06 July 2000 ~ Sobe soy, Jeff's argument, and Garrett the shithead...

...breathe, Helena, just breathe...

First of all, I do not recommend the new Sobe soy drinks. They're very artistic-looking - something you'd definitely see in some chic little coffeeshop someplace, kind of a bohemian cross between a big fattening cheesecake and a vegetarian burger. They come in these pretty glass jars with pretty labels and pretty opaque colors that actually look semi-natural. Apparently, they're made with all kinds of good healthy stuff, or something, but I've got to tell you; for the past 20 hours, I've felt VERY unhealthy... My bowels are screaming bloody murder and cursing the day they ever met a Sobe soy peaches-and-cream drink. Oops. Guess I learned my lesson: not everything that's a pretty color should be put in your mouth.

[Aaron, don't you DARE comment...]

*sigh*

That isn't what this entry is about. This entry is about how much I hate people today. Especially little boys.

I decided while at work that I was seriously infuriated at Jeff and Boyfriend. Not that I'm going to let them know it; no ma'am, I don't think so. But for gahd's sake, they had some DAMN nerve last night! Begging me to let them stay out of the goodness of my heart. And when they realized that there was no goodness left for them, they reasoned that they HAD been buying groceries and paying for the cable bill, so that should count for their part of the rent, despite the fact that all they ever bought was pasta and I didn't WANT cable in the first place. (Oh, and the fact that most of the groceries they brought home were from the food pantry anyway...) Then, when they realized I don't eat their food and don't watch their TV, Boyfriend yelled, "Well we bought your TOILET PAPER! You WIPE YOUR ASS because of us!"

In the grand scheme of things, my friends, it's the people who provide others with ass-wipe who are sure to go to heaven.

[I'm laughing so hard, remembering that, that tears are streaming down my face... I cannot believe they think buying toilet paper entitles them to live here for free! Gahd, what stupid, stupid people! Oh yes, and on a related tangent, I've got a ton of toilet paper stock-piled in my bedroom; I acquired it through my own means... So seriously, even if butt-hankies were reason enough to let somebody live in your house, I've got plenty of it myself; I don't need anybody's assistance in taking care of that particular personal need...]

So Jeff disconnected the cable box, because that's "his" and I'm not entitled to anything of his anymore, now that he's not entitled to a free ride. I guess I'll have to make do without Lifetime for a little while.

Oh yes! And their excuse for buying each other jewelry instead of paying bills was, "YOU CAN'T TELL US NOT TO BE IN LOVE AND GET MARRIED!"

I wanted to send them to their room to stand in separate corners. Actually, I kind of wished Daddy was around so that he could give each one a good hard spanking before I sent them to their room to stand in separate corners. Anybody willing to be Daddy for this occasion can email me with a resumé.

I seriously can't believe the way they treated me. They refused to give me rent money, and when I inform them that there are consequences for not paying the rent, they treat me like I'm just horrifically evil. As a matter of fact, Jeff called his mother and had her yell at me for being a terrible, heartless person. I gently informed her that her son had been completely irresponsible regarding bills and rent payments, and that it was neither MY nor HER responsibility to clean up after him. I encouraged her to let him deal with his own problems. There wasn't much she could say to that; obviously the poor woman didn't want to see her kid and her kid's significant other go homeless, but she knew damn well they'd been taking advantage of me, and she knew damn well she didn't want them coming to her place.

So. This makes it official: I have never successfully lived with anybody.

"You CAN'T live alone!" Peter chided me this morning. "What're you going to DO?"

"What do you mean I can't live alone?" I argued. "What's the difference going to be? I pay all the rent anyway! The only thing I'm going to miss is the fighting and fucking noises coming from their bedroom, and I don't see that as being essential to a high quality of life."

"I mean, YOU." Peter paused. "I mean, YOU can't live alone."

Fuck that shit. I can live alone. I can do ANYTHING alone. I'd rather NOT, but I can. If I don't have anybody to talk to sometimes, fine by me. Maybe now that Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-dumber are leaving, I'll be able to invite people over without being horribly embarrassed at the two of them lying around the living room in their underwear. If I don't have anybody around the house to socialize with, or anybody in my bed to sleep with (Not that Jeff and Boyfriend EVER filled that spot, for the record...) -- well, fuck, I'll be fine. I'm a writer, for gahd's sake; I love solitude.

So, to everybody who thinks I cannot make it on my own, you are all cordially invited to (*ahem* -- this isn't going to be ladylike; some of you may want to cover your ears...) bite my clit.

So whatever. That's all I have to say about Jeff and Thinger. I don't like either of them very much, and my feelings regarding their moving out are ones of sweet freedom. End of story.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I went to see Peter after completing my shift at work. I asked if he wanted to come over; I bought food yesterday, including The Good Kind of pickles, orange juice, saltines, and a couple of steaks. He said, sure, he'd come over after work sometime.

I asked him when he'd be over. He hadn't been very specific. He said he didn't know.

And the shithead standing next to him heard the whole conversation and had his own comment to add:

"So, Peter, do you know about what time you're coming over?"

"No, I really don't have any idea." (That probably means he won't show up and/or already has other plans he couldn't mention to me; I've learned Peterspeak pretty well...)

And then, the dumb piece of garbage standing next to Peter, a TransWorld employee named Garrett, spoke up, "Peter, you're so desperate for sex you'd go home with HER?"

Infuriated, I barely heard Peter's reply, although I believe it was something like, "That has nothing to do with it." I've noticed that Peter and I are both pretty weak on the come-backs when people make crude inferences about our relationship. Peter was sort of hanging his head and trying to come up with some excuses or something, which made me all the angrier. It was at that point that I stormed out of the store determined to hurt somebody.

I am VERY VERY sick of the sexual comments and rumors about myself. Peter had jokingly called me a whorem before Garrett entered the conversation, and okay, maybe you could consider that funny coming from somebody who thinks jokes about truck stops are funny, and I don't think there was MUCH maliciousness in it, but I fail to see any humor in commenting on two people's sex life with one another, particularly when you're not even sure they HAVE one. I mean, it's not like we stand there groping at each other and making comments about how great last night was; what gives ANYBODY the right to comment?

The only people who should be concerned with who I am sleeping with are the people I am sleeping with, and by the way, that's not a lot of people, nor has it ever been.

And not only that, but "DESPERATE"??? Now people have to be DESPERATE to find me attractive?

Four months ago, I would have gone home in tears. Four months ago, I would have been depressed for days. You just DON'T say those kinds of things to people. And maybe I'm a bit oversensitive, but I have gotten a LOT better about taking people's comments personally, and this one was just WAY too offensive to me. Instead of going home in tears, I went home vowing to set Garrett's porch on fire before I'd see him finish out the month of July at his current job.

So. That was my entry explaining why I hate people today, particularly little boys.

~Helena*