Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Just Stay in Canada Assmunch

The last four days have felt like a hundred.

I have been a bitchitus megatus this week. Just pissed off about some work bullshit and I am not handling it. My little mantra about not controlling other's behavior so I should just let it go blah blah blah? Wouldn't it be so much more fucking awesome if I could control other people's behavior?

Seriously, the world would be better.

Plus, the entertainment value. There is this guy that Monica and I really hate at work, Games, and I could torture him. No really, he is awful, this is using my powers for good instead of evil. I could make him go to a meeting with the president of the company with an M & M stuck in each nostril.

He would look better anyway.

I will have a good weekend though. Just want to sleep in and clean up the house a bit. Maybe go take some batting practice. Mellow weekend.

When J and I were first together one of his favorite things to do was brush my hair. I had long hair and he would just sit behind me for what seemed like hours brushing it. I am a sucker for people playing with my hair and I loved it. Plus, we would have these amazing talks about the most interesting and the most ridiculous things.

That memory alone makes me want to grow my hair out.

Combine that with the desire to have something new and be able to wear a ponytail again and you have diabolical combination.

I am so manic about my hair. I always want it to be different.

J, of course, has heard this all before so he didn't say much when I told him I was growing it out. Truth is, I probably won't make it much past the chin. I never seem to.

Oh. And I was so pissed at him today. Fucker was going with Keithy to Blaine, which is the border town between the US and Canada, to pick up some parts for Keith's car. He is taking my car (picking it up at the park and ride, bringing it back before I come home). No problem.

He leaves me this voice mail that they are going into Canada and staying the night. So I call him up and ask him if they took my car (he says no). So I told him to have fun and he says that he's kidding.

Then he acts like I am mad and tells Keith that he is in trouble.

First, I don't get how this is a joke. Because it wasn't funny. Second, he has never "been in trouble" because I am not his goddamn mother.

I don't care if he goes to Canada--he can move to Canada. Just leave my car here. Because I ain't walking home.

A lot of these guys have controlling girlfriends or wives. I am not controlling. And I hate being treated that way. You want to bitch about me? Go ahead. Bitch about something that is true. Say that I am sloppy and don't do laundry until I am out of underwear. Say that I get bored easy and fuss with my hair too much. Make fun of how many pairs of black boots I have and how I die my hair my natural color. But for crying out loud let us pick something that is true.

Otherwise I just might turn into the bitch you are complaining about.

6:35 p.m. :: comment ::
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