Picture that day at the beach when you spent all day in the sweltering heat and built that absolutely perfect sandcastle- the one with the four towers and drawbridge and walls with the tiny brick lines carved out with a twig. And then asshole frat boy coppertoned backwards baseball capped one earringed shit-faced guy trips over your castle trying to catch a Frisbee his douche friend tossed him and collapses your hard days work to the ground.
That is what the past few days have felt like. Like my castles are getting smashed. (
Alright, I knew I mentioned in previous blogs I was going to maintain an upbeat attitude and not complain about bad situations and focus on making them better instead, blah blah blah, well sorry kids, but I need to vent a little. And since I am pms-ing, I feel I have earned the right….
I’m just so sick of people. In general, you know? Like, if you’re not going to contribute anything to my life, why the fuck are you bothering me?
Okay, so we had this big presentation in graphic design today, and since I have decided to not take any more design classes after this semester I was pretty stoked to be done with what has essentially been our entire class work cut and cropped into one nice portfolio piece. No one outside my design class can appreciate this. No one understands how hard artists work for what little appreciation and recognition they get. I’m sick of people not realizing how hard I work or thinking I have it easy doing what I do. I’m also annoyed with people who think it’s okay to try and make me feel guilty when I refuse to hang out with them due to the fact that I need to work on my art (“oh, what, you can’t blow off homework for one night?” no, no I can’t actually, so piss off). Or if they ask me how I am and I explain the immensely stressful creative processes I am fighting through and they shrug it off. No one understands that no job, no person, no “big picture” thing in my life will EVER be more important that my art and I will not be condemned for that choice, nor will I accept any sort of criticism. So don’t think that you’re so important that I wouldn’t choose a night in the studio verses hanging out with you.
(Hate me baby maybe I'm a piece of art...)
Second on the list of annoyances: my dear mother. I don’t even know where to begin with her. I don’t know what I would do without her, I love her very much, sometimes I think she’s the only one that I could ever talk to, but other times I wish she would pack up and move to Florida or some other serotonin-induced state. That woman is depressing as shit. I think every other phone call I make to her ends up with her in tears. She cries because she doesn’t have a job, she cries because she’s lost 60 pounds in less than a year (because she doesn’t have money for food), and she cries because our house is falling apart and we have no money to fix it. She’s penniless, hopeless and mal-nourished. Which in turn makes me sad, yes, but on the other hand it’s not as if I can very well help her out. But I talk to her and listen to her cry and lie to her and say everything will be alright.
The thing is though, when I am upset, when I cry, when I’m sad about something, she doesn’t say it will be alright. She doesn’t have any words of encouragement. She tells me what I did wrong, how she would have done things differently and how I need to get over myself. Also, she’s really not been happy with the fact I’ve been on anti-depressants, saying that “you don’t need those, they’re just wasted money, you’re not clinically depressed, you’re situationally depressed” and she writes in emails to me “I wish I could afford the luxury of ‘happy’ pills” and “you have another 20 dollars on your student account, is that for your ‘drugs’?” Gee Mom, maybe if I wasn’t born to an emotionally instable poor woman who cries all the time and had some decent friends that didn’t treat me like shit and didn’t have to worry about money all the time and suffer through bouts of insecurity I would be so depressed!!!! Did you think of that? Did you? No, no you did not…
So I went out last Friday night. I had a really great time, got a little drunk, escaped the torment of school for one evening. And I spent 3 dollars at a joint in Old Town on a slice of pizza. Seeing as I only had 6 dollars in my checking account, I felt kinda guilty for it. Tonight I get an email from my mom- “I see on your account balance you spent 3 dollars at a bar. It must have been a new punk rock bar in Fort Collins. You must have bought a beer.” I wrote back to her (and I quote) “no, Surfside is NOT a punk rock bar. it's not even a bar, it's a pizza joint that HAS a bar. it's got a california-ish theme, kinda feels like halfway between lords of dogtown and the beach boys. hence the "surf" in the name. and no, the money was not for beer, it was for a huge slice of pizza. and it's not a new place in fort collins, it's been around for years...”
I am fucking sick of being poor. I wish I could live a life where I don’t feel guilty for spending 3 dollars.
The last source of irritation (not really the last, but the last for now seeing as I am getting very sleepy..) is MEN. FUCKING MEN. WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM? I MEAN, REALLY?
And why is it that only the creepers ever show any sort of real interest in me? Like for instance this guy- I knew him in high school, we’re not really friends, but I see him around the art building and campus sometimes- stops and talks to me every time he sees me. Even if he’s riding his bike or heading the opposite way, he will get off said bike and turn around and walk the way I’m walking! And when I have my headphones in, wave at him, turn up the volume and keep walking, he comes up and punches my shoulder to get my attention. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! It’s like, fuck dude, we’re not even friends and if we were, it is still not okay to punch my shoulder unless you want to be shanked.
Or this one guy- several (scary) years older than me- doesn’t even live in this state, MET ME ONE TIME and got my number through a mutual friend and suddenly started sending me all of these really flirty texts. Not even kinda-cute-in-a-nerdy-way flirty, I mean vomit-inducing-call-the-cops flirty. “Hey sexy girl, what are you up to my sweetheart?” or “How are those sexy long legs of yours doing?” and despite my “I’m taking a nap, leave me alone” responses, I still got “well sleep well, my Juliet, until tomorrow we part.” So disgusting I could slit my wrists, drink my blood and throw it up all over my bed.
I have other boys and other examples, but I really can’t go on with this much longer, so I’ll leave it at those two…
Where did guys ever get the ideas that it is okay to treat girls like this? Like some sort of sickly parasite? Sometimes I feel like wearing a big sandwich board that says “LEAVE ME ALONE, CREEPERS.” Or I could make a tee-shirt that reads “UNLESS I TALK TO YOU FIRST, YOU NEED TO BACK THE FUCK OFF.” It’s just so frustrating…
Also, I get condoned a lot for being a “tease” and “oh, well you’re so sexually aggressive, you deserve all of this attention from these guys.” WHERE THE HELL DO YOU GET THAT IDEA FROM?!?! Just because I am lively and witty…
Jesus fucking Christ, it’s already one in the morning. I need another midol and possibly a valium. Oh and another thing, yes, I take a lot of over the counter drugs, probably more than I need to, and no, this is not some sort of crutch, I am not dependant on them, I don’t care if you think it makes me “pathetic and weak” (that’s right, I’m quoting you, you stupid bitch..) you can fucking SUCK MY DICK…
Ah, it’s nice to blog.
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