrible, hateful words. That way they don't fester inside my heart. Either they'd destroy my heart, or even worse, they'd pop out and I'd hurt somebody that I care about.

My angry rants protect my friends, family, customers, coworkers and even my ex. He may have messed me up on some level, but I was already messed up on a deeper level. I have a mindset that says I need to make myself really useful or else I won't be kept around. I feel like I need to be a door mat or something. Not true.

I just have to remember to give less the next time I have a relationship. Mom told me she used to be the same. She used to give guys everything, feed them, give them herself, etc. And it wasn't until she stopped doing that and turned into a bitch (her word, not mine. best mom ever.) that she started to get guys worth their salt.

It's happening. I'm gonna be awesome. Step one is my body. So I'm just going to have to try to be careful how I eat until I'm done with this class and can start taking the gym a little more seriously. Argh. But life's going to be busy at lots of times in my life.... Eh. It's happening. I will work really hard to figure this out. Just like with my class.

Life hate. Maximum life hate.

I hate myself.

I hate myself because I'm overweight. I know what to do to lose weight, I just don't feel like doing it. Consistently. I know I shouldn't eat it, I eat it, I stick my finger down my throat. How the fuck does that work? I find fun ways to exercise, I get a gym membership. I only do them sometimes. Why? It would be so easy and fun to be healthy. And it would be so easy to get guys. Simple, really. Sexy body plus my awkward but winning personality (just because I try to be nice and do good doesn't mean I can't take a little pride in it) is a winning lotto ticket. The golden equation, actually. Life would be so much more fun if I were prettier. No, wrong word. I am pretty, in my way. But I'd be accessible to more men if I was skinnier. No no, hear me out. I try to be open minded about guys. But frankly I won't touch a really obese guy. It just won't happen. Try as I might I won't be able to look past the folds. It's a real thing. And if I can feel that way, then I'm sure guys have the right to feel the same.

So that's gonna change. Golden goddess, here I come.

I hate myself because my ex will always control my life until he finds someone else. I won't get back together with him, that's not the problem. The problem is that he still lives here. I still worry. I still give him rides and pass out watching him play video games. I still get upset when he leaves for an indeterminate amount of time, or goes to his place. I still feel a little jealous that he's probably talking up all kinds of girls, and worry every time I fuck up and sleep with him that I'm going to turn into "the other woman" by accident, just because he's a man whore and I might not know if there's someone else.

He still flips his shit and yells at me sometimes. Maybe he'll someday yet again flip his shit and hit me. When my cycle was 2 weeks late and I told him it was a cyst he said he was kind of hoping it was a baby. Fuck, dude. What is your problem? You think it'd be cool to have a kid with me? YOU'RE CRAZYSAUCE! I should never have moved out with him. If I hadn't I wouldn't be stuck with him now. I can't date. I can't move on with my life. When he's around his laziness affects me and I can't get anything done.

I don't know if I have the guts to change that. Let's see how I do after step one.

I hate myself because I'm lazy. I can't read 100 pages in a whole day off. Mind you it's biology, not fiction, but that's no excuse. I'm taking a class, seriously just one class, and I accidentally signed up for the accelerated course. FUCKGAHDAMNSHITBAGELCUNTWAGON. Five chapters of plant biology in a week. Plus 2 lab activities, the lab activity I have to make up for from last week because my asshole coworker quit without notice and I got shacked with a shift on homework day, the beginning of the big class science project, which I haven't even begun to decide on, all 5 lectures to go WITH the chapters, and a quiz. In a week.

I am so glad I only took one class. 6 and a half weeks to go. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED. I WILL GET A FUCKING "A". Lol. Pun accidental but appreciated.

That one I can change. And so I will. Bitch.

Dear customer

If your bill is 21.76 and you give me 22 dollars, do NOT. Tell me to keep the change. YOU KEEP THE CHANGE, YOU FILTHY ANIMAL!!! Seriously. It's rude. I don't care if you do complement my hair and make pleasant conversation. This does not make me feel better. Do you even realize what they pay us? What is WRONG with you??

