Okay so here it goes. I’ve been trying for months to write about my feelings on the whole sordid subject of love. And let me tell you it isn’t as easy as it would seem. I know I’m the sunshiny girl that can write all kinds of flowery shit about rainstorms, springtime, best friends, and children. I can also write sexy and sad stuff. And of course there’s the writing about things that are super funny. But for love, I’m just stumped. I’m a girl that loves with all of her heart. Not very smartly sometimes, but I do my very best to love the right way. So why can’t I write about it? I’ve got more than one post residing in my draft file, because well, what I write is so damn whiny it makes me want to quite literally puke all over my computer! Sooooo I’ve decided to write about anger. Yes I know, it seems a strange subject for this glittery girl to write about, but hear me out. I think I’m going to tackle this in list form. I may elaborate or I may not. We’ll see how many times I can say the F word in one post….
I’m pissed that I can get so sad when life is really so damn good.
I’m pissed that my male friends think I have a penis and treat me like a dude. I’m all for a great dick joke and I laugh with the best of them. But come on I am a WOMAN, treat me like a delicate flower EVERY once in a damn while!
I’m pissed that I harbor my happiness on one person.
I’m pissed that I didn’t go to college.
I’m pissed that I don’t think I’m beautiful.
I’m pissed that people think I’m not shy. Because I really am. Just watch me blush.
I’m pissed that I’m pissed.
I’m pissed that Harry married Sally!
I’m pissed that I can’t write about love.
I’m pissed that I’m a stupid, sappy girl.
I’m pissed that my credit sucks and I have to work 2 jobs.
I’m pissed that I don’t live in Ann Arbor and I have to drive 70 miles round trip every fucking day. I LOVE Ann Arbor!
I’m pissed that I’m not 25 anymore.
I’m pissed that young people look at me like I’m old.
I’m pissed that I can’t walk away from a situation, even though it’s the best thing for me. And that I can’t back down.
I’m pissed that it seems like other’s lives are better than mine.
I’m pissed that I can’t write 24/7.
I’m pissed that as I write this I’m crying. GAH!
I’m pissed that I can’t eat like a normal person or I’ll get fat again.
I’m pissed that my best friend died of cancer and I don’t get to talk to her anymore. And bitch at her and tell her to get her ass home so I can hug her and have a big damn Pink Panty Dropper Drink with her.
I’m pissed that I’m a drunk and can’t get a good buzz on anymore.
I’m pissed that my friends will read this and not understand it.
I’m pissed that no one gets me!
I’m pissed that I can’t tell someone to fuck off and leave me alone and stop making me feel like my heart is going through a cheese grater.
I’m pissed that Roger Darling told me no more tattoos. Fucking A it’s my body. I want a gorgeous one that starts at the nape of my neck and goes all the way down the base of my spine to my ass. It’s broken hearts inspired by Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas. They’re all sewn together just like her. Just like me…..
I’m pissed that I’m an incurable romantic. I’m pissed that I’m an optimistic pessimist. I’m pissed, I’m pissed, I’m pissed. NOW I need to listen to some punk rock and slam dance the fuck out of someone.
Oh and I’m pissed that I can’t seem to hate. I just can’t. No matter how badly someone treats me, I do NOT have the capacity to hate. But I am NOT a doormat. And Honey don’t you ever forget that! Okay now I am spent. This shiny, happy girl needs a fucking drink. Of water….