06/27/00 (cont'd)
Okay, so ... I'm a bitch.
I was wrong about the object of my morning outburst turning deaf ears (or blind eyes, whatever--this web stuff gets me all confused) to my tirade. Oh, no, she rather paid quite close attention to it, and quoted half of it back to me in her response. And made me feel like an ass in the process.
God, this reads like a fucking public service announcement. BUT, now that you've been warned... Have we learned something today, kids? Isn't it time we all stopped judging each other and started loving each other, or at least, giving each other the benefit of the doubt prior to ripping each other new assholes? Okay, enough with the Mr. Rogers crap, you get the point, and I can't stand anymore of this "love thy neighbor" propaganda. In case you've been sleeping, my point is that I was a bit hasty to come down on her ass the way I did. So I read through her reply with my foot in my mouth...or on my keyboard...or something like that...
She did ask me what could have prompted my tornado. I thought about it. Is her life really that great a source of torment for me? Or am I just a hateful slug? And the more I considered this (as I have actually been considering it even before she responded) it began to dawn on me...it's not really the fact that she lives a cushier life than I do. She really doesn't, and I knew that before. She doesn't work half the hours I do and doesn't have to worry about a lot of the financial bullshit I do, but a lot of that financial bullshit is, admittedly, my own damn fault. I could have told Megan I didn't want to buy a house yet (and broken up with her a year and a half ago, haha), I could have lived much more frugally these last few years, and I sure as shit should have cut up every little plastic rectangle in my wallet eons ago. I didn't, and that sucks, but it's my cross to bear, not hers. Or anyone else's. (Except the ex-husband. I still hold him personally responsible for every wrong in the world.) So what is it, then, that drives me nuts-o when I read some of her postings?
Then I figured it out...I think. Part of it is the nonchalant, la-de-da manner in which she writes about things. Maybe she's just mellow to the point of narcolepsy, but it hits a nerve. My siblings (all younger, of course) have lived much better than I ever dreamed, and they have the same attitude. And it's kind of like a big slap in the face for me. My parents paid for my sister's first semester of college, and she failed every single class because she just stopped going. (Guess it cut into her time with Wife Beater. Bummer.) And she threw a shit fit when my mother told her she had to pay the last installment ($327) of her tuition because they weren't going to pay any more for her failing ass. If that little bitch only knew how deep I am in student loan debt, she'd choke. I guarantee it's more than she and her Wife Beater could afford to make payments on. So when I read X's almost dream-like accounts of life and it's like, "do you have any idea how good you have it?" Okay, so, apparently, she does.
Once again...so...I'm a bitch.
The other part of my reasoning is the most difficult part to swallow. It's because when I read her words about how "different" she is from the "working class," I would somehow envision her reading THIS journal and thinking to herself, "my, how quaint." Checking up on my trailer-park life just to see how the other half lives. Slumming, if you will. (I don't think she actually ever read anything before today, but I could picture it...) And that makes me feel the way I used to whenever my mother would be confronted with some person(s)--even me, at times--who she felt had it better than her and felt superior because of it. Shame, embarrasment...rage. My dad's brother had money--shitloads of it, in fact--and my mother absolutely hated having to visit their house. Their huge house. On the lake. With their boats. And my asshole cousin who went to Pepperdine. I loved going there because it was such a switch from our place. It was only after I got older that I started to realize that I wasn't supposed to enjoy going there, because they were smart and rich and better than us and we were PWT. Pretty fucking paranoid thinking, wouldn't you say?
Yes, it is. What makes it even more frightening is that it's only further evidence that I really, truly AM turning into my mother. Which makes me want to go hide under a rock and cry. Actually, if I am turning into my mother, I'd better go marry a car mechanic and start having kids, because as it is, I'm about 8 years behind.
Am I a hypocrite for being ashamed of my parents? Or did they teach me that I SHOULD be ashamed of them, and therefore, of all of us? What a horrible world we live in. How dare these simpering whiners go running around shrieking about how the queers or whoever are all out to corrupt the children. Seems like we all do an excellent job of corrupting our own. Yet another reason why the breeders should stop breeding. PLEASE.
Okay, so...like I said before...I'm a bitch. Consider this my public apology. And if she reads this, I hope she does, as well. I would post one to her message board, but I'm afraid she's probably rigged it to recognize my domain name and, upon doing so, infect whatever computer I'm using with several viruses that will spread to any computer I ever touch. Wonder if that would qualify me to receive disability? After all, typing is all I'm currently qualified to do. And if I couldn't touch any computers... This is worth looking into...
Oh, gee, a document production class has been scheduled for tomorrow morning and is MANDATORY. Ooooohh. Guess who won't be there? HA! Something else (and better) for me to bitch about--my last day is also the "Administrator" (read: babysitter)'s last day. He's "pursuing other opportunities." Yeah, right, they canned his ass because they figured out they could chuck his salary by giving one of the lawyers his job dutites and calling him "Administrative Partner." Anyway, I actually got passed a memo that is being sent to all the suck-retaries and "staff" (read: peasants) soliciting donations for a going-away cake and gift certificate for this man, who has been making more than double what most of us make! Can you say "balls," kids? I knew you could! I was actually gasping for breath, I was so apalled, and shocked, and disgusted, and flabergasted, and all the other words I can pronounce but can't spell. Dammit, just when I had been sufficiently humbled by Miss X, there go the fucking lawyers and piss me off again.
You know what else pisses me off? ("Oh, tell us, Angela, please, please, TELL US!") Speed bumps. I don't know if I've already mentioned it, but the City of KCMO genius board just installed THREE speed bumps on the street I fly up and down daily because there's a playground next to it. Hmmm...I haven't noticed any new speed bumps in front of the doubly-busy street next to the playground all the little nigra' kids use... So what is the City trying to tell me, that I should slow down for the uppity white children but not the little black ones? GIVE ME A BREAK. I'd like to mow them all down, personally. It would cut down on stroller traffic at the City Market, to be sure. If Little Junior can't walk, get him a damn wheelchair.
Gin and tonic, please. Tall. With an extra shot of gin on the side.
But wait, there's more...