10 December 2001 ~ [Maybe this time] I'll win...

Note: Helena was smart enough -- or stupid enough, depending on your view -- to sign a "confidentiality" document at her current place of business. Due to this, she must refrain from using any names or giving away identifying information. Damn. Sorry, but I'll do my best anyway...

Okay, so it started out as a decent day. That is, I woke up not feeling homicidal.

Things got progressively worse: a nasty little high school bitch attempted to taunt me (is it taunting if you're not REALLY all that bothered by it?), some people at Verizon pissed me off when I came home for my lunch break and tried to make a long-distance call, and I forgot to bring enough money to pick something up at Grand Central Café for lunch.

But shortly after lunch, something REALLY fucking awful happened...

A file was delivered to the mortgage department of the bank. Some of the Office Girls gathered around it. Interested, I listened in to see what, exactly, was so great about this file.

The Office Girls liked the name of the woman applying for the mortgage. One said: "It sounds like a fake name, or something out of a fairy tale!" Another said: "It sounds a little racist to me."

I listened more closely. I waited until somebody repeated the name aloud.

I recognized the name. I felt like throwing a garbage can or something. I restrained myself. It wasn't easy.

I don't understand why this woman would be applying for a mortgage through my bank. After all, I heard she moved away a couple of years ago. MAYBE it isn't the same person. But, as evidenced by the Office Girls' delight, it's NOT a common name.

I haven't spoken her name aloud in probably a couple of years; haven't thought of her in probably a couple of years... Shit, I'm almost sure I wouldn't recognize her if I ran into her on the street now. ...At least, not with all her clothes on.

[Insert bitterness here.]

It's really rare that I let people GET to me, you know? No, that isn't true, exactly. I let people get to me all the time. But it's incredibly rare that I don't forgive people for fucking with me. I rarely just let myself go on hating people. Being bitter doesn't solve much of anything, you know? Being angry at somebody doesn't do anybody any good, especially when smacking them isn't an option, and you really have no way of letting them know you're really pissed off; might as well just get over it, right? And I almost always do. It's just THIS woman... gahd DAMN, I haven't seen her in damn near five years, and I STILL want to kick the shit out of her, just at the sound of her stupid name.

For HER:

You thought you were SO damned special, now didn't you? You thought you could just push me around, because I was a few years younger than you and a few hundred pounds lighter. You thought you had every right to talk to me the way you did, even though YOU were the slimy, ugly, nasty, BITCH wearing nothing but a towel. You thought you could talk to me like I was just this disposable piece of trash or something -- well, let me tell YOU who's disposable, Miss Thing: it SURE as hell isn't Helena. Tell me I'm "interrupting" and ask me to leave, will you? I can't BELIEVE I actually left. I should have stayed. I should have grabbed your supersized panties and flung them out the window. The things you said to me when nobody else could hear were HORRIBLE, and NO, I haven't forgotten, and NO, I don't plan on forgiving you. But you know what? Bitch, Helena TOOK YOU OUT in the end. Helena took you out for coffee and poured a hot latté in your lap.

By the way, I hope you don't think this is a jealousy thing. It was, a little. But it was a hell of a lot more than that. I can't even FATHOM how you, you stupid cow, could disrespect me the way you did, just inches out of earshot from one of my oldest and dearest friends. The things you said to me, the way you tried to tell me I MEANT NOTHING, that I was totally inadequate. Inadequate? Compared to YOU? Oh FUCK you and the broom you rode in on! I was nothing more than an INTERRUPTION, you said? Oh, indeed, I may have interrupted your wonderful little afternoon, but girl, if I could, OHHHH, if I could, I'd take a nice little "DENIED!" stamp to your sweet little mortgage file, and give you a REAL interruption to bitch about! Gahd HELP you if I find that file on a bad day and nobody's looking. If I had maybe one or two more ounces of guts, I'd take a lighter to it. I'd stuff it into my bookbag -- the one you kicked? Remember? -- and bring it down to the Parlour City Commons after work, and set it ablaze just like I set that STUPID TOWEL ablaze.

I can still smell the pungent odor of that towel burning. Too bad you weren't wearing it that night we lit it up!

...Oh forget it; I wouldn't burn your file. You're not worth losing a job. You weren't worth losing a friend, and you aren't worth losing a job. As a matter of fact, you're COMPLETELY worthless to me! You're just one big fat horrible memory to me.

But OH, how well I remember it! How well I remember that afternoon! How UGLY your were, your face sort of distorted as you hissed at me to leave! And those nasty words: "Excuse me, but you're not really WELCOME here you know? You're kind of interrupting my afternoon? Um... I don't know what you're trying to do, but why don't you just leave?" You were so, so ugly.

You may have won that day. You won a few battles. But Helena's got it ALL over you, Lady-the-Tramp. Hey! The last time I heard your name spoken aloud, it was by somebody who was telling me what a rotten choreographer you are! No, sweetie, I'm sure I couldn't do any better than you. But I'm QUITE sure I'm better than you at a number of other things. One of them being TACT. One of them being KINDNESS. One of them being a little bit of consideration for a heartbroken teenager. You won that day, but let me tell you, NOBODY makes Helena feel inadequate and gets away with it for long. And you know? I'm SURELY not inadequate. I'm quite a lovely person, really. It's doubtful that you'll ever see THAT side of me, but that's not important. The people I love have seen that side of me. Gahd knows what ANY of them ever saw in YOU. Indeed, I'm quite a lovely person. I'm good at what I love to do. I'm a pretty good friend to those I care about. Hey, I'm not even too shabby in bed! ...Oh, and I wear a towel a LOT better than you.

Gahd I hate you. We ALL ended up hating you. Oh, maybe not ALL; I won't speak for everybody. But the bonfire we had that night was well-attended, and it's not like anybody was really weeping. Naturally, we replaced the towel. Green may have been your color, you monster, but we liked red better. I looked nice in the red towel.

You're SO not even worth the time this entry is taking me! After all, "two years from now, none of this will really matter." It's about damned time you stopped mattering.

...with that said, indeed, you, and your stupid "fairy-tale" name, cease to matter. Rest in peace, you cuntrag; you cease to exist anywhere in my world. But, for what it's worth, before I go to bed, let me say that I hope everything you said to me that afternoon has been said to you a hundred thousand times, and I hope it hurts you as much as it did me. I hope it feels like flames.

Good GAHD that felt good!!! SO much better than smacking a pillow!

Gotta go now; there's a show tune stuck in my head, and I gotta play it once before I go to bed, or I'll dream it all night...

[Maybe this time] I'll win...
~Helena*