So yea, you tell me I’m just like Dad: when I’m mad at someone, I think up the first comment to say that’ll hurt their feelings, just because I’m spiteful when I’m mad.
Well, look who’s the pot calling the kettle black?
How dare you call me “uncaring.” Sorry if I come down home sore and in pain and not feeling like doing dishes that I don’t even dirty after spending 4 hours straight fucking working my ass off. Sure, you do too, but you get to sit on your ass save for an hour or two. I don’t see your knee killing you.
Besides that, most of the days that I’m on dishes, I don’t eat at the house at all, because in case you hadn’t fucking noticed, I go to school. THOSE are the days that I complain about, cause I don’t dirty any dishes at all on those days, and yet you make me do the dishes. I don’t give a fucking give a shit if I do dishes on a day when I actually do dishes.
[Major swearing rant time]
So SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH YOU GODAMNED ASSUMTIONS! You know as well as I do I’m more fucking caring than most of the people in this FUCKING HOUSE!!! I hurt your feelings bvy cmoplaining? WELL YOU HURT MY FUCKING FEELINGS, AND I BET YOU DON’T CARE EITHER. I’m not careless, and don’t you EVER call me that again. EVERY single fucking time you yell at me, you say that. And I’m getting sick of it. So stop fucking calling me that. You’re SOOOO lucky that I didn’t decide to bitch at you after you said that earlier, cause I wanted to in the worst way, you don’t even know If, when you get mad at me, call me fucking names, THEN DON’T BOTHER FUCKING TALKING TO ME. You can’t even being to imagine how pissed I am at you right now. I want to do so much to make your life hell. Feel lucky that I’m NOT black hearted like you think I am. Don’t fucking talk to me.
[/Major swearing and rant time]
So yea, I’m extremely pissed at Mom. And, yes folks, I cussed and bitched out on this very blog. Why not? I’m bitched out Dad and Kimmie, so why not Mom. I have a headache. Talk to you when something happens. Which is most likely tomorrow or Christmas.
Merry fucking Christmas. Hope yours is better than mine is turning out to be.
December 24th, 2006 at 6:49 pm
[...] Tonight, twenty-five percent of my children hate me. Fifty percent of them appear to be ignoring me. The other twenty-five percent … well, I can’t really tell. [...]
Well I hope by now things have smoothed over a bit in your family. It’s not a great habit… keeping those things botled up. Anyways, dont make me get my beating stick. (I stole that from somone, but not entirely sure who.)
August 4th, 2009 at 11:28 pm
[...] know, after this and this and this, you would think that my parents, especially my dad, would understand what I think about [...]