You Know What Pisses Me Off?
The fact that people are only out for themselves anymore, bunch of self-serving bastards.
Blood, water, it never matters. My biggest plight in life seems to be that I am always a victim of circumstance, losing friends and family left and right for reasons that were never quite clear to me, until today. Luckily, my racing mind gets me out of the jams that are created by my anxious heart.
The Flop
On one hand, I have a cousin who just came into my life about a year ago, following a tumultuous divorce with a womanizing drug addict with whom she still wants to be. She never had much to do with me our whole lives; and I almost forgot she existed until she needed someone's coat tails to ride here recently. You see, I found out that her mother sent her to me for what she called "Bitch Lessons," and boy did that girl become my star pupil. Knowing this I did it still, feeling humbled by the mere notion of being needed. I shouldn't have been such a dumbass.
And I don't give a fuck if she reads this and gets ticked either. My job as a teacher of "Bitch" doesn't end simply because she's done doing homework. Had it not been for me, she would still be wallowing in obvious self-pity, instead of masking it with a slutty lifestyle and feigned strength through Facebook statuses. Then again, I think she's still just as broken on the inside, having only picked up from me ways to appear as if she's mentally and emotionally stable. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, is it not?
And I don't give a fuck if she reads this and gets ticked either. My job as a teacher of "Bitch" doesn't end simply because she's done doing homework. Had it not been for me, she would still be wallowing in obvious self-pity, instead of masking it with a slutty lifestyle and feigned strength through Facebook statuses. Then again, I think she's still just as broken on the inside, having only picked up from me ways to appear as if she's mentally and emotionally stable. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, is it not?
One the other hand, I have a male friend with whom I'd grown rather close to in the recent months. It was as if he was the male version of myself, or so I thought. Some people are just really good at doing impressions in the mirror - jesters who sneak into my court to perform. After a series of awkward moments, our once spotless friendship became more like something out of horror movie and less like something out of a comedy. I plan to have the last laugh.
Instead of the emotionally closed-off bastard humbling himself to say that he was sorry after running his mouth, or instead of relinquishing the fact that he had developed feelings for me during our friendship, he decided to psychoanalyze me into the ground, to elevate himself above that pesky love thing. Subtle Facebook jabs via his status, and cloaked attempts to start the argument again would follow, but by the time he reappeared on my radar, I was so over the bullshit that I couldn't care any less if I had either of those bitches in my life or not. I figure 29 years without them, what's 29 more?
Instead of the emotionally closed-off bastard humbling himself to say that he was sorry after running his mouth, or instead of relinquishing the fact that he had developed feelings for me during our friendship, he decided to psychoanalyze me into the ground, to elevate himself above that pesky love thing. Subtle Facebook jabs via his status, and cloaked attempts to start the argument again would follow, but by the time he reappeared on my radar, I was so over the bullshit that I couldn't care any less if I had either of those bitches in my life or not. I figure 29 years without them, what's 29 more?
Meanwhile, I just finished writing my first book. I'm so exited about it but I have nowhere to put my energy except for into this blog. Neither of my parents seem to give a fuck about what their daughter is doing - I go months without hearing from them although I live 5 minutes from my mother and 30 minutes from my dad. They both regularly see my other siblings though.
I mean, I guess I took all the fun out of it when I stopped being a fuck up and started getting my shit in order. Maybe they just don't feel needed anymore; or maybe I just need to stop needing them altogether. Either way, I think they can both successful kiss my ass as I climb it to the top of my potential.
I mean, I guess I took all the fun out of it when I stopped being a fuck up and started getting my shit in order. Maybe they just don't feel needed anymore; or maybe I just need to stop needing them altogether. Either way, I think they can both successful kiss my ass as I climb it to the top of my potential.
And what about the special man in my life, you ask? Well, he snoozes more than a newborn kitten, treats me like a queen when he is awake, and never wants to fuck me . . . ever, unless of course I come on to him. It's like he's afraid of the pussy or something; and I am not okay with chasing down the dick. Can't I get a man who knows how to sweep a woman off her feet, but then also knows how to make her toes curl? Is that too much to fucking ask for Christ's sakes?
The Turn
So here I sit, once the host of a weekly get-together, empty handed, looking for a new place to start, while wondering if I even want to start at all. I suppose one of my biggest problems in life is that I give a shit when I know better; and that pisses me off to no end. When I don't care, everything falls apart. When I do care it still falls apart, only insult gets added to the inevitable injury. It's enough to make a person question the value of their very existence.
That pisses me off too - that someone, anyone, can have that kind of effect on what I had previously assumed to be a relatively strong psyche. Letting someone get to you because they are an incomplete person is like cutting off a chunk of your life and handing it to them to burn. They can't even manage their own shit; don't let them touch yours.
Damn this big, hopeful heart of mine; and damn those dickheads for being such cunts with it. I tell myself I'll never do it again: I say "this is the year I will stop giving a damn about . . ." But the denial tastes so delicious that I seem to devour it at every turn. It's either that or I'm fucking insane. But aren't we all insane just a little?
The River
People want to say that life, love, friendship, and family are not games. Still, it seems that the popular trend is for folks to treat these things like some sort of emotional lottery - a scratch-off ticket that can be thrown away when the reward isn't what you expect. Modern society is like a bunch of old ladies at the bingo hall, buying pull-tabs by the handful, rubbing their charms for good luck, smoking themselves into the grave, and pissing me off while they do it.
I'm thinking: if this is how I am supposed to approach relationships, then I better start learning how to play better poker. My chips are getting low as hell, and I'm no longer interested in buying myself back into the game. I'm at a table with a bunch of pussies anyway. While I'm busy going all-in, everyone else is folding before the flop.
P.S.
Tiffany Grandstaff hails from the heartland of central Indiana, just north of Indianapolis; and she resides there still, raising her three sons. Grandstaff began her writing career at an early age, and she remembers sitting in her room writing on the floor, "getting older alongside the cherry tree growing outside my bedroom window," she says. Her skills were further enhanced at Indiana University (IUK), but the final honing came through her work as an independent online reporter for Yahoo!, UnCorporateMedia.com, and at a local newspaper as their features reporter. This is Grandstaff's debut work; but she has plans to take over the world right from her kitchen table. Grandstaff decided to pen this work (Brain Rape: You Were Asking for It) after being fired, but that’s another juicy story. Coming soon!