You know what? Every once in a while I will have a customer that apologizes and says they are so sorry, they can't tip me, or they can't tip me well. And you know what? I still count it as a stiff, but I'm not going to keep a grudge. I remember them with some friendliness. I know what it's like to be on the outs with money. I forgive. At least they were nice about it.

But if I see an 80 inch television in the background, attached to a ps3, an xbox360 AND a wii, and you tell me to keep the change? I will tell you to "have a day" as I turn and walk away with my 24 cent tip. I will remember you. I will go back to work and warn the other delivery drivers. I will warn the in-store employees. And the next time you call, they'll tell you it's 3 hours for a delivery.

Someday I'm gonna snap and say "Oh gee, thanks! 24 cents! That's so generous!" And then I will get fired. And I will be okay with that because I went out on a high note. I will have gone down in glorious flames. And they will tell stories of me to the new drivers for years to come.

That's right. Undying glory.

Bitch.

Of note:

I'm back at college. One online class. 8 weeks. Plant biology. Specifically, Plants, people and society. Just one class. Easy, right? Except that half of what was in the first quiz wasn't even IN the book.

THE FUCK IS A CARBON VALENCE SHELL? IT SOUNDS LIKE A DEFENSIVE DEVICE IN A STARWARS FANFICTION!

Of note:

Craaaap. I finally weighed myself post Christmas binge. CRAAAAAAAP. I gained 5 pounds. And I'm getting rid of it. THIS WEEK, DAMNIT! I figure I'm already miserable with my yeast infection. Might as well be starving too. Mmmm bananas. Just. Bananas.

Oh vagisil

Maybe you know what vagisil is. Congrats. You have either experienced a yeast infection, have had the.... pleasure.... of the company of a significant other that has suffered one, or you watch south park.

Gross.

Yeast infections are evil. Every woman will experience at least one in her life time. But there is a select few of very, very unfortunate women who will experience them over and over again, because apparently their vaginas hate them. Introducing your truly.


Never had one? Well fuck you. You lucky son of a fuck. I hate you. You can feel your special place rubbing against itself because it's a little swollen. It itches like all hell. You don't get wet. And it burns when you pee. I'm sure I've bitched about this before. But never in detail.

Solutions for yeast infections.... well I have to say that the companies are pure evil. A seven day cure costs 11 to 13ish dollars. Want a 3 day cure? Well that's gonna set you back 15 to 17 bucks. God forbid you want it gone tomorrow. A one day cure costs twenty dollars or more. And you know they probably all cost the same to make. Unfortunately they have us by the labia. We want the suffering to stop. Especially if we have a significant other.

For me, it looks like a week of celibacy, a 6 dollar tube of vagisil and a few days of going commando.

Basically, I have to keep it clean, dry, and ventilated. So I have magic wipes to keep it clean. And then I just play the waiting game. Thank goodness for vagisil. I go from suffering itchy burning to numb. It's amazing. And without it I'd probably kill a bitch. Any bitch will do.

In the mean time, I guess I'll snack on yogurt. Low fat yogurt.

Dear customer

No! I DON'T carry quarters, nickels, dimes and pennies. I have ones and fives. And no I don't have exact change for a hundred dollar bill. I have twenty bucks on me tops. And I happen to know that if you're paying with a hundred, then for whatever reason, you probably won't tip me anyway. It happens every time. So even if I have the change by some miracle, I'd just rather not risk it being a counterfeit. 

Stiff me the old fashioned way. With damp ones and greasy nickels.

With love, the pizza girl.

Dear customer

Please teach your rude, awkward, snot-nosed children how to tip. If they're old enough to pay for a pizza, then they're old enough to learn how much is appropriate to tip your delivery drivers and waiters.
 
I make 2 dollars less than the minimum wage because my boss thinks you people tip. And when your kid comes to the door, I know I'm getting stiffed.

With love, the pizza girl.

Dear customer

It's time to add a new element to this blog. I'm a pizza delivery driver. And I have things to say about that.

With love, the pizza girl.

Of note:

Damnit. Had to restart my counter.