2004-12-01 - 9:54 p.m.
Ramona, as predicted, is ramonaliscious. All take note!
Last night God sent the plague of one cockroach. One you say? That's just a coincidence. But that's what God wants you to think, because he is quite economical, and knows that when it comes to Babs, one is all you need.
After last night's parental bitching, (which okay may have slightly broken a commandment, but I don't believe in god so do I really have to stick to the commandments?? anyway...) I walked into the house just in time to see a roach scurry into my room.
Ha, ha, ha. Good one God. Cue Babs sleeping on the couch in the living room. With the light on and my hands over my head to protect myself from possible roach attack. I don't know, it made sense at the time, and you don't know how much roaches freak me out.
So I'm a bit headachey and cranky-pantsed right about now. Please note this. You know what else I hate?
Segues that don't make sense?
Well, that too. But no: Presumptuous people. You tell them stuff and they come back to you with an interpretation that is just so blatently wrong (yes, yes I know that interpretations are subjective and thus usually there can be no right-wrong applied, but sometimes when a person starts with specific mental baggage or without specific mental baggage they come out with stuff that is just COMPLETELY CRAP, and usually totally not even related to what you were telling them about) and yes you just look at them and think "Wow, I do not know of a way you could have understood me any less," and then you continue staring and add "I could have translated what I was saying into Latin and THEN told it to you and you still could not have been any less able to comprehend what I was communicating," and then you throw in confused eyebrows for emphasis.
Somewhat relatedly, I really don't appreciate people who make judgements on things they know nothing about. Sam from the guestbook -- thank you for your advice, I'm sure it was well meant, but frankly you know nothing about me or my family. Come back and tell me it's not that bad when you've lived in my family for 2 decades. Come back and tell me when you've had eating disorders and depression without them bothering to notice. Come back and tell me when they rely on you for every other thing and never bother to thank you. Come back and tell me when you're watching one of them die a little bit every day, while the other one expects you to run the household. Come back and tell me then, because it all sounds like crap to me now.
Do I have a right to be angry about this? Maybe to a point I've surpassed. Sorry random guestbook messager who will probably never even see this entry. It just hit SUCH a wrong button with me. And it is my diary, I have a right to rant about these and other situations, though just locking it is evergrowing in appeal...
I'm so tired of this living situation. Today I came home and got yelled at because I don't clean enough. Who am I, Cinderella? I mean I know I'm not doing enough, but maybe you could set an example and show me where to start? Because I can't do this on my own, and that's what I'm faced with.
Ehhhhhh. That would be my cue to throw my hands up in the air. Note the swoosh sound. Now that I've got all that out, I should be parent-rant-free for a nice solid 'nother 2 years.
Last night God sent the plague of one cockroach. One you say? That's just a coincidence. But that's what God wants you to think, because he is quite economical, and knows that when it comes to Babs, one is all you need.
After last night's parental bitching, (which okay may have slightly broken a commandment, but I don't believe in god so do I really have to stick to the commandments?? anyway...) I walked into the house just in time to see a roach scurry into my room.
Ha, ha, ha. Good one God. Cue Babs sleeping on the couch in the living room. With the light on and my hands over my head to protect myself from possible roach attack. I don't know, it made sense at the time, and you don't know how much roaches freak me out.
So I'm a bit headachey and cranky-pantsed right about now. Please note this. You know what else I hate?
Segues that don't make sense?
Well, that too. But no: Presumptuous people. You tell them stuff and they come back to you with an interpretation that is just so blatently wrong (yes, yes I know that interpretations are subjective and thus usually there can be no right-wrong applied, but sometimes when a person starts with specific mental baggage or without specific mental baggage they come out with stuff that is just COMPLETELY CRAP, and usually totally not even related to what you were telling them about) and yes you just look at them and think "Wow, I do not know of a way you could have understood me any less," and then you continue staring and add "I could have translated what I was saying into Latin and THEN told it to you and you still could not have been any less able to comprehend what I was communicating," and then you throw in confused eyebrows for emphasis.
Somewhat relatedly, I really don't appreciate people who make judgements on things they know nothing about. Sam from the guestbook -- thank you for your advice, I'm sure it was well meant, but frankly you know nothing about me or my family. Come back and tell me it's not that bad when you've lived in my family for 2 decades. Come back and tell me when you've had eating disorders and depression without them bothering to notice. Come back and tell me when they rely on you for every other thing and never bother to thank you. Come back and tell me when you're watching one of them die a little bit every day, while the other one expects you to run the household. Come back and tell me then, because it all sounds like crap to me now.
Do I have a right to be angry about this? Maybe to a point I've surpassed. Sorry random guestbook messager who will probably never even see this entry. It just hit SUCH a wrong button with me. And it is my diary, I have a right to rant about these and other situations, though just locking it is evergrowing in appeal...
I'm so tired of this living situation. Today I came home and got yelled at because I don't clean enough. Who am I, Cinderella? I mean I know I'm not doing enough, but maybe you could set an example and show me where to start? Because I can't do this on my own, and that's what I'm faced with.
Ehhhhhh. That would be my cue to throw my hands up in the air. Note the swoosh sound. Now that I've got all that out, I should be parent-rant-free for a nice solid 'nother 2 years.
