I am so pissed off...
Peter called me at work to complain about how awful his latest trip to NYC had been, so I invited him over for dinner -- having ditched him on Movie Night last week. But he stood me up. (Did I expect better? Did I really, honestly expect any better?)
So I went out looking for him, thinking, "well hey, I'll meet him halfway; maybe he's just late..." But no, he wasn't anywhere to be found, and instead, I ended up getting cruised... or whatever you call it. This fucken nasty, creepy-looking old dude circles my block THREE times, honking and waving and making semi-obscene-looking gestures out his car window at me. I flipped him off twice, and ran like hell when he pulled over. I memorized his license plate number -- Virginia, YXT-9484 -- and tried to call the police when I saw him driving by AGAIN, but no, "all lines are currently busy; please try your call again later!"
Fuck that shit! I could have been fucking raped and bleeding had Mister Nasty been a few decades younger and more agile, and would it have mattered to Bell Atlantic? Well, shit no. Just as long as they get their 35 cents.
Mister Nasty drove by another time, but by that time, I just ran. Of course, I'd gone out barefoot, because I'd expected to run into Peter within a block or two of my house, and ended up running a good ten blocks away from Mister Nasty, who continued to follow me...
Asshole. So I'm wearing a damned tank top -- it's fucking hot out; doesn't mean I'm looking to get laid by Mister Nasty. So I'm a young woman in a tank top -- just because I'm a woman in a tank top doesn't mean I'm fucking CHEAP.
I'm pounding the keyboard very, very hard right now... I think running ten blocks did something to my adrenaline level or something... For the first time in at least a week, I'm pissed off enough to go into my room, put on "Break Stuff" at loud as possible, and maybe rip some papers or throw some books or something...
But you know, I've been doing very, very well lately with managing my anger and frustration. I haven't blown up at anybody in months -- except for one itty-bitty minor incident with an email and an asshole -- and I've been very good about giving people the benefit of the doubt and not assuming the world's out to get me. Oh well. At the moment, I feel like I'm out to get the world.
So, after I finish this entry, and finish up my four-course meal (that, yes, involved some slaving over a hot stove on a 90-something-degree night) ALONE, I'm going to go into my room, play loud, pissed-off music, and throw shit at my walls until my arms hurt.
NO ONE makes Helena Thomas feel CHEAP.
~Helena*
"Everything is FUCKED! Everybody SUCKS!" --Limp fucking Bizkit, my only contact with Gen-Y.